One Night In…. Оливия Гейтс
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blue gaze fixed on his familiar handsome face.
‘Alonso—?’ she gasped in surprise.
‘Si—!’ He laughed, all flashing white teeth, black silk hair and honey-gold beauty. ‘Is this not the greatest surprise of your life?’
CHAPTER TEN
HE BEGAN closing the gap between them, a lean muscled six-foot-two inch-Italian encased in the finest silver-grey suit. A man with so much natural charisma and self-belief that it just would not occur to him that he was anything but a welcome sight to her.
So Rachel found herself engulfed by the pair of arms he folded around her, then found herself being kissed on her cheeks and the tip of her nose, then her surprised, still parted mouth.
She tried to pull back but he was not letting her. ‘I saw you get out of a cab and I could not believe my eyes!’ he exclaimed. ‘And look at you,’ he murmured, running a teasing set of fingers through the bouncy curls on her head. ‘Still my beautiful Rachel.’ He kissed her mouth again. ‘This has to be the best moment of my day!’
Well, not mine, thought Rachel, still rolling on the shock of seeing him. ‘What are you doing here in Milan?’
‘I could ask the same thing of you.’ He grinned down at her. ‘Though I would have to be blind not to know by now that you have captured the heart of Raffaelle Villani, eh? May good fortune always smile upon the bewitching,’ he proposed expansively. ‘He is totally besotted with you, as I was, of course …’
Across the street, on the shady side, sitting languidly at a lunch table with five business associates, Raffaelle happened to glance outside in time to see Rachel walking by on the sunny side of the street.
A smile warmed him from the inside. She looked beautiful in her simple white top and her short blue skirt which left a pleasurable amount of her long legs bare. And her silky blonde hair was shining in the sunlight, recently cut by an expert so the curls tumbled around her neck and her face like sensual kisses.
It was no wonder other men stopped to admire her as she walked past them, he observed, a smile catching the corners of his mouth as he saw one guy in particular actually spin around to take a second look.
Sorry, but she belongs exclusively to me, he heard himself stake the silent claim. Then he started to frown when another thought hit him. Where was Tony? Where was his cousin Carlotta? Why was Rachel out shopping alone when she knew the rules about going out without protection from the ever-watchful press?
The sound of screeching car brakes diverted his attention. A glossy red Ferrari with its top down had pulled to a sudden stop in the street. Its handsome young owner leapt out with lean grace and approached Rachel with his arms thrown open.
She had stopped to stare at him. What took place next lost Raffaelle the power to maintain a grip on his surroundings. The quiet hum of conversation taking place around the lunch table disappeared from his consciousness as he saw her soft pink mouth frame a name.
The man spoke, his gestures expressive, like the rakish smile he delivered as he gathered her into his arms, then kissed her cheeks, her nose and finally, lingeringly, her parted pink mouth.
A mouth that belonged to him. A mouth that did not attempt to draw back from the kiss.
So cold he felt frozen now, Raffaelle watched this other man run his fingers through her curls as he talked.
Small, familiar, intimate gestures. Soft parted pink lips that quivered when she spoke back to him.
They knew each other.
His heart hit his gut because it did not take much intelligence to follow the body language and know without a single hint of doubt who the man had to be.
Alonso. The heartbreaker. He was so sure of it he did not even think to question his certainty.
Had they arranged to meet—right here in broad daylight without a care as to who might see them like this?
How long had they been in touch with each other? Each time he had brought her with him here to Milan?
Was she still in love with him?
Dio. While she stood there in his arms, looking up at him like that, was her heart beating too fast and her throat drying up and her blue eyes helplessly drinking him in?
‘Raffaelle …’
The sound of his name being spoken finally sank into his consciousness. Turning his head, he received the impression that it was not the first time one of his lunch companions had said his name.
‘My apologies,’ he said, managing to add a small grimace. ‘My attention strayed for a few moments.’
‘And why not, when the woman is as beautiful as the one seated in the window?’ one of them said smiling.
Seated? Raffaelle turned again to focus on a table by the restaurant’s window where indeed a very beautiful woman sat smiling ruefully back at him.
He had not noticed her before this moment.
He had not noticed any other women for a long time—not since Rachel came into his life.
His gaze flicked away from the smiling woman and across the street again.
He was in shock. He knew that. He knew that several important things were happening inside him even as he watched Rachel’s other Italian lover fold an arm across her shoulders and guide her towards his car.
Car horns were blaring. The street was alive with impatient car drivers trapped behind Alonso’s car.
‘One quick coffee, then,’ Rachel agreed as he swung open the door and helped her inside.
She should not be doing this. But they were drawing too much attention and getting into Alonso’s car seemed the better of two evils if coffee somewhere was the only way she was going to get rid of him.
Alonso joined her in seconds, sliding into the seat beside her and sending her one of his reckless grins as he slipped the car into gear. He drove them away with a panache that completely disregarded the minor chaos he had been causing in the street.
‘Like old times, eh?’ he laughed at her.
And it was, just like old times, when he had used to sweep up in one fast car or another without a care while he waited for her to scramble in next to him. His handsome carelessness used to excite her then. Now it just scared her witless as she glanced quickly around them as they drove off, hoping she did not see a face she recognised in the street—or worse, a camera flashing.
‘Somewhere quiet, Alonso,’ she told him quickly. ‘I can’t afford to be seen with you.’
‘Scared of what your rich new fiancé will say?’
You bet I am, Rachel thought. ‘I call it respect for his feelings.’
‘And a healthy respect for his bank balance too.’
Before she could challenge that last cynical remark, Alonso pulled into one of the less fashionable squares off the main street. Two minutes later they were sitting opposite each other at one of the pavement cafés that lined the square.
Rachel looked at Alonso and saw a man who worked very hard to look, dress, behave like the man he wished he could be but never would be.
And how did she know that? Because she had spent the last month with the genuine article, a man who didn’t need to work hard at being exclusive and special, he just simply was. It was she who, like Alonso, had to work hard at playing the part of someone she was not.
The comparison hit her low in her stomach.
As if he could tell what she was thinking, ‘You have done very well for yourself,’ Alonso said.
Rachel didn’t answer, giving her attention to the waiter who had come to their table. ‘Espresso,’ she told him. ‘N-no, I don’t