And like a trigger that had the power to control her every movement, his use of Edward’s name had her freezing yet again as a few very salient points began to filter into her stunned brain cells at last.
She’d first seen him standing with Howard. Now he was installed behind Edward’s desk. And he had removed his suit jacket, which suggested that he intended to be there for quite some time. The jacket to his Italian-made suit, which went so well with his rich, dark Italian ac
cent.
Oh, no. Her heart sank as full understanding finally hit her, and her skin began to prickle for a completely different reason. ‘Giancarlo Cardinale,’ she breathed out unsteadily.
‘Well done,’ he commended with a smile she didn’t like. ‘Now, please…’ he waved a hand towards the chair opposite him ‘…come and sit down, Miss Deyton. We need to talk, I think, and we may as well be comfortable while we do so.’
But now she’d had his identity confirmed, she had no wish to move another inch away from this door until she had a few important answers. ‘What’s happened to Edward?’ she asked in a short, tense voice that revealed her anxiety. ‘Is he all right? Has he taken ill?’
Anger leapt to life so abruptly in those lazy dark eyes that it took her completely aback. ‘Nothing has happened to Edward,’ he clipped out. ‘Edward is never ill—as I am sure you are already aware of.’
Natalia didn’t like his tone. It stiffened her backbone, as did the cold cynicism suddenly hardening his expression.
So what had happened to bring about a change in his attitude? And where was Edward? It was a question that sent a sudden cold little chill chasing down her spine. ‘His wife, then,’ she prompted, too anxious to realise that she was treading a very unstable line here. ‘Has your sister taken ill or something?’
From anger, Giancarlo Cardinale turned to ice. ‘You ask a lot of questions for a lowly clerk,’ he incised.
‘I am not a lowly clerk,’ she denied.
‘What are you, then?’
If it was possible her backbone went even straighter—and seemed to become a live conduit for the warning shot of electricity that went tingling down its full length. He couldn’t know, could he? Warily she studied his dark face for any clues as to what exactly was going on because something dire certainly was, or he wouldn’t be here like this.
Had he found out about her relationship with Edward…?
Sitting there watching the play of emotions taking place on her face, Giancarlo was experiencing a quiet sense of satisfaction for having so quickly brought her to the point where she was considering the frightening prospect of full exposure.
And who would not be frightened in similar circumstances? he allowed. If she had managed to work that much out, then she had also remembered that the blood that ran in his veins was Sicilian, and to a Sicilian family honour meant everything, which meant that she was in deep trouble.
Yet—oddly—he didn’t want her afraid of him, though barely an hour ago he had been walking into this building looking forward to frightening the life out of Natalia Deyton—before he kicked her out of here.
Now things had changed. His game plan had changed. He had looked into her eyes and seen a sensual heaven beckoning him that he could not ignore. He wanted to experience that heaven. He wanted to touch it, taste it, lose himself in it. He wanted to spend days and nights and long exquisite weeks exploring all its possibilities to the exclusion of none—before he kicked her out.
Which also meant that he needed her to see him as her hero not as her enemy if he was going to convince her to let him in her bed instead of Edward.
Not that Giancarlo doubted for a second that this was exactly what she was going to do, because, no matter how beautiful she was to look at, he had not forgotten that a cold and calculatingly mercenary woman lurked beneath all of that beauty. Why else would she choose a paunchy middle-aged man like Edward for her lover if it weren’t out of avarice?
Or was money her big turn-on? he then wondered cynically. Well, if it was, he decided, then he possessed more of that spicy commodity than Edward could ever hope to offer. Nor was he middle-aged or paunchy…
But his time was limited. He had put six weeks aside in his busy work schedule to be here in London. Six weeks to woo her, thoroughly slake his lusts in her—then redress family honour in a way that Natalia Deyton would never forget in a lifetime.
Still, first came the sweetness before the vengeance, he told himself, recognising the tight sting of anticipation for exactly what it was as he prepared to make her fall on him in undying gratitude.
‘My apologies, Miss Deyton,’ he murmured suddenly. ‘I have clearly upset you, and I had no wish to do that. Please, come and sit down, and I will explain to you why I am here.’
She blinked and went pale but began moving towards him. Watching her do so was a pleasure in itself. The graceful stretch of her legs, the sway of her hips, and the unbelievable amount of sensuality she displayed from slender shoulders to beautiful feet. Even the way she lowered herself into the chair on the other side of the desk possessed a kind of poetry. And her hair was not bottle red but a natural burnished copper that caught fire in the weak sunlight seeping into the room from behind him, enhancing her amazing milk-white skin.
He missed none of it—wanted all of it. Especially that mouth, he decided. That soft, gorgeous mouth which was already parted and trembling slightly as if inviting him in.
But the eyes were no longer looking sultry. They looked scared. He wanted sultry. To get it, he leaned forward in the chair, using sexual body language to grab her attention. It worked; her lashes flickered slightly as her gaze dropped from his face to his shirtfront as it came closer. The hairs covering his chest began to prickle in indication of his own sexual arousal.
The spice of life, he named it dryly, noting the way her breathing quickened and her breasts lifted and fell beneath the fitted white top, as her own indication of sexual arousal. Deciding to consolidate on that, he got up and walked round to settle his lean hips on the desk only a few short inches away from her.
‘Edward is well,’ he assured her, watching the way her eyes slid down the length of his legs—then quickly away again. ‘My sister Alegra is also well,’ he added. ‘In fact they are at this moment enjoying a well-deserved holiday cruising the Caribbean.’
Surprise brought her eyes up to clash with his. ‘But—Edward never said—’