‘Eccellente.I’m looking forward to that.’
Well, that made one of them. The thought of them dancing, his arm around her practically bare back, their bodies close, was sending her heart into fibrillation. Sitting next to him at the table, aware of his every move, every breath, their arms occasionally brushing, his deep voice resonating along every nerve fibre, was bad enough. Being pressed along the magnificent tuxedoed length of him?
Frankly it scared the hell out of her.
She felt gauche and unsophisticated and totally out of her depth next to his man-of-the-world, model-dating perfection.
What if she stuffed up the steps? Or trod on his foot? What if shelikedit too much?
‘You are worried your boyfriend will mind that we dance, yes?’
Valentino’s comment snapped her out of the vision of her clinging to him as he pressed kisses down her neck. She glanced at him, startled, which was a big mistake.
Thus far she’d managed not to look at him this close up and now she knew why.
He was simply dazzling.
Lustrous hair the colour of midnight waved in haphazard glory, thick without a hint of grey. It brushed his forehead and kissed his collar and Peyton’s fingers tingled with the urge to push into the unruly mass.
Jet-black eyebrows quirked at her as her gaze widened to take in his square jaw, heavy with five-o’clock shadow. His full lips curved upward and were bracketed by dimples that should be outlawed on anyone over five. His dark eyes, fringed by long, even darker lashes, promised fun and flirting.
A buzz coursed through her veins at the fifteen different kinds of sin that were doing the cha-cha in his umber gaze.
‘I see you texting all night,’ Valentino prompted when Peyton hadn’t said anything. ‘I figure a beautiful woman…’ He shrugged and shot her a flirty smile. ‘It must be a boyfriend?’
Peyton refused to let that practised smile muddle her senses. ‘I’m a little old for a boyfriend, don’t you think?’
‘Peyton. Are we ever too old for matters of the heart?’
The slight reprimand in his voice didn’t register. Nothing registered beyond the way he’d said her name.Peyton. He had softened the first syllable, making it sound a little wicked, and it had stroked across every nerve ending in her pelvis.
She shut her eyes. This was madness. He was just a man. She hadn’t even thought about the opposite sex since her husband had walked out on her and upended her entire world – she sure as shit didn’t want another in her life upsetting the balance. Especially not a model-dating Italian playboy who would be gone come tomorrow.
Although, maybe, it was exactly what sheneeded.
Wait. No.I am a single-mother of a high-needs child. I am a single mother of a high-needs child. I am a single-mother of a high-needs child.
Maybe if she said it often enough she’d believe it?
She turned back to her champagne and took a long, deep swallow, the bubbles pricking her throat as they slid down, matching the prick at the backs of her eyes. ‘I am.’
Tonight, as always, Peyton felt absolutely ancient – instead of thirty-three.
‘Excuse me,’ she murmured, rising and heading for the refuge of the bathroom.
Valentino watched his cousin dancing with his new wife, a gladness in his heart that Alessandro had finally found love after the train wreck of his first marriage.
It always humbled him when he saw two people ready to make a lifetime commitment. Sure, after an early broken relationship he’d worked out it wasn’t for him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t believe in it for others.
His parents were, after all, still blissfully married fifty years and counting.
He spotted Peyton making her way back to the table, his gaze drawn to her as it had been all day. She was a most intriguing woman. The crimson dress outlined a figure that had more angles than curves. Her breasts were small, her body one long, lean line, and she moved with purpose rather than grace. Her eyes were grey and huge in her angular face, her cheekbones prominent, her mouth wide and her strawberry-blonde hair styled into a severe pixie cut.
No part of her gave off come-hither vibes. Yet smoky silvery shadow on her lids turned her eyes luminous, highlighting the vulnerability Valentino could see lurking in her gaze. Which should have had him running as far and as fast as he could in the other direction, not drawing him in like a moth to flame.
Because she certainly wasn’t his usual type. Valentino liked curvy women. Not rail thin like Peyton. More Sophia Loren than Nicole Kidman. He liked flirty women who smiled and were secure in their sexuality. Who were up for some fun and were more than fine with one and done.
And yet…she’dheld his attention all goddamn night. Serious, frowny,keep outPeyton Donald – the only eligible female in the room whohadn’tclamoured to be closer.
