where do you permanently reside, Amelia Doni?’
‘London.’
‘You’re not a very forthcoming person, are you, Miss Amelia Doni? I take it you are a miss…? I don’t notice a wedding ring on your hand.’
‘If you’re finished with that water…’
Far from sounding flattered at his interest, she seemed even more keen to shepherd him out of the apartment, and it set his teeth on edge with rampant irritation.
‘How long are you over here?’ Cristiano asked because, perversely, the more disinterested she seemed, the more determined he became to break through her invisible silent barrier.
Bethany shrugged and muttered something along the lines of not very long.
‘But presumably you were here long enough to get involved in the charity fund-raiser?’
‘Charity fund-raiser?’
‘The orchid? The one currently languishing on a table in the hall? It’s a thank you present from my mother. You must know how much she contributes to charity and I gather the last fund-raiser was particularly successful. She would have delivered it to you herself but she’s leaving for the country this evening and won’t be back for a while.’
‘Leaving for the country…’ Bethany repeated, aware that she was beginning to sound like someone mentally challenged.
‘We have a country house,’ Cristiano elaborated, bemused by her complete lack of interest in anything he had to say. ‘It’s far cooler in the hills than it is in the city…’
‘Yes, yes, I expect it would be. You must thank her for the…um…plant…’
‘What was your role in the fund-raiser?’
‘Ah…well…actually, I prefer not to hark back to things that have happened in the past. I’m a live for today kind of person…’
‘My kind of woman. I’m not scheduled to return to London until tomorrow. Have dinner with me tonight.’
‘What? No! No, no, no…!’ Bethany was alternately appalled at the thought of being caught out and stunned by the realisation that she wanted to accept his invitation. She didn’t know whether it was because she was in Italy and removed from her familiar comfort zone, but everything she was feeling and doing was horrendously out of character. ‘You have to go,’ she said in an agony of urgency.
‘Why? Are you expecting someone? A man? Are you involved with anyone?’
‘No.’ She began walking towards the front door. Lying did not come naturally to her and she knew that it would be just a matter of time before she tripped herself up.
‘So let’s get this straight. You’re not involved with anyone. You’re not waiting for anyone. Why the reluctance to have dinner with me?’
‘I…I…um…I think it’s a bit rude for you to come here on an errand and then ask me out to dinner…’
‘You mean you’re not flattered?’
‘I mean I don’t know you…’
‘So dinner would be the perfect opportunity to rectify that situation!’ He noticed that he had somehow been manoeuvred towards the front door and her small, pale hand was very firmly round the door handle. He watched in disbelief as she began turning the knob. He had, literally, been shown the door!
‘I don’t think so, but thanks for the invitation anyway. And…for the plant as well. I’ll make sure that I look after it, although I’ve never been very good with plants.’
‘Funny. Nor have I.’ He leaned indolently against the door, making it impossible for her to open it. ‘Already we have one thing in common.’
‘Do you do this a lot?’ Bethany asked, heart beating like a hammer inside her because something about him was sending her nervous system into overdrive. ‘Pop in to random strangers’ houses and ask them out to dinner? Okay, so it’s not rude as such, but you have to admit that it’s a bit strange. I mean…’ she tested the water ‘…you don’t know me from Adam. Goodness, I could be anyone!’
‘Yes,’ Cristiano said thoughtfully, ‘you could be anyone. Axe-murderer, psychopath…’ He shot her a curling smile that made her catch her breath. ‘Worse than that, scheming gold-digger after my money…However, you do have certain credentials, namely your connection with my mother and…’ he looked briefly around him, then back to her ‘…the fact that you own a place like this. Axe-murderers, psychopaths and gold-diggers probably wouldn’t be into charity fundraising or have holiday apartments in one of the best postcodes in Rome. So my fears are put to rest.’
Bethany was beginning to feel giddy from the torrent of misconceptions swimming around her. Credentials? Knowing his mother? Owning the apartment?
‘And, admit it, you have to eat.’
‘I…I actually don’t like eating out. I prefer eating in. Cooking. So many wonderful fresh ingredients over here. It’s fun to experiment.’
‘Fine. I’ll come here.’
‘But you can’t.’ She stared up at the dangerously good-looking face gazing right back down at her and was overcome with the unusual sensation of walking on the very edge of a precipice. The view was tremendous, but falling was a real possibility.
‘Of course I can.’ Cristiano shrugged. Blessed with a lethal combination of looks, brains and wealth, he had yet to come across a member of the opposite sex who could resist him, and he refused to credit that the woman standing in front of him would prove to be the exception. ‘I can either come here or I can pick you up at eight.’
‘Why? Why do you want to take me out to dinner? Did your mother ask you to?’
‘Why should she do that?’ Cristiano’s brows knitted into a perplexed frown. ‘My mother has no involvement in my personal life and, in fact, she’ll be very firmly ensconced in the country by the time I come over here later.’ He pushed himself away from the door, not taking his eyes off her face. She really had the most marvellous skin. Translucent. Even without make-up. Not at all like the sultry brunettes he normally favoured. His mother had said very little about her but, then again, why should she have? It would seem that the woman was merely a friend of a friend of a friend who had been sequestered to help out for the charity bash, hence the orchid, which was an expensive but fairly impersonal way of demonstrating appreciation. Anyway, it was a good thing that nothing had been said because it would have been a surefire way of turning him off.
‘All mothers have involvement in their children’s lives,’ Bethany was distracted enough to point out, thinking of her own mother who clucked and fussed and still sent food parcels in the post from Ireland just to make sure that she wasn’t on the brink of starvation.
‘When it comes to women, I keep things strictly to myself.’ He opened the door, not allowing her the chance to become embroiled in a debate on a non-subject which would give her the opportunity to remember that she was busily trying to turn him down. He’d never been turned down. Furthermore, he had highly sensitised antennae
