Christmas With A Tycoon: The Italian's Christmas Child / The Greek's Christmas Bride. LYNNE GRAHAM

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Are you crazy? You’re one of the most eligible bachelors in the world and you picked up some random woman? A waitress? he had scoffed in a tone of posh disbelief.

      In fact, Apollo’s comments had annoyed Vito so much that he had fiercely regretted confiding in his friend. He had told himself that it was for the best that Holly had walked away without fanfare, freeing them both from the threat of an awkward parting. He had also reminded himself that attempting to repeat a highly enjoyable experience invariably led to disappointment. With the information he had had he could have traced her but he had resisted the urge with every atom of discipline he possessed. Self-control was hugely important to Vito and Holly had obliterated his self-control. He remembered that he had acted oddly with her and that memory made him uncomfortable. Even so he still hadn’t forgotten her. In fact he was eager to see her because his memories of her had lingered to the extent that he had become disturbingly indifferent to other women and more particular than ever in his choices. He wanted to see Holly in full daylight, shorn of the schmaltzy sparkle of the festive season. He was suddenly convinced that such a disillusionment would miraculously knock him back to normality.

      But why the hell would Holly be seeking him out now so long after the event? And in person rather than more tactfully by phone? And how had she linked him to the Zaffari Bank? Black brows lowering over cold dark eyes suddenly glittering with suspicion, Vito strode back into his office to await his visitor without an appointment.

      Holly smiled and stood up when the receptionist approached her. In spite of her apprehension, Vito had remembered her and she was relieved. The Santa hat had been designed to jog his memory. After all, a male who indulged in sex parties might well not recall one night with an ordinary woman from over a year earlier. When it came to a question of morals he was a total scumbag, Holly reminded herself doggedly while walking down the corridor after another woman—even more thin and elegant—had asked her to follow her. She wondered why the other people working there seemed to be peering out of their offices in her direction and staring.

      Suddenly she wondered what she was doing. Did she really want a man of Vito’s dissolute proclivities in her life and Angelo’s? Common sense warned her not to make snap judgements and to give Vito a chance for Angelo’s sake. Her son would want to know who his dad was. Hadn’t she wondered all her life who had fathered her? Hadn’t that made her insecure? Made her feel less of a person than others because she didn’t know that most basic fact about herself? No, Angelo deserved access to the truth of his parentage right from the start and that was what Holly would ensure her son had, no matter how unpleasant seeing Vito again proved to be.

      Vito was a total scumbag, Holly reminded herself afresh while wondering why she was experiencing the strangest sense of...elation. Why was her heart pounding and her adrenaline buzzing? Her guide opened a door and stood back for her to enter. My goodness, he had a big office, typical scumbag office, she rephrased mentally. She would not be impressed; she refused to be impressed. And then Vito strode in through a side door and she was paralysed to the carpet because he simply looked so drop-dead amazing that she could not believe that she had ever slept with him and that he was the father of her child.

      Her mouth ran dry. She felt dizzy. Butterflies danced in her tummy as she focused on those lean, darkly handsome features, and she knew that Pixie would have kicked her hard. Total scumbag, she told herself, but her brain would not engage with that fact and was much more interested in opening a back catalogue on Vito’s sheer perfection. To look at—perfect to look at, she rephrased doggedly, striving to get back to the scumbag awareness. Drugs...sex with hookers, she fired at herself in desperation.

      ‘The hat and the holly were an original calling card,’ Vito drawled, the dark, deep accent tautening every muscle in her already tense body. ‘But I did remember your name. I didn’t need the prompt.’

      Holly turned the red-hot colour of a tomato because she hadn’t expected him to grasp the reasoning behind her introduction that easily.

      ‘It would have been much easier to phone me,’ Vito assured her silkily.

      ‘And how could I have done that without your phone number?’ Holly asked stiffly, because she was determined to make no reference to the fact that she had left her phone number with him and that he had decided not to make use of it. Discussing that would be far, far too humiliating.

      ‘Well, maybe you shouldn’t have run out on me before I got back to the cottage that day.’ Vito smiled suddenly, brilliantly. It almost stopped her heart dead in its tracks as she stared at him. But it had not sat well with Vito that a night he had considered exceptional should have meant so much less to her that she’d walked out without a backward glance. Her reappearance satisfied him. He now felt free to study her with acute appreciation. She was wearing the most ordinary garments: a sweater, a shortish skirt, a jacket and boots, all black and all unremarkable but the glorious hourglass curves he cherished could not be concealed. His dark eyes flamed gold over the swell of her breasts below the wool and the lush curve of her hips before flying up to her full pink mouth, little snub nose and huge blue eyes. Shorn of the schmaltz and the sparkle and in full daylight, Holly was passing the test he had expected her to fail and for the first time in Vito’s life, failure actually tasted sweet. He shifted almost imperceptibly as the hot swell of an erection assailed him and he almost smiled at that as well because his diminished libido had seriously bothered him.

      ‘How did you find out who I was?’ Vito enquired.

      ‘Yes, that’s right...you lied. You gave me a false name,’ Holly was prompted to recall as she struggled to fight free of the spell he cast over her just by being in the same room.

      ‘It wasn’t a false name. I didn’t lie. I was christened Vittore Sorrentino Zaffari,’ he told her, smooth as glass. ‘Sorrentino was my father’s surname.’

      That smoothness set Holly’s teeth on edge. ‘You lied,’ she said again. ‘You deliberately misled me. What I don’t understand is why you did that.’

      ‘You must appreciate that I am very well known in the business world. I prefer to be discreet. You coming here today in such a manner...’ Vito shifted fluid brown fingers in an expressive dismissive gesture. ‘That was indiscreet.’ From his inside pocket he withdrew a business card and presented it to her. ‘My phone number.’

      Holly put the card into her jacket pocket because she didn’t know what else to do with it. Indiscreet? Coming to see him in the flesh was indiscreet?

      Dark golden eyes fringed by inky black, unfairly long lashes surveyed her and her tummy flipped, her heart rate increasing. ‘Holly...I have the feeling that you don’t understand where I’m going with this but I must be frank. I like to keep my private life private. I certainly do not want it to intrude when I’m at the bank. My working hours are sacrosanct.’

      My word, he was literally telling her off for approaching him at his place of work, for coming to see him where other people would see her and notice her. A sense of deep humiliation pierced Holly because it had taken so much courage for her to come and confront him with the news she had. His case was not helped by the reality that she had seen a photo of him and his ex-fiancée, Marzia, posing outside the Zaffari Bank in Florence. Evidently, Marzia had enjoyed such privileges because she was someone he was proud to be seen with in public. Holly just could not get over Vito’s nerve in daring to talk to her like that. Did he really think she was the sort of woman who would let a man talk down to her?

      Her blue eyes widened and raked over him but it was pointless to try and put him down that way because she couldn’t see a single flaw in his appearance. His dark grey suit fitted him like a tailored glove, outlining his height, breadth and long, powerful legs. And looking at him inevitably sent shards of mortifying memory flying through her already blitzed brain. She knew what he looked like out СКАЧАТЬ