Ruthlessly Bedded, Forcibly Wedded. ABBY GREEN
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that impression. He seemed far too sophisticated for that. Undoubtedly he was rich—she could tell that from a mile away—and that thought alone put him in a place that made her shudder. She’d had enough of millionaires to last her a lifetime, having grown to despise the power they desired and wielded, the lifestyles they craved. She contemplated asking one of the staff to get her things for her, so as to avoid seeing him again, but then shook off the silly fear. She could handle it if he was still there, or if he was gone…
When Cara walked back into the VIP section, though, all her recent words and self-avowals flew out of the window.
He was gone.
Even though she’d half expected it, the disappointment that ripped through her left her swaying unsteadily. She was still trying to come to terms with the crushing feeling and what it meant when one of the barmen, Joe, handed her a note. She opened the piece of paper, it was from Rob, hastily written.
Sweetie, I’ve had to go—a domestic crisis with Simon has come up. Call you tomorrow before you go! Robbie X.
Cara shook her head wryly, even as she had to admit that the pounding of her heart told her she’d hoped that the note might be from Enzo. Which was ridiculous. They’d spoken for mere minutes.
Just as she was turning to go she spotted her phone on the bar and went to retrieve it, grabbing her coat too.
A sound came from behind Cara, then a cool familiar voice. ‘Am I too late to ask if you’d share another drink with me?’
Intense relief rushed through her. He hadn’t gone! Cara turned around and looked up into that face. He was even taller than she had imagined, holding his coat casually over one arm. A zing of sensation rippled through her, stronger than before, making her forget her vow to leave. All she knew in that moment, as irrational as it was, was that she didn’t want him to walk away again. That feeling of relief was too strong to ignore.
All she could manage was to shake her head. She was sinking into those fascinating eyes again, mesmerised by the harsh beauty of his face. A couple of people came in, jostling past them, chattering. Leaving them in their own little bubble. She flushed at how needy she felt, how unsure and at sea with all these sensations and achings he was causing within her. How had she ever thought for a second that she’d be able to walk away?
Enzo’s eyes glittered with some intent that made her feel weak. ‘Good. I’ve organised a private booth and a bottle of champagne.’
Liquid heat seemed to pool in Cara’s groin. She was unable to respond with any coherence, and Enzo took her by the arm and led her over to where one of the waitresses was showing them into a plush velvet booth, half hidden by a thick ornate drape. Cara could only breathe in a jerky sigh of relief when Enzo took one side of the booth, leaving her to occupy the other side. He sat back and stretched out an arm across the back of the seat, causing his shirt to tighten across his chest. Hard flat nipples stood out against the material and Cara squirmed on her seat.
‘So…’ he drawled. ‘Here we are.’
A sudden tension spiked the air. She couldn’t understand why, even as she nodded warily. He leant forward then, his face coming into the soft light thrown by a hanging lamp over their heads. He truly was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Her insides clenched.
‘Tell me, do you come here often?’
The words, usually such a cliché uttered by hapless men, sounded completely different when he said them.
Cara smiled a small, wry smile. ‘It’s like my second home.’ She heard her words and saw immediately how they might be misconstrued. She hurried to clarify. ‘That is, of course, because I—’
At that moment the waitress returned with the champagne, stopping Cara’s explanation that she worked there. And by the time Enzo had dismissed the girl and filled their glasses Cara had forgotten what he’d asked her.
‘Let’s drink to this evening.’
Cara frowned lightly, but clinked her glass to his. It felt cool in her hand, the vintage wine sparkling in the light with a thousand bubbles. ‘Why this evening?’
He took a sip of wine, and Cara was aware of the strong column of his throat as it worked. ‘Because I think it will prove…cathartic.’
What an odd thing to drink to, Cara thought, and took a sip of her own wine, savouring the bubbles as they burst down her throat. She couldn’t quite believe that she was sitting here, in her work clothes, sipping champagne with this enigmatic man. In all her time working here she’d never met anyone with even an nth of his dynamism—and some of the wealthiest men in the world came into this exclusive club. It had been her brother’s favourite haunt—that was how she’d got her job.
At least her dress was adequate enough, simple and black. Her only gripe was that it was far too short, but Simon, the manager, Rob’s boyfriend, insisted on her looking the part as the main hostess of the club. And with Barney there to protect her from unwanted attention she generally avoided lecherous situations. Something Simon had been aware of when he’d hired her, as he’d felt she was too young at the time to work in the club proper. In the end, he’d kept her on the door.
‘Tell me about yourself, Cara.’
He was doing it again, that subtle inflection, changing the pronunciation of her name. Something about his expression caught her for a moment, some sense of familiarity or déjà vu, but she couldn’t catch it. She was so tempted to do exactly what Rob had advocated—lose herself a little, allow this stranger to help her forget her pain and sorrow.
There would be time for that in spades when she went home and tried to start over. At the thought of that, the threat from last night crashed back into her head. For a second she almost felt overwhelmed with it all, and had to struggle valiantly to bury the fear again. But just for now, surely she could pretend with this man that everything was okay—couldn’t she?
Enzo’s eyebrows rose. ‘You did a degree in business and accountancy?’
Cara nodded, still inordinately proud of the degree she’d finally obtained in recent weeks after a long, hard slog, not sure why he sounded so incredulous. Perhaps he was one of these men who didn’t believe that women should get qualifications and work? Yet he didn’t seem like that kind of man. The champagne bottle stood half empty. She had a delightfully light feeling in her head. She felt as if she’d been living in some sort of haze all her life and now everything was crystal-clear. Despite the fact that she’d only just met Enzo, she’d found him easy to talk to—and that was a revelation when she’d never done this with anyone before.
‘But you didn’t go to college?’
Cara frowned, she’d been intent on Enzo’s mouth and now she blushed—which she seemed to be doing every two minutes in his company. ‘Did I say that?’ That was funny. She couldn’t remember telling him about studying from home.
‘You’re right, I didn’t.’ She was wondering how they’d got onto this subject when a beep came from nearby. He excused himself and reached into the pocket of the jacket beside him to pull out his phone, answering the incoming call with an apologetic smile, saying something about an ill father. Cara shooed away his apology and signalled that she would leave, to give him privacy, but his hand snaked out and caught her wrist, pulling her back.
As he spoke in rapid Italian he kept his eyes on hers, and his thumb started moving in little circles on the underside of her wrist. Cara had to stop herself from groaning out loud. Did the man have any idea what he was doing to her? But she couldn’t take her eyes away from his either. As she watched, a hard expression came into them. His hand tightened on hers fractionally, but he didn’t stop that seductive motion with his thumb. Cara knew she could have pulled away if she’d wanted to, but for the life of her she couldn’t. Was that giving him some tacit signal? To her shame, she knew that she hoped it was. What was this madness?
He ended his conversation and slipped the phone back into his jacket. He let go of her hand,