‘I suspected as much,’ he continued. ‘I understood you to be quite beautiful. Of course, until now I had no idea just how much.’
She blinked slowly as something lurched inside her. How could just a few words affect her so deeply? She was used to the flattery and attention she received from the local males. They had a reputation for appreciating the feminine form and they certainly lived up to it. But it was always given in good spirit and in a way that was more lighthearted than serious.
This man’s words resonated on another level entirely. Maybe it was something to do with the way his eyes continued to scrutinise her face as if drinking in every detail, to rake over her body with the hot power of a blowtorch.
And still she didn’t know who he was.
She straightened her back, pushing herself taller and battling to damp down her own mounting temperature. She’d had enough of being on the defensive.
‘You seem to have me at a disadvantage, Signor…?’
‘Call me Khaled,’ he said, offering her his hand.
She took it and almost immediately wished she hadn’t, sensing her new-found courage melt away. For now, with his long, tapered fingers enclosing hers, their latent strength seeping into her flesh, she felt as if he’d somehow taken charge, as if he somehow possessed her.
And that was crazy.
She didn’t belong to anyone, least of all to this dark stranger. Even Paolo, whom she’d been seeing on and off for more than two years, didn’t instil this sense of possession in her.
She tugged on her hand, aware the stranger had been holding on to it for much too long, and stepped around him, focusing on steadying the rhythm of her breathing as she headed for the salon’s lounge area. If she didn’t have to concentrate on standing up, maybe she co
uld think more clearly. She indicated an armchair while she glanced over to the door, willing someone, anyone, to enter the store. ‘Please,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘tell me how I can help you.’
He watched her panicked retreat and her longing glance at the passing pedestrians with some entertainment. He’d been right to wait until now to make his move. It was late and unlikely anyone else would visit the salon and interrupt them. Unlikely anyone would come to her rescue.
She turned and looked at him, the questions laid bare in her large blue eyes. He could see her vulnerability and how she was fighting it. He could feel her suspicion, warring with curiosity.
He could taste her fear.
She was much more interesting than he’d been led to believe. And more beautiful. Even with tell-tale smudges of tiredness around her eyes, they shone with life and promise in features arranged perfectly on her face. Her dark-gold hair was swept up into a sleek curve that exposed the smooth sweep of her neck.
The face of a model and the body of a goddess. Paolo couldn’t have chosen better.
She would do perfectly.
‘What can I do for you, Signor Khaled?’ she asked as he curved his length into the plush Venetian-style chair opposite her own. ‘Are you looking for something for a special woman?’
He smiled, more to himself than outwardly. ‘You could say that. Your designs are the talk of Milan. Your show was an outstanding success. For a foreigner you have done remarkably well in breaking into such a competitive market.’
‘I’ve been very lucky.’
‘You are very talented,’ he said. ‘Otherwise you would not be where you are.’
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, her cheeks surprisingly tinged with pink, almost as if she was unused to compliments. ‘Was there something in the collection that particularly interested you?’
‘It is all of interest. But that’s not why I’m here. I want you to make a dress.’
He saw the interest flare in her eyes. ‘Certainly. That’s not a problem. I do commission work for many of my clients.’
He could see by her body language that she was finally relaxing as they spoke, back in the familiar territory of what she did best. Her shoulders looked less rigid and, by the steady rise and fall of her chest, her breathing appeared more under control. She assumed he was just one more customer. This would be almost too easy.
‘This will be no ordinary dress,’ he continued. ‘I am to be married in four weeks. I want you to design and construct a wedding gown for my wife-to-be.’
A wedding dress. She loved all of her design work but always the greatest satisfaction, the greatest thrill, came in designing wedding gowns, a woman’s most important dress for her most important day. A dress that complemented, that accentuated while it minimised and made the most of the bride as it transformed her into a princess; Sapphy loved nothing more than to make it happen. But he was cutting it fine.
‘A wedding gown in just four weeks? Usually we would recommend at least three times that for something so special.’
‘With your talent, I should not think that will be a problem.’