The Italian's Perfect Lover Read Online Free

hadn’t expected to see him
again. In fact she’d spent her day trying to forget him.
    She chanced another look, only to see a flash
of amusement further warm his eyes that glowed like dark amber in
the rich light of a Naples evening. Their heat seemed to leap the
narrow gap between them and send a flare deep inside. She took a
steadying breath.
    “I’m here to see the count.”
    She lowered her eyes and focused directly
ahead—on his chest.
    Unfortunately, he had on no tie and his shirt
was unbuttoned. A few hairs pushed up and rested on dark, tanned
skin. A vivid memory of his scent, of the feel of his skin against
hers, filled her mind and her body.
    “So I understand.”
    “I thought you’d made an appointment for me
to see the count.”
    “I have, for Signorina M.” The warmth of his
eyes suddenly grew warmer, as he worked to contain a smile. “Is
that really you behind those glasses?”
    She could feel her skin flush. “Of course it
is. I always wear them. Except—”
    “Except last night when you needed to
impress.”
    “I wish I had worn them, perhaps I wouldn’t
have been such an easy target.”
    She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to say
that.
    He raised an eyebrow.
    “I mean—”
    “I know what you mean. You appear to believe
I targeted you. I tend to think it was the other way around.”
    Don’t respond. Don’t say anything. He’d be
gone in a minute—presumably he was here only to introduce her to
the count—and then she’d regain her sanity.
    “Drink?”
    She shook her head.
    As he poured himself a whisky Emily looked
around, trying to stifle the potentially debilitating mixture of
attraction and nerves. The room had 180 degree views of the city
and of the Bay of Naples, with Mount Vesuvius sitting ominously
beyond. She looked away. She had her very own brand of simmering
eruption.
    The room was like the others except for a
huge table in front of the window upon which sat scale models of a
building development. She narrowed her eyes. What on earth was the
count doing with these? Then she did a second-take. And why did
they look vaguely familiar?
    “Take a seat.”
    She looked directly into his eyes for the
first time and struggled to retain her sense of purpose under the
flicker of interest and humor she saw there. Unconsciously she
pressed the palm of her hand to her stomach, where the heat lay,
desperately trying to keep her body in check.
    “Look, I won’t waste your time and I don’t
want to keep the count waiting.”
    “You won’t.”
    “And that would be because?”
    “He’s here. Waiting for you to take a seat so
that he can also sit and have a drink.”
    “What,” she said in her iciest tone, “are you
talking about?”
    “I am Conte di Montecorvio Rovella. I am
surprised you don’t recognize me as you said that you’d met him.
After all, you have your glasses on today.”
    “ You are the count.” Her voice was
quiet. The heat of attraction twisted to anger in a heartbeat. What
the hell was going on? Who did he think he was fooling?
    “That is correct. Now, all I need to know is
why you would lie to try to see me.”
    She dropped into the chair and tapped her
finger on its side, attempting to gain control of the confusion
that ran rampant through her mind and her body. She took a deep
breath.
    “You’re calling me a liar? And yet you had
your staff contact me at the estate. You must know who I am, know
that I’m not a liar.” Her voice was so quiet that she could hear
the soft thud of her heart.
    He shrugged. “You are a worker on my estate.
I haven’t been there for years. You don’t know me. Why did you say
you did?”
    “A liar,” she repeated. “And yet you agreed
to set up this meeting with the count. Why would you do that for a
liar?”
    His eyes contracted slightly but still held
her gaze steadily. “Curious. Interested, maybe.”
    “Your life must be very dull if a meeting
with a liar interests you. Or perhaps you wanted to seduce me