inspect the street below. Decent enough area for a boutique, he supposed. Mayfair or Bond Street would be better.
Rolling his neck, he breathed deeply. Truth time. Explanations he wasn’t very good at because as a rule he answered to no one. ‘I had an arrangement with Rebecca.’
He allowed her to soak up the admission, wrestle her thoughts into some kind of order. When her words came they were doused with intrigue. ‘What kind of arrangement?’
‘I needed a fiancée to close the Hamptons business deal.’ And with that one strategic purchase he would make Vitale the biggest retail phenomenon in the world. Then his father would have no choice but to acknowledge his first son—his bastard son—as the rightful heir. Finally he would prove to the old man that he was worthy of the Vitale name. That he was no longer a dirty stain on a virtuous thousand-year legacy. That he wasn’t tarnished by his mother’s bad blood. That he was strong enough to live only for Vitale and nothing, nothing would stand in the way of his success.
Fingers delving into his hair, he thrust the memories back into the dark depths. Locked down his emotions with ruthless efficiency.
‘I had no intention of marrying the woman,’ he said. One stab at the marital state had been enough to inoculate him against the institution for life. ‘I only bumped into her a couple of weeks ago in Singapore.’ Dante had known Rebecca from Cambridge days. A striking brunette who had a tendency to flirt with him outrageously. But she had chosen the wrong day and the wrong man to play with.
She’d cornered him and while he’d been sorely tempted to take what was on offer that night, to lose himself, drive out the anger, something had stopped him. Despite her overt sexuality, she’d turned him to stone.
While he’d never been the small-talk type, he had listened. To dampen his fury. To forget his father, his half-brother. It soon became apparent she was neck-deep in debt and needed funds—astronomical amounts. She was desperate. And, like a shark smelling bait, Dante’s killer instincts had kicked in and within seconds he’d pounced on that weakness and a business arrangement had been born.
‘Oh,’ Eva said, ‘you must want Hamptons very much.’ Warm, understanding, her husky voice wrapped around him, taking the edge off the chill that had been pervading his bones for so long.
And, before he knew it, need hit him with the force of a jet, tearing through his body. It took all of his restraint not to walk over there and slide his fingers across her deep silken cleavage, over her décolletage, up the sweet column of her throat. He wanted to sink into that gorgeous thick blonde hair, tilt her head for his kiss and drown in the sinfully erotic taste of her tongue.
Which was inconceivable for so many reasons; his brain refused to wrestle one to the fore. Putting her troublesome tempestuous nature and loose morals to one side, Finn would never forgive him for slaking his lust on his little sister. And this, whatever this was, had turned into business and never the twain shall meet.
So he narrowed his focus, his desire, on the only thing that mattered to him. ‘I need this deal, Eva. Except now my business relations with the owner are heading for the toilet. Rebecca claimed it is embarrassing enough for me to be seen embracing ‘the likes of you’ without her friends believing her a fool in unrequited love.’ She’d even hinted that she’d fallen for him and such lies inflamed his gut.
Dante turned from the view, leaned against the sill and caught Eva stuffing some letters under the plush cushion of the sofa before she sat down. The hunch she was hiding something expired as she curled her long legs under her bottom and writhed to find comfort.
How different she seemed in her own surroundings. She looked sumptuous and snuggly and... He shook his head. Appearances meant nothing. Business, Dante—focus.
‘I assume all her friends thought it was a love-match?’ she asked.
‘Her words. Certainly not mine.’
‘So what do you plan to do now?’
Crossing his arms over his chest, he locked on his target. To eyes narrowing warily. He responded to that glimpse of suspicion by raising a dark eyebrow. ‘I’ve already done it.’
‘Of course you have, Action Man. Care to elaborate?’
He ignored the sarcasm; she’d thank him soon enough. Instead his mind drifted to earlier that morning. When he’d stood in his office listening to Rebecca’s histrionics, mouth shaping to quieten her with a lucrative financial bonus. And all the while his eyes kept drifting to the front page headlines. To Eva. And he knew. Even if Rebecca took another cool million and stood by him, Eva would suffer. A good business reputation was something money couldn’t buy and, regardless of fault, of the past, they were in this together. Finn had always stuck by him, whatever the storm, and Dante owed him. He could help Eva while ensuring Yakatani remained happy.
There had been moments; Cristo, there still were moments of doubt, of reason—telling him not to trust her. Putting her business acumen to one side, he wasn’t convinced she would come over as ‘wife’ material in front of Yakatani. His investigators might have failed to unearth any recent inflammatory stories but that meant nothing when her weekends could be made up of secluded private parties and dangerous liaisons.
Slowly, inexorably, his gaze roamed over her apartment, the blatant romanticism of her career choice. Something didn’t make sense. She did not make sense.
Dante scrubbed his jawline with the back of his hand. He’d just have to keep an extra-close eye on her. If only to ensure she played by the rules. His rules.
The tension in his midsection eased, just a touch. This plan could work. It had to work.
They could have it all.
‘I’ve given the press a story that will melt their cynical little hearts,’ he said, knowing his tone was sending the temperature in the room into a rapid decline. ‘The real thing.’
The frown in her brow deepened, even as she focused on the fireplace. As if she were somewhere else. In thought so deep her expression was almost dream-like in its intensity.
‘The real thing?’ she asked, her voice as softly decadent as whipped cream.
‘Sì. Love.’ The word was like poison on his tongue, making it swell, his next words sounding thick. ‘For surely there is only one reason I could be torn from the bonds of an engagement. The fact that I’ve fallen madly in love with someone else. I’ve provided them with a true romantic fairy tale.’
Without looking up, Eva gave a little huff of disbelief and began to scratch at the arm of the sofa, making patterns of what looked like love-hearts. ‘And who is the heroine in this fabricated tale?’
Dante smiled. The half smile that never failed to make women weak at the knees and tumble backward onto a satin drenched mattress.
‘You are, tesoro.’
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную
