The Italian's Wedding Ultimatum Page 7

  Sam bit her lip. She knew the admission was going to make her look even more of an idiot than she already did as she fished her phone from her pocket and grunted, "My battery is low."

  He released a long hiss of irritation and wrenched open the door of his own car. "Get in - I will give you a lift."

  Sam, who had been looking wistfully at the luxuriously upholstered interior, stiffened at the terse invitation. There was a militant glitter in her aquamarine eyes as she released a scornful laugh. "You think I'd get into a car with you... ?"

  "Don't you think it is a little late to display caution?" His nostrils flared as his eyes swept across her upturned features. "I find it staggering," he revealed, in a voice that suggested he was trying very hard not to yell, "that an apparently intelligent female should act with such wanton disregard for her personal safety."

  "What do you mean?" No man had a right to look that good with his hair plastered to his skull.. .but she was forgetting it wasn't just any skull-it was the perfect variety. God, she thought, it would be so much easier not to loathe the wretched man if you could discover one minor imperfection.

  "Dio..." he gritted. Muttering under his breath in angry Italian, he let his head fall back, revealing the strong lines of his supple brown throat. Then, as she stared through the rain and the mesh of her spiky lashes, he dug both hands into his drenched sable hair and pulled it back in a way that sent water streaming down his olive-skinned face and neck.

  Sam, unable to tear her eyes from the spectacle-which oughtn't to have been erotic but was - felt things move deep inside her. Unspecified, but deeply disturbing things. She reluctantly recognised that something far more worrying than the rain was responsible for the drowning, breathless sensation she was experiencing as she watched the water glide over his smooth brown skin.

  Alessandro's head came up, and guiltily her eyes dropped.

  Jaw clenched, he glared at her down-bent head. "You have been standing at the side of a lonely road, fluttering your eyelashes... "

  The injustice of this harsh accusation brought her head up. The first thing her distracted gaze lighted on was the silvered drops of rain trembling on the tips of his own preposterously long eyelashes.

  Eyelash-fluttering would get him further than it would me, she thought.

  "I haven't... " Her voice faded away as her eyes connected with his.

  "And," he continued, once she had lapsed into silence, "inviting the attention of any psychopathic lunatic who happens to drive by. You either have an unhealthy addiction to danger or you have no sense of self-preservation whatever. I suspect both," he concluded grimly.

  The awful part was, he had a point. "Well, I'd prefer to get into a car with a psychopath than you!" she blurted out childishly.

  Then, lowering her eyes, she added in a small voice, "Could I use your phone?"

  At that moment another articulated truck went by and blasted its horn.

  Alessandro followed the vehicle with his eyes until it vanished from view over the brow of the hill. When he turned his attention back to her his jaw was set and his eyes held a steely look of determination.

  "Get in!"

  His attitude did not suggest compromise, but she'd try anyway. She looked at his mouth, and her defences slipped just enough to let through one forbidden thought. I kissed that.

  If she got into that car who was to say she wouldn't repeat the performance? Chance would be a fine thing. She took a deep breath and told herself sternly that thinking that way was going to get her into trouble.

  "If you would just let me use your ph-"

  "Get in, or I will put you in," he interrupted, not sounding like a man with kissing on his mind. "I have no intention of being interviewed by the police as the last person who saw you alive."

  Sam paled a little at the image his brutal words conjured. "There's no need to be so dramatic"

  Ignoring her scornful complaint, he swivelled his eyes significantly towards the door of the car. "I do not have all day."

  Sam hesitated. "You wouldn't...?" Their eyes met and she gulped. He would.

  I need therapy, she decided, appalled by the gut-tightening excitement in her belly. When did I turn into the sort of woman who gets turned on at the idea of being man-handled? Her eyes ran up the long, lean length of the man who stood there radiating impatience, and she thought, Not any man.

  With as much dignity as a person who was literally dripping could muster, she arranged herself in the front seat as he stood and watched. His expression suggested that the outcome had never been in question.

