‘Yes, well—sort of,’ she said slowly—because only now had her mother come out of her frozen grief, and allowed Cassie to think that it was okay to leave her on her own. But it was more than that. Hadn’t her father’s death made her rethink everything? Hadn’t it brought home how frighteningly fragile life was and made her examine her own and find it wanting? Making her realise that it was whizzing by and she had done very little with it. ‘I wanted a break. Felt I was in a bit of a rut. You know.’
She paused to allow him to agree, but he didn’t—and when she thought about it, a jet-setting man like him was unlikely to get bored with the daily grind, was he?
‘You see, I’ve only ever lived in one place and felt it was time for a change,’ she continued. ‘I work in a shop in Padstow—a really pretty little gift shop which sells trinkets and craft kits and fancy food. Cornish clottedcream biscuits and crystals—that sort of thing. I’d like to get promoted to manageress—and the owner said that it might be a good idea if I got a bit of experience in London first. She knows one of the buyers at Hudson’s—and she arranged for me to get a temporary job there during the Christmas rush. And so, here I am.’
‘Here you are,’ he agreed, sitting back in his chair and looking at her. ‘With your eyes the colour of those little bunches of violets you sometimes see on city market stalls—all dewy fresh amid the dust and grime.’
She blushed and glanced down at her plate, feeling the sudden skitter of her heart. ‘I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.’
‘But surely men say that kind of thing to you all the time, especially if you blush so enchantingly in response.’
‘Not really.’
‘No? Oh, come on, Cassandra—I can’t believe there isn’t a long line of men beating a path to your door.’
Cassie supposed it would sound shaming to admit that few men of her acquaintance had offered little more in the way of flattery than a terse ‘not bad’ when she’d dressed up for a date. But then most of the men she met were those she’d grown up with who felt more like brothers—or married men who came into the shop accompanied by their wife and two toddlers. Tentatively, she raised her eyes to meet the mocking question in his. ‘I don’t think Englishmen are quite as…well, as…verbal as Italians.’
He smiled. ‘Ah, so now we’re talking national stereotypes, are we? You prefer the Italian male with his innate ability to charm women?’
‘That sounds more like boasting than charming to me!’
His eyes glittered. ‘And that sounds as if you’re laying down a challenge, my beauty.’
Cassie swallowed as he made that silky declaration—aware that the strangest sensations were washing over her and there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do to stop them. She wanted him to kiss her—and they hadn’t even finished their main courses. And wasn’t there also another characteristic attributed to Italian men—that they didn’t respect women who gave into them too easily?
‘I think…I think that champagne is going to my head. May I have a glass of water, please?’ she questioned weakly, because why on earth was she leaping ahead of herself like this and thinking about ‘giving in’ to him? As if it would take any persuasion at all! Again, she could feel the heated prickling of her skin—and if Giancarlo Vellutini had the slightest inkling what was going on inside her head he would think her insane!
‘Of course.’ Reading the darkening of desire in her eyes, Giancarlo poured her a glass, approving of the fact that she wasn’t much of a drinker. He didn’t want alcohol blurring her reactions or influencing her judgement tonight—or any sense of false outrage in the morning. He wanted her and she wanted him—the only question was whether she was honest enough to admit it. ‘You haven’t eaten very much.’
‘No. I’m not really hungry. What a terrible dinner guest I am.’
‘I’m certainly not complaining,’ he murmured. ‘Do I take it you’re not in the market for dessert?’
Cassie shook her head. Normally, she loved puddings—the sweeter and creamier, the better—but right now she felt as if anything else to eat might choke her. ‘Not really. Well, not just yet. I hope it won’t offend Gina.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t employ Gina to get offended. Maybe a walk might give you an appetite?’
‘A walk? Where would we walk?’
He pointed to the shadows falling over the lawn, which was now growing white with frost. ‘If you look outside there’s a great big garden at our feet.’ His eyes glanced down at the vertiginous heels which made her fragile ankles look almost impossibly slender. ‘Though speaking of feet—I don’t think those shoes were made for walking.’
She followed the direction of his gaze. ‘No. I think you could be right.’
‘Pity. You should have worn trainers.’
‘Trainers would have looked terrible with this dress.’
He laughed. ‘True. Never mind, bella—perhaps I will take you for a walk another time.’
But Cassie felt as if a wonderful opportunity was slipping away from her. Suddenly, she became aware that this evening would never happen again—hadn’t the way he’d said ‘perhaps’ driven that simple fact home? That it didn’t matter where she went in life or what she did—there would never be another frosty December evening in Kensington with this particular man.
