Second Marriage. HELEN BROOKS
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though she was imparting wonderful news, and Claire dredged up a suitable response as her heart kicked and then raced like an express train.
He was here. As Gina closed the door, leaving her alone again, Claire shut her eyes tightly for a moment, her hand pressed against her chest. Calm down, calm down—he’s just a man, for goodness’ sake. There’s nothing special about him. Even as the thought took shape she acknowledged its absurdity, the tall, commanding figure that had been there at the forefront of her mind for days suddenly as real as if he were in the room with her.
Wouldn’t he just love to know he had affected her like this? She opened her eyes wide, straightening her back and setting her mouth determinedly. But he wouldn’t. She’d die first. She didn’t understand this physical attraction that had hit her like a ton of bricks, not when it was for a man she didn’t really know, didn’t want to know and actively disliked. It was humiliating, embarrassing, and without any rhyme or reason, but... her thoughts were her own and he didn’t have access to them, thank goodness.
She was going to have dinner with him tonight, act cool and uninterested, and hopefully he wouldn’t feel obliged to repeat the exercise, having discharged his duties as friend and member of the family. No problem...
The words mocked her a few minutes later as she walked into the drawing room where Romano was waiting. He was sitting in front of the flickering log fire, his long legs stretched out in idle relaxation and his eyes on one of Donato’s car magazines which he was idly glancing through, but at her entrance he slowly lifted his head, his expression unreadable as he saw her in the doorway.
‘Ciao, Claire.’
He was every bit as devastating as she remembered, the black waist-length leather jacket and black jeans emphasising the dark, magnetic power of the man to such an extent that she had to swallow twice before she could say, ‘Good evening, Romano.’
‘That remains to be seen.’ The dark, glossy head tilted with a mocking smile, but such was the look on her face that for the second time in their acquaintance the harsh, husky laugh followed, before he said, ‘I apologise, I am being very rude, but you are so good to tease, you know this? Those big golden-brown eyes look at me as though I am the devil himself, and I find it prompts all sorts of bad thoughts. But do not fear, mia piccola, I will not ravish you in my lair.’
‘No, you won’t,’ she agreed bitingly, bitterly resenting the implication that she was some nervous, naïve female with goo-goo eyes and a brain to match. ‘You won’t get the chance, for one thing.’
‘With any other woman I might take that as a subtle incitement, a challenge,’ he drawled easily. ‘But something tells me you mean every word you say.’
‘Dead right,’ she agreed sharply.
‘So. You are not looking for the good time, the brief Italian romance to carry home with you when you go back to England, sì? This is good. Now we both know where we stand, do we not?’ It was said with that smooth assurance he was so good at, but there was the merest inflexion in the velvet voice that told her he wasn’t quite so pleased as he seemed.
So the dynamic Romano Bellini didn’t like being told exactly how things were by a mere slip of an English girl he wouldn’t normally look at twice? she thought perceptively, a warm glow of satisfaction making her lower her eyes quickly before it was reflected in her expression. Tough.
‘Shall we go?’ She kept her face and voice bland as she raised her head and looked at him again, but then her eyes were caught and held by the magnetic power that was so completely natural and all the more lethal because of it.
‘But of course.’ He rose with animal-like grace, and in spite of all her determination to remain cool and calm her heart thudded crazily as he walked over to her. ‘Here, let me.’
He took her jacket from her unresisting fingers and helped her in to it with an easy charm that was seductive in itself, turning her round with a light touch on her shoulders once she was ready and looking down at her with a strange expression softening the hard, handsome features.
‘I hope you will enjoy visiting my home, Claire,’ he said quietly, all mockery and amusement gone from his face, ‘and that our evening together will be an enjoyable one. You are a guest in Donato’s home, but more than that you are a dear friend of Grace’s, and as such I would like us, too, to be friends. You understand this?’
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