  Did people always do what he wanted? she wondered as she snuggled down into the cream leather upholstery. She looked blankly at the hand he'd inserted.

  "Keys.. .I need to lock up your car. Not that it would be the car of choice for most self-respecting car thieves." he said, sliding a contemptuous look towards her ancient Morris Traveller.

  "It's a classic," she said, dropping the keys into his palm. "And it has character,"

  "It's a heap. And it doesn't go," he contradicted, before slamming the door.

  Cocooned from the rain and wind, the quiet interior of the car felt like the eye of a storm. Despite the relative warmth, she shivered as she became conscious of the clammy coldness of layers of drenched clothes against her skin.

  She tried to wring some of the excess moisture from her hair while she examined her surroundings. Nice - but then you'd expect Alessandro to travel first class-and big too, she thought, stretching her legs out. Big, but not nearly big enough. Her heart started to beat out an erratic tattoo against her breastbone as she thought about spending any time in such close proximity with him.

  It stood to reason there must have been an alternative solution to her dilemma, that didn't involve being touched by Alessandro or locking herself into a confined space with him, Quashing the growing sense of panic she felt as she looked around the interior of the car, she closed her eyes and reflected on the unfortunate fact that around him she acted like someone suffering from oxygen deprivation.

  She was wondering whether it might not be better to brave the elements and any passing bad guys when the door was wrenched open. She stiffened as the interior of the car was for a moment filled with cold wet air, followed by the elusive male scent of the exclusive fragrance he favoured.

  "Here," he said, handing her the keys.

  "Thanks," she said, fumbling as she tried not to touch his fingers. She lifted her head in time to see him shrug off his drenched jacket.

  A sigh shuddered through her body, Ok, my God!

  His white shirt had been rendered totally transparent by the rain, and clung like a second skin, revealing every individual muscle and hard contour of his lean, bronzed torso. Her breathing quickened as she tore her fascinated gaze away from the tantalising shadows created by drifts of dark body hair.

  "Take your coat off," he suggested, casually slinging his own jacket into the back seat.

  She shook her head and clutched at the lapels of her knee-length pink trench coat. "No, thanks," she croaked. "You could drop me at the first service station. There's one in the next village along, I think."

  He slung her an impatient look before pulling off the grass verge. Two petrol pumps and a tin hut, as I recall. Even if they did happen to be open for business at nearly eight p.m. I doubt if they'd retrieve your car until the morning."

  " Eight... ? " Her expression shocked, she glanced at the watch on her wrist. She hadn't realised until that point how long she had been standing there. Lips pursed, she slid him a belligerent look. "I suppose you think I should say thank you?"

  "Not if it's too painful."

  "The tire was bald...?" She looked at his hands on the steering wheel, then looked quickly away as she felt the muscles in her abdomen tighten. Her sensitised nostrils quivered. The car was heating, intensifying the disturbing scent of warm, wet male mingled with the subtle fragrance Alessandro favoured. Short of not breathing, it was impossible not to inhale the heady conc
oction.

  "Totally"

  Looking out of the window, her posture rigid, Sam missed the amused sideways glance he slid her.

  "Why would I lie about such a thing?" he asked. "Unless, of course, you think this is all part of a plot to have you at my mercy? You are cold?"

  Sam, who was very conscious of the trickles of sweat running down her back, shook her head.

  Then why are you shaking?"

  "I'm not," she lied. Then, because she clearly was, she added gruffly, "My clothes are wet."

  "How long were you standing in the rain?"

  "I'll be fine. I'll have a nice bath when I get home." Anticipating the luxuriant soak that lay ahead, she sighed-and missed the flare of heat in his eyes as they swerved briefly from the road ahead.

  The silence between them, which wasn't anything close to cosy or comfortable, stayed unbroken until he drove straight past the turn-off for the motorway a couple of miles farther down the road.

  "This isn't the right road."

  "It is for where we are going," he responded, with aggravating calm.

