The Uncompromising Italian. Cathy Williams

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СКАЧАТЬ out which terminal is his and then it would be a short step to identifying the person... I keep saying he but it might very well be a she.’

      ‘How so? No, we’ll get to that over something to drink—and I insist you forfeit the tea in favour of something a little more exciting. My housekeeper makes a very good Pimm’s.’

      ‘I couldn’t,’ Lesley said awkwardly. ‘I’m not much of a drinker and I’m...err...driving anyway.’

      ‘Fresh lemonade, in that case.’ Alessio strolled towards her and held out his hand to tug her up from the chair to which she seemed to be glued.

      For a few seconds, Lesley froze. When she grasped his hand—because frankly she couldn’t think of what else to do without appearing ridiculous and childish—she felt a spurt of red-hot electricity zap through her body until every inch of her was galvanised into shrieking, heightened awareness of the dangerously sexy man standing in front of her.

      ‘That would be nice,’ she said a little breathlessly. As soon as she could she retrieved her scorching hand and resisted the urge to rub it against her trousers.

      Alessio didn’t miss a thing. She was a different person when she was concentrating on a computer. Looking at a screen, analysing what was in front of her, working out how to solve the problem he had presented, she oozed self-confidence. He idly wondered what her websites looked like.

      But without a computer to absorb her attention she was prickly and defensive, a weird, intriguing mix of independent and vulnerable.

      He smiled, turning her insides to liquid, and stood aside to allow her to pass by him out of the office.

      ‘So we have a he or a she who goes to a certain Internet café, or more likely a variety of Internet cafés, for the sole reason of emailing me to, well, purpose as yet slightly unclear, but if I’m any reader of human motivation I’m smelling a lead-up to asking for money for information he or she may or may not know. There seem to be a lot of imponderables in this case.’

      They had arrived at the kitchen without her being aware of having padded through the house at all, and she found a glass of fresh lemonade in her hands while he helped himself to a bottle of mineral water.

      He motioned to the kitchen table and they sat facing one another on opposite sides.

      ‘Generally,’ Lesley said, sipping the lemonade, ‘This should be a straightforward case of sourcing the computer in question, paying a visit to the Internet café—and usually these places have CCTV cameras. You would be able to find the culprit without too much bother.’

      ‘But if he’s clever enough to hop from café to café...’

      ‘Then it’ll take a bit longer but I’ll get there. Of course, if you have no skeletons in the cupboard, Mr Baldini, then you could just walk away from this situation.’

      ‘Is there such a thing as an adult without one or two skeletons in the cupboard?’

      ‘Well, then.’

      ‘Although,’ Alessio continued thoughtfully, ‘Skeletons imply something...wrong, in need of concealment. I can’t think of any dark secrets I have under lock or key but there are certain things I would rather not have revealed.’

      ‘Do you honestly care what the public thinks of you? Or maybe it’s to do with your company? Sorry, but I don’t really know how the big, bad world of business operates, but I’m just assuming that if something gets out that could affect your share prices then you mightn’t be too happy.’

      ‘I have a daughter.’

      ‘You have a daughter?’

      ‘Surely you got that from your search of me on the Internet?’ Alessio said drily.

      ‘I told you, I just skimmed through the stuff. There’s an awful lot written up about you and I honestly just wanted to cut to the chase—any articles that could have suggested that I needed to be careful about getting involved. Like I said, I’ve fine-tuned my search engine when it comes to picking out relevant stuff or else I’d be swamped underneath useless speculation.’ A daughter?

      ‘Yes. I forgot—the “bodies under the motorway” scenario.’ He raised his eyebrows and once again Lesley felt herself in danger of losing touch with common sense.

      ‘I never imagined anything so dramatic, at least not really,’ she returned truthfully, which had the effect of making that sexy smile on his face even broader. Flustered, she continued, ‘But you were telling me that you have a daughter.’

      ‘You still can’t erase the incredulity from your voice,’ he remarked, amused. ‘Surely you’ve bumped into people who have had kids?’

      ‘Yes! Of course! But...’

      ‘But?’

      Lesley stared at him. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you’re making fun of me?’ she asked, ruffled and red-faced.

      ‘My apologies.’ But there was the echo of a smile still lingering in his voice, even though his expression was serious and contrite. ‘But you blush so prettily.’

      ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life!’ And it was. Ridiculous. ‘Pretty’ was something she most definitely was not. Nor was she going to let this guy, this sex God of a man—who could have any woman he wanted, if you happened to like that kind of thing—get under her skin.

      ‘Why is it ridiculous?’ Alessio allowed himself to be temporarily side-tracked.

      ‘I know you’re probably one of these guys who slips into flattery mode with any woman you happen to find yourself confined with, but I’m afraid that I don’t go into meltdown at empty compliments.’ What on earth was she going on about? Why was she jumping into heated self-defence over nonsense like this?

      When it came to business, Alessio rarely lost sight of the goal. Right now, not only had he lost sight of it, but he didn’t mind. ‘Do you go into meltdown at compliments you think are genuine?’

      ‘I...I...’

      ‘You’re stammering,’ he needlessly pointed out. ‘I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.’

      ‘I don’t...err...feel uncomfortable.’

      ‘Well, that’s good.’

      Lesley stared helplessly at him. He wasn’t just sinfully sexy. The man was beautiful. He hadn’t looked beautiful in those pictures, but then she had barely taken them in—a couple of grainy black-and-white shots of a load of businessmen had barely registered on her consciousness. Now, she wished she had paid attention so that she at least could have been prepared for the sort of effect he might have had on her.

      Except, she admitted truthfully to herself, she would still have considered herself above and beyond being affected by any man, however good-looking he might happen to be. When it came to matters of the heart, she had always prided herself on her practicality. She knew her limitations and had accepted them. When and if the time came that she wanted a relationship, then she had always known that the man for her would not be the sort who was into looks but the sort who enjoyed intelligence, personality—a meeting of minds as much as anything else.

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