uncomfortable, ill at ease, but she didn’t feel like that with Luca. Unsettled was how he made her feel. Though he hadn’t lifted so much as a finger in her direction and his conversation had been supremely polite, there was definitely an awareness, a tension between them, and she knew he was biding his time, felt as if he was slowly, mentally circling her, waiting to make a move. She knew that it wasn’t by accident she’d ended up at this casino magnate’s table.
For the second time that night a bottle of champagne appeared without order, only this time Meg found it easier to decline. ‘I’d actually prefer some water.’
‘Of course—would you like something to eat? We can—’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Meg interrupted quickly, but as he sent the waiter away with a flick of his wrist and proceeded to pour them both water she rather regretted her haste. Not just because she was, in fact, hungry, but because part of her wanted to stay, to linger a while longer in his presence … to simply relax and enjoy the company of this astonishingly beautiful man. Even his hands were sexy, neatly manicured fingers, olive skin contrasting with the heavy white cotton cuffs of his shirt, but Meg’s forehead knitted in concentration as she glimpsed his gold cufflinks, trying to place where she’d seen the image before. Engraved on the heavy gold was the image of an orange tree surrounded by vines … She tried in vain to place them, giving in when Luca distracted her with a question.
‘Are you on holiday?’ Luca checked and Meg nodded.
‘I’m backpacking around Europe. I’ve been away from home for three months.’
‘And are you enjoying yourself?’
Meg hesitated a fraction too long before nodding, and Luca must have noticed the tiny pensive pause because he dismissed her enthusiastic response with an observation.
‘You don’t look like a backpacker.’
‘What do backpackers look like?’
‘Carefree,’ Luca mused, ‘out for fun—they certainly don’t normally decline the offer of a free drink.’
‘And you must know so many,’ Meg responded with a heavy dash of sarcasm. Luca Fierezza’s world was light years away from the one she’d inhabited these last months and she was annoyed at his assumptions—that she was some starving wretch who would jump at the chance of a free meal and an expensive drink.
He ignored her sarcasm. ‘We have many backpackers that come to Niroli—some to holiday and enjoy the magnificent beaches, others for casual work.’
‘It is a beautiful island,’ Meg admitted. ‘Well, from the little I’ve seen of it. I was looking forward to exploring it and …’ She didn’t continue, just snapped her mouth closed, realising she’d given him an opening, and Meg felt a stab of disappointment when instead of pouncing on it he instead asked a question. ‘So how long do you intend to stay in Niroli?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Meg admitted. ‘I actually came to Niroli to meet up with my brother, but there was a miscommunication. I was thinking of leaving to see if I can find work.’
‘You already have a job,’ Luca pointed out, for the first time acknowledging their encounter in the kitchen. ‘And tomorrow you will have a better one.’
‘Tomorrow I might decide to dye my hair.’ Meg didn’t bat an eyelid, stared coolly at him as she spoke. ‘Then I won’t be blond enough for you.’
‘I was trying to help….’ Luca attempted, but Meg shook her head at his attempt at an excuse.
‘Well, you didn’t,’ she bristled. ‘Tell me something—how come you didn’t ask me to join you for dinner back in the kitchen?’
‘I don’t understand?’
‘Oh, I think you do,’ Meg said shrewdly. ‘Anyway, it’s irrelevant. Tomorrow, I’m going to head to Mont Avellana and look for some seasonal work.’
‘Mont Avellana?’ Luca sneered. ‘Why would you possibly want to go there?’
‘I’ve heard it’s beautiful.’
‘It is nothing compared to Niroli,’ Luca derided in distaste. ‘Full of gypsy Viallis—there is nothing for you there!’
‘I’m sure they speak highly of you!’ Meg made a flip comment and instantly regretted it, watching as his face darkened.
Oh, she’d read about the battle between the islands—knew that Mont Avellana was now a republic and that there was still simmering resentment between the two islands—but the way Luca was talking told Meg that this was more than just patriotism. This was hatred born from the cradle and taken to the grave. ‘I’m sorry,’ Meg offered, unable to comprehend that it was so, so … personal to Luca, but realising she had hit a raw nerve. ‘I’ve clearly no idea what I’m talking about.’
It took a moment for him to translate her vague humour, but he accepted it with a gracious smile, swiftly changing the subject as only he could!
‘Anyway—you can’t go to Mont Avellana tomorrow—you are meeting with me.’
‘I said no, remember.’ Meg smiled, but it died on her lips as she caught his eyes. They weren’t touching, a generous few inches separated them on the sofa, but she could sense his body, feel the heat of him next to her. It wouldn’t have mattered where they were, whether in a busy kitchen or the luxurious surrounds of the high roller club, because again it was just the two of them—the subtle, almost indefinable process of man and woman gauging each other, that delicious heightened awareness when every move, every gesture, revealed itself in slow motion. As her tongue bobbed out to moisten her dry lips Meg knew, knew, he was imagining the taste of her, knew that in this volatile climate even that tiny gesture could be construed as provocative … because it had been. He provoked her, in the most unsettling of ways. He made her dizzy. It was as if she were riding on a carousel, snatching images as she whirred ever faster; images not just of the man sitting before her now, but dangerous glimpses of where this night could lead—that full, sensual mouth pressed onto hers, the feel of his hard, toned body pressed against hers. Never had a man moved her so—never had she felt such a compelling attraction to someone, never had she been more tempted to throw caution to the wind, to let some romance into her ordered life….
To loosen up and live a little.
Till he spoke!
‘I’m sure whatever job you want, it can be accommodated.’
Never had she been more grateful for the dimmed lighting as a dark, burning blush swept up her neck and over her cheeks, her mouth dry all of a sudden, her heart hammering in her chest, unsure if she’d misinterpreted and appalled if she hadn’t—was he offering her a job in his casino or in his bedroom?
‘I speak no Italian.’ Giving him the benefit of the doubt, Meg chose her words carefully. ‘I don’t really see what sort of work.’
‘It doesn’t have to be in the casino; perhaps you would like to spend your time in Niroli with me?’
‘With you!’ She let out a shocked gasp at his directness. ‘You’re offering me a job as your escort!’
‘Meg—’ immediately he shook his head
