Every inch of her stilled. For the longest moment she just stared at him, as if frozen in shock. Then she
raked her shimmering green gaze over him from head to toe and back up again, her eyes widening, her face paling and her mouth dropping open on a soft gasp.
‘Oh, dear God,’ she breathed in a way that momentarily fractured his control and filled his head with scorching images of her tangled in his sheets and moaning his name despite his intention to ignore her allure.
‘Not quite,’ he drawled, ruthlessly obliterating the images and focusing.
‘Who are you?’
‘Federico Rossi. My friends call me Rico.’ Well, they would if he had any.
‘Where did you come from?’
Originally, who knew? Who cared? He didn’t. ‘Venice.’
‘How did you get in?’
‘With unexpected ease,’ he said, remembering how he’d sailed through the gates and up the drive. ‘Someone left the gates open.’
‘For the coming and going of staff.’
‘Finn should take his security more seriously.’
‘I’ll let him know.’ She gave her head a quick shake in an apparent effort to pull herself together. ‘I can’t quite believe it,’ she said, nevertheless still sounding slightly stunned and appealingly breathy. ‘What are you doing here?’
Well, now, there was a question. On the most superficial of levels Rico was here to find out if what he suspected was true. On every other level, however, he had no idea, which was confusing as hell. All he knew was that ever since he’d come across that photo in the financial press he’d been perusing while laid up in hospital, drifting in and out of pain, his broken bones recently pinned and splinted, he hadn’t had a moment’s peace.
Initially, he’d dismissed the electrifying jolt that had rocked through him on first seeing the face that could almost have been his staring out at him from his laptop. He’d ignored too the strange, unsettling notion that a missing piece of him had suddenly slotted into place.
Nothing was missing from his life, he’d reassured himself while willing his heart rate to slow down and his head to clear. He had everything he could ever wish for. He neither needed nor wanted to know who this man who looked so like him might be.
However, with the interminable passing of the days that turned into weeks, the sensation swelled until it was gnawing at his gut day and night, refusing to stay unacknowledged and relentlessly taunting him with the unwelcome suggestion that here might possibly be a blood relative, whether he wanted one or not.
Eventually he hadn’t been able to stand it any longer. The growing pressure to do something about it had borne down on him with increasing intensity until he’d had no choice but to give in to the instinct he hadn’t yet had cause to mistrust, and take action.
An internet search of Finn Calvert had turned up nothing in the way of personal details, so he’d hired an investigation agency, which, last week, had. The seismic revelation that Finn’s date of birth matched his own, leading to the conclusion that they might be more than just blood relatives, they might be brothers and quite possibly twins at that, had shaken him to the core. He still hadn’t fully recovered from the shock and he certainly hadn’t had the head space or time to contemplate the implications.
Not that he was telling this woman any of that. He’d sound ridiculous. He didn’t have a quick answer that made any sense, so instead, with a slight smile and half a step towards her, he went for one that did.
‘Right now,’ he murmured, out of habit letting his gaze drift over her and noticing with interest the sudden tell-tale leap of the pulse at the base of her neck and the rush of colour that hit her pale cheeks, ‘I’m admiring the scenery.’
For the briefest of moments her eyes dropped to his mouth, a flash of heat sparking in their depths. He thought he caught the tiniest hitch of her breath and sensed her moving minutely in his direction, briefly dizzying him with her scent, and it hit him like a punch to the gut that instead of suppressing the nuclear reaction going on inside him he ought to be encouraging it. Because, while he didn’t fully understand the strange, primitive instinct that had compelled him to come here, to this house and its owner, he well understood desire.
He’d gone without sex for the last twelve painful weeks, and he’d missed the fierce buzz of attraction, the sizzling heat of electrifying chemistry and the blessed oblivion that inevitably followed. Here was a potential opportunity to rectify that. He hadn’t planned to stay overnight in the country, intending instead to return home to Venice once he was done, but he was adaptable. He’d change his plans and invite the goddess before him to dinner in London. And afterwards, if she was amenable, he’d take her back to the penthouse apartment he owned there, tumble her into bed and prove to anyone who cared to know just how well he’d recovered from the BASE jumping accident that had nearly killed him. It would be a satisfying and enjoyable way of getting through the hours, if nothing else.
The swiftness with which she appeared to be rallying, jerking back with a quick, tiny frown, was disappointing but no great obstacle. Her captivating gaze might have turned cool, her breathing steadying and the pretty blush on her cheeks receding, but he knew what he’d seen. He knew what he’d heard. And he was going to capitalise on it.
‘I meant, why the tree?’ she said with impressive composure, as if she hadn’t even noticed the chemistry let alone responded to it, which perversely made him only more determined to get her to agree to a date.
‘What?’
‘Why are you out here by a tree? What was wrong with the front door?’
Ah.
He’d had his driver park the car in front of the house at the end of a line of half a dozen others. Realising there had to be a party going on, since the investigation he’d commissioned had thrown up no suggestion that Finn was particularly into fast cars, he’d decided to assess the situation first instead of barging in. He’d walked round the side of the house, skirting the tall, wide hedge, unnoticed and surprisingly unchallenged, before identifying this tree as the best spot from which to observe the man he’d come to see, and taken up a position in the shadows, a place he was very familiar with and very comfortable in. ‘Gate-crashing a party’s not my style.’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘But skulking is?’