Her high heels sinking into the acres of plush carpet, she walked along the seemingly endless corridors towards the venue. She could hear the chatter of voices as she walked into the crowded Thames Room, and then she saw Gianluca and her heart seemed to stand still.
He was surrounded by people who were trying not to look as if they were jostling for his attention, but that was exactly what they were doing—especially some of the women were circling him like a pack of glossy predators.And you are not going to join their desperate ranks, she told herself calmly.
Gianluca glanced up and saw her and something about her quiet poise captured his attention. She was wearing a simple pink silk dress—with a pair of plain pearl studs her only adornment. She gave him a small, polite nod of recognition and he felt his fingers tighten around his glass of champagne as she began to walk towards him.
Over the last few weeks he had found himself thinking about that night in Umbria. Wondering if her behaviour that night had been a bizarre one-off—something completely out-of-character, which would never be repeated. Or if maybe she was a game-player—knowing that a man of his experience liked nothing more than a challenge. Had she read one of those books which advised women that the best way to hook a powerful man was to keep him guessing?
‘Aisling,’ he murmured as she approached. ‘You made it.’
She met his eyes. ‘Did I have a choice?’
He gave a quick, hard smile. ‘No.’
Aisling forced herself to look around because anything was safer than gazing into his eyes. ‘It’s certainly crowded.’
‘You like cocktail parties?’
She shrugged. ‘Not really. They’re an occupational hazard, aren’t they?’
‘Like plane journeys, you mean?’
‘Well, yes. Or meetings with the bank manager.’
‘Ah, but I have someone else do those for me.’
‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one!’
Now their eyes met. ‘Sì,’ he murmured. ‘Aren’t I just?’
‘Gianluca!’
A woman’s voice shattered the air like a stone being hurled through a window, but Aisling was grateful for the interruption. Her heart was hammering and she felt positively weak. How could a few meaningless words seem so … so significant?
Because you want them to be significant. Because he’s experienced and you’re not, that’s why. And if you allow him to flirt with you, then you’re playing with fire.
‘Gianluca!’ said the voice again and Aisling found herself elbowed out of the way by a blonde with astonishingly green eyes and gravity-defying breasts.
She needed to get away from him—because she didn’t want to stand there, companionably sharing similar views on cocktail parties and air-travel. Soon she would start thinking that they were compatible—and they weren’t. She took a step back. ‘Look, I mustn’t monopolise you any more, Gianluca. You will excuse me, won’t you?’
With something approaching shock, Gianluca realised that she was actually walking away. In fact, she was smiling at a couple of people en route and had begun making her way towards the wall of glass at the other side of the room, which overlooked the view of the river Thames. Leaving him with the kind of woman he could see was going to display all the staying power of a leech.
‘I went to Italy once and absolutely fell in love with it!’
His eyes narrowed as he realised that the blonde was talking to him, but he’d barely heard a word she’d been saying. He stared at her, as if she had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Didn’t she realise that if a woman thrust her breasts into your face it was like being offered a meal when you had just eaten?
Abruptly, he excused himself, but then bumped into a visiting Italian opera star he hadn’t seen for years and was then introduced to a Minister of State. Every time he tried to break free, another VIP was foisted upon him, and all the time he was watching Aisling out of the corner of his eye, noticing the way she was networking.
What was it about her that made him unable to tear his eyes away from her tonight? Was it simply because she was frustrating the hell out of him?
The party was beginning to fold by the time he walked towards her pink-clad back, wondering if he should shake off this sense of persistence and put the whole thing down to experience. If he left now—would he really care? If he never had sex with her again, surely it wouldn’t matter. Wouldn’t the next woman wash her from his memory?
Yet his eyes were drawn to her neck, its long, slim column exposed by the severe chignon, and he found himself wanting to whisper his lips all the way down it. To bite the soft lobe of one of those perfect ears and whisper into it that he wanted her.
‘You seem to make a habit of turning your back on me,’ he observed acidly. ‘Why didn’t you stay?’
Aisling kept her expression bland as she faced him. ‘By your side?’ Her eyes travelled over his shoulder to where the blonde was staring rather disconsolately in his direction. ‘You looked like you were fully occupied.’
‘That isn’t the point,’ he said softly. ‘You’re supposed to be here tonight, working for me.’