Geli repeated. ‘As in the Inferno?’ No wonder he was so hot... Catching the barista’s knowing grin, she quickly added, ‘Or perhaps your mother is an admirer of the Pre-Raphaelites?’
‘Are you visiting someone?’ he asked, ignoring the question.
‘No.’ Mentally kicking herself for speaking before her brain was in gear—he must have heard that one a thousand times—she shook her head. ‘I’m here to work. I’ve leased an apartment for a year. Geli Amery,’ she added, offering him her hand without a thought for the consequences.
He wrapped his hand around hers and held it.
‘Dante Vettori.’ Rolled out in that sexy Italian accent, his name was a symphony of seduction. ‘Your name is Jelly?’ He lifted an eyebrow, but not like the disapproving old biddies in the village shop. Not at all. ‘Like the wobbly stuff the British inflict on small children at birthday parties?’
Okay, so she’d probably asked for that with her stupid ‘Inferno’ remark, but he wasn’t the only one to have heard it all before.
‘Or add to peanut butter in a sandwich if you’re American?’ She lifted an eyebrow right back at him, which was asking for trouble but who knew if he’d ever lift his eyebrow at her like that again? This was definitely one of those ‘live for the day’ moments she had vowed to grab with both hands and she was going for it.
‘É possįbile,’ he said, the lines bracketing his mouth deepening into a smile. ‘But I suspect not.’
He could call her what he liked as long as he kept smiling like that...
‘You suspect right. Geli is short for Angelica—as in angelica archangelica, which I’m told is a very handsome plant.’ And she smiled back. ‘You may be more familiar with its crystallised stem. The British use it to decorate the cakes and trifles that they inflict on small children at birthday parties.’
His laugh was rich and warm, creating a fan of creases around his eyes, emphasising those amazing cheekbones, widening his mouth and drawing attention to a lower lip that she wanted to lick...
Make that burnt toast...
In an attempt to regain control of her vital organs, Geli picked up her espresso and downed it in a single swallow, Italian style. It was hotter than she expected, shocking her out of the lusty mist.
‘I had intended to take a taxi—’ Her vocal cords were still screaming from the hot coffee and the words came out as little more than a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Unfortunately, there were none at the Porta Garibaldi and on the apartment details it said that Via Pepone was only a ten-minute walk.’
‘Taxis are always in short supply when the weather’s bad,’ the barista said, as Dante, frowning now, turned the details over to look at the picture of the pretty pink house where she’d be living for the next year. ‘Welcome to Isola, Geli. Lisa Vettori—I’m from the Australian branch of the family. Dante’s my cousin and, although you wouldn’t know it from the way he’s lounging around on the wrong side of the counter, Café Rosa is his bar.’
‘I pay you handsomely so that I can stay on this side of the bar,’ he reminded her, without looking up.
‘Make the most of it, mate. I have a fitting for a bridesmaid dress in Melbourne on Tuesday. Unless you get your backside in gear and find a temp to take my place, come Sunday you’ll be the one getting up close and personal with the Gaggia.’ She took a swipe at the marble counter top with a cloth to remove an invisible mark. ‘Have you got a job lined up, Geli?’ she asked.
‘A job?’
‘You said you were here to work. Have you ever worked in a bar? Only there’s a temporary—’
‘If you’ve been travelling all day you must be hungry,’ Dante said, cutting his cousin off in mid-sentence. ‘We’ll have the risotto, Lisa.’ And, holding onto the details of her apartment and, more importantly, the map, he headed for a table for two that was tucked away in a quiet corner.
‘There’s nothing more cheering than a good friend when you’re in trouble—except a good friend with ice cream.’
—from Rosie’s Little Book of Ice Cream
TOO SURPRISED TO REACT, Geli didn’t move. Okay, so there had been some fairly heavy-duty flirting going on, but that was a bit arrogant—
Dante pulled out a chair and waited for her to join him.
Make that quite a lot arrogant. Did he really think she would simply follow him?
‘Angelica?’
No one used her full name, but he said it with a ‘g’ so soft that it felt like chocolate melting on her tongue and while her head was still saying, Oh, please...her body went to him as if he’d tugged a chain.
‘Give me your coat,’ he said, ‘and I’ll hang it up to dry.’
She swallowed.
It was late. She should be on her way but for that she needed directions, which was a good, practical reason to do as he said. Then again, nothing that had happened since she’d walked through the door of Café Rosa had been about the practicalities and, letting her tote slide from her shoulder onto the chair, she dropped her glove on the table and began to tug at its pair.
Warm now, the fine leather clung to her skin and as she removed her glove, one finger at a time, Geli discovered that there was more than one way of being in control.
A chain had two ends and now Dante was the one being hauled in as she slowly revealed her hand with each unintentionally provocative tug.
She dropped the glove beside its pair and everything—the heartbeat pounding in her ears, her breathing—slowed right down as, never taking her eyes off his, she lowered her hand and, one by one, began to slip the small jet buttons that nipped her coat into her waist.
There were a dozen of them and, taking her time, she started at the bottom. One, two, three... His gaze never wavered for a second until the bias cut swathes of velvet, cashmere and butter-soft suede—flaring out in layers that curved from just below her knees at the front to her heels at the back—fell open to reveal the black scoop-necked mini-dress that stopped four inches above her knees.
She waited a heartbeat and then turned and let the coat slip from her shoulders, leaving him to catch it.
An arch got you lift of an eyebrow as she thanked him should leave him in no doubt that the next move was up to him and she was more than ready for anything he had to offer, but as she glanced over her shoulder, fell into the velvet softness of his eyes, she forgot the plot.
He was so close. His breath was warm on her cheek, his mouth was inches away and her eyebrow stayed put as she imagined closing the gap and taking his delicious lower lip between hers.
Make that burned to a crisp toast. Toast about to burst into flames...
She
