‘Interesting.’
‘Not in the slightest.’ She leaned forward and regarded him shrewdly. ‘And you know what? I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you’d have made such an arduous journey the minute you could just to confirm a suspicion. If that was all you wanted to do you could have called. Or even emailed.’
‘I employ a driver and own a plane,’ he said in a deliberate attempt to draw her attention away from her more disconcerting observations while the discomfort inside him grew. ‘It wasn’t that arduous.’
‘What happened between me leaving you in Finn’s study and you deciding to simply walk out? Was it something I said?’
It was what she’d said and the photos, the occasion and the relatives. The sudden, stomach-curdling feeling that if he stuck around his life might irrevocably change, and quite possibly for the worse. That was what had happened. But Rico didn’t want to rehash the events of earlier. He didn’t even want to have to think about them. And he’d had enough of this interrogation.
He’d changed his mind about Carla’s suitability as a lover, he thought darkly, ignoring the stab of disappointment that struck him in the gut and focusing on the rapid beat of his pulse and fine cold sweat now coating him instead. When he’d first laid eyes on her, he hadn’t given much thought to her personality. He’d been too blown away by her looks and then too focused on distracting himself to properly acknowledge the dry, clever bite to her words.
However, now there was no denying that she was far more perceptive and tenacious than he’d anticipated, and that was way more dangerous than it was intriguing. She had the potential to see too much. Demand too much. And she’d use every weapon in her no doubt considerable arsenal to get it. No matter how intensely he set about seducing her, she wouldn’t let up with the questions. If he showed any sign of succumbing to a moment of weakness she’d slip beneath his guard and have him revealing every secret he held, which simply could not happen.
However much he wanted her, he’d never put himself in a position that would leave him defenceless and exposed and vulnerable to attack. He hated the thought of being manipulated and, even worse, being unaware of it. It had happened once before, when he’d been young and desperate and an easily exploitable target, and he had no intention of allowing it to happen again.
So he’d feed her and deposit her at her hotel, bidding her goodnight instead of following her up as had been his original plan, and that really would put an end to today.
‘It’s getting late,’ he muttered as he picked up and scoured a menu that he knew off by heart. ‘We should order.’
CHAPTER FOUR
HAH...
Carla sat back, not falling for the relaxed demeanour or the dazzling yet practised smiles for a moment. Rico was hiding something. She knew it. His tells were tiny and no doubt invisible to anyone whose job wasn’t all about perception and seeking out the truth behind the facade, but she’d caught the odd moment of tension that gripped his big, lean frame and the occasional flare of wariness in the depths of his eyes.
She hadn’t missed the way he’d brushed off his accident as if it had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience when it had to have been anything but. Or how when she’d suggested he ought to make time for family he’d neatly turned it back on her. And the fact that he’d left unanswered her question about exactly what had made him leave Finn’s study had not gone unnoticed.
He was no more an open book than she was and she may not understand why, but she did recognise what he was doing. Deflection and dissembling and carefully curating responses were tactics she deployed herself. She shared nothing of significance with the few men she dated. No details of her past, no hopes and dreams for the future and certainly no emotion. With information came power. With emotion came vulnerability, and the idea of giving a man that kind of control over her made her stomach roll. Could it be that Rico was protecting himself too?
It was none of her concern. What was of concern was that she badly needed to know what hidden depths lay beneath the charming exterior and the dry words, and it looked as though his armour might be harder to penetrate than she’d assumed.
But that didn’t mean she was going to give up. Oh, no. If she concentrated on what was at stake tonight—Finn and Georgie and their happiness—she would get what she wanted. She usually did in the end. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Rico she believed it was all about manipulation. She knew first-hand how powerful a tactic that could be and how easy it was to shape and mould people’s beliefs and behaviours, and she wasn’t unaware of the irony of having made a career out of it.
However, turning a negative into a positive had been a major factor in getting over what had happened to her. She didn’t feel any pangs of guilt about what she did. Controlling the narrative was key, and all the weapons she had at her disposal to achieve this were entirely compatible with the openness, honesty and transparency that were so important to her.
But manipulation probably wasn’t going to work here, she reflected, picking up a menu of her own as her stomach gave a rumble and just about managing to decipher it, since pasta was pasta in almost any language. Rico was too sharp, too wary. So maybe she ought to switch tactics. She’d gone for the jugular, hoping to catch him off guard, but perhaps some of that subtlety she’d espoused a moment ago would be more successful.
As soon as they’d ordered, she’d start with some innocent questions. About his English, perhaps. Where he learned it and how it had got so good. About where he’d been raised and how he’d become involved in hedge funds. Surely he’d have no objection to providing that kind of basic information.
In the event, however, she didn’t get a chance to find out. Their order was taken and the food arrived with impressive efficiency, and that was pretty much it for conversation. If Rico had been lacking in expansive answers before, he turned positively tight-lipped now. Her questions met with monosyllabic responses that dwindled into mutters, and eventually she gave up in frustrated exasperation.
She’d never seen anyone so wholly focused on their food. Each bite seemed uniquely important, a moment to be relished and protected. His head-down, methodical approach to eating was intriguing. He was utterly absorbed in the process. He didn’t even notice when someone who’d clearly overdone the chianti bumped into her chair.
Although, to be fair, she barely did either.
/> For one thing her spaghetti alla puttanesca was exquisite, an all-encompassing experience of sublimely balanced flavours that exploded her taste buds and made her want to groan in pleasure. For another, with conversation non-existent, she’d found herself giving in to the temptation she’d been fighting all evening and studying him instead.
Up until now she’d had to keep her wits about her and her mind off his many attractions, but now, unobserved, she could indulge her senses. Just a little and just for a moment, because he really was unbelievably gorgeous. Beneath the white cotton of the shirt he’d changed into at some point his shoulders were wide and strong enough to carry the weight of the world. When she looked at his hands, she could envisage them on her body, sliding over her hot, bare skin and making her tremble with need. Her own hands itched with the urge to ruffle his thick, dark hair and she had to tighten her grip on her fork.
She badly wanted to know how he’d got the scar that cut a pale, jagged line at his temple and how he’d acquired the bump in his nose, the imperfections which only made him sexier. His easy, practised smile, which never quite made it to his eyes, and which she suspected was designed to both fool and conceal, was nevertheless still blinding enough to do strange things to her stomach, no matter how much she tried to resist.
For several heady minutes while they ate in silence, Carla’s entire world, her focus and her attention, was reduced to the magnetising, enigmatic man sitting opposite her, so it was little wonder she’d been caught by surprise when that fellow diner had knocked into her chair.
Little wonder too that she jumped and blinked when Rico’s voice cut across her surprisingly lurid thoughts.
‘Are you done?’
‘What?’ she managed, her voice strangely husky. ‘Oh. Yes.’