Far From Perfect Read Online Free Page A

forged in a caldron of joy and pain.
    “Right now?” she enquired, dragging herself back from past Lisitano dramas to the present one that faced her.
    “Right now.”
    The core of steel in the two words made her blood run cold, and then very, very hot.
    Without further protest, she allowed herself to be led.
    “I’ll get straight down to business,” Nick announced the moment they were in the room, closing the door with an ominous click. Like an imperious potentate, he bade her sit, then strode across the room, lithe and purposeful.
    In front of a tall bookcase he turned swiftly, the fluid tailoring of his jacket causing the light fabric to flare and reveal his body beneath. He looked fit and powerful, maybe leaner than when she’d last seen him, and the dark clothing he so often wore only highlighted his relentless yet elegant sexuality.
    Get a grip, Anna! Don’t let him turn you into a giant, idiotic hormone with his gorgeousness. He knows he’s doing it.
    And yet her body seemed to sizzle as if he’d flung her on a griddle. “I wish you would,” she said, keeping her voice level and pleasant. Even managing a faux relaxed smile.
    “I have a proposition for you, Anna.” He fixed her with a scrutiny so intense the world faded away around them. “I want your help, if you’re prepared to give it. In fact, I need it.”
    For a moment he hesitated, which was so unlike him, flipping back the panels of his suit jacket and thrusting his hands into his pockets. The action showcased his narrow hips and the general area of his groin in a way that made Anna blink and go light-headed.
    “I’m listening.” Her cleverly constructed calmness was rocking on the inside, but externally she almost sounded normal.
    “Good. That’s what I want. That you should listen to everything I have to say, absorb it carefully, and not interrupt.”
    “And then you’ll take questions from the floor afterwards?”
    Nick merely quirked his brow at her but Anna could see the Italian macho male in him shaking his head. He would never act impatient or throw his weight about, but he had a million subtle, barely detectable ways of showing displeasure.
    “Right, sorry, I am listening,” she shot back, offering another tight smile. He infuriated her, and he always had done—even if mostly in a playful way up until four years ago—but there was nothing to be gained by picking fights.
    “As you know, my father’s ill. He’s undergone major surgery and has a hill of recovery to climb.”
    The tell-tails of strain passed across Nick’s face again, and despite their differences and barriers and complications, Anna wanted to hold him and offer comfort, offer solace. He must be in an agony of worry over Carlo. She couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d feel if the same thing had happened to her father.
    “He’s out of critical danger now and he’s making progress. But not as fast as the doctors—and I—really want him to. And sometimes, it almost seems he’s not trying.” Nick started to pace back and forth in front of the bookcase, which shocked Anna, given his special, predatory stillness. “I think he needs something to fix his hopes on. Something to cherish and look forward to.”
    Nick halted in his perambulations and suddenly turned towards Anna, “Goals have always worked for him in the past and they will again.” Without warning, he threw himself down on the leather chesterfield beside her, the impact almost catapulting her towards him. As it was, the gap between them was just a perilous inch or two. “I’ve done all I can on the business front. Not even the fact that we’re still thriving and growing in such a tough economic climate can excite him.”
    Anna pictured Nick presenting examples of his phenomenal business acumen like gifts in an attempt to cheer Carlo up. He wouldn’t show anxiety. Like most men of his culture, the elder Lisitano valued strength above all qualities in Italian manhood, and as he’d exhibited