was twenty-seven—ten years younger than Cesare—but she had been previously married for three years, to a knight’s son, no less, although there were no children from the union. She had returned to using the name Ingram after her divorce a year ago, and had shown no inclination since to repeat the experience—hence Peter’s remark that she was ‘beautiful but unnattainable’.
Enough of a challenge to any red-blooded man, but even more so to one so bent on revenge as Cesare.
‘My friend Peter Sheldon tells me that you were involved in the organisation of tonight’s event, Miss Ingram,’ Cesare drawled evenly. ‘You are to be congratulated.’ He gave an abrupt inclination of his head.
‘Thank you,’ she repeated. ‘But as we haven’t even eaten yet your congratulations may be a little premature,’ she added with a tinkling laugh.
Cesare regarded her consideringly. It had irritated him slightly to learn of her marriage and divorce, although he accepted that at twenty-seven she was hardly likely to still be a virgin. Nevertheless, he was interested to know who had divorced who, and for what reason…
‘Unfortunately I will not be staying for the meal,’ he told her politely, inwardly pleased when her face registered surprise. ‘I have…personal commitments that require me to be elsewhere,’ he explained softly.
‘Really?’ Her voice had sharpened slightly.
Cesare held back a smile as he heard her displeasure at the obvious—and mistaken—assumption she had made about those ‘personal commitments’.
‘Yes, really,’ he confirmed mockingly. ‘But I trust that the rest of the evening will be as successful for you.’
‘I hope so too,’ Robin answered him, annoyed with herself for the way her imagination had gone into overdrive at the mention of Cesare Gambrelli’s personal commitments that required him to be elsewhere.
Though it wasn’t too difficult to imagine what those personal commitments might be.
And it could be of absolutely no interest to her if he was off to spend the rest of the night in bed with a lady-friend!
Could it…?
She hadn’t so much as had dinner with a man since her divorce a year ago, let alone felt herself sexually aroused just looking at one! Yet she was still aware of that tingling in her breasts, of the slight dampness between her thighs, of her hightened sexual awareness that made her conscious of every single thing about Cesare Gambrelli.
A man her father had very firmly warned her to stay away from…
‘I believe it’s time for us to go into the banquet,’ she said, noticing with relief the three hundred or so guests beginning to make their way through to the room where they were to eat and be entertained. ‘It was nice to meet you, Mr Gambrelli,’ she added—for graciousness’ sake, rather than out of any real sincerity.
This man unnerved her. His dark good looks unnerved her. The way he stared at her so intently with those glittering black eyes unnerved her.
Her father’s obvious wariness of Cesare Gambrelli, despite his own success as a wealthy businessman, unnerved her even more!
‘Was it?’ Cesare Gambrelli came back dryly, and his hard mouth curved derisively as he continued to look at her intently. ‘In that case, I must ensure that we meet again, Robin. Soon,’ he emphasised.
Robin swallowed hard, her throat moving convulsively, a nerve pulsing at its base. A movement closely watched by Cesare Gambrelli before he raised hooded lids to once again hold her gaze disconcertingly.
‘Very soon,’ he added softly, before nodding abruptly to her father and striding away on long, powerful legs.
‘I want you to stay away from that man, Robin,’ her father repeated emphatically, a slight pallor beneath his skin.
‘But why—’
‘Just trust me on this, Robin,’ her father interrupted, ‘and please just stay away from him. The man is dangerous. I can’t emphasise that to you strongly enough!’
Echoing the thoughts Robin had about Cesare Gambrelli only minutes ago!
And after the way Cesare had made her feel, with her body still thrumming with need, Robin had every intention of keeping away!
Although she had a feeling, after Cesare Gambrelli’s last comment—promise?—that he had every intention of doing exactly the opposite….
CHAPTER TWO
‘IT IS GOOD of you to receive me, Miss Ingram,’ Cesare Gambrelli murmured, and Robin rose gracefully to her feet as he was shown into the sitting room of her father’s London home.
Had she had a choice?
She didn’t think so!
The man had come to the door and asked to see her father, only to be told that her father was out but that Robin was at home. At which time Cesare Gambrelli had asked to see her instead.
Despite her father’s warnings—which, though she had urged him, he had adamantly refused to give a reason for—it would have appeared churlish, if not downright rude on her part, to have refused to see Cesare Gambrelli when he had already been told she was present.
So, not exactly a choice on her part, was it?
He looked just as tall and arrogant as he had when they’d met six days ago, although today he was dressed in a dark business suit and a pale blue shirt, with a navy blue tie neatly knotted at this throat, rather than the formal evening clothes of their last meeting.
After his final comment to her at the charity dinner—the promise in his voice—Robin had known she would see him again, of course. She just hadn’t known when or where. Certainly she hadn’t expected that he would actually come to her father’s city house, into which she had moved back since her separation and divorce.
‘Won’t you sit down, Mr Gambrelli…’ she invited and she indicated one of the sumptuous armchairs that matched the sofa she had been reclining on, reading a book, before his arrival.
‘Thank you,’ Cesare accepted.
Robin had made the suggestion as a way of perhaps lessening the nerve-tingling effect of his powerful presence on her. He seemed to dwarf the spacious room. But even as he sat down, she knew it hadn’t worked; she was still just as aware of him—could feel the flush in her cheeks and the way her nipples had hardened beneath the cream silk blouse she wore with casual black trousers.
Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her with those dark brown eyes, from beneath hooded lids—as if he were stripping each piece of clothing from her body to reveal the creamy curves beneath.
Whatever the reason, she was just as aroused by this man as she had been a week ago—could almost feel those long hands caressing her, the feel of his lips against her flesh as he tasted her…
She sat down on the edge of the sofa, lacing her slightly trembling hands together to look across at him enquiringly. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Gambrelli?’
Many
