Claimed by the Italian. Christina HollisЧитать онлайн книгу.
there was nothing either of them could do about it? Always in charge of his own destiny, this was a first for him.
Closer. His eyes found hers and held. Her clear wide gaze made his heart turn over. Her soft lips were parted in unconscious invitation. The delicate pink crests of her perfect creamy breasts peaked in betrayal. Did she burn for him as he burned for her?
One touch of his hand, his unsteady hand, his skin against her skin and there would be no turning back. As he knew his own name he knew that. Her slender body was a siren call. Irresistible.
He dragged a breath into his oxygen-starved lungs. Lily was an innocent. Not his type, not the usual blonde sophisticate who saw good sex as a fair exchange for a few weeks of his attention, fancy restaurants, weekends in Paris, St Tropez, Rome, taking a parting gift of some costly jewel or other with no regrets.
The feeling that he would die before harming Lily, hurting her, overwhelmed him.
Turning, he reached for the control he’d almost lost during the handful of minutes that had passed since he’d walked in on her, reached for a robe flung carelessly over the back of a chair and enclosed her in it as she looked up at him in a way that turned his insides to water.
The backs of his fingers drifted over the warm skin that covered her delicate collarbone as he closed the fabric, and it was almost his undoing. His voice was thicker, more brusque than he’d intended, as he stepped away, putting much needed distance between them, and gave his belated apology, ‘Forgive me. Walking in without your invitation to enter was crass.’ He gave a cursory glance at his wristwatch. ‘Dinner in five minutes. Mamma will be waiting.’ And he left before he could succumb to the heartbreaking confusion in her beautiful eyes.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘I HAVE a lovely surprise for you!’
Fiora had waited until the sea bass had been served by the now silently departing Donatella, and Lily noted with a sinking feeling that her eyes were sparking with excitement.
‘We are to have an engagement party on Friday!’ she announced. ‘The first social gathering we have hosted in over a year! This afternoon I have arranged everything on the telephone.’
‘Have you, now?’ Carla, exotic in a deep scarlet flowing gown that suited her ample figure, patrician features and glossy black hair put in repressively. ‘While my back was turned?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And you don’t think you should have waited until you are strong enough to cope with such excitement and busyness?’
‘Mamma?’ Paolo echoed the companion’s question, and for the first time since entering the dining room Lily looked directly at him, willing him to veto his mother’s insane idea.
In his white dinner jacket he looked exactly what he was—sophisticated, urbane, perfectly at home in his exquisite surroundings. White on white. White walls, long windows where gauzy white drapes fluttered, tall white candles on the table drawing gleaming reflections from the antique silverware, Venetian glass and sparkling china. White blooms in a creamy porcelain bowl gracing the centre of the table.
Lily’s lashes swiftly screened her tortured eyes. Watching him idly toy with the stem of his wine glass, relaxed, his sensual mouth softening even as he raised one strongly marked eyebrow in the direction of his mother, she felt as if someone had kicked her in the stomach.
She didn’t think she would ever, ever be able to face him alone again! A raging blush burned her face. The way she’d just stood there, for the second time caught as naked as a newborn, stunned, immobile, watching the slow drift of his golden eyes as he moved towards her, trapped by a fierce sexual tension. It must have seemed to him that she was blatantly inviting him to touch her, make love to her!
Which was exactly what she had been doing, she recognised with searingly painful honesty. She had wanted him so very desperately that her normal sense of modesty and self-respect had departed without a single trace!
But he couldn’t have made his lack of interest any plainer. Apologising for his intrusion and covering her up with that robe. And leaving. A definite thanks, but no thanks! She had never felt so humiliated, so deeply ashamed of herself in her life!
It had taken more courage than she had imagined she possessed to pull on the most sober garment she could find and appear for dinner. Now, she belatedly wished she had taken the coward’s way out—pleaded a headache and buried herself deep beneath the bedclothes, refusing to come out until this nightmare had gone away.
‘Don’t fuss, Paolo!’ Fiora forked a little of the delicious fish. ‘It is to be a small affair only—to mark your betrothal, as is proper. Just your cousins—I know you have no time for them, but I want to show Lily off to what little remains of our family.’ She laid down her cutlery after clearing her plate, welcome evidence of her returning appetite. ‘As for the extra work—what are staff for? It will give me great pleasure to sit back and simply direct operations!’
Once again Lily steeled herself to raise her eyes in Paolo’s direction, swallowing shakily as the impact of his lean male beauty hit her. Tightening her soft pink mouth as her heart clattered against her ribs, she waited for him to put a halt to it all—rule out any idea of an engagement party. After all, he was king of the roost. This was his home, his fake engagement.
But all he said was, ‘Then, provided you don’t overtire yourself, we will humour you, Mamma.’
Paolo heard Lily’s rush of indrawn breath, saw her slender white shoulders—revealed by the black silk slip dress she was wearing—stiffen, before they sagged as she slipped a little lower in her chair, as if she were trying to hide herself under the table.
Poor sweet Lily! An iron band tightened around his heart. He’d put her through one ordeal after another. He would make amends, he vowed silently. He would make things right if it was the last thing he did.
She had looked strained and subdued since she’d joined them. Because of what had happened—almost happened—back in her bedroom?
His body hardened intolerably as mental images flooded his brain.
He felt he had shown quite remarkable restraint in the circumstances. He had been driven wild by need, yet he had done the honourable thing and backed off. Surely she would understand that by doing that and not following his primal instincts it showed he had grown to respect her, admire her and care for her? That he had put her physical and emotional well-being before his own desire to possess her enticingly sexy body?
When she understood that he had respected her innocence, not taken advantage of what she had undoubtedly unknowingly offered, she would begin to respect him too. Would grow to like him and forget how he had manipulated her into a situation he knew she felt deeply uncomfortable about. For some reason it was vitally important.
What was it about Lily Frome that brought out the male protective instinct in him? The need to look good in her eyes? Until now he had never cared how other people saw him.
His brooding golden gaze rested on her, and his heart squeezed painfully inside his chest. That dress made her look so fragile, threw the pallor of her skin into prominence. She looked achingly delicate. Fragile and breakable.
He didn’t want to break her. He wanted to—
Muttering his excuses, he left the table and went to take a long cold shower.
‘Lily said she wanted some fresh air,’ Fiora said in answer to Paolo’s question, not raising her eyes from the lists she was writing, rapidly covering the sheets of paper, underlining some items several times, starring or circling others.
To-do, or Have-done lists for the coming party, he guessed, helping himself to a much-needed cup of unsweetened dark coffee from the pot on her breakfast tray.
His night had been passed in deep thought. His body and mind had thrown up a problem. But, as always, having looked at the problem from all possible angles, he had found the answer.
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