My. Lord!’ Lily gasped softly as the man, as if sensing at least some of her tumultuous thoughts, finally stepped out of the shadows to stand against the balustrade, looking down at her.
She had been correct about the height: the man stood at least a foot taller than her own five feet two inches. And about the leashed power—even wearing an expensive designer label suit over a pristine white shirt and meticulously knotted grey silk tie, the man managed to exude an aura of barely restrained strength. His shoulders were incredibly wide beneath the jacket of that suit, his waist tapered and his long, long legs were encased in perfectly tailored trousers.
But it was the face beneath that midnight black haircut, quite frankly, in a Roman style—that held Lily completely mesmerised. It was a harshly hewn olive-skinned face, dominated by light coloured eyes above a straight slash of a nose and sculptured unsmiling lips. His chin was square and starkly masculine in those arrogantly chiselled features.
He looked like something from one of Lily’s wilder fantasies—the sort of man every woman wanted to tame and claim for her own.
He raised one black and perfectly etched brow, and those sculptured lips curved in hard amusement as he responded to her earlier gasped exclamation. ‘Not even close, I am afraid, Miss Barton.’
He knew her name! ‘I’m afraid you have the advantage over me, signor.’
He gave a terse inclination of his head before walking towards the staircase leading down from the gallery into the courtyard. ‘If you will just wait there, I will come down and introduce myself—’
‘No!’
He came to an abrupt halt at the top of the stairs, that dark and arrogant brow arched higher than before. ‘No?’
‘No.’ Lily stood her ground, shoulders tensed, booted feet braced slightly apart on the cobbles. She refused to back down by so much as the flicker of an eyelid as she met that pale gaze in open challenge. ‘You can tell me exactly who and what you are from right there.’
‘Exactly who and what I am?’ he repeated, in a soft and yet slightly menacing voice.
‘Exactly.’ Lily nodded stubbornly.
He tilted his head to one side as his eyes—blue, maybe? Or green? Or possibly grey?—raked over her mercilessly, from the top of her silver head to her small booted feet, amusement glinting as he slowly moved his gaze back up to her now slightly blushing face. ‘Who do you think I am?’ he finally murmured slowly. ‘Exactly?’
Lily was glad that this man couldn’t possibly hear her heart beating twice as fast as normal from where he stood. It was bad enough that she knew how nervous she was, without him being aware of it too. Her mouth firmed. ‘Well, if I knew that I wouldn’t have needed to ask!’
The man appeared completely relaxed as he continued to stand at the top of the staircase. ‘Let me see... At the airport you climbed into a car with a man you did not know, allowing him to drive you to an unknown destination before abandoning you there—and you did all this without any knowledge as to what or who would be waiting for you at the end of that journey?’ Those pale eyes had taken on contemptuous gleam now.
Lily felt the burn of increased warmth in her cheeks; she had already realised exactly what she had done, and certainly didn’t need some arrogant and dangerously attractive—emphasis on the dangerous—Italian pointing it out to her so succinctly!
She scowled. ‘I assumed the driver was taking me to my brother’s apartment. Obviously I should have behaved with a little more caution—’
‘A little more?’ he replied disapprovingly, those dark brows low over narrowed eyes, those sculptured lips a thin and uncompromising line. ‘If you do not mind my saying so, you have been naïve in the extreme.’
‘As a matter of fact I do mind you saying so.’ Lily glared her annoyance at him. ‘And if you’ve brought me here with some idea of asking my family to pay a ransom before releasing me, then I think I should tell you that my brother—my only living relative—is as poor as I am!’
‘Indeed?’ Those sculptured features had taken on a harsh and intimidating expression.
‘Yes,’ Lily said with satisfaction. ‘Now, just tell me who you are, and what it is you want.’
He gave a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. ‘You really do not have any idea, do you?’
‘I know one thing—which is that I’m becoming increasingly irritated at your delaying tactics.’ Her hands were tightly clenched at her sides. ‘I also know I have every intention of going to the police and reporting this incident as soon as I’m released from here.’
His eyebrows quirked. ‘Then it would seem not to be in my best interests to release you, wouldn’t it?’
Lily had realised that as soon as the threat left her lips! ‘I don’t think my request for you to tell me who you are and where I am is unreasonable.’
‘Not at all,’ he drawled. ‘I am Count Dmitri Scarletti, Miss Barton.’ The darkness of his hair shone blue-black as he gave a terse nod of greeting. ‘And you are currently standing in the courtyard of the Palazzo Scarletti.’
Oh.
Her brother’s employer.
The same man who’d arranged for her to be looked after so well up until now.
And Lily had just repaid him by hurling accusations of kidnap and threats of arrest at him!
IF the circumstances had been any different then Dmitri might have been amused by the stunned dismay on Giselle Barton’s delicately lovely face as she digested what he had just revealed to her. As it was, the present circumstances were such that he couldn’t find any humour in anything a single member of the Barton family did or said. Even one as unexpectedly lovely as Giselle had proved to be...
Dmitri didn’t take his gaze off her as he descended the staircase, sure that he had never seen hair of quite that colour and silky texture before—so pale a blond that it shimmered silver in the sunlight, and of such a length and thickness that it would tempt a man into winding it about his fingers as he pulled her ever closer...
Her eyes, stormy at the moment, were nevertheless the colour of the sky on a clear summer’s day, her nose was small and straight above a perfect bow of a mouth that had surely been designed for a man to kiss and savour, and her chin was small and stubbornly pointed as she frowned at him.
He couldn’t see her figure properly beneath the bulky jacket she wore over a blue sweater, but her legs were slender and yet shapely in the fitted and faded jeans, and her feet appeared small even in those unbecoming boots she was wearing. Yes, Giselle Barton was far lovelier than Dmitri had anticipated. Or particularly wished for.
At thirty-six years of age he knew that over the years he had acquired something of a reputation—both in business and in his personal life. He was a man, in fact, who publicly always had a beautiful woman clinging to his arm. A man who, under different circumstances, would have found this woman’s ethereal beauty and air of independence something of a challenge. As it was, he had far more important things to concern himself with than her surprising and delicate loveliness.
