Italian Attraction. Lucy Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ the exercise involved with taking care of the animals was paying off.

      She examined her face in the mirror. Her complexion had turned a golden brown and was as clear and smooth as silk. The sun had brought out loads of natural highlights in her hair too, which was as good as an eighty-pound salon visit, and she had definitely lost a little weight from her face because her chin was now one instead of two and she could see evidence of cheekbones for the first time for a while.

      Hugely delighted at such a massive bonus, which she’d been totally unaware of until this moment, Maisie decided to go for gold. She was going to spend the next fifty minutes making up her face and doing her hair until she was something to die for, she told herself euphorically. She might not be a black-haired, super-slim, sophisticated Italian beauty but she wouldn’t crack any mirrors tonight either after she was done.

      By the time she had put hair up and then down twice, she decided she was trying just a bit too hard. Leaving it falling in silky waves to her shoulders, she concentrated on making up her eyes until they looked at least twice as big, her foundation giving her skin a translucent gleam and her lip gloss just the right colour to set off the salmon-pink dress. In England the dress had seemed just a mite daring and she had wondered if she would ever wear it, now it fitted so perfectly she was in no doubt at all. The draped and tied bodice and seductive Empire-line to the skirt was definitely on the flirty side but that was all right, she told herself firmly. She was a girl, wasn’t she? She was supposed to have curves that she could show off once in a while.

      At five to seven she was ready. Balancing on sandals with wafer-thin heels, she picked up a short-sleeved cotton cardigans and made her way to the kitchen. When Liliana caught sight of her she stopped what she was doing and said something in Italian that—although she didn’t have a clue what it meant—made Maisie blush.

      ‘You like it?’ she asked to mask her embarrassment, twirling round and then nearly falling over, which rather spoilt the effect.

      ‘Sì, I like it.’ Liliana smiled. ‘And you say there is no chemistry, eh?’

      Maisie stared at her, suddenly acutely worried. She didn’t want Blaine to think she was throwing herself at him. Should she nip upstairs and change, and perhaps take a little makeup off too?

      She didn’t have time to even get to the foot of the stairs. She had reached the kitchen door when Blaine’s key sounded in the lock and the next moment he had opened the front door. She stood transfixed in the doorway. He had obviously called in on his way home from work because there was a dark stubble on his square chin and he looked tired, rumpled and good enough to eat. Like all her Christmases rolled into one, in fact. She wished.

      He walked across to her, a single red rose in his hand. ‘You look stunning,’ he said softly, ‘and I had every intention of doing this properly before a crisis with the air-conditioning at our flagship hotel caused a few problems. It was a case of ringing to say I was going to be horribly late or collecting you en route before I go home to change. I decided on the latter. Right decision?’

      Oh, yes. Maisie took the rose and hoped he hadn’t noticed her hand was trembling. This way she got to see where he lived and had longer with him. ‘You can show me a little more of the scenery,’ she said evenly, ‘so definitely right decision.’

      ‘Good.’ He smiled and she noticed the stubble showed he had a tiny cleft in his chin. For such a small thing it had a huge effect on her equilibrium.

      After saying their goodbyes to Liliana, Blaine walked her out to the Ferrari with a hand at her elbow, and Maisie found she was working on automatic in an effort to ignore the effect he had on her. She had spoken to Jackie earlier in the day—her friend had called her several times while she had been at the villa to see how things were going—and had mentioned they were having dinner together that evening, eliciting a worried response from Blaine’s niece.

      ‘Be careful, Maisie.’ Jackie had sounded both embarrassed and sincere. ‘Mum has told me there’s some sort of thing in his past, I don’t know what, but it’s to do with a woman and it’s had a huge effect on him. I’m not saying he’s celibate but he never gets emotionally involved, you know? And you don’t want anyone with baggage.’

      She had fobbed Jackie off with some light comment about this meal being a reward for handling the Iola thing well—she was getting pretty good at lying, which was a bit worrying—but now, as she slid into the car, she knew the baggage thing was the least of her problems. For some reason all the rules about emotional engagement, rules which were essential for self-protection, had become fuzzy in the last twenty-four hours. This might be a rebound thing; she really didn’t know any more but, whatever it was, it was powerful enough to cause her to cast aside every moral and principle she had lived by for the last twenty-eight years. She wanted Blaine Morosini.

      Maisie tried to respond to Blaine’s comment about it being a beautiful evening with a coherent reply even as her mind was in another galaxy.

      She had never dreamt in a thousand years she could feel this way; in fact she had always had a slightly patronising pity for women who said they just couldn’t resist a guy, but she was being forced to eat her words. Blaine had stirred feelings and emotions in her she’d never known existed and, although it was more scary than the worst cellulite, it was real.

      She was still clutching the beautiful red rose and now she stroked its velvet petals as she said abstractedly, ‘There are no thorns on this rose.’

      ‘That’s because it’s not real.’ At her look of surprise he added, ‘Oh, I do not mean it is artificial; I was not talking in that sense. But this rose has been cultivated in protected surroundings and had all its sharp edges removed. It has never felt the rain on its petals or the insects landing on its leaves; it has not properly lived.’

      ‘Poor rose.’ She lifted it to her nose. ‘And it only has the faintest perfume. Perhaps it’s because it’s had it too easy that it has no perfume? Perhaps it needed the rain and the wind and everything to bring out its true beauty, its fragrance?’

      ‘Perhaps.’ He glanced at her and he was smiling that slightly lopsided smile again, which was sheer dynamite because the rest of him was so utterly perfect. ‘Or maybe we’re not meant to be philosophers and are talking a load of rubbish?’

      Maisie smiled back. She was unutterably relieved that he didn’t appear to be offended or cross with her for her manipulation of tonight. Then again he might be fuming but hiding it under those Italian good manners and charm? She took a deep breath. She had to say something, now, at the beginning of the evening or she wouldn’t be able to stand it. She had to make it clear she had asked him out for a good reason. ‘Blaine, I know I shouldn’t have put you in the position I did last night, about pretending you’d asked me out, I mean, but I had to talk to you and it looked as though you weren’t planning to be around for a while.’

      ‘No, I wasn’t.’

      ‘Oh.’ For a second she was taken aback but then she rallied. It was going to be cards on the table and no dressing things up, was it? Fine. That suited her because if she didn’t have her say over all this she would burst. ‘The thing is, I’m someone who likes everything out in the open,’ she said firmly. ‘I know men have this tendency to keep stuff bottled up and think any emotional talk is just for women, but I don’t like secrets or playing games. I’m not made like that.’

      He shifted his legs and in the close confines of the car it registered on Maisie like a punch in the solar plexus.

      She swallowed hard and went on, ‘You said something about worrying that I was vulnerable last СКАЧАТЬ