“Unlike you, my dear, I am buying, not selling,” he said in a mocking drawl. “You recognize my accent, I see.”
Giana saw his dark eyes were glittering with interest; he was beginning to enjoy himself. She realized she had no experience with a man like this—he scared her to her toes. She fanned her hands in front of her and prepared to rise. After all, he couldn’t touch her, it was against the rules. “If you will excuse me, sir.”
“We have already been through that, Helen. You will stay. I wish it. What color is your real hair?”
Her eyes flew to his face, and in an unconscious gesture she touched her fingers to the soft auburn curls over her ear.
“So it is a wig. I thought as much. Somehow the blue eyes don’t quite fit with the auburn hair, and there is not one freckle to mar your beautiful white skin.” He leaned toward her, as if he were going to touch her hair, and she jerked back, terrified. He frowned at her suddenly pale face, his black brows rising upward.
“I applaud your approach,” he said slowly. “It is quite refreshing, like a trapped, innocent little doe, or perhaps Santelo is right, you’re a little kitten, with claws.”
“I am certainly not an animal,” she said, “and I have no approach,” she added, running her tongue over her dry lips. She was quite unaware it was a very sensual gesture.
He laughed. “Do you not, my dear? It was you who pretended interest in me, if you will recall. When I saw you wished to make me the object of your, ah, desire, I decided to be polite.”
“In truth, I don’t like you,” Giana said.
“You become more fascinating with each insult.” He paused a moment, and studied her flushed face. “How old are you, Helen?”
“I am seventeen, and you, I daresay, are quite old.”
“Twenty-seven. Ancient, I suppose, to one of your tender years. But look about you, Helen. I am one of the youngest men here. Would you not prefer losing your prized, quite expensive maidenhead to me rather than one of these other paunchy gentlemen?”
He can’t touch me, she thought, and I am safe, for Daniele will buy me. He believed her a whore, and though he seemed to be drawn to her, she sensed he disliked her, and it angered as well as shamed her. She struck out at him. “You, sir, are vulgar, but I suppose it is to be expected, you being an American. Yes, I am English, but of course you know that already.”
“And you, Helen, play the part of the outraged well-bred young English lady to perfection. I applaud your acting talents.”
“Careful, Alex, the girl likely has spikes on her maidenhead.”
Giana merely stared at the Italian who was sitting forward in his chair beside them.
“She appears not to like you either, Santelo,” Alex said. He sat back in his cha
ir and crossed his long legs. He tapped his fingertips together and regarded her with great interest. He decided she intrigued him.
“To show I’m a good sport, I’ll offer one lira for her,” Santelo said, grinning widely to show a space between his two front teeth.
Giana could not seem to tear her eyes away from his tapping fingertips, the same blunt-ended fingers that had caressed Margot’s white body. He leaned toward her, and she jerked back, nearly unbalancing herself. She saw one of the girls, a chestnut-haired, green-eyed beauty, touch Santelo’s arm, drawing his attention.
“Now we can have a little privacy,” Alex said. He sat back again, and watched her with ease. “ Somehow you don’t look like a Helen. What is your real name? Molly? Daisy?”
“That’s right,” she said in a cold, clear voice. “My name is Molly. Very astute of you.”
His white teeth flashed through his grin. “You have an agile tongue. Let us hope that your tongue and your lovely mouth are as skilled in other areas as in speech.”
Giana drew back as if he had struck her, her face paling.
“Ah, our lack of innocence is finally revealed. Tell me, Helen or Molly, do you enjoy pleasuring men in that way?”
She shook her head, mute.
“What do you enjoy?”
“I enjoy embroidering altar cloths.”
Alex stared at her, his head cocked to one side. This one was a minx, smart-tongued and saucy. He itched suddenly to touch her, to find out what it would be like to bend her to his will, to make her cry out for him. He heard the girl beside Santelo giggle loudly at one of his friend’s inane jests and was pleased that this girl, Helen or Molly or whatever her name was, had sought him out. She was a challenge and he enjoyed challenges. He was beginning to regret that he had to leave for Paris in the morning.
“Tell me, my dear, once you have lost your most prized possession, what will you do?”