A Sicilian Husband. Kate Walker

for her glass, swallowing down some of the wine in an attempt to ease the sudden dryness of her throat.

      ‘Of course, I suppose to you this is quite commonplace,’ she blurted out, desperate to move the conversation along and so distract herself from her wanton thoughts. ‘You must always be in places like this.’

      ‘My legal work takes me all over the world.’

      ‘That must be exciting—working in so many different countries.’

      ‘Not really.’

      Gio shrugged off her comment.

      ‘When you’ve seen one hotel room, you’ve seen them all. And usually I’m working so hard that I don’t get to see anything of the places where I’m staying.’

      And that was how he liked it. The truth was that he didn’t need to work; not financially at least. Thanks to the huge corporation owned by their joint families, both he and his half-brother Cesare were independently wealthy enough never to have to work again if they didn’t feel like it.

      But working filled the long, empty hours of the day. It tired him so that at least he had some hope of sleeping at night and it stopped him from thinking—from remembering.

      ‘That’s a terrible pity! Such a waste. I’d love to see all those—’

      ‘I’m there to work,’ Gio interrupted crushingly. ‘And at the end of a long day in court I’m hardly in the mood for sightseeing.’

      Perhaps now she’d get the message that he wasn’t prepared to listen to her unsubtle hints.

      Leaning back in his chair, he too reached for his wine glass and sipped at his drink slowly, all the while watching the woman before him. Did he care that she was so obviously attracted by his wealth? he asked himself. And that she was trying to insinuate that maybe they could spend some time together?

      No. Quite frankly, he didn’t give a damn. He was in the mood for some female company tonight—and for tonight only. And because of that he couldn’t care less what she found attractive about him. Only that she did find him attractive. Because with those huge, soft eyes, the tumble of pale hair, the moist, inviting mouth, she was the sexiest thing he’d seen in a long time.

      Did she know the way the candlelight caught on her hair, raising sparks of brilliant gold in the ash-blonde strands? Was she aware of the way that it gave her skin a softly luminous sheen, like the glow on a string of the finest freshwater pearls? And had she sensed that when she leaned forward to talk to him the low V-neck of the white cotton top she wore gaped slightly, giving him a tantalisingly erotic glimpse of the shadowed, perfumed valley of her cleavage?

      Of course she had! In fact, he suspected her of making that movement quite deliberately, knowing it had to intrigue him, set his pulses racing.

      She was doing it again now, coming partway across the table, her arms resting on the cloth as she leaned on them. He just wished she’d take the jacket off to give him a better view.

      ‘I wasn’t hinting!’ she protested, actually managing to sound sincere.

      ‘Of course not.’

      His response didn’t seem genuine, even in his own ears, but he didn’t care. If she thought he didn’t believe her, well, tough!

      He reached for the bottle in the centre of the table.

      ‘More wine?’

      ‘No, thanks.’

      Terrie was beginning to suspect that she’d already had more than enough. The alcohol was warming her blood, which, together with the heat in the room, made her whole body glow uncomfortably. Perhaps she’d feel better without the suit jacket.

      ‘Have you finished your meal?’

      He might as well have asked if she could read his mind, because it seemed she could. No sooner had the thought that he would like her to remove her jacket crossed his mind than she had promptly obliged. And the effect of her actions, the way that her shoulders went back, pushing her small, high breasts forward, the small, sensually wriggling movements she made as she inched the linen sleeves down her arms, was like a neat shot of brandy in his veins, flooding him with heat.

      ‘Yes—thank you. I couldn’t eat another thing.’

      ‘Nothing sweet?’

      ‘I’d love something but I don’t think my figure could take it.’

      The protest was accompanied by a smoothing movement of her hands from her ribcage, down and over her waist.

      ‘Don’t tempt me!’

      If anyone was tempting, then it was her. That gesture had been designed to draw attention to the feminine curves of her shape, the swell of her breasts and the hips that were just barely visible before the flow of the tablecloth covered them. And just the thought of his own hands tracing the path that her fingers had taken made his body clench in cruelly hungry desire.

      ‘Your figure is quite perfect, and you know it.’

      He had given up on any attempt to pretend that he was interested in eating. Even the rich red wine was ignored, his half-full glass abandoned, his attention wholly on her.

      ‘You don’t have to fish for compliments.’

      ‘I wasn’t…’

      ‘Of course not.’

      There was something about his smile that caught on her nerves, but she couldn’t focus her thinking enough to try and decide just what it was. She felt as if that dark-eyed gaze, his irises more black than brown in the shadowy candlelight, was an intangible force, holding her mesmerised and unable to move.

      ‘But it doesn’t matter. You can have all the compliments you want.’

      ‘I—I can?’

      His proud head nodded slowly, black eyes locking with grey-blue.

      ‘What would you like me to say? That you are beautiful? Believe me, you are. That your skin has the delicate softness of a perfect peach?’

      That he couldn’t wait to strip the clinging top from her body, expose the creamy flesh it covered, feast his eyes and his hands, his mouth…?

      ‘That your eyes are the colour of a dove’s wing and every bit as—’

      ‘Oh, stop! Stop it!’ Terrie cried, mortified into leaning forward and catching hold of his hand in order to shut him up. ‘You’re going way over the top.’

      ‘You don’t believe me?’

      Embarrassed beyond speech, she could only shake her head emphatically, sending the pale cloud of hair flying.

      ‘You’re flattering—’

      ‘I never flatter.’

      His tone stopped her dead, making her blink in confusion.

      A single strand of wheat-coloured hair had caught at the corner of her soft pink mouth and, leaning across the table, he reached out and eased it free again. But once he had the silky lock in his hand he didn’t release it but lingered, slowly twisting the delicate strands round and round his finger until she was forced to incline her head even closer to him, to avoid him tugging on her scalp.

      ‘Never…’ he murmured, his mouth seeming only inches away from her own. And the look in his eyes, the unconcealed passion that burned there, was positively indecent in such a public place.

      Twice Terrie swallowed hard, vainly struggling to ease the dryness in her throat. Twice she opened her lips, trying to speak, but no sound would come out.

      The rest of the room seemed to have faded into a buzzing haze, the murmured voices of the diners, the faint clatter of plates, the clink of glasses all blurring into one indecipherable mass. But in Terrie’s mind, or at least the part of it that would focus, there was only herself and this sensually devastating man before her.