else’s fiancé.’
Eva reached out for Claire’s arm, knowing the violent quiver of her hand betrayed her inner state but she was too far gone to care. ‘Listen, Claire, you’re taking this all the wrong way. Dante is my...’ What? Friend? Claire was too clever to fall for that blazing lie. And how much, if anything, had she heard? Brain reeling, Eva tried to think of their last words. Something about...oh, God—taking her against the wall! ‘There is nothing going on here.’
‘Didn’t look that way to me. Oh, don’t worry, my lips are sealed. Although I feel I should warn you.’
From the corner of her eye, Eva saw Dante shift his attention to the swell of her chest. Heard him groan in disgust.
But, before she had the chance to follow his gaze, Claire spoke. ‘You haven’t taken the microphone off your dress.’
CHAPTER TWO
DANTE’S HAND SHOT to the ruffled bodice of Eva’s gown and he curled his fingers around the small black mike, warm from her—or should he say their—body heat and tore it free.
He dropped the plastic shell to the frosted stone and crushed it beneath his heel in a satisfying crack.
‘Please tell me...’ she whispered, standing tall, lifting her chin in the face of adversity ‘...that what just happened didn’t really happen. I’m just in some nightmare. I mean, you are here, after all.’
Dante held up one flat palm to prevent another word until he’d at least shaved the edge off his volatile mood and figured out what the hell was going on.
Nick St George paused as his viper wife tried to tug him back into the ballroom and Dante fired the spineless man with the Vitale glare before they disappeared from view. How could he have stood there and let that bitch set Eva up for a fall? What she was hurtling into he had no idea, but he was determined to find out.
As for him...Cristo, he’d bet his Lamborghini that within five minutes Rebecca would hear of his apparent indiscretion. A shaft of unease fired through his gut, yet, as quickly as it flared, he thrust it away. Rebecca would be easily placated. The good old-fashioned way.
Eva smoothed her tight sheath over her curvaceous hips, brushing the wrinkles free. ‘I have to get out of here,’ she said. ‘I have to think.’ Head swiveling, she searched the floor. ‘There’s little point going back in there; Claire will have me hung, drawn and quartered by now.’ She spotted her bag leaning against the old stone wall and bent over to snatch it up.
Dante’s heart rate kicked up a few thousand beats per minute as the heart-shaped curve of her full derrière filled his vision and brought forth a multitude of sinful images.
Cristo, she was lethal.
He tore his eyes away as she straightened up and shimmied past him, heading for the stone steps. ‘Well done, Dante; you’ve most likely just ruined me. At the ball in honour of my mother!’
Dante blinked. ‘I have ruined you? Forty minutes I’ve been in your company and already you have wreaked havoc in my life.’ Every time. Dannazione, the woman never failed.
Pausing on the edge of the top step, she swung around, mouth agape. ‘What exactly have I done to you? Just tell Rebecca Stanford the truth. I was...upset. You came for Finn and you gave me a...a...brotherly hug.’
Brotherly? He still had an erection that minus two degrees couldn’t diminish. There was nothing fraternal about that!
‘Siblings do not kiss each other,’ he bit out.
He wished the lighting were better so he could see if the flush on her chest was real. Because he was sure the woman had just propositioned him. Again. She was no innocent. She knew where kisses led. Given another three minutes, he could have taken her up against the bloody wall.
Cristo, she was like a Venus flytrap. Luring, bewitching, with that sweet, grieving vulnerability, which she knew would beguile him. Because, in a once-in-a-lifetime moment of weakness—so she’d known she was not alone—he’d told her the brief details of burying his own mother. For two minutes of time he’d resurrected the fetid blend of conflicting emotions, only to bury them back into the depths. So the siren knew exactly how to play him.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘obviously, I was of unsound mind. Because I have no interest in you. Whatsoever. In fact, you can rest assured hell will freeze over before I touch you again. Give me some credit, for heaven’s sake, I’ve got some pride.’
Something close to affront clawed down his chest. It was as unsettling as it was idiotic.
‘Just tell Rebecca you hate me,’ she went on. ‘Nothing but the truth. I promise you within seconds your stunning fiancée will tumble back onto your well-frequented bed!’
Dante almost laughed. Almost. ‘My sleeping arrangements seem to bother you, Eva.’
Her head reared. ‘Hardly. I couldn’t care less what you do. But you could’ve told me you were getting married,’ she said, her husky voice fracturing with a heartfelt anguish that made him pause mid-step, frowning at the contradiction between her words and tone. ‘I was caught completely unawares. I could’ve at least come up with a better look than a shocked guppy for a retort.’
‘Because appearances are everything, of course.’ There was truth in that sarcastic inflexion and he knew it. She knew it. Any bad press would smash his deal to kingdom come if he didn’t play it carefully. And, as for Eva...
Clip clopping down the steep stone slabs in those ridiculously high, sexy-as-hell stilettos, she continued to chatter incessantly. ‘And now they’ll all think the worst. That you...and I...’ A husky groan poured from her mouth to wrap around his self-restraint and choke it near to death. ‘That I’m a fiancée-poacher. A marriage-wrecker! Not the best marketing ploy, wouldn’t you agree, Dante?’
‘Which is why we need to talk,’ he ground out. How could he take control of the situation if he didn’t know what was at stake? His brain was still having problems processing what his ears told him. ‘Is what Claire said correct? You make wedding gowns and you won the contract for the next Duchess?’
Screeching to a halt on the lower patio, she stood stock-still...then turned around eerily slowly, bristled and nigh on exploded in front of him, arms thrusting in the air. ‘Why are you so incredulous?’
Why, indeed?
‘Maybe I pictured you drinking yourself into oblivion and sleeping till noon. Partying yourself onto the front pages every day can be exhausting, so they say.’ He gave her an unaffected shrug that tore at his spleen. Because suddenly his memories veered from Eva splashed across the headlines to his mother. Stumbling through the door half-dressed. Slurring her words. Polluting the air with the stench of whisky and vomit. Invariably with another man in tow.
‘In all honesty,’ he continued, the unwelcome memories making his stomach revolt, his voice bitter, ‘I never thought you could manage a day’s work in your life. So I am surprised. That is all.’ Surprised? She might as well have stunned him with a laser gun. He did not like the feeling. It blasted his equilibrium to pieces.
Blinking, her stunned mouth worked around words. ‘Oh, just go away, Dante, and leave me be. Go seduce your bride. I hope you’ll both be very happy. Burning in hell.’