He was the most captivating person she’d ever met and he had liked her enough to ask her to dinner. And nothing was certain. After tonight, she might never see him again. And if that were to be the case, then wouldn’t she have wasted the most wonderful opportunity to see how the other half lived? Too choked up with nerves to be able to enjoy herself properly—and too constrained by her impulsive shoe purchase to be able to appreciate the beautiful gardens of his home.
‘Oh, I’m not going to be put off by a stupid pair of high heels!’ she declared. ‘Haven’t you got an old pair of wellington boots that I could borrow?’
Impulsively, she bent and untied the ankle strap, slipping off one of the shoes in a move which left her curiously lopsided. Smiling up at him, she reached for the other strap but something stopped her. Or rather—someone.
For Giancarlo had bent before her—almost, she thought dazedly, like a man about to propose marriage. And he was undoing the other strap—only he was taking much longer than she had done. His thumb was circling at her insole as he slid the shoe off in a movement which felt unbelievably erotic…like a slow shoe-striptease. And now his hand was sliding up her ankle, and her calf.
‘Bare legs,’ he murmured approvingly. ‘That’s what I like about English and American girls—they have bare legs in winter. Even better than stockings.’
His fingertips had now reached the back of her knee—just one light touch and she had begun to tremble uncontrollably. ‘Giancarlo—’
‘What?’ If it weren’t the first time then he would have continued with his erotic journey. Brought her to orgasm with his fingers and then perhaps have followed it with the slow lick of his tongue—before carrying her off to his bedroom for a long night of pleasure. But it was the first time, and so he straightened up—finding that she looked so much smaller without her heels. And so delicate.
With the stars beginning to sprinkle the dark sky above them and the rise of the moon making a pale halo of her hair, she looked as if some flower fairy had tumbled down and taken up residence within the airy confines of his conservatory. Lightly, he placed his hands at her waist as if to anchor her down—thinking that if he let her go she might simply drift away.
‘Wh-what about the boots?’ she questioned.
‘What about them?’ he repeated unevenly as he let his fingers drift up towards the luscious swell of her breasts.
‘Aren’t we…supposed to be going outside for a walk before pudding?’
‘I’ve changed my mind.’
Aware that things were proceeding with a rapidity she hadn’t anticipated, Cassie felt a sudden flurry of nerves. ‘You…you’ve let me chatter about myself all evening and yet you haven’t told me anything about yourself.’
‘Like what?’ he murmured.
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Cassie swallowed as he pulled her closer—so that she could feel the heat of his body and the warmth of his breath. ‘Your…your life. Your work. Your dreams.’
Her words shattered his fantasy. Giancarlo’s mouth hardened with a grim kind of reality check—and not just because talking was the last thing on his mind right now. Start telling a woman about your dreams and she started seeing happy-ever-after. And what if he told her that he had no dreams left? Wouldn’t that only make her determined to prove him wrong in that way that women had—wanting to show that they and only they could change you? And they couldn’t—even if you wanted them to. ‘There’s only one thing you need to know about me, Cassandra,’ he said softly.
She turned her face upwards, part of her knowing what he was about to say. And although there were a million questions bubbling beneath the surface, it was as if she were programmed to ask the only one which mattered. ‘What’s that?’ she whispered hesitantly.
‘This.’ And his lips came down to meet hers in a crushing kiss.
Chapter Three
GIANCARLO’s bedroom was vast. Big and intimidating as an ocean—so that for a moment Cassie felt like a tiny little raft bobbing around in unknown territory, unsure which direction to take. Down on his terrace where he had been kissing her and kissing her until their breath had mingled and they had been wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, she had felt no qualms. As he had tangled his fingers in the spill of her hair beneath the rising moon she had felt as though she had found her place in the world. A magical place which was governed by feeling and by the irresistible lure of the senses.
But then the kissing had become more frantic. She had felt the urgent clamour of her body and dimly recognised the growing need in his. And that had been the moment when he had stopped kissing her, his lips moving instead to her ear.
‘If we don’t stop this right now, mia bella, then I will take you right here—and I think we should be more comfortable for our first time together, don’t you?’
The sexual declaration had been stark, and it should have been scary—especially for someone of Cassie’s experience. But her heart had been pounding so wildly and her body so tense and trembling with desire for him that she hadn’t been able to do anything other than nod and let him take her by the hand as he had done at the very start of the evening. Only this time he led her through the huge and echoing house—up the majestic sweep of a mighty staircase to his bedroom.
