‘We’re on track to open the children’s hospice by Christmas,’ the charity’s chairman Mr Wu said, his round face beaming.
‘That’s very good.’ Skye nodded. Generally, she was passionate about the children’s foundation. It had been one of the initiatives she’d launched when she’d turned twenty-one and had taken control of her family’s assets. It was then that she’d begun to attend the board meetings—despite her CEO’s misgivings. Gradually, she’d taken more and more of an interest in the running of the business, and had even planned to enrol in law school at some point to augment the corporate education she was gaining through her involvement with the company. The children’s work had long been at the fore of her mind, yet she found it almost impossible to focus on the discussions in that moment.
His eyes were so dark they were like granite. She’d never seen anything quite like it. His dark hair, thick and raven’s black, was brushed back from his brow, and his face was strong and angular. Handsome? She couldn’t have said. Striking, definitely, and utterly breath-taking. It wasn’t that he was good-looking as much as he had an indefinable appeal. An attraction that slammed into her from the other side of the room.
Then, there was his body. Broad-shouldered, tall, he looked like an ancient warrior. She could easily imagine him in metal armour, running into battle, his autocratic face determined, his mouth set in a grim line of reckoning.
A shiver ran all the way down her spine and her nipples peaked against the gauze fabric o
f her gown.
Her cheeks had a guilty, self-conscious flush as she trained her attention back on Mr Wu, listening with determination now, forcing herself to nod and comprehend even when her brain was trying to record if his hands were as large and dominant as the rest of his body. More so, had he been wearing a wedding ring?
The thought came to her out of nowhere. Her blush deepened. Her temperature was skyrocketing—she felt as though she could spontaneously combust at a moment’s notice.
Mr Wu made a joke and she laughed, but she couldn’t have repeated it for a billion pounds.
It was at least an hour later—an hour filled with meaningless chit chat and forced laughter, an hour in which her eyes had mercilessly followed his progress around the room—when Skye finally found herself face to face with him.
The man who had become rapidly an absolute obsession for her.
‘We meet at last.’ His voice was better than she could have imagined. The words were husky, thick with a foreign accent. Italian? Greek?
Whatever, they sounded like sunshine and seduction and drove everything but desire from her mind. Skye’s lips parted, her eyes flew wide and her mouth was dry—her tongue too thick possibly to admit speech.
It was a completely unfamiliar impulse, but her fingertips tingled with a desire to lift to his chest; to touch him for herself.
Perhaps he felt the same thing because his hand caught hers and lifted it to his lips.
‘I’m Matteo Vin Santo,’ he said, his eyes probing hers, waiting for a reaction.
There was none—not one of recognition anyway. Skye’s father had died before he could tell her the whole sordid history with the Vin Santos, and her grandfather so soon afterwards. Who would have enlightened her about their ancient grudge?
Nobody.
So Skye smiled, a smile of pure, innocent curiosity. A smile that was like a lamb willingly heading towards its own slaughter.
‘Skye Johnson.’
‘I know.’ His wink was slow and deliberate; its effect was marked. Her stomach swooped with instant awareness.
‘My reputation precedes me, huh?’
‘The place has your name on the door.’ His grin was devilish.
‘Sorry about that. They insisted.’
‘They tend to do that when you donate millions of pounds.’ Another wink. Skye’s whole body winked back. She felt her insides squeeze with needs she’d never known she possessed and her heart rolled in her chest.
‘Ah. Occupational hazard, then,’ she managed to murmur, surprised that she could sound normal and calm when her chest was hammering with the force of a very localised typhoon.
‘The cost of philanthropy.’ His eyes roamed her face thoughtfully, and Skye felt as though he was seeing all manner of secrets and thoughts. All of the things she usually kept wrapped up, tight in her chest.
And she didn’t even mind.
‘I suppose I’ll learn to live with it.’ She smiled at him. He smiled back. Her heart clicked into a new gear.
‘You know, it’s all very refined and elegant,’ he said, with obvious disapproval despite the compliment. ‘But I’d kill for an actual meal. I don’t suppose you’d join me for dinner, Skye Johnson?’