The Forced Marriage. Sara Craven
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His grin was lazy. ‘But I am only an accountant in working hours, carissima. And now I am not working but relaxing—if you remember.’
Flora bit her lip, conscious of the fierce undertow of his attraction, how it could so easily sweep her out of her depth. If she wasn’t careful, of course, she added hastily.
Thankfully, at that moment the waiter reappeared to tell them their table was ready.
And once the food was served, and the wine was poured, she would steer the conversation into more general channels, she promised herself grimly as she accompanied Marco sedately into the main restaurant.
She was faintly ruffled to discover that they were seated side by side on one of the cushioned banquettes. But to request her place to be reset on the opposite side of the table would simply reveal that she was on edge, she reflected as she took her seat.
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