Engaged For Her Enemy's Heir. Кейт Хьюит

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      ‘I thought not.’ He braced a shoulder against the wall so he was closer to her, inhaling her light, floral scent. A flyaway strand of coppery hair brushed his shoulder. She was utterly lovely, from her silver-grey eyes to her pert nose and lush mouth, her skin pale and creamy with a scattering of red-gold freckles. ‘So how did you know him?’ he asked.

      She shrugged, her gaze sliding away. ‘I knew him a long time ago. I’m not even sure he’d have remembered me, to be honest.’ She let out a wavering laugh that sounded a little too sad, and Rafael resisted the tug of sympathy he felt for her. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her, not now. Not when he’d already decided to sleep with her. Besides, she was no doubt been one of Mancini’s cast-off mistresses, a gold-digger in it for the money and baubles. Why feel sorry for such a woman?

      And yet he couldn’t help but notice how fragile she looked, as if a breath might blow her away. There were violent smudges like bruises under her eyes, and her face was pale underneath the gold dust scattering of freckles. The figure underneath the rather shapeless black dress looked slender and willowy, with a hint of intriguing curves. ‘I can’t believe anyone would forget you,’ he said, and was amused to see her cheeks turn pink, her pupils flare, as if she were an innocent unused to compliments.

      ‘Well...you’d be surprised,’ she returned with an uncertain laugh. ‘What business did your father have with my—with him?’

      ‘A new technology for mobile phones.’ He didn’t want to talk about the past. ‘At least new at the time. The industry has moved on quite a bit since then.’ But the technology would have made his father a lot of money, if Mancini hadn’t cut him off. If he’d lived.

      ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m rather useless with technology. I can barely manage my own phone.’ She took a sip of wine, golden-red lashes sweeping down onto her porcelain cheeks. Rafael had the desire, unsettlingly strong, to sweep his thumb along her cheek and see if her pale skin felt as creamily soft as it looked.

      ‘What do you do, then?’ he asked. ‘For a living?’ He reckoned she must be in her late twenties. Had she found a new sugar daddy?

      ‘I work at a café, in Greenwich Village. It’s a music café.’

      ‘A music café? I’ve never heard of such a thing.’

      ‘It’s a shop for instruments and libretto,’ Allegra explained. ‘As well as a café. But it’s so much more than that—it hosts concerts for aspiring musicians, and offers lessons to all sorts of people. It’s a bit of a community hub, for music-lovers at least.’

      ‘And you are one, I gather?’

      ‘Yes.’ Her voice was quiet and heartfelt, as well as a little bit sad. ‘Yes, music is very important to me.’

      Rafael watched her, disconcerted by this shy admission, by the genuineness of it, of her. He didn’t want to confuse or complicate his feelings, had no intention of deepening what would be a shallow but satisfying sexual transaction.

      ‘I suppose I should leave,’ Allegra said slowly. ‘I don’t really have a reason to stay.’ She sounded reluctant, and when she looked up at him her eyes were full of mute appeal, wanting him to stop her. And stop her he would.

      ‘It’s still early,’ he said as he angled his body closer to her, his shoulder brushing hers, letting her feel both his heat and intent. Her eyes widened, and her tongue darted out to touch her lips. Primal need blazed through him. She was either artless or very, very experienced—he couldn’t tell which, but either way she enflamed him. ‘But we don’t have to stay here. Tell me what your favourite piece of music is.’

      ‘Oh...’ She looked surprised, and then shyly pleased. ‘I don’t think you’d know it.’

      ‘Try me.’

      ‘All right.’ She smiled, and it felt like a ray of sunlight on his soul, disconcertingly bright, reaching too many dark corners. It was just a smile. ‘It’s the third movement of the Cello Sonata by Shostakovich. Do you know it?’

      ‘No, but I wish I did. I wish I could hear it.’

      ‘He’s not one of the most well-known composers, but his music is so emotional.’ Her grey eyes developed a pearly sheen; she looked almost tearful. ‘It moves me like nothing else does.’

      ‘Now I really wish I could hear it.’ The look of naked emotion on her face caught at him unexpectedly. He’d started the conversation about music as a way to invite her up to his suite, but now he found he genuinely wanted to hear the piece. ‘I have a suite in this hotel,’ he said. ‘With an amazing sound system. Why don’t you come upstairs and listen to the piece with me?’

      Allegra’s eyes widened with stunned comprehension. ‘Oh, but...’

      ‘We can have a proper drink at the same time. The bar up there is much better than the plonk they’re serving down here.’ He whisked her glass from her fingertips and deposited it on the tray of a hovering waiter. ‘Come.’ He held out his hand, willing her to agree. The evening couldn’t end here, unsettled, unsated. He needed more. He craved the connection and satisfaction he knew he’d find with her, however brief.

      Allegra stared at his outstretched hand, her eyes wide, her fingers knotted together. ‘I’m not...’ she began, and then trailed off, looking endearingly uncertain. Was it an act? Or was she really reluctant?

      He didn’t want her reluctant. ‘I am,’ he said, and reached for her hand, pulling her gently towards him. She came slowly, with hesitant steps, her wide-eyed gaze searching his face, looking for reassurance.

      And he gave it as his fingers closed around hers, encasing the spark that had leapt between them at the first brush of skin. He drew her by the hand, away from the circulating crowds. A few people gave them curious looks, a veiled glance of envy that Rafael ignored, just as he’d ignored the subtle and not so subtle come-ons of the various women there. There was only one he wanted, and he was holding her hand.

      They walked hand in hand out of the room, across the foyer, and then to the bank of gleaming lifts. Rafael’s heart started to race in expectation. He was looking forward to this more than he’d looked forward to anything in a long time.

      He pressed the button for the lift, holding his breath, not wanting to break the fragile spell that was weaving its way around both of them. Not wanting to let her entertain second thoughts.

      The doors opened and they stepped inside, the lift thankfully empty. As the doors closed Rafael turned to her. ‘You have the most enchanting smile.’

      She looked completely surprised. ‘Do I?’ she asked, and he nodded, meaning it, because her smile was lovely, a shy, slow unfurling, like the petals of a flower. More and more he was thinking she was genuine, that her air of innocence and uncertainty wasn’t an act. At least, not that much of an act. She must have had some experience, to be mourning Mancini, and yet she almost seemed untouched.

      ‘You do. And I think it is a rare but precious thing.’ He leaned back against the wall of the lift and tugged her gently towards him, close enough so their hips nudged each other’s and heat flared, a spreading, honeyed warmth that left him craving more. ‘I would like to see it more often.’

      ‘We have been at a funeral,’ Allegra murmured, her gaze sweeping downwards. СКАЧАТЬ