  Sam glared at him, bristling with suspicion. Just as she was about to demand an explanation he slowed, and with a display of fast reflexes avoided a cat that darted across the road. The action made her think of the accident which had killed his parents. Had it been difficult for him to get in the driver's seat again? If it had you certainly couldn't tell from his calm, competent manner at the wheel of the big powerful car.

  "I saw that programme last night," she confessed, without thinking.

  He slanted her a quick sideways look.

  "About the accident..." she added, when he didn't respond.

  "It was exploitative rubbish."

  For once she was in total agreement with him. "Yes, I know." She looked at his flawless profile and added, "I'm glad you don't have any scars... physical ones, that is. Not that I'm implying that you have mental scars, but anyone would... Oh, God, if I was writing this I'd delete those last few lines of dialogue."

  To her amazement he laughed, and said, "I do."

  "You do what?"

  "I do have physical scars. You just haven't seen them.. .yet"

  Threat or promise-whichever it was, the result was the same. Desire clutched low on her belly as she struggled to lock the whimper that fought to escape in her throat.

  Do not go there! Sam told herself. The sexual tension crackling in the air was too strong to ignore, but maybe if she didn't react to it, it might go away...? She turned and stared out of the window, and wondered how much more of this her nervous system could take before she burst into flames!

  A few moments later the probability of spontaneous combustion became all the more probable when he observed casually, "We need to get a room."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Now, this she couldn't let ride.

  "You need your head examined" she rebutted huskily. "If you assumed that just because I kissed you-" she gave a mocking laugh and was grateful he had no idea of the images playing in her head "I'm going to sleep with you!"

  "I suggest you wait until you're asked before you say no."

  The humiliating colour flew to Sam's cheeks as she turned her head back to the window, cursing her unruly tongue.

  "I'm not saying it won't happen-"

  "I really couldn't be that lucky..." she drawled sarcastically.

  Alessandro grinned, but didn't turn his head. "I like to prioritise."

  "You sweet, spontaneous romantic, you."

  Again he grinned. "I had no idea you wanted me to be romantic. I assumed you just wanted me for my body. Seriously." He slanted a quick sideways glance at her huddled figure. "You urgently need to get into some dry clothes. There's a place a mile or so down here where I sometimes stay. You can take a hot bath while they dry your things."

  Sam released an incredulous laugh. This high-handed behaviour was clearly par for the course for him. "It didn't occur to you to ask me if I want to go there?"

  He looked mildly surprised by the question. "Not really."

  "Do people always do what you tell them?" she wondered out loud.

  "You would prefer to be wet and uncomfortable?"

  Sam, very aware that her saturated clothes were chafing in several places, gritted her teeth. "That's not the point..."

  "On the contrary - it is very much the point. I realise that you would prefer to walk barefoot over hot coals than fall in with any suggestion I make..."

  "It wasn't a suggestion, it was a fait accompli!" she snapped.

  He angled a dark brow. "You noticed?" He congratulated her. "Fait accompli rather makes this conversation pointless, wouldn't you say? Why don't you give in gracefully? We can even pretend that it was your idea, if you like."

  Glaring at his smug, patrician profile, Sam lapsed into seething silence as he turned through a pair of big wrought-iron gates. The hotel's impressive driveway was a mile long, and led through some charming parkland where deer grazed in the fading light.

  When Alessandro opened the passenger door Sam, who was staring at the big sprawling half-timbered building they had pulled up in front of, shook her head. "You can't walk into somewhere like this and demand a room for an hour. They'll think..."

  Alessandro gave a sardonic smile. "They'll think what...?" The malicious amusement glittering in his dark eyes made it impossible for her to maintain eye contact. "That we could not contain our mutual lust until we got back to London?"

  "Don't be disgusting!" she choked.

  "This display of puritanical outrage might carry more weight with me if you hadn't tried to rip off my clothes once already today. Perhaps it is me who should be concerned about my reputation?" he suggested, the gleam in his eyes becoming more pronounced as a fresh wave of mortified colour rushed to her cheeks.

