‘You look...beautiful,’ he said unsteadily, noticing how pink her cheeks had grown in response to his compliment, and he was reminded once again of her innocence and inexperience.
S
he tugged at the skirt of the dress as if trying to lengthen it. ‘I feel a bit underdressed, to be honest.’
He shook his head. ‘If that were the case then I certainly wouldn’t let you leave the house.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘What, you mean you’d keep me here by force? Prisoner of the Italian tycoon?’
He smiled. ‘I’ve always found persuasion to be far more effective than force. I assume Leola organised a suitable coat for you to wear?’
‘A coat?’ She stared at him blankly.
‘It’s November, Keira, and we’re going to a party in the city. It might be warmer than back in England, but you’ll still need to wrap up.’
Keira’s stomach did a flip. ‘You didn’t mention a party.’
‘Didn’t I? Well, I’m mentioning it now.’
She gave the dress another tug. ‘Whose party is it?’
‘An old friend of mine. Salvatore di Luca. It’s his birthday—and it will be the perfect opportunity for you to meet people. It would be a pity for you not to have an audience when you look so very dazzling.’ His gaze travelled over her and his voice thickened. ‘So why not go and get your coat? The car’s waiting.’
Keira felt nerves wash over her. She was tempted to tell him she’d rather stay home and eat a panino in front of the fire, instead of having to face a roomful of strangers—but she was afraid of coming over as some kind of social misfit. Was this some strange kind of interview to assess whether or not she would be up to the task of being Matteo’s partner? To see if she was capable of making conversation with his wealthy friends, of getting through a whole evening without dropping a canapé down the front of her dress?
Her black velvet swing coat was lined with softest cashmere and Keira hugged it around herself as the driver opened the door of the waiting limousine, her heart missing a beat as Matteo slid onto the seat beside her. His potent masculinity was almost as distracting as the dark suit which fitted his muscular body to perfection and made him look like some kind of movie star on his way to an awards ceremony. ‘You aren’t driving, then?’ she observed.
‘Not tonight. I have a few calls I need to make.’ His black eyes gleamed. ‘After that I’m exclusively yours.’
The way he said it sent ripples of excitement whispering over her skin and she wondered if that had been deliberate. But there was apprehension too because Keira wasn’t sure she would be able to cope with the full blaze of his undivided attention. Not when he was being so...nice to her.
She suspected he was on his best behaviour because he wanted her to agree to his masterplan—whenever he got around to unveiling it. And although he hadn’t shown any desire to parent their son, something told her that he saw Santino as his possession, even if so far he had exhibited no signs of love. Because of that, she suspected he wouldn’t let her go easily and the stupid part was that she didn’t want him to. She was beginning to recognise that she was out of her depth—and not just because he was a billionaire hotelier and she a one-time car mechanic. She didn’t have any experience of relationships and she didn’t have a clue how to react to him. Part of her wished she were still in the driver’s seat, negotiating the roads with a slick professionalism she’d been proud of until she’d ruined her career in the arms of the man who sat beside her, his long legs stretched indolently in front of him.
She forced herself to drag her eyes away from the taut tension of his thighs—and at least there was plenty to distract her as she gazed out of the window at the lights of the city and the stunning Roman architecture, which made her feel as if she’d fallen straight into the pages of a guide book.
Salvatore de Luca’s apartment was in the centre of it all—a penthouse situated close to the Via del Corso and offering commanding views of the city centre. Keira was dimly aware of a maid taking her coat and a cocktail being pressed into her hand and lots of people milling around. To her horror she could see that every other woman was wearing elegant black and her own expensive scarlet dress made her feel like something which had fallen off the Christmas tree. And it wasn’t just the colour. She wasn’t used to displaying a hint of cleavage, or wearing a dress which came this high above the knee. She felt like an imposter—someone who’d been more at home with her hair hidden beneath that peaked hat, instead of cascading over her shoulders like this.
She saw a couple of the men give her glances which lingered more than they should have done—or was that just something Italian men did automatically? Certainly, Matteo seemed to be watching her closely as he introduced her to a dizzying array of friends and she couldn’t deny the thrill it gave her to feel those dark eyes following her every move.
Keira did her best to chat animatedly, hugely grateful that nearly everybody spoke perfect English, but conversation wasn’t easy. She was glaringly aware of not mentioning the one subject which was embedded deeply in her heart and that was Santino. She wondered when Matteo was planning to announce that he was a father and what would happen when he did. Did any of his friends have children? she wondered. This apartment certainly didn’t look child-friendly and she couldn’t imagine a toddler crawling around on these priceless rugs, with sticky fingers.
Escaping from the growing pitch of noise to the washroom, Keira took advantage of the relative calm and began to peep into some of the rooms on her way back to the party. Entering only those with open doors, she discovered a bewildering number of hand-painted salons which reminded her of Matteo’s villa. His home wasn’t exactly child-friendly either, was it?
The room she liked best was small and book-lined—not because she was the world’s greatest reader but because it opened out onto a lovely balcony with tall green plants in pots and fabulous views over the glittering city. She stood there for a moment with her arms resting on the balustrade when she heard the clip-clop of heels enter the room behind her and she turned to see a tall redhead who she hadn’t noticed before. Maybe she was a late arrival, because she certainly wasn’t the kind of woman you would forget in a hurry. Her green gaze was searching rather than friendly and Keira had to concentrate very hard not to be fixated on the row of emeralds which gleamed at her slender throat and matched her eyes perfectly.
‘So you’re the woman who’s been keeping Matteo off the scene,’ the woman said, her soft Italian accent making her sound like someone who could have a very lucrative career in radio voice-overs.
Keira left the chilly balcony and stepped into the room. ‘Hello, I’m Keira.’ She smiled. ‘And you are?’
‘Donatella.’ Her green eyes narrowed, as if she was surprised that Keira didn’t already know this. ‘Your dress is very beautiful.’
‘Thank you.’
There was a pause as Donatella’s gaze flickered over her. ‘Everyone is curious to know how you’ve managed to snare Italy’s most elusive bachelor.’
‘He’s not a rabbit!’ joked Keira.
Either Donatella didn’t get the joke or she’d decided it wasn’t funny because she didn’t smile. ‘So when did you two first meet?’