‘I agree it’s a fairly glittering segment of society, but so what?’ Vito murmured, aware that his voice sounded unusually indulgent but weirdly enough, that was the way he was feeling towards her right now. Protective, yes—that had kicked in from the moment he had discovered that she was pregnant—but also very turned on, in a way which seemed magnified beyond his understanding. His throat dried as he averted his gaze from the ripe curve of Flora’s bottom.Santo cielo!He wanted to follow her round the room like a puppy dog and not let her out of his sight. He wanted to peel that pale green dress from her petite form. And suddenly he was angry with himself.
Why bring her to a damned party when all he really wanted was to take her to some dark corner, alone and unobserved, where he could give into his wildest fantasies. Fantasies which had been building all week, no matter how much he tried to suppress or deny them. Or maybe denial was what had fed them to a point where he had become a victim of his own frustrated desire. Because she looked…
His throat thickened.
She looked amazing.
Her sleeveless dress was made of pale green silk the colour of a pistachio, which clung like melted butter to her delicious body. The scooped neck provided a distracting glimpse of creamy cleavage and was so cleverly cut that only the most discerning eye would have noticed the faint expansion of her waist. But to Vito—she might as well have carried a sign screaming out the fact that she was pregnant. Her hair was as shiny as glass, her skin full of bloom and vitality and her green-gold eyes were sparking more brightly than the huge diamond ring on her finger. In a sea of svelte women clad mainly in monotone shades of grey and cream, Flora stood out like a handful of rubies spilt on snow.
‘It’s a birthday party for Raffaele,’ he said at last, as he struggled to remember what her question had been.
Her lips framed a shape of mild alarm. ‘Oh, no! We haven’t even bought him a present!’
He shrugged. ‘He doesn’t need anything.’
‘Ah. I see. Another man who has everything, I suppose?’ she validated mockingly. ‘Just like you?’
But right then Vito didn’t feel like a man who had everything, despite the apartments and houses, the factories and planes, and the small island off the coast of America which he had rewilded after making his first billion. The one thing he really wanted was tantalisingly within his reach and yet totally beyond it.
Her bright eyes were darting around the room and a small smile was curving her rosy lips. He had sensed her excitement growing over the past few days, as she had gained more of a foothold in his life. And he had allowed her to do just that, hadn’t he? Or maybe he had been less diligent about keeping her at a distance after the extraordinary experience of seeing his baby on the ultrasound. Hadn’t that driven home the fact that this was all real, and no amount of burying his head in the sand would change that?
But that fact didn’t changehim.
He was still the same man. Still unable to give her what she would ultimately need. But for now, at least, that certainty was weakened by his unwilling fascination for her. Was she aware of how much he wanted her and that every fibre of his being hungered for her, with a taunting lust which rippled through his body? That night after endless night he fantasised about her as he’d thought of her, alone in that great big bed? Yet it had provided some small crumb of comfort that he had not sought her out. A reassuring reminder of the steely control which had always defined him.
‘There are so many people here,’ Flora observed, plucking a canapé from a passing tray and popping it into her mouth. ‘How do you know Raffaele?’
‘We were at school together.’
‘What, here? In Milan?’
‘No. In Rome.’ He paused, because she was looking at him expectantly. ‘I went to live there with my mother and brother, when my parents divorced. It’s where the Italian film industry is based.’
She nodded. ‘And what was it like growing up, as the child of an actor?’
She had slid the question so effortlessly into the conversation and if it had been anyone other than Flora, he might have quashed it with an arrogant suggestion that perhaps she was moonlighting as a journalist. But something about the noise of the party seemed to absorb the words as he spoke them, soaking them up like blotting paper, so that it felt less like a confidence and more like the relaying of a simple fact.
‘It wasn’t easy,’ he answered. ‘My mother’s ambition never really matched her aptitude for acting and for that I think she suffered. We all did,’ he added on an aside, his voice hardening. ‘Particularly my brother.’
‘Oh?’
‘He was only a baby when they split,’ he informed her, a shiver of distaste rippling down his spine as he recalled the chaos of his parents’ messy divorce. ‘And my mother wasn’t really there for him.’
‘Do you mean mentally, or physically?’ she ventured.
Vito glowered, angry with her for asking and angry with himself for letting himself talk about it. He had said too much. Why had he saidanything? She was still looking at him curiously when a woman dressed like a prison guard approached them with a tray and Vito huffed out a sigh of relief at being able to sidestep further questioning. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Just something soft, please.’
And the crazy thing was that her smile was so sweet as he handed her a glass of lemonsoda that Vito couldn’t stay angry with her for long, although he was watchful when Arianna came across the room to give Flora a brief hug.
‘Flora, you look wonderful,’ she exclaimed. ‘And those shoes!’ Lifting her gaze from the green suede, their hostess slanted Vito an enquiring look. ‘Raffaele and some of the others are in his den, watching the end of the Serie A match. I know, I know—but itishis birthday! You could join them if you like, while I borrow your fiancée and I could introduce her to some people? There are at least three other pregnant women in the room and we could all discuss obstetricians!’
In a different life and at a different time, Vito might have eagerly agreed to this suggestion, much preferring to watch the football match with his friends and leave the women to their own devices—allowing Flora to flash the diamond he’d given her and bask in the admiration of her peers. And if it had been any other woman, she might have done that. But Flora just wouldn’t do that, he realised, even if their engagementhadbeen of the more conventional type. Instinct told him she didn’t see him as a trophy, or as the route to an affluent lifestyle. She didn’t seem to care about that kind of stuff, and suddenly Vito didn’t want to offload her as if she were an accessory, or an unwanted burden.
He didn’t want to let her go.
‘I think I’ll keep my fiancée company,’ he said easily, placing his hand in the small of her back, and her smile was glittering as she turned her face up to his. ‘Shall we go and circulate and behave like the perfect party guests,cara?’
