The Sicilian's Ruthless Marriage Revenge. Carole MortimerЧитать онлайн книгу.
to make their way through to the room where they were to eat and be entertained. ‘It was nice to meet you, Mr Gambrelli,’ she added—for graciousness’ sake, rather than out of any real sincerity.
This man unnerved her. His dark good looks unnerved her. The way he stared at her so intently with those glittering black eyes unnerved her.
Her father’s obvious wariness of Cesare Gambrelli, despite his own success as a wealthy businessman, unnerved her even more!
‘Was it?’ Cesare Gambrelli came back dryly, and his hard mouth curved derisively as he continued to look at her intently. ‘In that case, I must ensure that we meet again, Robin. Soon,’ he emphasised.
Robin swallowed hard, her throat moving convulsively, a nerve pulsing at its base. A movement closely watched by Cesare Gambrelli before he raised hooded lids to once again hold her gaze disconcertingly.
‘Very soon,’ he added softly, before nodding abruptly to her father and striding away on long, powerful legs.
‘I want you to stay away from that man, Robin,’ her father repeated emphatically, a slight pallor beneath his skin.
‘But why—’
‘Just trust me on this, Robin,’ her father interrupted, ‘and please just stay away from him. The man is dangerous. I can’t emphasise that to you strongly enough!’
Echoing the thoughts Robin had about Cesare Gambrelli only minutes ago!
And after the way Cesare had made her feel, with her body still thrumming with need, Robin had every intention of keeping away!
Although she had a feeling, after Cesare Gambrelli’s last comment—promise?—that he had every intention of doing exactly the opposite….
CHAPTER TWO
‘IT IS GOOD of you to receive me, Miss Ingram,’ Cesare Gambrelli murmured, and Robin rose gracefully to her feet as he was shown into the sitting room of her father’s London home.
Had she had a choice?
She didn’t think so!
The man had come to the door and asked to see her father, only to be told that her father was out but that Robin was at home. At which time Cesare Gambrelli had asked to see her instead.
Despite her father’s warnings—which, though she had urged him, he had adamantly refused to give a reason for—it would have appeared churlish, if not downright rude on her part, to have refused to see Cesare Gambrelli when he had already been told she was present.
So, not exactly a choice on her part, was it?
He looked just as tall and arrogant as he had when they’d met six days ago, although today he was dressed in a dark business suit and a pale blue shirt, with a navy blue tie neatly knotted at this throat, rather than the formal evening clothes of their last meeting.
After his final comment to her at the charity dinner—the promise in his voice—Robin had known she would see him again, of course. She just hadn’t known when or where. Certainly she hadn’t expected that he would actually come to her father’s city house, into which she had moved back since her separation and divorce.
‘Won’t you sit down, Mr Gambrelli…’ she invited and she indicated one of the sumptuous armchairs that matched the sofa she had been reclining on, reading a book, before his arrival.
‘Thank you,’ Cesare accepted.
Robin had made the suggestion as a way of perhaps lessening the nerve-tingling effect of his powerful presence on her. He seemed to dwarf the spacious room. But even as he sat down, she knew it hadn’t worked; she was still just as aware of him—could feel the flush in her cheeks and the way her nipples had hardened beneath the cream silk blouse she wore with casual black trousers.
Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her with those dark brown eyes, from beneath hooded lids—as if he were stripping each piece of clothing from her body to reveal the creamy curves beneath.
Whatever the reason, she was just as aroused by this man as she had been a week ago—could almost feel those long hands caressing her, the feel of his lips against her flesh as he tasted her…
She sat down on the edge of the sofa, lacing her slightly trembling hands together to look across at him enquiringly. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Gambrelli?’
Many things, Cesare acknowledged to himself as he regarded her, a knowing smile curving his lips.
This woman, whose beauty was no less striking today, with that honey-coloured hair loose about her shoulders, had the sort of body that could give a man so much pleasure she would have the ability to drive him completely out of his mind.
Not Cesare, of course. Any relationship he had with this woman would be of his choosing, his design, his control.
A nerve pulsed in his jaw and his mouth tightened before he answered her. ‘Perhaps we could start by having you call me Cesare…?’ he invited smoothly, and he saw the flush deepen in her cheeks.
Not the blush of a maiden—at twenty-seven, having been married and divorced, she certainly wasn’t that! But the heated colour of sexual arousal. Her eyes had become almost purple with the depth of her response.
He could see her breasts through the sheer material of her blouse, through the cream outline of her bra, their dark, aroused tips clearly visible through those thin layers of silky fabric as they pouted invitingly.
Though she looked almost prim and proper, sitting on the edge of the sofa, her hands modestly linked, her knees pressed together, as Cesare’s gaze moved slowly down over those aroused breasts to her slender waist and below, he knew without a doubt that she wasn’t sitting like that out of modesty—that she would be moist between her thighs as her body readied itself with the sexual desire she was unable to hide from him.
Robin Ingram—the unattainable Robin Ingram—wanted him with a fierceness she couldn’t hide!
Which should make the next few minutes much simpler for both of them.
This was awful, Robin decided, and she shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, very aware of the heat of her body just from looking at this man.
Damn it, if he ever stripped off in front of her, revealing that dark, muscled body in all its naked glory, she would probably have an orgasm right then and there!
‘Very well…Cesare,’ she accepted tautly, forcing her gaze to meet his. ‘I believe you wanted to see my father?’
‘No,’ he came back dismissively. ‘It was always my intention to call on you.’
Robin blinked, frowning slightly. ‘But I thought you asked to see my father…’
He gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘In the knowledge that he was not here.’
Robin stared at him, no longer sure what was going on. If Cesare had known her father was away from home when he called, then why had he bothered to ask?
‘I don’t understand.’ She gave a puzzled shake of her head.
‘No,’ he accepted dryly. ‘But I can assure you that you very soon will.’
The threat in his tone was unmistakeable now, causing a shiver of apprehension down Robin’s spine.
She stood up abruptly, her cheeks warm with anger now. ‘I don’t know what game it is that you’re playing, Mr Gambrelli, but I can assure you—’
‘No game, Robin,’ he cut in, dark eyes glittering as he looked up at her, his expression scornful, his jaw clenched. ‘Sit down,’ he instructed coldly.
‘How dare you—’
‘I said sit down, Robin,’ he repeated.
‘Must I remind you that you’re a guest in my home, Mr Gambrelli? An unwelcome guest at that!’