Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding
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‘That’s a pity,’ he murmured.
Cassie could hear the dismissive note in his voice bringing the conversation to an end—and all she could think of was that her chance to see him was slipping away. And that she would never meet a man like Giancarlo Vellutini again.
‘But I’m free tomorrow night,’ she blurted out.
Giancarlo stared up at the ceiling, wondering why nothing was ever perfect, for now she sounded a little too keen. Should he tell her he was busy? It wasn’t really a fabrication since he was always busy—and there was enough paperwork left over from the American deal to keep him occupied for days.
And then he thought of her face. Of her rose-petal lips and those eyes—the most vivid, violet colour he’d ever seen. In fact, come to think of it, he’d never seen a pair of eyes like that. He found himself thinking beyond her face. Wondering what kind of panties she favoured. And what she liked best to do in bed. And he swallowed down the sharp tang of lust which had dried in his throat.
‘Then we must have dinner tomorrow,’ he said unevenly. ‘I’ll send a car to collect you. What time do you finish at the store?’
‘I…’ Cassie’s thoughts began rattling through her head as she tried to work out the logistics. She could take an outfit into work and get changed afterwards. ‘That would be great. Tomorrow I finish at seven-thirty.’
‘The car will be waiting for you. A domani,’ he said softly, and hung up.
Cassie was left listening to the click as he cut the connection, her heart racing as she replaced the phone in its cradle. She thought of the sensual curve of his lips and way his hard black eyes had glittered when he looked at her. She remembered the way her body had trembled when his hand had brushed over hers and she had the strangest sensation of standing beside a deep, dark lake and getting ready to dive in without really knowing anything about what might lay beneath the surface.
The only thing she knew was that she was going to be way out of her depth.
THERE must have been some kind of mistake.
For a moment Cassie froze as she stared up at the imposing white mansion. Yes, she’d guessed that Giancarlo was rich—very, very rich—but surely he couldn’t live somewhere like this? Not looking out over the lush gardens of Kensington Palace and slap bang next door to an embassy where a flag was fluttering in the cold December breeze.
Already the evening felt as if it were happening to someone else—and yet it had barely begun. She kept thinking that if she pinched herself hard enough she might wake up and find herself on the bus going home to Greenford instead of in the back of a chauffeur-driven car which had just stopped in front of one of the most prestigious crescents in London.
After finishing work, she had changed into a simple black dress and a pair of cheap, high-heeled shoes that she’d hastily run out and bought during her lunch hour. Adding a touch of lipstick, she had untied her hair and tried to quell her steadily rising nerves as she dragged a brush through it. It was only when it was hanging loose in a pale waterfall down her back that Lindy from the cosmetics department had walked in, to see Cassie looking at herself in the mirror.
‘Going somewhere?’
‘Um, out for dinner.’
‘Got a date?’
‘Yes. Yes, I have.’ She was dying to tell someone but she’d been asleep by the time her flatmates had arrived home last night—and Lindy had never been friendly towards her. Plus Lindy was a full-time member of staff—not someone who’d been drafted in for the Christmas period—and perhaps it wasn’t really appropriate to tell her that she was dating a customer. Not when the expression on her face as she looked Cassie up and down was as sour as a bowlful of lemons.
Instead, Cassie glanced at her watch. ‘Gosh, is that the time? I’d better go or I’ll be late. See you tomorrow, Lindy.’ Carefully, she picked up the distinctive claret-and-gold-wrapped package and smiled.
Lindy’s sharp eyes narrowed. ‘What’s that?’
‘Oh, just—just some candles. They belong to a…friend.’ Did she know Giancarlo well enough to call him a friend—and why was she blushing? Why hadn’t she just come out and said that a customer had left them behind? ‘He asked me to bring them over.’
Lindy’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Did he?’
‘Yes. Well, I’d better…I’d better go. Night, Lindy.’
Feeling ridiculously guilty—and not quite sure why—Cassie had left the building, relieved to find the promised car waiting for her at the Brompton Road entrance to the store. But the only person in the vast vehicle was the chauffeur and she found herself wishing that Giancarlo had come to collect her personally. Maybe he wasn’t the kind of man who sat waiting patiently for a woman—but it didn’t exactly do her ego much good.
And now she felt a bit like a door-to-door salesperson as she made her way up the flight of white stairs leading to the enormous front door, the candles in one hand, her fingers clutching tightly at her handbag with the other. What on earth was she going to talk to him about? But before she’d had the chance to ring the bell, the door opened and there was Giancarlo himself—a gleam flickering in the depths of his ebony eyes.
His black hair was gleaming and tousled—as if he’d run his fingers through it when he’d been fresh out of the shower—and he wore a fine white silk shirt which was unbuttoned at the neck. Dark trousers hugged his narrow hips and emphasised the muscular legs and he seemed much taller than she remembered. Despite the simplicity of his clothes, he looked rich and powerful and intimidatingly masculine and Cassie felt the sudden spiralling of nerves.
‘So here you are,’ he said softly.
‘Here I am.’ Glad to have something to distract her, she thrust the package into his hand. ‘Look, I’ve brought your candles.’
His lips curved into a smile as he took them from her. Candles were the very last thing on his mind. ‘Grazie. Now come inside and let me look at you.’ Giancarlo’s throat thickened as she stepped past him into the hallway on those killer heels, with a sway of her silken hair.