  "Reputation!" Sam yelled, leaping soggily from the car. Feet crunching on the gravel, she advanced, her small fists clenched. "I think your reputation is beyond further blackening," she sneered. "What has it taken...? Ten years...? Still, I'm sure the effort was worthwhile. I think everyone knows by now that You're a sleazy, womanising loser! And as for ripping off c.. .clothes..." A distracted expression slid into her eyes as the memory of her hands sliding under his shirt and over hard, satiny-smooth skin flashed into her head. It was the wrong time to recall how warm and solid and male... She inhaled and shook her head, reminding him angrily, "I'm the one missing two buttons."

  It wasn't until she saw the direction of his gaze that Sam realised that in pulling open her jacket to reveal the gaping section of her shirt she had also unintentionally revealed a section of smooth, pale midriff. With an indignant squeak she dragged the fabric of her jacket together.

  His smouldering eyes locked onto hers, and the simmering silence that stretched between them tore her already traumatised nerves to shreds.

  "Relax - they don't rent rooms by the hour here. And besides, I keep a suite," he revealed casually.

  Relax? After what he had just said! Sam almost laughed. "You keep a suite.. .?" she echoed incredulously. "You live in a hotel?"

  "Not live, obviously, but it is useful."

  Sam, who didn't see how a hotel off the beaten track in rural Cornwall could possibly be useful to a man who spent his time flitting from one European capital to another, looked sceptical. "How often do you actually use it?"

  "It varies. Twice... maybe three times..." He began to look impatient with her interrogation.

  "A month... ?" It seemed shockingly extravagant and wasteful to Sam. But then she wasn't a millionaire-or was that a billionaire...?

  "A year," he corrected, and her jaw dropped.

  "A year!" She shook her head, unable to disguise her disapproval. "That must cost a fortune."

  "You are lecturing me on fiscal imprudence... ?" His expression suggested the idea amused him.

  "It's nothing to me how you choose to spend your money. You can burn it for all I care."

  "If it makes you feel any better, I am joint owner of
the hotel... a silent partner."

  Sam looked at his hand, extended in a silent invitation for her to climb the shallow flight of steps that led to the porticoed entrance where a tall figure had emerged from the building. The woman, her grey hair tied back in a smooth knot at the nape of her neck, was wearing a silk shirt and tweed skirt.

  "What are you doing standing there?" She peered over the top of her half-moon spectacles, subjecting Alessandro to a critical glare. "This poor child looks perished."

  To Sam's astonishment, far from going into one of his haughty freeze-you-with-a-glance routines, Alessandro smiled - the sort of heart-flipping smile that he probably reserved for the select few he genuinely gave a damn about.

  The possibility that her own heart was utterly susceptible to the warmth of that smile brought a ferocious scowl to Sam's face.

  She felt a hand in her back, propelling her up the steps, and heard him say, "Sorry, Smithie."

  Smithie?

  Inside the wood-panelled hallway, which didn't boast the usual reception desk, it was blissfully warm, The moment she stepped in, even before she had had an opportunity to register that the decor was 'lived-in country house', Sam was conscious of the warm, comfortable laid-back atmosphere. Despite the fact that her stress levels were off the scale, she felt some of the tension slip from her shoulders.

  While Alessandro warmly embraced the older woman Sam examined her surroundings curiously, conscious as she did so of the loud ticking of a grandfather clock set against the wall and of the distant murmur of conversation interspersed by the occasional laugh somewhere close.

  "You look marvellous, Smithie. Like a fine wine, you improve with age."

  "One of the advantages of being an ugly young woman is that your face becomes more acceptably interesting as you get older." Pushing Alessandro away with a sharp admonition not to drip on the carpet, she turned her attention to Sam. "And who is this you have brought to see me?"

  Sam, still bemused at seeing Alessandro spoken to as though he were a grubby schoolboy, blinked as the interrogative blue eyes swept over her. The woman personified her mental image of a girls' school headmistress-the sort that probably didn't exist outside a film-maker's imagination. She had the smallest and sharpest eyes she had ever seen. But I bet you don't miss much, Sam thought as she endured the searching scrutiny.