What would it be like to have those steel-grey eyes turned on her with the full force of his attention? No, she’d had his attention... With the full force of his desire? What would it be like to lean forward and brush her fingertips over his arm, to flirt with him a little, to smile and murmur an invitation in his ear?
Not for the first time, she felt the burden of her virginity with a burning sense of impatience. If she’d had some experience she’d be sorely tempted to act on those impulses. After all, the media had already hanged her for the crime of being a harlot—she might as well enjoy some of the spoils. Yes, if she’d had even a hint of experience she may well have acted on her impulse despite what that might mean for Laurence, despite the fact it could complicate matters for him.
Cesare’s voice was deep as he said the name of a whisky she recognised only because it was one that a photographer friend favoured—it was outrageously overpriced. Laurence ordered the same but, before the waiter could be dispatched, Cesare turned back to Jemima; her pulse rushed.
‘You are happy with your champagne?’
Her heart shifted in her chest. Despite all the reasons to maintain her distance, desire pushed her forward a little, just a fraction, as though her body was on autopilot, seeking his.
It was madness. As a teen model, she’d come across more than her fair share of designers, photographers, magazine editors and public relations guys, all of whom had thought she’d do whatever it took to advance her career, so by her fifteenth birthday she’d become adept at saying no without causing offence. In fact, she was very good at saying no without even having people realise that she was rejecting them. Sex, drugs, alcohol, orgies. Jemima had a knack for turning people down and still having them think well of her.
But there was danger in Cesare—a darkness that called to her, that made her certain he could be her weakness, and in that moment she wished more than anything that she was the kind of woman the world thought her to be. She wished she was sophisticated and experienced and that she knew exactly what to say to get a man like Cesare to have sex with her.
The thought alone had her standing abruptly, scraping her chair back so both sets of eyes lifted to her.
‘You okay?’ Laurence queried.
‘Perfectly fine.’ She pasted a smile to her face as she became aware more people were looking in her direction. Cursing her recognisability, and the fact Laurence had chosen this celebrity hotspot in an attempt to impress his would-be investor, she nodded jerkily. ‘I’ll be right back.’
She forced herself to walk sedately towards the facilities. Once inside, she lingered with her back against the cold, marble wall and her eyes swept shut.
She’d likely never see Cesare Durante again after this night. She was there for one reason and one reason only: to help Laurence secure him as an investor.
She had to help her cousin—there was too much at stake to risk ruining the evening because she couldn’t stop looking at Cesare and imagining what those broad, capable hands would feel like running over her body... Heat flushed her cheeks because she knew they’d feel good. Better than good. But that was beside the point—nothing was going to happen between them. She needed to get a grip.
Sucking in a deep breath, she quickly checked her appearance in the mirror, pausing just long enough to reapply her soft coral lipstick and finger-comb her generous, side-sweeping fringe so it artfully covered one eye. She sucked in a deep, fortifying breath and pulled the door inward, stepping into the wallpapered, dimly lit corridor that led to the amenities. At one end, there was a sideboard with a huge bunch of lilies sitting on top of it. A nostalgic smile briefly curved her lips.
As a child, Almer Hall had always had flowers. Huge arrangements, just like this, grand and fragrant. She paused in front of the vase, her fingertips lifting on autopilot to gently stroke the petals—like silk, dewy and tender. She inhaled the scent and swept her eyes shut, remembering the feeling of visiting her grandparents as a child, running down the marbled hallways. In summer, the fragrance had been almost overwhelming.
There were no flowers now. More than two-thirds of the house was shut down, doors closed, furniture—what remained of it—covered in sheets. The family quarters, whilst cheery, were modest and beginning to look tatty in parts. What she wouldn’t do to see the house as it used to be, tables in each room groaning under the weight of arrangements such as this.
Laurence had to pull this off. It was the only way they’d be able to save Almer Hall, to stave off the necessity of its sale. She couldn’t see it pass into other hands. It would be the final straw for her parents, who had already lost so much.
She pinged her eyes open with a swirling sense of discontent, but when her eyes naturally landed in the mirror above the flowers her gaze connected sharply with a pair of eyes that had been fascinating her all evening, and they were watching her with undisguised speculation. Her breath began to clog in her throat, making her feel light-headed.
‘Did you get lost?’ A sardonic lift of one brow was accompanied by a smile that set off a sudden round of fireworks in her belly. The desire she’d been trying so hard to fight lurched through her anew.
She shook her head, her throat parched at this man’s sudden appearance. Even more so when his eyes lowered, carrying out a visual inspection of her body in the pale-grey silk slip she wore.
Her heart in her throat, she turned to face him, the action bringing them toe to toe.
‘You’re shorter than I would have thought,’ he murmured so that it was Jemima’s turn to lift her brows in silent enquiry. ‘Most of the models I know are closer to my height.’
‘And I suppose you know lots of models?’ The words emerged husky and soft, and for some reason she didn’t step back from him, even when it would have made sense to put a little distance between them.
‘A few,’ he confirmed in a way that made her certain he was intentionally under-stating the facts. But then his expression sobered and he was looking at her more intently, concentrating on her features as though committing them to memory. ‘You are tiny. Like a little bird.’
Her lop-sided smile was spontaneous. ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.’
He continued to stare at her and her smile dropped. She was conscious of everything: the feeling of her breath in her body, the sound of his, the warmth from his chest, the parting of his lips.
‘Anyway.’ She shifted her eyes towards the door with effort. ‘Laurence will be wondering what’s keeping me.’
Cesare’s expression shifted immediately. ‘On the contrary, I think it is fair to say his entire focus is on whether or not I’m going to save his ass from financial ruin.’
At that, Jemima’s gaze skittered back to Cesare. No one knew about Laurence’s situation. He’d taken great care to hide the parlous state of the fund, particularly given the risky investments he’d been making with other people’s capital. She tried not to think about the fact that he’d drawn her into this mess, nor to wonder whether that made her some kind of accessory. No one was supposed to know. Surely this man, this fascinating, handsome hunk of an Italian tycoon, couldn’t really have any idea as to the full extent of Laurence’s situation?
‘You’re surprised?’ He correctly interpreted the look flitting across her expressive face. Her skin paled, her lips parted, and she stayed resolutely silent—for lack of any certainty about just what to say.