And now that she was here, Cassie was suddenly filled with nerves at the thought of what was about to happen. That maybe she would disappoint him. Or that he would think she had capitulated much too easily. And she had, hadn’t she?
‘Cassandra, bella.’ Sensing her restraint, he pulled her back into his arms and tilted her face upwards, stroking away a bright strand of hair which had fallen over her cheek as he looked down at her. ‘You have changed your mind? You don’t want me?’
What could she say? Cross her fingers and tell a lie? Could she really bear to do that—shrug her shoulders with embarrassment and say she’d got a little carried away and had changed her mind?
Because he would let her. He might not have told her anything about his life or his work or his dreams, but something told Cassie that he was not only honourable enough to let her go—but proud enough never to ask her back again. And she would spend the rest of her life asking herself the most painful question of all. What if?
‘Yes, I want you,’ she whispered.
Giancarlo smiled as he felt the rush of uncomplicated pleasure. ‘Then isn’t it convenient that I happen to want you, too?’ he questioned unsteadily. ‘Do you want to know how much?’
‘Giancarlo…’ Her eyes closed as his mouth drifted down to the hollow above her shoulder blade.
‘This much.’
She moaned as his hand cupped her breast over the soft material of her dress and then found the side-zip of her dress and slid it down—his lips grazing over hers in erotic dance all the while. And she moaned again as he peeled the garment over her head and she felt the rush of air to her partially bare skin. Because suddenly she was standing there in her underwear—her nipples peaking and her thighs tingling. Her body was on fire and she was clinging to him as his lips and his hands trailed pure delight over her skin. Should she warn him? she wondered dazedly.
She swallowed as his palms cupped her bottom and he pulled her closer. ‘Giancarlo—’
‘I want to study you,’ he murmured. ‘I want to examine every inch of you—to know you so well that if I were to take an exam about your body then I would get full marks. But the trouble is that my desire for you is so great that I think we might have to postpone that pleasure until later,’ he declared, his voice thick with desire as he guided her trembling fingers to his shirt buttons. Because it had been a long time, he realised. A long time since he had wanted a woman as much as this. ‘Undo my shirt.’
Her hands were trembling so much that it felt like an almost impossible task—until her first encounter with the silky texture of his flesh. And suddenly her doubts melted away and she became greedy. Like a prospector who had suddenly found an abundance of gold, Cassie found herself wanting to run her fingers all over his hair-roughened torso. She felt him twist slightly as she ran her fingertips over his flesh, heard him give a little laugh as she touched each of his diamond-hard nipples.
‘You are making me forget the reason I brought you up here,’ he growled. ‘Which was to take you to bed.’ And, picking her up, he carried her across the room to the biggest bed Cassie had ever seen.
He laid her down upon it, his dark eyes not leaving hers as he pulled off his clothes—until he was wearing nothing but a pair of dark silk boxer shorts. Cassie could see the flagrant ridge at the front of them and suddenly she began to shiver. This was really happening—and she was letting it happen. Should she tell him? Wasn’t it wrong not to tell him?
‘You tremble. You are cold?’ he murmured. This was asked as he joined her, dragging a huge coverlet over them and pulling her close against his warm body.
‘N-no, I’m not cold.’
‘Me, neither. In fact, I think we are both wearing too much, don’t you? Shall we do something about that?’ Unclipping her bra, he tossed it aside and then began to slide her panties down over her thighs, his fingertips whispering enticing little paths along the way, which made her gasp. And then he removed his boxers—edged them off with his feet and gave a shuddering sigh as he felt her nakedness next to his. How long had it been since he had lain with a woman? Long enough for his breath to catch strangely in his throat with an odd sense of discovery as he stroked her delicate skin.
He looked down at her—at the way her long, blonde hair lay spread out over his pillow like a silken cloud. At the curved, feminine body—with its luscious breasts and rounded hips. She was like a goddess, he thought. Yet a goddess who was giving herself to him with sweet abandon. ‘You are beautiful, Cassandra,’ he murmured. ‘And I am a lucky man.’
‘Kiss me,’ she whispered.
Softly, his mouth came down and covered hers. He could feel her body melting into his, her fingers tangling in his hair and the increasingly restless movement of her hips as the kiss deepened. At last he lifted his head and traced the outline of her lips with the tip of his finger. ‘Don’t go away.’