Summer Surrender. Sarah MorganЧитать онлайн книгу.
Capelli, a man renowned for being seen with extremely beautiful women.
Something stirred inside her. A tiny spark of female vanity that she tried almost instantly to suppress.
But she had attracted his attention, hadn’t she?
Once.
Once, he’d noticed her. In fact he’d more than noticed her.
If she hadn’t rejected him, they’d have—
Lindsay put her hands on her skirt and slid it slowly up her thighs until it revealed the same amount of leg as the girl downstairs had been showing. She stared at herself for a moment. Then she gave a nervous start and let the skirt drop just as the lift doors opened.
For crying out loud—what was she thinking?
Trying to look confident, she approached a set of glass doors manned by a muscular security guard.
Alessio Capelli certainly made sure he was well protected, she thought dryly, wondering whether it was because of his indecent wealth or the number of enemies he’d made in the pursuit of that wealth.
He was hard, cynical and ruthlessly ambitious. Unfortunately he was also sexier than any man had a right to be and Lindsay felt a moment of pure panic as the moment of confrontation grew closer.
She focused her mind on her sister.
Ruby. This was about Ruby, not her.
Ruby was her one and only priority.
‘I’m here to see Alessio Capelli.’ She smiled at the security guard. ‘Sto cercando il Signor Capelli.’
The man looked at the file under her arm and immediately punched a number into a keypad. The doors opened, revealing a state-of-the-art gym offering an incredible view over the rooftops of Rome.
Despite the breathtaking architecture, it was an all-male domain—the atmosphere thickened by testosterone, the room a melting pot of male ego, pumped muscle and raw aggression.
The security guard took one look at her uncertain expression and gestured towards a man who was throwing hard, rhythmic punches at a bag.
‘That’s him. That’s the boss.’
Lindsay was grateful for his help because, without it, she never would have been able to identify the infamous Sicilian.
It wasn’t what she’d expected of a billionaire with a taste for the finer things in life. But perhaps it was symbolic, she thought wryly, that Alessio Capelli had chosen this particular method of keeping his body in top physical condition. Did he run or lift weights like the other men in the room? No. He chose to thump the living daylights out of something.
Which simply confirmed what she already knew—that he was a tough, ruthless, cold-hearted machine who knew nothing about emotion.
Several of the other men glanced in her direction and suddenly she felt as vulnerable as a lone gazelle finding itself in the middle of a pride of lions.
Gritting her teeth, Lindsay kept her own eyes forward and followed the security guard across the room.
Alessio Capelli hadn’t seen her. He continued to pound his fists into the bag, the muscles of his arms and shoulders bunched in a display of physical force. His bronzed skin gleamed with sweat and his shorts and vest top displayed a physique honed to perfection by hard, punishing exercise. His shoulders were wide and powerful, his body athletic as he threw punch after punch with ruthless precision and impeccable timing.
Watching this display of brutal male aggression, Lindsay faltered, sure that the security guard had made a mistake.
This was the wrong man. It wasn’t him.
It was six months since she’d seen him, but Alessio Capelli’s smooth sophistication and startling good looks were still inconveniently lodged in her brain. Not that it had been looks alone that had drawn her attention. For her, the quality that had made him dangerously attractive was his astonishing intellect. He was a man who used his razor-sharp brain to twist legal precedent to his advantage. His weapon was words, and he used them with lethal skill to achieve the outcome he wanted, whether it was winning a case or seducing a woman into his bed. As a lawyer he was, she knew, the very best.
As a human being—
Lindsay flinched as the man in front of her punched his fist hard into the bag. There was nothing smooth or suave about this particular man. On the contrary, he seemed to represent masculinity at its most basic level.
And then the angle of his body shifted and Lindsay drew in a sharp breath because she could now see the tiny scar above his left eye and the slight bump on his nose that blemished an otherwise faultlessly handsome face.
Once seen, never forgotten.
Every inch of his cold, hard features was etched into her memory for ever.
Horrified by the sudden flash of awareness that exploded through her body, Lindsay took a step backwards regretting the circumstances that had forced her into his path again.
Averting her eyes from his spectacular body, she suddenly wished he were dressed in a formal suit and standing on the other side of a very large desk.
How could she possibly have a serious conversation here?
He was half naked, for goodness’ sake.
Half naked and angry, if the power behind those rhythmic punches was anything to go by.
That missing file had obviously been something important.
He still hadn’t noticed her and it crossed her mind that she could still slink away and wait outside the door for him to finish his workout.
And then his gaze shifted and he stilled.
Dark, deep-set eyes connected with hers and in that single moment the world seemed to shrink. Nothing existed outside the square metre that contained the both of them.
They stared at each other in silence, exchanging a long, lingering glance that was wholly sexual. Trapped by the intimate demands of his intense dark gaze, Lindsey felt the blood pound in her head and she ceased to breathe.
He’d had exactly the same effect on her the first time she’d seen him and it was as terrifying now as it had been then.
Even knowing who he was and what he did for a living had done nothing to lessen the sheer physical impact of the man. He was unashamedly and blatantly masculine, his Sicilian roots evident in every bold line and hard angle of his impossibly handsome face. Stripped virtually naked, he was even more breathtaking. Unlike most men, he had no need of clothes as a disguise for physical imperfections. Alessio Capelli looked even better undressed than he did dressed.
His eyes were dark and framed by such thick, long lashes that it was as if nature had decided to emphasise such an unusually striking feature with extra care. Other men might have used those lashes as an effective screen for his emotions, but not Alessio Capelli. His gaze was direct and unflinching and she suspected that the reason he never felt the need to conceal his emotions was because he’d never actually experienced an emotion of any sort in his life.
He dealt with facts and numbers. And they were big numbers if the rumours were correct.
Feeling eighteen rather than twenty-eight, Lindsay cleared her throat. ‘Hello, Alessio.’
His fists dropped to his sides and his eyes didn’t leave hers. Then he slowly removed each of his gloves and dropped them onto a nearby bench.
‘You’ve chosen a romantic venue for a reunion, Lindsay.’ He spoke in perfect English, but in every way that mattered he was pure Sicilian. The dark good looks, the arrogance, the simmering volatility barely held in check by the veneer of sophistication that surrounded him like another skin—all products of his ancestry.
A wicked thrill of pleasure that he hadn’t forgotten her was immediately replaced by dismay.
Flouting