A Sicilian Husband. Kate Walker

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       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘WHAT?’

      The shaken exclamation was pushed from her lips as her nerveless fingers lost their grip on her glass. Slipping from her grasp, it tumbled downwards, spilling its contents on the way, and crashed onto the floor, splintering into a thousand tiny pieces.

      ‘Oh, look what you’ve done now!’

      Even as the words escaped her, she was acknowledging how irrational they were. It was her own disturbed feelings that had twisted her nerves so tight she was ready to jump like a startled cat at the slightest thing. And as for feeling that seeing him had somehow pushed her into making rash decisions about her life, well, that was just nonsense. She had been ready to make a move long before she had ever set eyes on him.

      But acknowledging that fact and reacting accordingly were two totally different things. Especially when she was now up so close to him that she could see that his eyes were closer to bronze than ebony and that fascinating little gold flecks burned like slivers of flame at the heart of their irises.

      ‘Perdone, signorina.’

      The voice was even more devastating close up, too. Pure warm, liquid honey, with just the tiniest touch of gravel in its husky undertone.

      ‘Forgive me…your skirt…’

      A long tanned hand lifted in an autocratic summons to the bartender, and before Terrie even had time to realise just what he had in mind a clean, damp cloth had been provided without a word having to be spoken. The next moment she found herself looking at the top of the stranger’s downbent head, staring fascinated at the sheen on the night-dark strands, as he set himself to wiping away the splashes of wine from her skirt.

      And this was worse than ever. The stroke of the cloth over the lower part of her body, even with the linen of her skirt acting as a buffer, made her heart thud unevenly, her breath catch in her throat. And when he moved lower, wiping away a few glistening droplets that were clinging to the fine nylon of her stockings, she shifted uneasily, uncomfortably.

      He was too close. Far, far too close. If she inhaled she could breathe in some shockingly sensual scent. The tang of bergamot and lemon, mixed with the other, more intensely personal aroma of his skin.

      ‘No—it’s all right… Please…’

      Her skin was prickling with sensation, heat racing through her veins. And when the side of his hand brushed her leg, skin almost touching skin, she had to clamp her mouth tightly shut, teeth digging into her lower lip, against the moan of response that almost escaped her.

      ‘It will dry!’ she declared with more emphasis than was necessary. Anything to stop him, to distract him from these disturbingly intimate attentions. ‘And it’s only a cheap suit.’

      ‘Then let me at least buy you another drink.’

      Terrie was so relieved by the way he straightened up, tossing the cloth onto a nearby table, that she would have agreed to anything. She didn’t spot the look or gesture with which he summoned the bartender, barely heard the swift commanding notes of his order. Yet somehow he had manoeuvred her into a seat at the far side of the room, settling her on the burgundy velvet chair before taking the one opposite her in the privacy of the booth. And the next moment a full glass was brought and placed carefully in front of her.

      ‘It was dry white wine, wasn’t it?’

      ‘Oh—yes…’

      Her response was even more distracted because as he lounged back in his seat and stretched out his long legs in front of him, crossed at the ankles, she discovered to her horror that her skirt had not been the only victim of the accident with the glass. The smart silver-grey trousers that were now in her view were liberally splashed with wine too—and his was only too clearly not a cheap suit. In fact, if the perfect fit, immaculate tailoring and fabulous material were anything to go by, it was an extremely expensive item of clothing.

      ‘But there’s no need… You don’t have to go to any trouble.’