She stood rooted to the spot. Determined not to give in to the sudden instinct to lift the hem of the confining pencil skirt and leg it straight out of the terminal building.
She’d flown once before, and he’d caught up with her. What she had to do now was fight.
Fight for composure. Fight to regain her dignity and fight to maintain control of this situation for the next two weeks. Not to mention fight an attraction that for some inexplicable reason had not gone away, despite the appalling way this man had treated her already and the unpleasant way she was sure he intended to treat her again.
Unfortunately, her hormones paid absolutely no attention whatsoever to her mission statement. Because as Nick Delisantro got closer, they began jumping and jigging about as if they’d just won the lottery.
She squeezed the fingers of her free hand into a fist, released them and then thrust out her palm as he stopped in front of her. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Delisantro. I hope you had a pleasant flight,’ she said, her voice satisfyingly polite and professional despite her jackpot-hitting hormones. ‘But I’m afraid we need to hurry or we’ll miss our plane to Milan.’
His fingers closed over hers, making electricity zing into her palm and then shoot up her arm.
‘Mr Delisantro?’ One dark brow arched as a mocking smile curved his lips. ‘Isn’t that a bit formal, given that I’ve seen you naked, Eva?’
The confidence in his tone, and the spark of humour in his eyes, made it clear he wasn’t asking a question. And her temper finally got the better of her hormones.
‘Formal works for me, given that you’re not going to see me naked again, Mr Delisantro,’ she fired back, tugging her hand out of his grasp.
Nick chuckled at the steely hint of aggravation in her tone.
Damn, how could he have forgotten how direct she was? And how much he enjoyed that about her?
He let his gaze drift over her, and enjoyed the view too. While the buttoned-up two-piece suit should have made her look a lot less appealing, somehow it didn’t. She’d tied her riotous hair back in a ruthless bun, but those big baby blue eyes, full kissable lips and petal-soft skin were as exquisite as he remembered them, belying her attempts to disguise her beauty.
Had she disguised herself especially for his benefit? The thought gave him a nice little ego-boost and confirmed the decision he’d come to on the plane.
He was through feeling guilty about the way he’d lost his temper with Eva the morning after their night together. He’d got Eva her job back—and was submitting to being judged like a prize stallion by a man he’d never met before, plus he was travelling all the way to Italy for the privilege. So as far as he was concerned, his conscience was now clear on that score.
Which had rather neatly paved the way for the second decision he’d come to a split second ago, as his libido had rioted right back into overdrive at the sight of her. He hadn’t been able to forget her in two whole weeks now. And he was through trying. They were going to be stuck together in Italy for a fortnight. And he for one couldn’t see the harm any more in making the most of it. Especially given that flush of arousal turning her pale cheeks a rosy pink.
‘Now that sounds like a challenge,’ he teased.
Her eyebrows lifted all the way to her neatly brushed fringe. ‘It’s not,’ she said swiftly, but the firm words were contradicted by the tiny tremble of her bottom lip.
‘If you say so, Eva,’ he replied, his eyes drawn to her full breasts, which quivered deliciously under the prim shirt she wore.
Heat punched his groin. He wanted to feel the weight of her breasts again. Wanted her straining against him and begging for his touch the way she had a fortnight ago.
That could take a while, he acknowledged, as his thought processes finally kicked in, certainly longer than the first time, given that she didn’t seem entirely pleased to see him.
Good thing they had more than one night.
‘We have to get to Terminal One,’ she said, glancing at her wristwatch and avoiding his eyes. ‘The flight to Milan leaves in less than two hours.’
‘I’m all yours,’ he said, his voice husky with innuendo.
The colour in her cheeks hit critical mass, but she only sent him a wary glance, before shooting off towards the terminal entrance. He followed at a more leisurely pace, easily keeping up with her short strides. And wondered if she realised the tailored skirt did nothing to disguise the seductive sway of her hips.
He was playing some sort of game with her. That had to be it, Eva thought as she stared out of the aeroplane’s small window and the puzzled frown on her face reflected in the perspex.
But she didn’t have a clue what game. Why did he keep sending her those long, smouldering looks? And what was with the husky tone of voice? The sexy teasing? Had she imagined it, simply because she was so relieved that he was being cooperative instead of cruel?
She cast a look over her shoulder, to find him lifting his bag into the overhead locker. His T-shirt rose up his waist, to reveal a narrow strip of lean, tanned belly, dusted with dark hair. Her eyes traced the jagged white scar that defined the hollow of his hipbone. And the moisture dried in her mouth, and gushed elsewhere. His arms dropped and the tantalising glimpse disappeared. She squeezed her knees together and jerked her gaze back to the window.
But then her hearing became impossibly acute. She listened to the muffed thump as he sat down, then the creak of the seatback as he adjusted his long legs in the business class seat and finally heard the deafening metallic click of his seat belt fastening.
She stared out at the dull, concrete terminal building, rolled her lip under her teeth.
What was going on? Why was he being so reasonable? He hadn’t raised a single objection as she’d rushed them over to Terminal One, dealt with the check-in and then directed him straight to the queue to get through Security.