‘She’s enjoying this,’ Catherine murmured to Vito as she caught sight of no less than three gentlemen gallantly vying for his mother’s hand for the next dance.
‘More than you are, I think,’ he replied quietly.
But then, she’d had to outface a lot of curiosity from people she’d used to know three years ago. Not that any of them had been allowed to quench their curiosity about the present state of her marriage, because Vito had remained steadfastly at her side throughout the whole evening, as if to act as a shield to that kind of intrusion.
And with a hand lightly resting on the curve of her hip, so his thumb could make the occasional caressing stroke across the skin left exposed at the base of her spine, if she moved he moved with her; if she was invited to dance he politely refused for her. It was all very possessive, and deliciously seductive.
So the evening wore on, the champagne flowed freely, and the hired eight-piece orchestra played while some people danced and others went to help themselves to the buffet. And the only thing that seemed to be missing was—Marietta.
‘Where is she?’ she asked Vito.
‘Delayed, so I believe,’ he answered briefly.
‘But your mother will be disappointed if she isn’t here to toast her birthday.’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he said dryly. ‘I would say that you can virtually count on her being here at some point or other.’
Catherine frowned, not liking the abrasion she had caught in his tone when he’d said that. In fact, when she thought about it, Vito’s tone had been distinctly abrasive whenever Marietta’s name had come up since their trip to Paris.
Had they had a row? she wondered. Then felt something disturbingly like hope curl her stomach. Had Vito actually come to accept that if he wanted his marriage to succeed this time then it had to be without Marietta in its shadows, and had he already called the parting of the ways he had promised?
Hope was a seed that could bloom all too quickly when its host was so eager to feed it. And Catherine was more than ready to do that tonight, with her man behaving so very possessively and with his diamond heart lying against the warm skin just above her breasts.
Good or bad timing on his part that he sent that intrusive thumbpad of his skating across the triangle of flesh exposed by the V of her gown? Whatever, she quivered, and she quivered violently enough to make Vito utter a soft curse beneath his breath.
‘Let’s dance,’ he determined huskily.
It was an excuse to hold her closer. Catherine knew that as she let him guide her out onto the dance floor. His palm flattened against the silk-smooth skin of her back as his other hand closed around her fingers, and as she rested her free hand against his lapel he set them moving to one of those soulful melodies that had a nasty habit of touching the heartstrings. The usual vibrations that erupted between the two of them the moment their bodies were in touch with each other began to pulse all around them.
It was dangerously seductive, wholly mesmerising. They didn’t attempt to talk, and the silence itself added fuel to their growing awareness of each other. When his lips touched her brow it was like being bathed in static. When his thigh brushed her thighs it set the soft curls of hair around her sex stinging in reaction.
And, in response to it all, she felt Vito’s inner self quicken, felt his heart pick up pace beneath her resting hand and that familiar tension enter his body. Unable to resist the urge, she lifted her chin to look at him at the same moment that his lush, long curling lashes gave a flicker as he lowered his gaze and looked at her.
Their eyes suddenly locked. And for a short, stunning moment it was as if everything going on around them faded into the ether. It was seduction at its most torturously exquisite. He held her captive with eyes that were saturating her in the liquid gold heat they were pouring into her.
It was total absorption. Utterly enthralling. Because right there in the middle of a hundred other people she was sure she could feel love come beating down upon her from the one place she had never expected to find it.
‘Vito...’ she heard herself whisper, though she didn’t know why.
‘Catherine,’ he said tensely. ‘We have to—’
‘Luisa. Happy birthday, darling!’ a beautifully rich female voice called out in its warmest Italian and—snap—the link between them was broken.
Marietta had arrived. Dear Marietta. Even the music came to an abrupt standstill.
But then, if anyone could make a perfectly timed entrance, it was Marietta, Catherine mused cynically as she turned within Vito’s slackened grasp to view her worst enemy.
At which point everything alive inside her froze to a complete cessation.
For there, framed by the open glass doors of the glittering ballroom, stood Marietta, dressed in a silver sequinned creation that was as bold as it was beautiful and did tremendous things for her wonderful figure.
But it wasn’t what Marietta was wearing that was paralysing Catherine. That achievement was down to the man who was standing at Marietta’s elbow. Tall, dark, extremely attractive in a very British kind of way, he was looking distinctly uncomfortable with his own presence here...
‘Marcus,’ she breathed, too shocked to even think of holding the name back.
So the tensing she felt taking place behind her sent her heart plummeting in a sinking dive to her stomach as she watched Marcus give a tense tug at his shirt collar before offering the hand and a stiff smile to Luisa, who was being formally introduced to him.
Marietta was smiling serenely while Luisa attempted to put Marcus at his ease, as you would expect from Luisa. But Marcus was beyond being put at his ease. It was so obvious he did not want to be here that Catherine could not understand why he was!