‘No, but it’s good to hear you tell me that he’s smiling,’ Salvatore said.
It was good just to be in conversation with her. But it was a conversation that was not, to his annoyance, destined to last any longer. Someone was swooping down on him. One of his countrymen.
‘Signor Luchesi! Mi dispiace! I did not see you there—’
Voluble Italian enveloped him, inviting him to join the exclusive circle around the celebrated designer. Impatiently Salvatore wanted to fob him off, return his attention to the breathtaking blonde, but she was drifting away—accepting, it seemed, that he’d been claimed by those a lot more important than herself.
He gave a half shrug of resignation, allowing himself to be ushered unctuously forward, a fresh glass of champagne pressed upon him. He’d catch up with the fabulous blonde later. He did not intend to let her slip through his fingers.
But some twenty minutes later, when he’d finally extricated himself from the circle around the designer, when his needle gaze threaded through the crowded room it drew a blank. Where had the fabulous blonde got to? A frown formed on his brow. She was nowhere to be seen.
Lana stood on the London pavement, under a bus shelter, relief at her escape from the after-party filling her. There was only one slight regret—if she could call it that.
That man—the money man who came over to chat me up...
Usually when she was hit on at these affairs she never engaged. But this time had been different.
Why?
She stared out into the damp chill night as the ceaseless traffic on the busy street went to and fro. An answer formed in her head and she couldn’t dismiss it.
Because he was the most fantastic-looking guy I’ve seen in my life!
Nothing like Malcolm’s blond beachboy look—she was off that look for ever! No, that money man tonight had a completely different appeal. Dark and devastating...
She felt again the kick that had gone through her as her eyes had met his, during the brief conversation they’d had.
Too brief.
She gave an inner sigh. It didn’t matter how bowled over she’d been by him. He’d walked away and that was that. Besides, there was no point in wanting anything more from him. Not with her life in its current mess.
Wearily, she flexed her aching feet again, blessedly in flats now. She was glad to be back in her own comfortable clothes, hair brushed out into a loose ponytail, her face clear of make-up. She looked down the street, hoping to see a bus approaching.
There was no sign of one.
Instead, gliding into the bus bay was a long, silver-grey expensive-looking saloon car. It was driven by a peaked-capped chauffeur, and the rear passenger door was opening on her side. A man in a tuxedo was half leaning out towards her.
‘So,’ said the lethal-looking Italian money man who’d zeroed in on her at the after-party before zeroing out again, ‘there you are!’
His voice sounded deep, accented—and filled with satisfaction.
A kick went through Salvatore. It had annoyed him not to find the stunning blonde model again, and now here she was. He’d recognised her instantly, even with her hair tied back and wearing a trench coat. She was having exactly the same impact on him as when he’d first set eyes on her. And he definitely wanted more of it. More of her.
He undid his seat belt, getting out of the car. ‘Why did you disappear?’ he asked her.
His eyes raked her over. Yes, even without all the fancy clothes and coiffure and make-up, she was every bit as stunning as he’d known she would be. And his visceral response to her was every bit as strong.
She was replying to him now, giving a little shrug. ‘I snuck off early,’ she said.
He smiled. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Come and have dinner with me.’
A look of surprise crossed her face—and something more. Something that registered at an instinctive level of his masculinity. That increased his satisfaction.
But she was shaking her head. ‘I’m calling it a day. Heading home. My feet are killing me.’
Was there regret in her voice? He was pretty sure there was.
He cupped a hand under her elbow. ‘Then I’ll give you a lift.’ He glanced down the road. ‘There’s no sign of a bus, and you look cold. Besides, it’s coming on to rain.’