He looked, she thought rather desperately, utterly ravishing—in a dark linen suit, and a blue silk shirt which was unbuttoned at the neck, showing a tantalising glimpse of olive skin and the arrowing of dark hair.
‘Luca,’ she said, her voice very low. She forced a smile. ‘Hello.’
He narrowed his eyes. This was not the behaviour of a woman who wanted him to make love to her. In fact, she looked as though she were dancing on pieces of broken glass. Did that mean she was nervous, and if so—wasn’t that rather endearing? At least it showed him a chink in her sophisticated armour.
He smiled and moved forward, kissing her on each cheek, his hands on her shoulders, continental style, and Eve felt herself relax slightly. Anyone would think she was a timid little mouse of a thing, with no experience of men whatsoever!
But as she breathed in some subtle, heavenly aftershave he was wearing, and felt the faint rasp of his chin against her cheek, it struck her that she felt completely naïve and inexperienced. Why, give her a plate of prawns and she would probably drop them all over him!
‘You look wonderful,’ he murmured. More than wonderful—though distinctly understated. Some floaty little silk skirt and a soft, pink sweater, which moulded itself to her perfect breasts. A pair of high suede boots and her hair caught in a plait and tied at the end with a pink ribbon. It was both sexy and yet wholesome and it had the effect of making him want her even more.
‘Thank you.’
‘Shall we go and eat?’ He glanced briefly at his watch. ‘What time do you have to leave?’
‘Oh, well, I can decide later,’ she prevaricated. She met the look of curiosity in his eyes. ‘That is—um, there’s a train at nine-thirty.’ Which wasn’t answering his question at all, and she had said ‘um’ again!
‘We could eat here, if you like. Or find somewhere local?’
Oh, heavens. Normally sure and decisive, she suddenly felt a quivering mass of uncertainty, until something happened which made her get real. Maybe it was the fleeting side-glance which the sleek blonde at Reception sent her, as if she would give anything to be in Eve’s shoes.
Enjoy this, she told herself. Just enjoy it. ‘What’s the food like here?’
‘I have no idea.’ He glanced around. ‘My secretary booked it for me—it’s a little—antiseptic for my taste. But there’s a sushi bar around the corner—do you like sushi?’
‘I love it.’
‘Come on, then.’
Outside, the whirr of traffic and the people walking made Eve feel more relaxed, and the sushi bar was gorgeous.
‘I think this restaurant might have been designed by a feng shui expert,’ she commented as they were shown to a low table, next to a blurred and restful painting.
‘Because you have to be a contortionist to sit down?’
She smiled. ‘Don’t you think it has a rather restful air about it?’
Restful?
He thought that he could have been given some long sleeping draught and he still would have felt the constant heat of desire, but maybe that was because he had been on a knife-edge of delightful anticipation and uncertainty all week. And uncertainty could be a heady emotion—as if you had discovered some new and delicious food you had not realised existed.
Like a natural predator finding itself in undiscovered terrain, he narrowed his eyes and handed her the menu as the waitress hovered.
‘Shall we order?’
They discussed the menu together, but Eve might as well have been selecting sawdust and treacle for all the notice she took of the food which began to arrive, on stark, square plates, pretty as individual pictures. She did her level best to eat it, determined to act as normally as if she were out with any attractive man, and not one who seemed to have the power to reduce her to a kind of melting jelly with just one hard, brief smile and one glitter of those brilliant, yet unfathomable dark eyes.
She sipped her wine and felt about seventeen, and just hoped to goodness that the face she presented was calm and serene.
Luca leaned back in his seat. ‘So tell me how you came to be a television star.’
‘Presenter,’ she corrected immediately and caught his look of mocking question and smiled. ‘I know I’m a bit defensive, but the job comes with so much baggage that it’s almost instinctive.’
‘People wanting to know you for the wrong reasons?’ he guessed.
‘Something like that.’ She sipped at her wine. ‘I expect you’ve been a victim of it yourself.’
‘Never a victim, cara,’ he murmured. ‘And it is not a word I would have associated with you. So tell me about it.’