The Chatsfield: Series 2. Кейт Хьюит
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dart of awareness pierced him, surprising him.
He heard the door click behind him and he had the most bizarre urge to turn around and escape. Fast. He pushed it down. He’d agreed to this cold-blooded agreement for lots of reasons, but also because he’d decided that he could handle a marriage that was a business transaction, not an emotional or romantic endeavour.
He steeled himself and turned to face Keelin again. For a second something about her over-the-top look felt slightly off but he got distracted by those unbelievably long legs and that impressive cleavage. Dio. He’d expected fresh-faced natural beauty. An intelligent refined woman, not a tarted-up society girl.
Keelin waved an arm to indicate the hundreds of luxe bags and gushed, ‘Thank you so much for the welcome gift of the credit card, such a thoughtful gesture. Shopping in Rome is my absolute favourite. It’s made me feel right at home.’
She glanced up from under her lashes in a way that set his teeth on edge, even as he realised that under all that smoky eye make-up her eyes were as huge and stunning as he might have expected. A kind of mossy green he’d never seen before.
‘I’m afraid I saw the word trousseau and I got a little excited. They’re delivering the rest tomorrow.’
‘The rest?’ He blanched at that, eyes widening slightly.
‘Oh, yes.’ She trilled a little laugh. ‘This is just a few things to keep me going.
‘Actually—’ she looked around speculatively and bit her lip ‘—the Harrington Hotel is a beautiful hotel, Mr Delucca, but I’m used to a little more space. At The Chatsfield, for instance, they’re so wonderful about storing shopping.’
Gianni bit down the distaste—he’d chosen this hotel because of its hushed discreet exclusivity. The Chatsfield’s opulent luxuriousness tended to attract more attention, which Gianni instinctively shied away from.
‘Anyway,’ Keelin said brightly, drawing Gianni’s attention back to her, ‘this is fine for now, and I just heard a rumour that Sheikh Zayn and Sophie Parsons might be staying here.’ She rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘Did you see the pictures of their wedding? So glamorous and romantic. I’d love to catch a glimpse of them.’
No, Gianni thought grimly. He hadn’t seen pictures of some society wedding. However, it rang a bell and he did recall something now about James Chatsfield hitting the headlines again for living up to his playboy reputation in some exclusive ski resort, which was just another reason to prefer the discretion of The Harrington.
Keelin was smiling at him guilelessly. She looked sweet but vacant. And for the first time Gianni felt something inside him tighten in rejection of a wife who would be little more than a glossy appendage on the end of his arm. Even though that’s what he’d told himself he’d be happy with for the sake of a deal.
Before he could formulate another sentence though, Keelin had moved over to a small table with an ice bucket on top. As she bent forward slightly Gianni couldn’t help but let his eyes follow the lean lines of her body. She was slim and toned, yet as undeniably curvy as she’d been in the photo. That at least hadn’t lied.
The swell of her breast against the taut material of the dress made heat pulse in his groin. It confounded him. His head rejected everything about this woman but his body was running to a different beat. A much more visceral one.
Keelin was pouring the sparkling golden liquid into a glass. She turned back to him and said brightly, ‘Champers?’
Gianni noticed that she had full lips and the slightest overbite, an anomaly that made him think of carnal things, like how her mouth would look wrapped around—
‘I love champagne, a little weakness of mine, I’m afraid.’
She was thrusting a full glass at him and breaking apart the completely unwelcome X-rated image before he could respond. Gianni took it and watched as she turned to put the bottle back, the tight black sheath of her designer dress stretching over those curves again, teasing him.
When she turned back, his eyes tracked to her breasts and she caught him looking, but before he could lambast himself for this completely unsuave behaviour, she was saying excitedly, ‘Do you like the look? I love Italian designers.’
She held up her glass and smiled brightly. ‘Cheers, Mr Delucca.’
Gianni forced down the sense of things veering out of his control to see that wide smile caked in so much lipstick. He held up his glass too. He would not be deterred by some bad taste and heavy make-up. Or by the fact that the photo he’d seen must have been taken when she was sixteen.
All this woman needed was a little finessing. He would hire an expert stylist to make her over. Already he was imagining what she might look like without that dreadful tan job and make-up. In a dress that flowed over her curves.
He felt as if some measure of control was returning for the first time since she’d opened the suite door. He smiled. ‘Please call me Gianni.’
For a second he thought he saw a flash of something like panic in those huge eyes but it disappeared and she frowned, a small line marring the otherwise smooth perfection of her forehead. ‘But isn’t your name Giancarlo?’
Her Irish accent mangled his name charmingly. ‘I prefer Gianni.’
She shrugged and smiled before throwing back at least half a glass of the champagne in one go. ‘Gianni, it is then.’
She reached for the bottle again to refill her glass and a memory of his drunk father exploded into his head. Angry and unsettled at that intrusive and unwelcome image because it reminded him of so much more, Gianni put his glass down on a nearby table.
She looked at him, surprised, and he said abruptly, ‘I’m afraid I can’t indulge. I just came to see how you were settling in. Needless to say we have lots to talk about.’
She looked at him blankly for a moment before what he said seemed to register and then she let out a slightly embarrassed giggle. ‘Oh, you mean the wedding. Of course, silly me. Yes, lots to talk about.’
She threw back more champagne and the action alternately annoyed and aroused him. His recent sense of being in control eroding slightly. ‘We’ll meet downstairs in the bar at seven-thirty?’
She nodded enthusiastically. ‘Fab, can’t wait.’
Gianni pulled a card out of his inside pocket and handed it to her; for a moment she did that blank thing again before taking it.
He quashed the flash of irritation and explained, ‘Those are my private numbers in case you need to contact me in the meantime.’
She looked at him and smiled and for a second lust rose again to drown out all of the very mixed things Gianni was feeling. This meeting had definitely been surreal and disturbing in a way he hadn’t expected.
He backed away, determined not to allow the sense of disappointment to rise. ‘Till later, Keelin. I look forward to getting to know you.’ He had to quash the uncharitable thought that there wasn’t much more to know.
She tipped her glass towards him and some champagne sloshed out onto the stunning carpet but she was oblivious. ‘Ciao.’ She giggled, ‘See? I’m already practically fluent.’
Gianni smiled but it was hard. He let himself out of the suite and took the lift back to the lobby and strode back out to this waiting car. The sense of relief was enormous. But he refused to be dissuaded by the fact that his evidently not very bright fiancée had apparently spent what looked to him to be the national debt of a small country in the space of a few hours. He’d given her the credit card after all, as a little sweetener. So, she was a shopaholic? What woman wasn’t? He just needed to guide her in a more tasteful direction.
As his car moved off smoothly into the Rome traffic, a muscle pulsed in his jaw. He didn’t mind the prospect of making over his fiancée; after all, style was something that