At The Sicilian Count's Command. Carole Mortimer
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while he was here.
And then he recalled that Stephen had casually mentioned there was an ulterior motive to his weekend invitation…
Which had to be meeting this woman, who allowed only her lover to call her Angel.
A woman who made Wolf’s body harden in anticipation just looking at her!
‘This is Wolf—Count Gambrelli—Angel,’ Stephen told her lightly, his blue gaze warm as he introduced the two of them. He was still a handsome man, despite his fifty-eight years. His dark hair having silvered only at the temples, and his body was still lithe and slim in his black evening suit.
‘Count Gambrelli.’ Angelica nodded a greeting, her eyes widening slightly when the Count didn’t let go of her hand after their introduction but continued to hold it in his firm grip long after politeness dictated he should have released her.
She’d heard of Count Carlo—Wolf Gambrelli—of course. An Italian playboy whom the press enjoyed writing about, both on a personal and professional level, his success in business was only circumvented by his prowess with women, which had long ago earned him the nickname of ‘Wolf’—a name he seemed to have made entirely his own!
Looking at him, his reputation as a consummate womaniser wasn’t too difficult to believe: Wolf Gambrelli was one of the most lethally attractive men Angelica had ever seen.
His shoulder-length hair was a rich burnished gold, rather than the darker colouring she would have expected in a Sicilian. But his skin was a rich mahogany, his eyes a deep, unfathomable brown, and his high cheekbones jutted either side of a patrician nose under which his mouth sat, full and sensuous, above a squarely determined chin. Tall and elegant in a black tie and tuxedo and a snowy-white dress shirt, his outer sophisticated trappings did little to hide the leanly powerful body beneath: wide shoulders, tapered waist, and long, long legs.
Yes, Wolf Gambrelli was a lethally attractive man. But even on a few minutes’ acquaintance Angelica detected that he was also a man all too aware of his own power, and that he emanated a ruthlessness which indicated he wouldn’t hesitate to use his looks or his wealth to get what—or who—he wanted.
‘Please call me Wolf,’ he invited softly.
Angelica made a point of releasing her hand even as she gave him a coolly dismissive smile.
It was a coolness that aroused a desire in Wolf to peel her black dress from her temptingly curvaceous body and lay her down on the carpet, to caress and kiss her until she was wanton in his arms!
But at the same time Wolf knew that Stephen’s possessive male arm about her slender shoulders was a warning to him that Angelica Harper was Stephen’s exclusive property…
Wolf studied Angelica Harper from between narrowed lids. Why was such a young and beautiful woman involved with a man so much her senior? For his money? Now that Stephen was widowed, was she hoping to become one of those trophy wives? A woman who traded on her youth and beauty in order to trap herself a rich husband? Stephen certainly looked besotted enough to offer her that!
‘Drink, Angel?’ Stephen asked.
‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ Angelica Harper accepted huskily. ‘Is this a long or short visit to England, Wolf?’ she turned to enquire politely, once Stephen had crossed the room to pour her a glass of chilled white wine from the bottle the butler had brought in earlier.
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ Wolf found himself replying, his attention caught and held by the peachy-pearl fullness of Angelica Harper’s lips.
Lips that were surely made for kissing and being kissed…!
‘Here we are.’ Stephen’s smile included both Wolf and Angelica as he returned with the glass of wine, handing it to her before once again draping his arm lightly about her shoulders. ‘You’re looking exceptionally lovely this evening, Angel,’ he complimented, his blue eyes warmly appreciative. ‘Don’t you think so, Wolf?’ he prompted proudly.
Wolf’s mouth tightened as he noted the delicate blush that had entered Angelica’s creamy cheeks. This woman was undoubtedly beautiful—mesmerisingly so. But the fact that she obviously belonged exclusively to another man made null and void the primitive urge Wolf had to claim Angelica for his own!
‘Angelica is very beautiful,’ he acknowledged noncommitally, none of his inner turmoil visible.
What was wrong with him?
He had seen and physically known dozens of beautiful women. Blonde, brunettes, redheads. Other women with hair as ebony as Angelica Harper’s. So what was it about this particular woman that made him want to fling Stephen’s arm from her shoulders and throw her over his own shoulder, to carry her off like some marauding Viking?
Just imagining the things he would like to do to her once he had carried her off made his body pulse hotly!
Angelica gave Stephen a questioning look from beneath lowered lashes, knowing him too well by now to be fooled by the lightness of his tone, and aware that there was some sort of purpose behind Wolf Gambrelli being here with them this weekend. After months of sharing a home with Stephen at weekends, whenever their mutual commitments allowed, she knew that he rarely did or said anything that didn’t have a purpose or ulterior motive.
Quite what purpose there was behind Wolf Gambrelli’s visit here, she as yet had no idea!
Although she did find the intensity of Wolf Gambrelli’s dark gaze more than a little unnerving. His first searing appraisal of her had felt as if he had stripped her dress from her body and gazed his fill of her nakedness—something that made her feel hot all over.
Which was ridiculous!
Wolf Gambrelli was a Sicilian playboy of such repute that there wasn’t a month that went by without one glossy magazine or another featuring a couple of pages of photo spreads of his latest relationship. The man seemed to change his women as often as he changed the silk sheets reputed to be on his bed!
All of which proved he was exactly the type of man Angelica had absolutely no intention of being attracted to!
‘I believe it’s time for us to go in to dinner,’ she said with some relief as she saw Holmes, Stephen’s butler, hovering in the doorway.
Coming from an ordinary home, which she’d shared with her parents and two younger sisters, and then having shared a flat with three other girls while at university, she still found the opulence of Stephen’s lifestyle a little overwhelming at times—felt she would have just liked to cook the two of them a meal occasionally, which they would eat at the kitchen table. But that was something that Stephen had assured her was a definite no-no; the kitchen and servants’ quarters in both his London and his country home were completely off-limits to her.
‘Perhaps you would like to escort Angel into dinner, Wolf…?’ Stephen suggested as he removed his arm from her shoulders. ‘Much as I would like to, I appreciate I can’t keep her all to myself,’ he added huskily.
‘Certainly,’ the Sicilian Count moved obligingly to her side, holding out his arm invitingly.
Angelica shot Stephen another questioning look before placing her hand lightly on Wolf Gambrelli’s arm, aware of the hardness beneath her fingers, like tempered steel beneath silk, as he moved with the grace of a natural athlete.
Although quite when this man found the time, between the bedroom and the boardroom, to hone his body to such muscled perfection, she couldn’t imagine!
She removed her hand from his arm as quickly as possible when they reached the dining room—although her relief was short-lived as he moved to pull her chair back for her to sit down. His silky blond hair brushed lightly against her bare shoulder as he bent down to push the chair in behind her, the slightly elusive smell of his cologne invading her senses as she felt the warmth of his breath dangerously close to her earlobe.
Angelica moved sharply away from his slightly overwhelming proximity, at the same time frowning her irritation; there