A Tainted Beauty. Sharon KendrickЧитать онлайн книгу.
so preoccupied with a woman.’
‘I suppose it’s usually the other way round, is it?’ she observed sarcastically. ‘Women completely obsessed by you from the moment they set eyes on you?’
‘Can you blame them?’ came his unapologetic response accompanied by the faintest suggestion of a smile. ‘But my undoubted appeal to the opposite sex isn’t why I’m here today. I want you to know that I feel bad about what’s happened.’
‘At least there’s some justice left in the world.’
Ciro bit back a smile. ‘It was wrong of me not to have told you I was buying the Grange. But you must agree that I found myself in a difficult position.’
In spite of her determination to resist him, Lily found herself hesitating because surely that was genuine contrition she could read in his eyes? And it wasn’t really his place to keep her up to speed on what was happening with the house, was it? ‘Suzy should have told me sooner,’ she conceded.
‘Yes, she should.’ Sensing capitulation, Ciro smiled. ‘So if there’s no quarrel between us, then why not let me buy you dinner?’
She sucked in a deep breath. Maybe she should just be straight with him. Because Ciro D’Angelo was clearly a player and she didn’t go in for casual sex with men—no matter how rich or how gorgeous they happened to be. ‘I don’t go out with men very often.’
‘I find that very hard to believe.’
‘Believe it, because it’s true.’
‘And I think you ought to make an exception in my case,’ he murmured.
Lily stared into his dark eyes. His soft words were like fingertips whispering erotically over her skin. She should say no. Of course she should—because he was making her want to do things she didn’t want to think about. Things she’d forgotten about. Or, rather, the person she’d forgotten about. The woman she’d been before her fiancé had dumped her. He made her want to wear silk stockings and tiny little scraps of barely there underwear. He made her want to feel his fingers tracking their way over her body and splaying against the cool flesh of her thigh. He made her feel things she’d forgotten she was capable of feeling—like pleasure and desire and a pure, raw yearning. And he might as well have had the word ‘danger’ stamped across his forehead in big red letters. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.
Ciro smiled. He loved her hesitation. Loved it. ‘Please.’
‘And I’m just wondering,’ she said slowly, ‘why a cosmopolitan and obviously successful businessman like you is buying a big house in the middle of the English countryside.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘How would I know, when it seems that I’m the last to know anything?’
There was a pause. ‘I’m planning to turn it into a hotel.’
Lily’s eyes widened. A hotel? ‘You’re going to turn the Grange into a hotel?’ she breathed in horror.
‘It will be a beautiful and tasteful hotel,’ he defended. ‘My hotels always are. Ask around if you don’t believe me.’
But taste was subjective, wasn’t it? Lily imagined the bedrooms turned from their faded familiarity into places with horrible swagged four-poster beds. She thought of corporate beige carpeting and those over-the-top hotel displays of flowers, which always made her think of funeral parlours. ‘And that’s supposed to reassure me?’
He felt like telling her that it was not her place to be reassured, yet he wanted her so much that he was prepared to overlook her impertinence. ‘If it means that you’ll have dinner with me, then, yes—be reassured. Come on, Lily. Just one evening. One dinner. What are you so frightened of?’
She wondered what he’d say if she answered ‘everything’. If she told him that the whole world looked a terrifying place just now. That she was worrying about her brother’s future. About how the two of them were going to adjust to living in that tiny apartment.
But hot on the trail of her fears came the realisation that she was becoming a bit of a hermit. She tried to remember the last time she’d been tempted to go out for dinner with a man. Her broken relationship with Tom had damaged her, yes—but wasn’t she in danger of letting the damage deepen if she locked herself away, like some medieval woman in a tower? When had she last done something really reckless, just for the hell of it? Why shouldn’t she spend the evening with Ciro D’Angelo—unless she really thought herself so spineless that she’d be unable to resist falling into bed with him?
‘I don’t want a late night,’ she warned.
Ciro smiled as a feeling of triumph spread through his veins. ‘What’s your number?’
‘407649,’ she said, noticing that he didn’t bother writing it down as he took a card from his pocket and handed it to her.
‘I’ll call you,’ he said.
A figure appeared at the window—a middle-aged woman carrying jars of jam—and Ciro automatically got up to hold the door open for her, noticing her curious glance as she passed. Stepping outside into the sunlit day, his senses began to fizz with excitement. Because for a moment back then, he’d thought that Lily Scott was going to refuse to have dinner with him. A moment when he had tasted the unfamiliar flavour of uncertainty.
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