A Sicilian Husband. Kate Walker

as at the absent stranger, Terrie lifted her drink in a bleak parody of a toast, inclining it in the direction of the stranger’s now empty seat.

      ‘To ships that pass in the night,’ she muttered.

      And froze as, from her right-hand side, another hand reached out, deliberately clinking the glass it held against hers in acknowledgement of the toast.

      ‘Salute, signorina!’ a deep, lyrically accented voice murmured in her ear.

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘WHAT?’

      The shaken exclamation was pushed from her lips as her nerveless fingers lost their grip on her glass. Slipping from her grasp, it tumbled downwards, spilling its contents on the way, and crashed onto the floor, splintering into a thousand tiny pieces.

      ‘Oh, look what you’ve done now!’

      Even as the words escaped her, she was acknowledging how irrational they were. It was her own disturbed feelings that had twisted her nerves so tight she was ready to jump like a startled cat at the slightest thing. And as for feeling that seeing him had somehow pushed her into making rash decisions about her life, well, that was just nonsense. She had been ready to make a move long before she had ever set eyes on him.

      But acknowledging that fact and reacting accordingly were two totally different things. Especially when she was now up so close to him that she could see that his eyes were closer to bronze than ebony and that fascinating little gold flecks burned like slivers of flame at the heart of their irises.

      ‘Perdone, signorina.’

      The voice was even more devastating close up, too. Pure warm, liquid honey, with just the tiniest touch of gravel in its husky undertone.

      ‘Forgive me…your skirt…’

      A long tanned hand lifted in an autocratic summons to the bartender, and before Terrie even had time to realise just what he had in mind a clean, damp cloth had been provided without a word having to be spoken. The next moment she found herself looking at the top of the stranger’s downbent head, staring fascinated at the sheen on the night-dark strands, as he set himself to wiping away the splashes of wine from her skirt.

      And this was worse than ever. The stroke of the cloth over the lower part of her body, even with the linen of her skirt acting as a buffer, made her heart thud unevenly, her breath catch in her throat. And when he moved lower, wiping away a few glistening droplets that were clinging to the fine nylon of her stockings, she shifted uneasily, uncomfortably.

      He was too close. Far, far too close. If she inhaled she could breathe in some shockingly sensual scent. The tang of bergamot and lemon, mixed with the other, more intensely personal aroma of his skin.

      ‘No—it’s all right… Please…’

      Her skin was prickling with sensation, heat racing through her veins. And when the side of his hand brushed her leg, skin almost touching skin, she had to clamp her mouth tightly shut, teeth digging into her lower lip, against the moan of response that almost escaped her.

      ‘It will dry!’ she declared with more emphasis than was necessary. Anything to stop him, to distract him from these disturbingly intimate attentions. ‘And it’s only a cheap suit.’

      ‘Then let me at least buy you another drink.’

      Terrie was so relieved by the way he straightened up, tossing the cloth onto a nearby table, that she would have agreed to anything. She didn’t spot the look or gesture with which he summoned the bartender, barely heard the swift commanding notes of his order. Yet somehow he had manoeuvred her into a seat at the far side of the room, settling her on the burgundy velvet chair before taking the one opposite her in the privacy of the booth. And the next moment a full glass was brought and placed carefully in front of her.

      ‘It was dry white wine, wasn’t it?’

      ‘Oh—yes…’

      Her response was even more distracted because as he lounged back in his seat and stretched out his long legs in front of him, crossed at the ankles, she discovered to her horror that her skirt had not been the only victim of the accident with the glass. The smart silver-grey trousers that were now in her view were liberally splashed with wine too—and his was only too clearly not a cheap suit. In fact, if the perfect fit, immaculate tailoring and fabulous material were anything to go by, it was an extremely expensive item of clothing.

      ‘But there’s no need… You don’t have to go to any trouble.’

      ‘It is no trouble,’ he assured her, his voice low and as intent as the gleaming eyes that were fixed on her face. ‘On the contrary, it’s a pleasure.’

      The words should have been reassuring, but to Terrie’s total consternation they had precisely the opposite effect. She felt uncomfortably as if someone had scraped away a vital protective layer from her skin, leaving her nerves raw and uncomfortable, and that unnervingly direct stare made her shift uneasily on the velvet-covered chair.

      Up close, he was just too much. Too beautiful, too big, too sexually disturbing, too male, for any female with the normal amount of hormones to be able to cope. And every single one of Terrie’s feminine instincts was on buzzing red alert at simply being faced with him.

      ‘I really think…’

      ‘What are you afraid of?’

      ‘I’m not afraid!’

      Her tone of voice belied it, starting high-pitched and rising even further until it ended in an inelegant squawk at the end of the sentence.

      ‘Then drink your wine.’

      Softly spoken as it was, it was clearly a command, and one he intended to have obeyed at once and without question. Just for a second Terrie was tempted to argue. But the impulse to rebellion died as soon as she looked into his dark face and met the forceful blaze of those tawny eyes head-on.

      ‘Thank you,’ she managed, reaching for the glass.

      But with the drink halfway to her lips she suddenly paused again.

      ‘I wouldn’t want you to think…I mean—I don’t normally let…’

      To her embarrassment, the faint lift of one black eyebrow mocked the struggle she was having to get her words out.

      ‘I don’t normally talk to strange men in bars.’

      Was she truly as nervous as she sounded? Gio wondered. Or was it just an act? Surely the woman who had given him such a deliberate and unashamed appraisal couldn’t now be feeling uncertain and ill at ease.

      Wasn’t it more likely that, having won his interest, she had now decided to change tactics, preferring to act as the prey rather than the hunter? Well, he would play along for the moment, though he wasn’t in the mood for subtlety or games. And as they were both only after one thing, then quite frankly he didn’t see the need for them.

      ‘And I don’t normally talk to women I don’t know either,’ he returned smoothly.

      If he had had any doubts about the way he was going to handle this, then they had evaporated as soon as he had seated himself opposite her. This woman had class. The slim, elegant body, the fall of pale blonde hair, the porcelain-pale complexion, all had a touch of exoticism to a man used to being surrounded by women with a much darker natural colouring. The faint scent of her body mixed with a light, floral perfume to send a sensual message straight to his brain, making his body harden in hungry demand. But rushing things would be a mistake. The evening would be much more enjoyable if he took his time, enjoyed the journey as well as the final arrival at his destination.

      And the final conquest would be all the sweeter as a result.

      ‘So why don’t we introduce ourselves and then neither of us will be complete strangers?’