The Italian's Perfect Lover Read Online Free Page A

more
thoroughly this time?”
    She winced as soon as the words slipped out.
She didn’t know what made her say it. It was stupid. But it had
been the thought that she’d been trying to suppress all day: why
did he pay attention to her when he could have had any woman in the
room?
    He smiled, a slow lazy smile that sent her
heart rate up yet another notch.
    “Yes, I suppose a midnight flirtation could
be seen as only a partial seduction: a trial perhaps, to see if one
wants to go further—or not. It seems that you would.”
    “I most certainly would not. But you’re a man
and—”
    “Men always want more? Is that how you see
the opposite sex? All or nothing, black or white? It seems that you
have experienced little to do with seduction in your life.” He
leant forward, his eyes alight with humor. “Perhaps I should show
you after all. Perhaps—”
    “No—”
    “Please don’t interrupt. You were quite
correct. I should seduce you more thoroughly. Particularly as it’s
something you expect.”
    Emily shot up to her feet. “That’s it. I’m
going. You got me here under false pretenses. You’re claiming to be
the count and it’s obvious you’re simply playing with me. I have
business to do with the count, not this nonsense.”
    “Now, seduction equals nonsense? Ah, cara,
you really are in dire need of seduction.” He rose too and, before
she could do anything, flicked the band out from her hair, allowing
it to shower down around her shoulders. He sat back down, playing
with the band in his hands.
    “That, is better. Now sit down and tell me
what your business is with me.”
    She gritted her teeth and contented herself
with giving him one of her glares while pushing the hair firmly
behind her shoulders. “Business? You sure?”
    He raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. “Of
course”.
    She sat down warily.
    “I did not lie. I met the count two years ago
in London. He’s passionate about Roman antiquities and a real
gentleman. Which is more than can be said for you.”
    All humor gone, he dropped his gaze as a
flicker of sadness passed over his face.
    “You have described my father well. I must
apologize. I assumed you were—well, let’s say I jumped to
conclusions.” He looked up at her and, this time, she could see
sadness and regret in his eyes. “I don’t meet people like you very
often.”
    “People like me? Hard working, honest? Then
you’ve been mixing with the wrong crowd.”
    To her surprise, his lips parted in a relaxed
smile. “Now I know that you would have got on well with my father.
He was of the same mind.”
    Emily felt herself melt under that disarming
gaze. Her breath hitched as he rose and walked towards her. Then
her eyes dropped as he walked by and poured a large glass of
chilled white wine.
    She pushed her glasses back on her nose, even
though they were still in place, and took a deep breath for
control.
    “Here.”
    “But I don’t want—”
    “Have it anyway. I’m afraid I need to tell
you something.”
    She took a large gulp of wine.
    “Firstly, I’m sorry to tell you what you
obviously don’t yet know. My father died last month.”
    Shock and sadness and hopelessness filled
her. She slowly and deliberately placed the wine glass on the
table, focusing on the movement to give herself time to absorb the
fact that the erudite, very much alive, man was no more. If only
she’d ventured out of the estate that was deserted except for her
team, she might have discovered this fact before now. But she’d
been cut off, lost in her work, oblivious to everything else. She
closed her eyes as the hopelessness of her future hit her. The
completion of the mosaic—the culmination of years of intensive
research—had just slipped out of her grasp.
    “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, somehow
managing to swallow back the bitter disappointment and realize that
this man had just lost his father.
    “Thank you.” The confident exterior flickered
briefly. “Now, what can I