‘No one would sell me Sicily.’ His eyes gleamed with sardonic humour and she found herself laughing too, although a tiny part of her wondered whether perhaps he wasn’t joking.
‘Do you have to own everything?’
‘If you’re asking if I’m a possessive man—’ he gave a slow, expressive shrug of his broad shoulders ‘Sì. If I want something, then, yes, I have to own it.’ His eyes lingered on her face and she shivered, suddenly agonisingly aware that it was just the two of them on a deserted island.
‘Can I ask you something else?’
‘Ask.’
‘Who was it that put you off marriage?’
For a moment he didn’t respond and then he sat up, the muscles in his abdomen tensing as he leaned forward and flipped open the lid of an elegant basket. ‘Are you hungry?’
That was it? He was going to ignore her question? ‘You said I could ask you something—’
‘And you did.’ Reaching into the basket, he removed a number of dishes that wouldn’t have disgraced a top restaurant.
‘But you haven’t answered me.’
‘I didn’t say that I’d answer.’ He broke the bread in half and handed her a piece. ‘I said you could ask.’
Exasperated, she looked at him. ‘Do you ever stop being a lawyer?’
‘Am I being a lawyer?’
‘You guard every word you say.’
His eyes lingered on her face for a moment and then he smiled. ‘In much the same way that you guard everything you do.’
She pulled at the bread with her fingers. ‘You should have been a politician. You only ever reveal what you want to reveal. Doesn’t matter what the question is, because the only answer you’re going to get from Alessio Capelli is the one he wants to give.’
‘Spilling my guts has never been my style.’
‘And yet you have a really high profile in the press.’
‘Their choice, not mine.’ He was totally indifferent. ‘I give them nothing.’
‘Why don’t you live in Sicily? Or aren’t you prepared to discuss that either?’
‘Sicily isn’t a good base for an international business. I divide my time between my office in New York and my office in Rome.’
Lindsay finished eating and wiped her fingers. ‘Do you ever go back to Sicily? Do you have family there?’
There was an imperceptible change in him. ‘Just my brother. And he’s with me in Rome.’
‘Are your parents alive?’
He moved so swiftly that she didn’t stand a chance. One moment she was sitting on the sand, congratulating herself that they were actually managing to sustain a conversation about something other than sex or divorce—a faltering, fragile conversation maybe, but a conversation nevertheless—and the next, she was on her back in the sand and his hard, powerful body was pressing down on hers.
‘I don’t give interviews, tesoro.’ For a few suspended seconds his mouth hovered tantalisingly close, almost but not quite touching her. And the promise of that touch made her lips tingle and her body ache, and the stab of delicious anticipation was so agonising that she could hardly breathe as she waited for him to kiss her. Her senses were primed, her pulse rate frantic, her nerve endings exploding like fireworks on bonfire night. And just when she’d decided that he wasn’t going to do it—that it wasn’t going to happen—he did.
And it was nothing like she’d imagined it to be.
Alessio Capelli was pure alpha male—arrogant, confident, imposing his will on those around him.
Whenever she’d thought about kissing him, she’d imagined his hand in her hair, his mouth rough and demanding as he took what he wanted. So the slow, seductive pressure of his mouth on hers came as a shock. He was a skilled, expert kisser—a man who knew exactly how to draw the maximum response from a woman. The heat rushed through her body, lighting every nerve ending like a match held against paper. And she melted in the heat of that kiss, her body growing warm and heavy as sizzling excitement concentrated itself low in her pelvis.
With slow, deliberate precision, he coaxed her lips apar