Alessandro's Prize. Helen Bianchin

inclined his head, eyes gleaming with wicked recognition for an instant before he stepped aside.

      ‘I’m quite capable of judging men for myself,’ Lily intoned quietly minutes later as a guest engaged Sophia in conversation.

      ‘Of course you are,’ he agreed with the barest hint of cynicism, and she wanted to hit him for alluding to her disastrous relationship with James.

      ‘That was uncalled for.’

      ‘You would do well to steer clear. Francesco has a history of enjoying the chase, the capture, only to walk away.’

      She met his dark gaze fearlessly. ‘Don’t most men?’

      ‘Not always.’

      ‘You, of course, are the exception,’ she dismissed in droll tones. ‘Which would explain why you’ve managed to avoid any commitment?’

      His husky chuckle curled round her nerve-ends and tugged a little. ‘Maybe I have yet to meet the one woman I would choose to share my life?’

      ‘Someone sufficiently brave not to pander to your ego?’

      ‘How … refreshing.’

      ‘You think?’ she offered with a faux smile, only to blink at a sudden flashbulb.

      ‘A new conquest, Signor del Marco?’ a feminine voice demanded, and thrust a small recording device close to him.

      ‘A friend,’ he responded with pseudo politeness, only to gain a knowing smile.

      ‘Are you going to divulge the lady’s name?’

      Alessandro’s silence earned a light laugh in response. ‘I have my sources. Enjoy the party.’

      ‘Interesting,’ Lily declared with a tinge of humour when the woman had moved out of earshot. ‘Is it your celebrity or notoriety that draws attention?’

      He subjected her to a steady appraisal. ‘You possess a sassy mouth.’

      A swift shaft of sensation arrowed deep within, and for a timeless second she felt the breath hitch in her throat, then she recovered.

      ‘I believe it is a defence mechanism against men like you.’

      ‘You have no knowledge of what manner of man I am.’

       Believe me, I don’t want to know.

      So why this inclination to indulge in a tangle of words with him when instinct warned against it?

      ‘Should I dare to offer a homespun psychological assessment?’

      She caught a glimpse of wry humour in his dark eyes, then it was gone. ‘You could try.’

      Lily pretended to contemplate the challenge. ‘I’ll attempt a comparative balance,’ she managed solemnly. ‘In your favour, there is Sophia … for whom you would do almost anything. Even gifting time and support to her niece, which earns you several brownie points.’ She held up a hand and figuratively ticked off one finger. ‘I assume you’re kind to young children and animals?’ She barely paused as she counted off another finger. ‘Of course you are. So let’s move along. You’re presentable, dress well, and possess a credible work ethic.’ More than credible, but she chose not to linger.

      ‘However, you have a certain—’ Lily trailed deliberately. ‘—reputation. Which may be part fiction.’ She pretended to contemplate the issue. ‘Let’s concede the jury is still out on that one.’

      ‘Generous of you.’

      She offered him a stunning smile. ‘I’m glad you think so.’

      There was a certain satisfaction to being in control, even temporarily. Yet she had the uncanny sensation it was he who held the strings.

      Sophia rejoined them, and it was interesting to observe the guests shift singly and in small groups as the evening progressed.

      In turn it was exciting to be part of it all, to simply observe the guests whose mission it was to be seen and impress; those who attended the various fashion weeks in other European capital cities and for whom designer after-parties were de rigueur.

      Lily overheard voices raised in conflicting opinion over one particular designer’s offerings on the runway.

      ‘Cara, fashion is an art form, presented for visual appreciation of the designers’ skilled technique with cloth and thread.’

      ‘But, darling, who would consider wearing it?’

      ‘A designer original speaks for itself.’

      ‘And that is its attraction.’

       ‘Exactement.’

      Of course, Lily agreed silently as she scanned the room with interest, pausing when she sighted Sophia in deep conversation with a very attractive man.

      Her aunt led a very full life with her involvement in a few select charities, together with an active social existence. She had once confided she’d chosen not to remarry, for her late husband had been her soulmate, and true love rarely struck twice.

      For a moment Lily pondered the meaning of soulmate … two people so totally in tune with each other in every way, there could never be anyone else for either of them during their lifetime.

      Had she felt that way about James?

      In all honesty, she’d thought she loved him. Yet with the benefit of hindsight, she had to admit she’d loved the man she wanted him to be.

      Rose-coloured glasses? Perhaps. From her perspective the relationship had felt right at the time. Although on reflection, she was able to pinpoint a few instances when she’d experienced slight niggles, little things she’d found mildly irksome, which she’d dismissed on the grounds she undoubtedly possessed a few irritating traits of her own.

      Yet she’d enjoyed the sense they were a couple, with supposedly the same interests, and the sex, the intimacy had been … satisfactory.

      James had wanted a short engagement, while she had been in no rush to legalize their relationship. It was James who had suggested they have a big wedding, and who had endeavoured to veto the small private ceremony she preferred.

      He also had a liking for expensive clothes, the status symbols of wealth, but without the income to support them, given he regularly gifted financial assistance to his sister who resided in another state. Or so he had said.

      Except the purported sister had turned out to be the lover she had faced sharing her bed in her own home.

      Soulmate … to be so in tune with a partner, to know without doubt you were twin halves of a whole co-joined for life. Was it possible?

      For some, perhaps.

      ‘You’re thinking too much.’

      Alessandro’s silky drawl lifted the fine hairs on her body, and there was no valid reason for the sudden spiral of sensation deep within.

      Except it was there, like an ache that needed soothing … ridiculous.

      Breathe, she bade silently as the tension between them became electric.

      You’re being fanciful, Lily silently chided. Overly imaginative. In the thrall of rampant hormones, the thought of which she found almost laughable.

      Alessandro watched the play of fleeting emotions in her expressive eyes, and wondered if she realized how easily he could divine them.

      On one level she fascinated him. For she possessed a conflicting mix of strength and vulnerability that made him feel … protective of her.

      Even in killer heels the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and he had an instinctive urge to remove the pins from her hair, knot its length with his fist and tug back her head to taste the