of Caballeros’s corrupt officials? A jealous boyfriend?
‘You did a good job.’
She managed the smallest of smiles. ‘Did you see a doctor?’
He made a dismissive noise in his throat. ‘No need.’
The butler, who she hadn’t noticed leave the terrace, returned with a tray containing two tall glasses and two bottles of water.
‘I didn’t know if you’d prefer still or sparkling so I brought you both,’ he said, laying them on the table. ‘Can I get you anything else before I serve dinner?’
‘Not for me, thank you,’ she said.
‘Another Scotch for me,’ Daniele requested. ‘Bring the bottle in.’
‘As you wish.’
Alone again, Daniele indicated the table. ‘Take a seat. To save time, I’ve ordered for both of us. If you don’t like it, the chef will cook you something else.’
Eva bristled. She wasn’t a fussy eater—with her job she couldn’t be—but his presumption was another black mark against him. ‘What have you ordered?’
‘Broccoli and Stilton soup, followed by beef Wellington.’ He flashed his smile again as he took his seat. ‘I thought you’d be homesick for English food.’
Bemused, she took the place laid out opposite him. ‘Homesick for English food? But I’m from the Netherlands.’
‘You’re Dutch?’
His surprise almost made her smile with the whole of her mouth but not out of humour, out of irony. They’d spent a whole evening together in which he’d flirted shamelessly with her but not once had he cared to ask anything of substance about her. She’d just been a woman he was attracted to, whom he’d been determined to bed. He’d assumed she’d be so honoured to be singled out by him that she would accompany him to his suite—this suite?—like some kind of fawning groupie and climb into bed with him. ‘Born and raised in Rotterdam.’
A groove appeared in his forehead. ‘I thought you were English.’
‘Many people do.’
‘You have no accent.’
‘English people notice it but you’re Italian so it’s not obvious to your ear.’
The butler brought Daniele’s bottle of Scotch and asked if Eva wanted anything stronger to go with her meal.
She shook her head and fixed her eyes on Daniele. ‘I think it’s best I keep a clear head this evening.’
Daniele smiled grudgingly. He should keep a clear head himself but after the last few days he liked the idea of numbing everything inside him. The Scotch would also help him get through the forthcoming conversation.
‘What other languages do you speak?’ Eva spoke English so precisely and fluently it hadn’t occurred to him that she was any nationality but that. When he’d first met her she’d acted as a translator for him and his now despised cousin Matteo. He had only a rudimentary comprehension of Spanish but her translations between them and the Caballeron officials had sounded faultless.
‘I speak English, Spanish and French with full fluency and passable Italian.’
‘Prove it,’ he said, switching to his own language.
‘Why?’ she retorted, also in Italian. ‘Are you trying to catch me out?’
He shook his head and laughed. ‘You call that passable?’ It had been rapid and delivered with near-perfect inflection.
‘Until I can watch a movie in the host’s tongue without missing any cadence, I don’t consider myself fully fluent,’ she said, switching back to English. ‘I have a long way to go before I reach that with Italian.’
‘Then let us speak Italian now,’ he said. ‘It will help you.’
Her ponytail swished as she shook her head. ‘You said you had important things to discuss with me. Your English is as good as mine and I would prefer to understand everything and not have anything lost in translation that will give you the advantage.’
‘You don’t trust me?’
‘Not in the slightest.’
‘I admire your honesty.’ It was a rare thing in his world. His family were faultlessly honest with him but since he’d really stamped his authority in the architecture world and made his first billion—canny investments alongside his day job had helped with that—he hadn’t met a single outside person who openly disagreed with a word he said or ever said no to him.
The butler returned to the terrace with their first course. He set the bowls out on their placemats and placed a basket of bread rolls between them.
Eva dipped her head to inhale the aroma and nodded approvingly. ‘It smells delicious.’
The butler beamed. ‘The rolls are freshly baked but we have some gluten-free ones if you would prefer.’
‘I’m not gluten-intolerant,’ she said with a smile. ‘But I thank you for the offer.’
Eva was the only woman Daniele had been on a date with in at least three years who hadn’t been gluten-intolerant or on a particular fad diet. It had been refreshing, yet another difference between herself and the other women he’d dated. It showed on her physically. She had curves for a start and heavy breasts that just begged to have a head rested upon them. Eva Bergen was one sexy lady and he couldn’t wait to see what she looked like when wearing feminine clothes. No clothes at all would be even better.
When they were alone again, she helped herself to a bread roll and broke it open with her fingers. ‘What is it you wished to discuss?’
‘Let’s eat first and then talk.’
She put the roll down. ‘No, let’s talk while we eat or I’ll think you’ve brought me here under false pretences again.’
‘There were no false pretences on our last date,’ he countered smoothly.
‘I was very specific that it wasn’t to be a date. You made it one. The questions you asked me about the hospital could have been dealt with over a five-minute coffee.’
‘Where would the fun have been with that?’
‘My work isn’t fun, Mr Pellegrini—’
‘Daniele.’ He must have told her a dozen times not to address him so formally during their date that, according to Eva, wasn’t a date. It hadn’t occurred to him that she would be anything but delighted with his attention. His family name and looks had always been a magnet for the ladies. Once the architectural accolades and money had started rolling in he couldn’t think of a single woman who hadn’t looked at him with fluttering eyelashes, not until he’d met Eva. There had been a spark of interest there, though, a moment when their eyes had locked together for the first time and a zing of electricity had passed between them.
It
