The Italian Millionaire's Virgin Wife. Diana Hamilton
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only have thought I hadn’t been listening to a word he’d said.’ Which she hadn’t. Only she couldn’t, for shame, further confess that she’d been too busy wondering if he was about to kiss her and coming over all silly and unnecessary!
‘Coronet,’ Carly mused. ‘I’d have heard, surely, if there was a new ultra-expensive brand of perfume or make-up about to hit the market. Whatever, it’s bound to be something eye-wateringly glamorous! Jewellery, perhaps? His agency’s famous for handling the top end of the glitz market—they don’t touch dreary stuff like washing powder and loo cleaners!’
After listening to a lot more on the same lines—like her face would become a national byword for all that was glamorous and sophisticated, not to mention her fortune—and promising to ask Andreo if she had his permission to invite Carly over one evening, Mercy ended the call, curled up more comfortably and wallowed in what her friend had said.
Could it really be possible that the super-charismatic, utterly gorgeous Italian legend had seen something that her mirror had staunchly withheld from her? That he had looked at her with desire? That he had been about to kiss her but had held back, afraid such an action might spoil their working relationship? The idea sent delicious tremors zipping down her spine.
Then, coming to her senses, obliterating the schoolgirl fantasies, which up until now she had never been prey to, she posed another question.
Could pigs fly?
In any case, she wouldn’t want him to kiss her, would she? she told herself firmly, regaining her fabled common sense. No doubt he’d be very good at it, whirling a girl off to paradise with practised ease. But what girl with any self-respect and half a brain in her head would want to be romanced by a man with the morals of a feral tom-cat and the attention span of a toddler where the females in his life were concerned?
Sitting in front of a huge mirror, dazzled by lights that were shining straight into her face, Mercy could hardly contain her excitement or the nerves that were making her bloodstream fizz and her stomach lurch.
Having delivered her, Andreo had disappeared, and Make-up and Wardrobe were in a huddle in the doorway. Several utterly lovely scantily-clad females and one blond male model type had wandered through during the time she’d been left here to stew. And wonder. If she knew what she was supposed to say and do…
Smartly switching that thought off because it only served to make her even more nervous and more convinced than ever that she couldn’t act to save her life and would be thrown off the set and lose the fat fee that would be such a help to James, she turned her mind to calmer thoughts.
Since she’d agreed to do as he’d asked, her boss had been sweetness and light, coming home for supper every evening, inviting her to join him and entrancing her with the dry humour that made for effortless conversation. He hadn’t even shown the slightest irritation with her unclued-up state when she’d broached the subject of housekeeping money, merely giving her that toe-curling smile and explaining, ‘Knox ordered whatever was needed from Harrods. All you have to do is pick the phone up, take delivery and leave me to pay the bills.’
‘Such profligacy!’ she’d scolded, quite unable to help herself. ‘I could shop much more cheaply. I have plenty of time to spare to head for the markets and find bargains! Have you never heard the saying—look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves?’
He’d thrown back his handsome head and roared with laughter, covering her with confusion and making her blush to the roots of her hair as she considered the fact that the super-wealthy would never need to bother themselves with penny-pinching trifles. In future she’d keep her mouth zipped on the subject of economy drives.
They’d rubbed along remarkably well, considering, she reflected. And she’d got over her silliness. Of course she thought he was an absolute dish—what woman wouldn’t? And she could be excused for being unable to take her eyes off him, couldn’t she? He was so exotic. Like a peacock in a flock of grey geese. So of course she would find him utterly fascinating; she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t. That didn’t mean she was interested in him in a man/woman way. As if!
No, the right man for her would be steady and reliable, faithful, good husband and father material, and it wouldn’t matter a toss what he looked like or how much money he had stashed away in the bank!
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