“Six tonight. Don’t be late.”
And then he was gone, leaving her with the sinking feeling that she had just made a colossal mistake.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THEBLACKSHIRTand skirt Calandra wore as she walked down the front steps of the villa only made her look paler. Beautiful, Alejandro acknowledged, but aloof, distant. She walked toward the vintage Rolls-Royce, a purse slung across her body, hair pulled back in a tight braid. If she thought he wouldn’t be attracted to her when she dressed like she was going to a funeral, she was dead wrong. The braid bared her face to his gaze, a sight he consumed greedily. Dark brows bringing out her gray eyes, sharp cheekbones offset by that intoxicating, rosebud-shaped mouth.
Beautiful. He knew how to work with beautiful. But as she drew closer, her hand straying to the tiny bump beneath her shirt, he knew a moment of uncertainty. The women he’d known before had been easy to deal with and, most of the time, fun. For some, he’d been a shoulder to lean on. For others, he’d been a body to enjoy as they pushed memories of past lovers out of their mind. For a select few who had not heeded his caution that he was only interested in a good time, he’d been the target of angry tears and smeared mascara as they’d thrown shoes, hairbrushes or, in the case of a beautiful symphony percussionist with a passionate temper, a glockenspiel.
But this...this was new territory. Not just because she carried his child inside her. She fought him at every turn, resisted his usually successful charms and scorned the wealth that previous women of his acquaintance fawned over.
She fascinated him.
He glanced down at his watch, not ready to have her see how much she affected him beyond the physical attraction. “Five fifty-nine. I’m impressed.”
Her eyes flickered over him, her gaze opaque.
“I’m impressed you’re wearing clothes.”
He cracked a grin. “Figured I’d try something new since my state of undress doesn’t seem to affect you.”
“Fishing for compliments, are we?”
“I’m not above begging.”
She stopped in front of him. The faintest scent of sandalwood mixed with something surprisingly soft and fruity—cherries?—teased him. He resisted the urge to lean in, inhale her scent and place the faintest of kisses on her lovely neck.
He dragged his gaze from where her pulse beat at the base of her throat up to meet her eyes. Not dark and flinty, but soft and gray.
“You look handsome tonight, Alejandro.”
The simple compliment floored him. No over-the-top words, no excessive batting of the eyelashes. Just five words that shot straight into his chest.
He opened the door and gave her an exaggerated bow. “It’s a start. After you, mademoiselle.”
How big of a bastard was he that he was encouraging her to open up to him while throwing up his own defenses? His conscience bugged him the entire ride into Marseille as he regaled her with the history of the town and pointed out various landmarks.
They arrived at the harbor, and he escorted her onto the teakwood deck of the yacht.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Smythe!” Suzie said happily as Calandra walked onboard. “I am so excited for this opportunity.”
“Thank you for changing your plans so quickly.”
He ignored Calandra’s barb and, with a quick murmur of thanks to Suzie, guided Calandra in the direction of the stairs.
“Al fresco dining on the sundeck as we cruise around the Gulf. Suzie and her team will cater, and we’ll have some privacy.”
She tossed him her signature raised brow. “I’m not having sex with you on the deck of your yacht.”
“Ah. Well, since you figured out my sneaky plan, should we just cancel the tasting and go back to the villa?”
A roll of the eyes, but she didn’t turn quickly enough to hide the smile that quirked her lips.
They reached the deck, and he had the pleasure of seeing her eyes widen as she took in the splendor ofLa Pimpinela Escarlata. Plush couches were arranged around a small fire pit filled with glittering glass. Beyond the couches, a crystal-clear pool glimmered beneath the lights of the port and the emerging moon. And on the far side of the sundeck, two red velvet chairs and a white table decked with votive candles and set for two.
He turned to Calandra, waiting for her compliments on the custom wood decking, the hand-stitched silk pillows or any of the other details former lovers had gushed over when he’d brought them here.
Nothing. Nothing but that analytical stare sweeping over everything.