style="font-size:15px;"> Anton had better have some good information. Otherwise she was going to have hell to pay when she put in her expenses.
He spoke with their host as they walked through the restaurant, and when they reached their table, Emily frowned as instead of sitting opposite her, Anton took a seat to her side, their waiter hastily rearranging the place settings.
‘I like to face the view,’ he said. He was sitting so close that their knees briefly brushed and Emily pulled hers away.
‘You are nervous,’ he commented.
‘Do you blame me?’ Emily asked, and then it happened. The man who had given her nothing suddenly gave her the first thing her mind had begged for on meeting him—she was treated to his smile. His full mouth moved slowly and she saw his white, perfectly straight teeth. But more than that, his face lightened as his smile reached right to his eyes and claimed Emily’s ability to breathe in the process.
‘You have nothing to be nervous about,’ Anton said. ‘You are with me.’
‘Which tells me nothing,’ Emily responded with a wry smile, but yes, despite her nervousness around him, she did not feel unsafe.
‘Wine?’ he asked, but Emily shook her head.
‘Not while I’m working.’ This was, perhaps, a poor excuse. Normally Emily would be the one ordering it in the hope that whoever she was interviewing might open up a touch further, but she felt terribly aware that she needed to somehow stay in control here. ‘Speaking of work...’ She went to her bag to pull out her recorder but as she did, his hand closed over hers.
‘Not here.’ There was a slightly ominous note to his voice, and she looked at the hand closed over hers. ‘Why would you draw attention to yourself?’
‘I’m not,’ Emily breathed. ‘It’s more that I’ve got a terrible memory.’
‘Perhaps that is why your career is shot.’ His hand was still around hers. He watched her suppress a smile as she guessed that he knew she was lying—there was nothing wrong with Emily’s memory, and certainly not around him. Every feature of his was emblazoned on her mind for later recall. Even the scent of him, she would surely recognise twenty years from now. Not the bergamot and cardamom of his cologne but the unique male scent that was Anton. Her gaze moved from his navy eyes to his mouth and for a bizarre moment she thought she was about to be kissed. More than that, she was aching for him to do so. His next sentence was, for a brief second, logical under the caress of his gaze.
‘I’m going to move in as if to kiss you.’
As his hand moved to capture her chin, a more sensible Emily emerged. She was in a restaurant with an unknown male, a possible contact with the most dangerous family in Sicily, and she was about to let him kiss her. She had no idea what was happening, was almost tempted to grab her bag and run, yet she was overwhelmed, spellbound too, and struggled to find an assertive tone. ‘Could you remove your hand, please?’
‘Emily.’ In his voice there was none of the panic she felt. ‘Look at me and keep looking at me while I tell you what you can now know.’
Her face was on fire as she did as told, her breath burning in her chest as she met the blaze of his eyes.
‘Seated behind me are the Correttis.’
SHE UNDERSTOOD now Anton’s hand on her chin and why his face was so close, for immediate was the temptation to glance over his shoulder.
She looked down to his mouth. He was talking in low, sensual murmurs, as if they were lovers, and though the words were not of romance, they still sounded like a caress. ‘Do not for a second let them think you are interested in them. It is why I sit with my back to them. They must think you have only eyes for me, or we will be asked to leave.’
‘Okay.’ Her heart was hammering. She was in a restaurant with the Correttis. She was up close with the untouchables and there was excitement and terror in her veins, and not just for that reason. Emily looked at the beautiful man whose breath she could feel on her lips. She had so many questions that she must ask him, but the only thing she could see now was his mouth.
‘I got a booking because I told them I was proposing to my girlfriend, so for tonight, we are lovers.’
She smiled to his mouth. ‘Err, no.’
‘Oh, we are,’ Anton said. ‘At least according to our fellow guests.’
‘Couldn’t you have told me all this in the car?’
He smiled at her, his fingers moving from her chin and coiling around a lock of her hair. ‘You walked straight past them without so much as a glance.’ He watched her blink in silent admission, for of course it would have been near impossible not to look. ‘This was the only way to pull it off.’
His mouth moved to her ear, and she closed her eyes, not for the sake of curious onlookers, just for the feel of him close. His jaw was rough and unshaven on her cheek. His cologne was subtle, yet it made her dizzy. ‘The old woman in black...’ His words were business, his voice pure pleasure, as he lightly kissed her ear. ‘That is Teresa, the matriarch. She is the reason some of the two sets of cousins are here. You would not see Luca at the same table as Santo and Alessandro otherwise.’
She knew his caress was for the benefit of others and yet her body responded as if it were solely for her. Emily felt a shiver run through her as his breath blew gently on her ears, felt her stomach fold over a little as his mouth dusted the sensitive skin, and when he pulled his head away and looked into her eyes, for Emily, in that moment, the Correttis were forgotten.
‘So now,’ Anton said, ‘you see why I had to not tell you.’
‘I do.’
He dropped contact then, for a waiter stood over them, and Anton ordered for them both.
It was incredibly exhilarating to be sitting with this beautiful man with Sicily’s most notorious just a breath away. They started with antipasto and it was more heavenly than anything she had tasted—asparagus spears wrapped in prosciutto and balsamic-glazed cipollines, which he explained were like shallots. Yes, it tasted like heaven, or was it more the unexpected company she kept? Emily could hear the low murmur of conversation from the Corretti table, the occasional burst of laughter or the slight raise of voices.
Just knowing who they were gave Emily the thrill of imminent danger—and then there was Anton.
She had given up moving her knees. They had been lightly pressed against each other and now, as their plates were cleared, not quite so lightly, as if in warning.
‘If you look over again,’ Anton said when he caught her eyes wandering, ‘we change places or,’ he said, ‘I kiss you properly this time.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
Shame. He thought it but did not say it. Anton looked to where she sat beside him and though he was rarely intrigued, he found he was. ‘Tell me about you,’ Anton said, but as she opened her mouth to protest he got in first. ‘We are being watched not just by them but by bodyguards. It is time to speak just
