that she was next to Niccolò—of course she was, for hadn’t Michela made it clear that she wanted the two of them to get along better? She wondered when her friend was going to realise that it simply wasn’t going to happen. Or at least, not in this lifetime. Her heart began thumping painfully as she made her way towards the top table.
She felt his presence behind her even before his shadow fell over the table. The palms of her hands were clammy and the race of her heart was thready, but somehow she managed to fix a wide smile to her lips as she turned to look at him.
‘Niccolò!’ she said brightly.
‘Just the person you wanted to sit beside, right?’
‘How did you guess?’ Solely for the benefit of the other guests, she maintained that brittle rictus of a smile. ‘You were right at the top of my list.’
But Alannah tensed as he leaned forward to kiss her on both cheeks, just as he would have done to any other female guest. She wondered if any other female guest would have reacted the way she did, with a pulse which was threatening to rocket out of control and a desire to tip her head up so that his mouth would meet hers, instead of grazing the innocent surface of her cheek. She found herself longing to reach up to touch that hard, chiselled jaw and to feel it scrape against her fingertips. She wanted to press her lips against his ear and kiss it. And how crazy was that? How could you want a man so much when you didn’t even like him?
Stop it, she told herself as he pulled out her chair with an exaggerated courtesy, which seemed to be at odds with the mockery gleaming from his eyes. Did he know what kind of effect he had on her? Did he realise that her legs were weak and her breasts growing heavy? He sat down next to her and she could smell his warm, male flesh—as subtle and spicy as sandalwood—and all she wanted to do was to breathe it in. Reaching out, she picked up her champagne flute and took a gulp.
She could feel him watching as she drank the cold, fizzy wine but the champagne tasted as sour as a remedy you might take for an upset stomach. She put down her glass and looked at him, because they couldn’t go on like this. Not with a whole day and a half to get through.
‘I think Michela has sat us together deliberately,’ she said.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Because?’
‘I think she’s hoping that we’re going to declare some sort of truce.’
‘Why—are we engaged in some sort of battle?’
‘Please don’t be disingenuous, Niccolò. You know we are. We’ve done nothing but argue since we reconnected.’ She shrugged. ‘And while that seems to be what you seem to want—I’d prefer it, and your sister would prefer it, if we could manage to be non-confrontational. At least, in public.’
Niccolò met her denim-blue eyes and gave a small dissenting shake of his head—thinking how wrong she’d got it. Because battle was the last thing he wanted. His needs around Alannah Collins were much more fundamental. He might even have contemplated a more conventional route by asking her out on a date, if she hadn’t been the kind of woman he despised.
Yet there was nothing of the precocious teenager or sexy glamour model about her tonight. The image she presented was almost demure. Her navy silk dress was high-necked and the hemline showed nothing more than an couple of inches of slender knee. A small, glittering brooch in the shape of a fluttering moth was her only jewellery. Her most magnificent assets—the breasts which had once so captured the imagination of the British public—were only hinted at and certainly not on show. All he could see was the occasional glimpse of a soft curve as the material brushed against them. He swallowed. Was she aware that it was just as provocative to conceal something, as to reveal it?
Of course she was.
Trading on her own sexuality had been her stock-in-trade, hadn’t it? She knew everything there was to know about how to pull in the punters and leave them slavering for more.
Shaking out his napkin, he placed it in his lap and scowled, recalling the first time he’d seen her at his godson’s birthday party.
He remembered looking in amazement at the silver dress, which had clung to her curvy body like melted butter, and thinking that he’d never seen anyone looking quite so alluring. Had he been frustrated? Too long without a woman? Unlikely. All he knew was that he hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from her.
The look which had passed between them had been timeless. The lust which had overwhelmed him had been almost tangible. He had never experienced anything like it in his life—not before, nor since. The hardness at his groin had been almost unbearable as he had danced with her. Something elemental had caught him in its grip and he’d felt almost…lost. The dance had been simply a formality—paving the way for their first kiss. He had kissed her for a long time, tempted by a need to pull her into a dark and anonymous corner and just take her. And even though he detested being out of control…even though his own history had warned him this was not the way to go—it hadn’t been enough to deter him from acting on it.
He had been just about to drive her back to his hotel, when there had been some sort of commotion by the door. He remembered turning to see Michela giggling as she’d entered the room, accompanied by a group of boys. His sister. Large flakes of snow had been melting on her raven hair and her look of guilt when she had seen him had told its own story.
And that was when Niccolò had discovered that Alannah Collins wasn’t some twenty-something party guest, but the teenage best friend of his only sister. A wild-child who had been threatening to ruin Michela’s reputation and bring shame on the da Conti name, after he’d spent years meticulously dragging it from the mud.
Was it any wonder that he despised her?
Was it any wonder that he despised himself, knowing what he had nearly done to her?
What he still wanted to do to her.
He leaned back in his chair, paying little attention to the plates of smoked salmon which were being placed in front of them. ‘Did you ever tell Michela what happened between us?’ he questioned suddenly.
She stiffened a little before turning to look at him, her eyes narrowing warily. ‘But nothing did happen.’
‘Oh, come on.’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘It might as well have done. It would have done, if my sister hadn’t arrived. I’ve never had a dance quite so erotic as the one I had with you. It was a dance which was headed straight for the bedroom.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake—’
‘Does Michela realise that you would have spent the night with me if she hadn’t turned up when she did?’
‘You can’t know that.’
‘Yes, I can. And so can you. Why don’t you try being honest with yourself for once, Alannah?’ He leaned forward and his voice roughened. ‘I know enough about women to realise when they want a man to make love to them—and you were screaming out to have me do it to you that night.’
‘Really?’ She took a nervous sip of her drink.
‘And you’ve avoided answering my question,’ he persisted. ‘What exactly did you tell Michela?’
There was a pause. ‘I didn’t tell her anything.’
‘Why
