In the Italian's Sights. HELEN BROOKS
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she prevaricated. ‘I don’t know you, do I?’
‘This is true, but I do not think it has stopped you forming an opinion.’ As she began to swim, he kept by her side. ‘Are you always so quick to make erroneous judgements?’
His voice was mild, but it didn’t fool her for a moment. She had got under his skin, it was obvious, but any satisfaction she might have felt about denting his giant ego was negated by a feeling of defencelessness. Not that she thought he would hurt her—she didn’t—but…
Forcing a calmness into her voice that was all at odds with her wildly beating heart, she said, ‘I told you. I have no opinion about you one way or the other, OK? You might have a woman for every day of the week or you could live like a monk. You were the one who talked about all those daughters of marriagable age being paraded before you, remember?’
They had reached the shallow end of the pool, where large circular steps led gently into the water. Cherry didn’t know whether to climb out or continue swimming, but in the next moment Vittorio murmured, ‘Ah, here is Margherita. I thought it would be nice to have cocktails by the pool tonight before dinner.’
He seriously expected her to sit half-naked drinking cocktails with him? Worse, the scrap of material posing as swimming trunks which all Italian men seemed to favour left nothing, absolutely nothing, to the imagination. The water was cold but Cherry felt hot all over as she watched the housekeeper’s approach.
Would she be reacting differently to his intimidating masculinity if she’d gone to bed with a man before? she asked herself feverishly as Vittorio stood up, offering his hand to her as he stood on the bottom step leading out of the pool. Possibly because she knew Angela had always slept around, even having two or three boyfriends on the go now and again, Cherry had always determined she would wait for ‘the one’ before she gave herself body and soul. She supposed in hindsight it said a lot for her lack of confidence that she and Liam would actually last, that she hadn’t given in to his constant demands that their lovemaking progress beyond the petting stage. Introducing him to Angela had been the big test. And he’d failed. Spectacularly. But had it really been a surprise?
Realising she couldn’t do anything other than take Vittorio’s hand, she, too, stood up, blessing the fact she was wearing her chaste swimming costume, its colour and cut modest. What she didn’t comprehend was that when the material was wet it clung to her body like a second skin, showing every dip and curve in a way more skimpy bikinis couldn’t hope to achieve. And then she glanced at Vittorio and saw the blazing animal desire turning the grey eyes into hot glittering orbs, before his lids came down and hid their expression from her.
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