CHAPTER EIGHT

      WHERE WAS DRAGO? Jess glanced at the clock for the hundredth time, and her tension escalated when she saw that it was ten to eight. Any minute now the party guests would begin to arrive, expecting to be greeted by their host. Instead they would be met by a hostess whose social skills were sadly inadequate, she thought, feeling another stab of nervousness at the prospect of the evening ahead. Fortunately Drago’s butler Francesco was his usual unflappable self, and had informed her that the household staff had completed all the preparations for the party.

      Leaving her bedroom, which she had never actually slept in during her stay at the palazzo but used as a dressing room, she walked back to the master suite and felt weak with relief when Drago strolled into the sitting room from his bedroom.

      ‘There you are!’ Her relief gave way to anger as she watched him calmly adjust his cufflinks as if he had all the time in the world. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.’

      His brows lifted. ‘Why, cara, I didn’t know you cared,’ he drawled.

      ‘I meant I was worried you wouldn’t get back in time.’ She fell silent, puzzled by his attitude, and by the strange feeling that he was avoiding her gaze. ‘Were you delayed at the hospital? How is Angelo?’

      ‘He’s fine.’ Perhaps realising that he had sounded curt, Drago finally looked at her. ‘We’ll talk about him later,’ he said obliquely.

      He smiled suddenly, and Jess felt a familiar knee-jerk reaction as he roamed his eyes over her.

      His voice softened. ‘You look amazing, mia bella. The dress is perfect for you.’

      She flushed, feeling stupidly shy. ‘It’s a beautiful dress. I’ve never worn anything like it before.’

      The full-length royal blue satin gown that Jess had discovered in her room when she had gone to change for the party was exquisite; the deceptively simple design flattered her slender figure and the crystal studded shoulder straps and narrow belt gave the dress extra glamour. One of the maids had helped her with her hair, and had swept it up into a sleek chignon. Three-inch sliver stiletto sandals gave her additional height, and when Jess had studied her reflection in the mirror she had been shocked to see herself looking so elegant.

      ‘Is the dress from the Cassa di Cassari range of clothes?’

      ‘No. I asked the designer Torre Umberto to make it especially for you. This will be a perfect accessory for the dress.’

      As he walked towards her Drago took something from his pocket. Jess gasped when he held it up and she saw that it was a strand of glittering diamonds interspersed with square-cut sapphires.

      ‘I don’t think I should wear it. Supposing I lose it?’ she said nervously. A little shiver ran through her when she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck as he fastened the necklace around her throat.

      ‘Of course you won’t lose it.’ He turned her towards the mirror and she caught her breath at the sight of the diamonds sparkling with fiery brilliance against her skin.

      ‘I feel like I’ve stepped into the pages of a fairy tale,’ she whispered, staring at the reflection of the beautiful woman whom she hardly recognised as herself, and the dark, dangerously attractive man standing behind her. She gave another shiver when Drago bent his head and trailed his lips down the length of her slender white neck. In the mirror she watched his eyes glitter with a look she knew so well, and his hunger for her made her insides melt.

      He turned her to face him, but instead of kissing her, as she longed for him to do, he stepped away from her and ran a hand through his hair.

      ‘Jess…we need to talk.’

      Puzzled that he seemed uncharacteristically ill at ease, she said quietly, ‘What about?’

      He cursed at the sound of a knock on the door, and strode across the room to open it. After a brief conversation with the butler he glanced back at her, his frustration that they had been interrupted revealed in his taut voice. ‘Francesco says that some of the guests have arrived. We had better go down and greet them.’

      Her foster-mother had had a habit of quoting proverbs, and one in particular—You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear—had never seemed more appropriate, Jess brooded later in the evening. Thanks to the haute couture dress she was wearing she did not look out of place among the glamorous women party guests. But it had quickly become apparent that she did not fit into Drago’s rarefied world of the sophisticated super-rich.

      Dinner had been a nightmare; she hadn’t known which cutlery to use for each course, and she’d managed to knock over a glass of wine belonging to the guest sitting next to her. One of the waiters had calmly mopped up the mess, but she’d felt everyone’s eyes on her and wanted to die of embarrassment.

      The fact that she did not speak Italian had not proved a problem, as most of the guests spoke English, but while they’d discussed a range of subjects including politics, current affairs and the arts, Jess had struggled to find something to say. She knew nothing about opera, she had never skied in Aspen—or anywhere else for that matter—and enquiries about her chosen career were met with surprise followed by an awkward silence when she revealed that she ran a decorating company.