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the coffee, which was surprisingly good, finding himself in the curious position of having to force his mind back to work instead of the memory of her pale, curving body revealed by his removal of that rather plain underwear.
‘You are doubting my ability to expand into this particular market?’ he demanded.
‘No, of course I’m not. And I can find whoever you need to staff it. I assume you’ll want a new general manager—someone who will put your own particular stamp on the place?’
‘Sì. But I don’t want to change too much, too quickly.’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I want to be able to observe what works and what doesn’t, before I decide.’
Aisling hesitated. ‘You’ll be careful not to change too much, won’t you, Gianluca? One of the place’s biggest selling points is its very Britishness—the tourists love all that.’
She was unbelievable! ‘You think that I’ll serve only pizza in the restaurants from now on and start playing loud Italian opera?’ he queried sarcastically.
‘And plastic gondolas on sale in the foyer,’ she agreed, deadpan.
His mouth twitched as he tried to hold back a smile. ‘Ah, Aisling,’ he sighed. ‘What is it that you object to in this deal?’
He paid for her judgement and her perception, didn’t he? And for the truth, too.
‘It’s just that this a departure from the Palladio brand,’ she said softly. ‘That’s all.’
‘A brand?’ he echoed. ‘You think that Gianluca Palladio is a brand? What kind of a word is that? You are comparing me to a can of beans, perhaps?’
‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Gianluca—of course I’m not! I’m just telling you not to lose that special something for which you’re known.’
‘Ah!’ His eyes narrowed and a sudden sensation of friction became almost tangible in the air around them. His voice dipped. ‘And what special something would that be?’
Feeling as if she’d walked straight into a trap of her own making, Aisling felt her skin grow warm—the tightening of her breasts reminding her all too clearly of Gianluca the lover. How he had suckled them, teased them with his teeth, licked them.
She bit her lip. Oh, why remember something at a time like this? The colour in her cheeks intensified and she found she wanted to look away from him, but couldn’t. She swallowed. ‘Gianluca. Please, don’t.’
‘Don’t what, cara? Don’t desire you when it feels as natural to me as breathing? Don’t you know how lovely you look when you lose that frosty look of yours and smile? I saw you smile more times in my arms that night than I’ve done in almost two years of working with you.’
‘But that’s not why we’re here!’ she said quickly. ‘What happened that night was a moment of madness—a mistake.’
He stared at her disbelievingly. ‘And that’s all?’
‘That’s all,’ she agreed. Because what alternative did she have? Admit she’d done nothing but think about him—with images of his mocking face and hard body consuming her memory like a fever? ‘And we’re supposed to be working,’ she reminded him. ‘I’m your head-hunter and you asked my opinion.’
There was a pause but all he could think was how tantalising it was to be pushed away. ‘I know you are,’ he said softly. ‘And that’s why I want you to come to a cocktail party at the Vinoly this evening. This will be a good opportunity to observe how the hotel is being run with a degree of relative anonymity. Once the sale goes through it will be impossible for me to fade in the background.’
Aisling swallowed. She felt he was playing with her. Pushing her around like a croupier sliding little plastic chips across a gaming table. ‘But if you take me with you, then won’t people guess?’
‘And what will they guess, cara?’ he taunted. ‘That we’re lovers, or that I’m buying the hotel?’
‘But we’re not lovers, Gianluca. Not any more.’
He smiled, but the curve of his lips was cynical and it made a perfect partner for the mockery in his eyes. Aren’t we? they seemed to say. ‘It’s at six, in the Thames Room. I’ll send a car here for you.’
She shook her head in frustration, feeling control begin to slip away, and it scared her. ‘I’m a London girl and I’m used to getting around the city on my own. There’s really no need to—’
He cut across her protest with an arrogant wave of his hand.
‘I will send a car,’ he repeated obstinately.
CHAPTER SIX
AISLING remembered the first time she’d ever been to the Vinoly, with its sweeping mahogany staircase and famous rooftop restaurant. She’d been an impressionable twenty year old who hadn’t yet learnt that it was almost impossible to hold a drink as well as eat a canapé, and she had ended up squashing a filo-pastry case against her best dress and ruining it.
These days, of course, she never ate canapés—and had lots of dresses which could have been defined as ‘best', all hanging in neatly pressed, plastic-shrouded lines in the wardrobe of her apartment. She was also used to London’s more glamorous locations and conducted many of her meetings at this particular venue.
Nonetheless, when the luxurious black car dropped her off at the revolving doors of the famous hotel, she felt the nerves which were beginning to gnaw away at her. Not that anyone would have guessed it from the cool, calm smile on her face. In fact, no one would have guessed anything.
She knew a million ways to hide what she was feeling—she had learnt them at about the same time she’d learnt to ride a bike.You developed a pretty tough skin when you were instructed to tell the creditors that your mother had nipped out to the shops and you didn’t know when she’d be back.
Her high heels sinking into the acres of plush carpet, she walked along the seemingly endless corridors towards the venue. She could hear the chatter of voices as she walked into the crowded Thames Room, and then she saw Gianluca and her heart seemed to stand still.
He was surrounded by people who were trying not to look as if they were jostling for his attention, but that was exactly what they were doing—especially some of the women were circling him like a pack of glossy predators.And you are not going to join their desperate ranks, she told herself calmly.
Gianluca glanced up and saw her and something about her quiet poise captured his attention. She was wearing a simple pink silk dress—with a pair of plain pearl studs her only adornment. She gave him a small, polite nod of recognition and he felt his fingers tighten around his glass of champagne as she began to walk towards him.
Over the last few weeks he had found himself thinking about that night in Umbria. Wondering if her behaviour that night had been a bizarre one-off—something completely out-of-character, which would never be repeated. Or if maybe she was a game-player—knowing that a man of his experience liked nothing more than a challenge. Had she read one of those books which advised women that the best way to hook a powerful man was to keep him guessing?
‘Aisling,’ he murmured as she approached. ‘You made it.’
She met his eyes. ‘Did I have a choice?’
He gave a quick, hard smile. ‘No.’
Aisling forced herself to look around because anything was safer than gazing into his eyes. ‘It’s certainly crowded.’
‘You like cocktail parties?’
She shrugged. ‘Not really. They’re an occupational hazard, aren’t they?’
‘Like plane journeys, you mean?’
‘Well, yes. Or meetings with the bank manager.’
‘Ah,