so smug,’ Lizzie condemned and closed her eyes because the interior of the limousine was telescoping around her in the most peculiar way.
Cesare consoled himself with the hope that such behaviour was not a warning sign of things to come. How could he blame her for wanting some fun? He had a very good idea of what life must have been like for her on that farm with her misery of a father, always there at her elbow, keen to remind her of every mistake and failure. For the very first time in his life he realised just how lucky he had been with Goffredo, who saw everything through rose-tinted, forgiving spectacles. In comparison, Brian Whitaker’s view of life was seriously depressing.
Lizzie opened her eyes. ‘Do you want to kiss me?’ she enquired.
Cesare skimmed his disconcerted gaze to her animated features, taking in the playful grin she wore. ‘Do you want me to kiss you?’
Lizzie flushed and shifted on the seat. ‘You’re not supposed to ask that.’
‘You expect me to act like a caveman?’
Lizzie thought about that. She had rather enjoyed being carried out of the club. Was that weird? She scolded herself for that enjoyment while mustering up a dim memory of her mother giggling and tossing her hair, eyes sparkling at the latest man in her life. Inwardly she cringed a little from the comparison she saw.
‘Only when you’re sober and you know what you’re doing,’ Cesare extended infuriatingly.
‘You believe I could only want to kiss you when I’m drunk?’
Cesare suppressed a groan and studied her. If truth be told, it would take very little encouragement for him to flatten her along the back seat and take inexcusable advantage of her delightfully feminine body. ‘We have a business arrangement,’ he reminded her doggedly, cursing the hot swell of the erection disturbing his poise because just the thought of doing anything to her turned him on hard and fast.
Her honey-brown lashes flickered. ‘I’m open to negotiation.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Cesare informed her grimly, lean bronzed face set in forbidding lines, mobile mouth compressed. ‘There will be absolutely no negotiation on that score tonight.’
Was it so wrong, Lizzie asked herself, that she should want to experience just once what other women commonly experienced? She had always wanted to be normal, to feel normal. Was that wrong? Indecent? Her cheeks burned. Naturally she had picked him. That kiss... Somehow he had become her forbidden object of desire. How had that happened? Treacherous heat curling in her pelvis, Lizzie breathed in slow and deep.
Cesare watched her feathery lashes dip and the sound of her breathing slow as she slid into a doze. Well, he wouldn’t be letting her loose around alcohol again. Sex, drink and business arrangements did not make for a rational or successful combination. And he was a very rational guy, wasn’t he? Here he was being a saint and protecting her from doing something she would regret. Or would she? he wondered with inbred cynicism. She was a gold-digger, after all, and sure to be on a high after the orgy of spending that had centred on her in recent days.
He was acting against his own nature, he acknowledged grudgingly. In reality, he wanted to fall on her like a sex-starved sailor on shore leave and keep her awake all night. Instead he was likely to spend half the night in a cold shower. He should have made more of an effort to see Celine. Clearly, it was the lack of regular sex that was playing merry hell with his hormones.
Lizzie awakened as Cesare half walked, half carried her into the town house only to stop dead as Goffredo and his stepmother, Ottavia, appeared in the doorway of the drawing room.
‘Your daughters are still partying,’ Cesare announced. ‘Lizzie was falling asleep, so I brought her home early.’
‘Cesare is a party pooper,’ Lizzie framed with difficulty.
Goffredo grinned and Ottavia chuckled and the older couple vanished back into the drawing room.
At the foot of the stairs, Cesare abandoned the pretence that Lizzie could walk unaided and swept her up into his arms.
‘I like it when you do this,’ Lizzie told him. ‘It’s so...so...masculine.’
‘We are lucky you don’t weigh more,’ Cesare quipped, barely out of breath as they reached the top of the stairs.
A sudden lurch in the stomach region made Lizzie tense and she crammed a stricken hand to her mouth, mumbling, ‘Cesare...’
To give him his due, Cesare was not slow on the uptake and he strode through the nearest door at speed and deposited her in a bathroom.
Lizzie was ingloriously ill. He pushed her hair out of the way, gave her a cloth, extended a toothbrush, which he unwrapped, and politely ignored her repetitive apologies for her behaviour. When she couldn’t stand up again, he removed her shoes for her and supported her over to the sink.
‘I don’t make a habit of this,’ she declared, rinsing her mouth several times over while hanging onto the vanity unit.
‘I should hope not, bellezza mia.’
‘What does that mean? The Italian bit?’
And he told her that it meant ‘my beauty’.
‘But that’s a downright lie,’ she protested, studying her bleary-eyed reflection in dismay. The make-up girl’s artistry and the hairdresser’s skill were no longer apparent in the flushed face, smudged eyeliner and tousled hair she now saw in the mirror.
‘You need to lie down,’ Cesare asserted, lifting her again so that the bathroom spun and then the bedroom that followed.
Lizzie lay flat and dead still on the bed, afraid to move lest her surroundings began revolving again. ‘Where’s Archie? I want Archie.’
‘Archie stays downstairs.’ Cesare reminded her of the household rule, announced by Primo, his imperturbable manservant, on the day she moved in.
‘But that’s just mean... He always sleeps with me,’ she mumbled.
Cesare almost groaned out loud. She lay splayed across his bed, clearly trusting him when he didn’t trust himself because she was displaying a wanton amount of bare slender thigh.
‘If I can’t have Archie for company, I’ll have you,’ Lizzie muttered. ‘Lie down.’
Cesare snatched up the phone and issued a terse instruction. Within the space of a minute, Primo arrived at the door with Archie. Cesare clasped Archie and carried him over to the bed, whereupon the dog curled up obediently at Lizzie’s feet with his head resting across her ankles.
‘You should get into bed...you can’t sleep in your clothes,’ Cesare told her.
‘Why not?’
Cesare released his breath in an exasperated hiss and came down on the bed beside her to run her zip down.
‘What are you doing?’ she whispered curiously as he smoothed the straps of the dress down off her slim shoulders.
‘Making you more comfortable.’ Business arrangement, business arrangement,
