Alex visibly relaxed. ‘Thank you. I’m glad you approve.’ He suddenly realised that he did not have Lanzo’s full attention, and gestured to Gina. ‘Allow me to introduce a good friend of mine—Ginevra Bailey.’
‘Ginevra—an Italian name,’ Lanzo observed softly. He was intrigued by her obvious reluctance to shake his hand, and the slight tremble of her fingers when she placed them in his palm. Her skin was soft and pale, in stark contrast to his deep tan, and he had a sudden erotic image of her naked—of milky-white limbs entwined with his darker ones. He lifted her hand to his mouth and grazed his lips across her knuckles, feeling an unexpectedly sharp tug of desire in his gut when her eyes widened and darkened.
Gina snatched her hand from Lanzo’s grasp, feeling as though an electrical current had shot along her arm. She swallowed and struggled for composure. ‘My grandmother was Italian, and I was given her name,’ she murmured coolly, thankful that the years she had spent working for the very demanding chairman of a world-renowned department store chain meant that she was an expert at hiding her private thoughts. Hopefully no one would guess that
Lanzo’s close proximity was making her heart race so fast that she felt breathless and churned up inside.
His green eyes glittered and she quickly looked away from him, assuring herself that he could not possibly read her mind. He gave a small frown as he studied her intently. She sensed that he was intrigued by her, but she had no intention of reminding him that they had once, very briefly, been lovers. Ten years was a long time, and undoubtedly countless other women had shared his bed since her. It was far better, and less embarrassing, that he did not recognise her. And, to be fair, it was not his fault that, while she had not forgotten him, he had presumably never given her a second thought after he had casually announced at the end of that summer a decade ago that he was returning to his home in Italy.
Lanzo’s eyes narrowed as he studied Ginevra Bailey. Something about her tugged on his mind, but the faint memory was elusive. And as he skimmed his gaze over her hourglass figure, displayed to perfection by a navy blue silk-jersey dress that clung to her curves, he was certain that if they had met on a previous occasion he would not have forgotten her.
Her beauty was understated: a perfect oval-shaped face, skin as smooth as porcelain, and deep blue eyes that were almost the exact shade of her dress. Once again something stirred in his subconscious—a distant recollection of eyes as intensely blue as the deep ocean—but the memory remained frustratingly intangible, and perhaps it was nothing. He had known many women, he acknowledged wryly. It was possible that Ginevra Bailey simply reminded him of a past mistress whose identity eluded him.
Beside him, Alex made a slight movement, and Lanzo realised with a jolt that he was staring at the beautiful brunette. He resisted the temptation to reach out and run his fingers through the long chestnut-brown hair that rippled down her back and inhaled sharply, his body taut with sexual anticipation. He had not been so instantly turned on for a long time, and his reaction was all the more surprising because he was usually attracted to tall, willowy blondes. The woman in front of him was a delectable package of voluptuous curves who was having a profound affect on his libido, and Lanzo was in no doubt that he intended to bed her at the first opportunity.
‘I hope you are enjoying the party, Ginevra,’ he murmured. ‘Are you a fan of powerboat racing?’
‘No. I’ve never seen the attraction of dangerous sports,’ Gina replied shortly.
She was struggling to disguise her overwhelming awareness of Lanzo, and must have sounded more abrupt than she had intended because Alex interspersed quickly, ‘Gina was responsible for the floral displays tonight. The table centrepieces are beautiful, don’t you think?’
‘Indeed.’ Lanzo glanced at the arrangement of red and white roses and trailing variegated ivy on a nearby table. ‘You are a florist then … Gina?’ He frowned, wondering why the shortened version of her name seemed familiar.
‘Not professionally. It’s simply a hobby,’ she replied. During her marriage to Simon he had encouraged her to take an expensive flower-arranging course, as well as an even more expensive course of lessons in French cuisine, so that she could be the perfect hostess at his business dinner parties. The cookery lessons were not of much use now that she was only preparing meals for herself—often a ready-meal heated up in the microwave, Gina thought ruefully—but she had enjoyed making the floral displays for the party.
‘The floristry firm I’d originally booked were forced to pull out because of staff illness,’ Alex explained. ‘Luckily
Gina offered to step in and decorate the tables.’ He paused as he caught sight of one of the waiters frantically signalling to him from across the room. ‘There seems to be some sort of crisis in the kitchen,’ he muttered. ‘Would you excuse me?’
Gina watched Alex thread his way through the throng of guests, feeling a flutter of tension now that she was alone with Lanzo. Of course they were not really alone, she reminded herself impatiently. The restaurant was packed with party guests, but as she slowly turned back to him she felt the strangest sensation that they were in a bubble, distanced somehow from the hum of voices around them.
Surely every woman remembered her first lover? she told herself again. Her response to Lanzo was a natural reaction to seeing a face from the past. But deep down she knew it was more than that. She’d had a couple of relationships before she had married, but no other man—not even Simon in the happier times of their marriage—had evoked this helpless, out-of-control longing; this violent, almost primitive desire that shocked her with its intensity.
Lanzo had been incredibly special to her, she acknowledged. Although their affair had not lasted long, the discovery that a man like him—an international jet-set playboy who could have any woman he wanted—had desired her, had boosted her confidence. Because of him she had changed from a shy teenager into a self-assured woman who had built a successful career and later caught the eye of an equally successful City banker.
But if Lanzo had given her confidence Simon had stripped it from her, she thought ruefully. Thanks to her disastrous marriage she no longer had faith in her judgement of others. She felt stupid that she had not realised what Simon was really like beneath his charming exterior, and right now she was wary of Lanzo’s potent masculinity and felt painfully vulnerable.
To her relief a waiter approached and offered to refill her glass. Usually she only had one drink at social events—a throwback to all the times Simon had drunk too much at parties and become embarrassingly loud and unpleasant. But tonight she was grateful for any distraction from Lanzo’s overwhelming presence, and when the waiter had gone and she was alone with him once more she took a hurried sip of her champagne and felt the bubbles explode on her tongue.
‘So you don’t like powerboat racing?’ he drawled, in his gravelly, sexy accent. ‘Are there any forms of watersports you do like?’
‘I enjoyed learning to sail in the bay when I was a child. Sailing is rather more peaceful than tearing through the water at a ridiculous speed,’ she said pointedly.
‘But not as adrenalin-pumping,’ Lanzo murmured, his eyes glinting with amusement when she blushed.
Gina had a horrible feeling that he knew her adrenalin levels were sky-high as her instincts sensed the threat he posed to her peace of mind and she prepared to fight him or flee.
‘Do you live locally, Gina?’ The way he curled his tongue around her name caused needle-darts of pleasure to shiver across her skin.
‘Yes, I was
