Penniless Virgin To Sicilian's Bride. Melanie Milburne

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ twenty-five years. Young and vulnerable. It was rare for her to show vulnerability and he had yet to see her shed tears. Her default position was anger—or at least in her dealings with him. He didn’t know too much about her dealings with other men. She somehow kept her private life private—rare for someone of her social standing. But that was another reason she was perfect wife material—no salacious scandals in her past.

      ‘You’ll be safe with me, Francesca. I will honour your decision to keep our relationship platonic.’ It nearly killed him to make that promise but he would see it through if she didn’t change her mind. He was not the sort of man to cajole or manipulate a woman into having sex. He didn’t need to.

      ‘Thank you.’ If she was relieved by his promise, she didn’t show it. Her beautiful face was as still as frost on a lawn but behind her grey-blue eyes he sensed a storm was brewing.

      * * *

      Within an hour, Gabriel had organised Frankie’s things to be packed and sent over from her hotel back to Villa Mancini. And now they were seated at an exclusive restaurant a short drive from the villa overlooking Lake Como, the third largest lake in Italy. The mountains beyond rose majestically, creating a stunning backdrop to the deep waters of the lake. Frankie never tired of looking at the view and even though she had been based in London for the last four years, she considered the lake and its surrounds as one of the most beautiful places in the world.

      And it was the place where for a brief space of time she had been held her in her mother’s arms. Of course, she had no conscious memory of her mother, but sometimes she wondered if her infant brain had registered the loss of her mother and twin brother. Wouldn’t that explain the terrible emptiness she felt when she saw mothers with their infant children?

      Frankie was so caught up in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed Gabriel’s steady gaze. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ She picked up her glass with the top shelf French champagne he had selected and took a sip. ‘Mmm, lovely. You have good taste.’

      ‘For a man from the wrong side of the tracks?’ His tone was wry, so too the twist to his mouth.

      Frankie put her glass back down. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—’

      ‘It’s fine, cara.’ He moved the base of the glass in a small and precise quarter turn like he was unlocking the code to a safe.

      ‘Do you ever see him? Your father, I mean?’

      ‘No.’ The word was as final as a full stop.

      ‘When was the last time you saw—’

      ‘Leave it, Francesca.’ His expression had turned to stone. Cold. Hard. Impenetrable stone.

      ‘Why do you always call me Francesca?’

      His eyes met hers across the table and something unfurled in her stomach. ‘It’s a beautiful name. Regal. Sophisticated.’ His voice lowered a notch, the hint of huskiness making the base of her spine fizz.

      ‘Is that how you see me?’ She could have bitten off her tongue for fishing for compliments but couldn’t seem to help herself.

      He picked up his glass but she got the feeling he had only done it to do something with his hands for he didn’t raise it to his lips. ‘I’m not sure you’d want to hear how I see you.’

      ‘Try me. Go on. Tell me.’ Seriously, she should not drink champagne. It loosened her tongue way too much. It made her daring and flirtatious and the one thing she never did was flirt. Never.

      His smile was crooked and so damn sexy she could feel her lower body tingling. ‘You’re a passionate woman underneath that ice princess thing you have going on.’ The husky note was back in his voice and his gaze lingered on her mouth as if he were thinking of how it would respond to his own.

      Frankie’s cheeks could have scorched the top of a crème brûlée. ‘You don’t know anything about me. You just think you do.’

      He gave a soft laugh and tipped his head back to take a sip of his champagne. He put the glass back on the table, watching her with an amused gaze. ‘You’re ashamed of how you’re attracted to me. Nice girls like you don’t do bad boys like me.’

      Frankie was having trouble staying seated. Her lower body was betraying her with hot little flickers of unbidden desire. Desire she didn’t want to feel. Not for him. She wasn’t so much ashamed of her attraction towards him. She was frightened. It was too powerful, too intense, too out of control for her to handle. She picked up her glass again, her posture cool and composed, but inside she was trembling with need. Could he see it? Could he sense it? He seemed to have an uncanny ability to see through the cool mask she wore. ‘I wouldn’t have thought a worldly man like you would be interested in a nice girl. She would be too boring and pedestrian for your taste, would she not?’

      ‘That depends.’

      ‘On what?’

      His dark lustrous eyes pulsed with a message as old as time—hot, raw, earthy male desire. ‘On which nice girl you’re talking about.’

      Frankie chest fluttered like there was a frantic robin trapped in her ribcage. This conversation was getting into dangerous territory. She didn’t flirt with men. Not any more. She had flirted once in the past and a relationship developed out of it, only for her to find out the man had only wanted to date her because of her family wealth and status. He’d been a trophy collector intent on sleeping with her so he could boast about it to his friends. Thankfully she had ended the relationship before the deed was done, although the horrible names he called her made her feel just as sullied.

      But flirting with Gabriel felt different.

      Dangerous, yes, but not because she was afraid of him. She was afraid of herself. Of how she might betray herself by responding to him like a wanton nymph.

      Frankie looked at him over the rim of her crystal champagne flute. ‘Why don’t you want to have children?’ She hadn’t realised she was going to ask the question until it was out of her mouth. But if Gabriel found the abrupt subject change off-putting he gave no indication.

      ‘I don’t feel the need to pass on my genes.’

      ‘Because of your family?’

      His dark gaze had Keep Out written all over it. ‘What about you? Do you want children one day?’ His tone was casual. Almost too casual, as if he was uncomfortable making polite conversation on the subject of kids but was determined not to show it. And he was convincing...except she sensed a wariness in him. It was there in the stillness of his features. A stillness that seemed to involve every muscle in his face, every muscle in his body. Every eyelash fringing those bottomless brown eyes.

      Frankie began to toy with the stem of her glass, her gaze moving out of reach of his to watch the play of her fingers. ‘I don’t know... I figure I’ve got a bit of time before I have to make up my mind.’ She placed her hand back in her lap and looked at him again. ‘I’m not sure what sort of mother I’d be. I mean, I grew up without one. It’s not as if I’ve had a role model, other than nannies and babysitters. And they were paid to look after me. It’s not the same thing, is it?’

      Behind the screen of his gaze something shifted. A flicker. A shadow. A ghost. ‘No. I imagine not.’

      A silence passed.

СКАЧАТЬ