The Italian's Love-Child. Sharon Kendrick

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      ‘Of course not,’ she said calmly.

      Lizzy frowned, as if sensing that something was up and not quite able to work out what it was. ‘Um, can I get you both a drink? There’s loads of champagne left.’

      Eve opened her mouth to ask for something soft and then shut it again. She felt wired up. At a loss. And curiously incomplete. She, who felt at ease in almost any social gathering, suddenly felt an urgent need for something to help her loosen up. ‘That would be lovely.’

      ‘Luca?’

      ‘Please.’ But he barely heard his hostess speak. He wanted to be alone with Eve, to break down the armoury he had seen her begin to construct from the moment she had walked into the room.

      He rose to his feet, with all the grace of some lithe, dark panther and as he moved towards her Eve thought that there was something of the predator in him today. And how did vulnerable animals cope with predators in the wild? They didn’t run away, that was for sure. They stood their ground and faced them.

      But, dear Lord in heaven—they surely didn’t share her feelings that this predator—if indeed predator he was—looked good enough to eat.

      Like her, he was wearing jeans—faded and washed out and clinging to the hard shaft of his thighs—the pale sweater emphasising the glowing olive skin and the jet-dark eyes. His black hair was ruffled and he was smiling and Eve was aware that, while she had been fiercely attracted to him a decade ago—then she had been teetering on the brink of womanhood with precisely no knowledge of men and their power over women. But now she was experienced enough to know that there were few men of Luca’s calibre around.

      Achievable goals, she reminded herself and flashed him a bland, pleasant smile.

      ‘So, Eve,’ he began. ‘Did you make work on time?’

      ‘I did.’

      ‘But you didn’t sleep.’

      Her eyes widened, for one crazy moment imagining that he had witnessed her fretful night. ‘Yes, yes, I did,’ she denied automatically.

      ‘Liar,’ he murmured as without warning he lifted his hand to lightly touch the delicate skin beneath her eyes. ‘This gives you away. Dark shadows, like the blue of an iris, so dark against your pale skin.’

      The invasion of her personal space was both unexpected and inappropriate and yet his touch made her tremble, the innocent contact feeling as highly charged as any intimate caress. She wanted to tell him to stop it, to ask him what the hell he thought he was playing at, but she was mesmerised by him, lulled by the deep, honeyed Italian accent. She felt like a weak, tiny kitten, confronted by the blazing strength of a lion. And Italians were tactile, she told herself—that was all.

      ‘I’m not wearing any make-up,’ she said, as if that explained everything, bizarrely missing the contact as he moved his hand away.

      ‘I know you’re not.’ And her scrubbed, pure face intrigued him, too. She must be very assured not to wear any cosmetics, and self-assurance was a potent sexual weapon in itself. ‘I didn’t sleep myself, if it makes any difference.’

      ‘Should I be interested?’

      ‘Maybe you should, since it was for exactly the same reason as you.’

      She pulled herself together. Pretend he’s one of those men who plague you, she thought. One of those boring, vacuous men who are attracted to you simply because you’re beamed into their homes every morning.

      ‘Lumpy mattress?’ she guessed. ‘Or simply indigestion after a late night and too much party food?’

      He laughed. ‘No.’

      And then she found herself saying, ‘Perhaps there were rather more enjoyable reasons for your lack of sleep.’

      ‘Such as?’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know. The blonde woman you were talking to seemed very attentive. Maybe she kept you awake.’

      ‘And does that make you jealous, tesora?’

      Eve stared at him. Her heart was thumping in her chest. Yes. Yes, it did. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’

      He smiled. ‘I slept alone.’

      ‘You have my commiserations.’

      ‘Did you?’ he drawled.

      ‘Are you in the habit of asking people you don’t know their most intimate secrets?’

      ‘I asked you a straight question.’ He paused. ‘Unlike you, who merely hinted at it.’

      ‘Who you sleep with doesn’t interest me in the slightest and I’m certainly not going to tell you my bedtime secrets!’ she bit back angrily, and wished that she could have disappeared in a puff of smoke as Lizzy chose just that moment to walk back into the room, carrying a bottle of champagne and four glasses.

      ‘Wow!’ she exclaimed, her eyes widening like saucers. ‘Shall I walk right out and then walk back in again?’

      Luca took the bottle from her and began to remove the foil. ‘Eve and I were just discovering that we like to get straight to the heart of the matter, weren’t we, Eve?’

      Eve glared at him, feeling the heat in her cheeks. What could she say? What possible explanation could she give to her friend for the conversation they had been having? None. She couldn’t even work it out for herself.

      ‘Well, that’s what she does for a living, of course,’ giggled Lizzy.

      He poured the champagne and handed both women a glass, his eyes lingering with amusement on the furious look Eve was directing at him. ‘And what exactly is that?’ he questioned idly.

      ‘Go on, guess!’ put in Lizzy mischievously.

      It gave him the opportunity to imprison her in a mocking look of question. ‘Barrister?’

      In spite of herself, Eve was flattered. Barrister implied intelligence and eloquence, didn’t it? But she hated talking about her job. People were far too interested in it and sometimes she felt that they didn’t see her as a person, but what she represented. And television was sexy. Disproportionately prized in a society where the media ruled. Inevitably, it had made her distrust men and their motives, wondering whether their attentions were due to what she did, rather than who she was.

      But she wasn’t going to play coy, or coquettish, or let Luca Cardelli run through a whole range of options.

      ‘No,’ she said bluntly. ‘I work in television.’

      ‘Eve’s a presenter on Wake Up!, every weekday morning from six until nine!’ confided Lizzy proudly. ‘I’ve got her on video—would you like to see?’

      ‘Oh, Lizzy, please,’ begged Eve. ‘Don’t.’

      Luca heard the genuine appeal in her voice and his eyes narrowed. So that would explain why people were watching her at the party last night. Would that explain some of her defences, too? The guarded СКАЧАТЬ