Bronte wondered how she could have missed it. In spite of her animosity towards him, from time to time she couldn’t stop herself trawling the papers and gossip magazines for a mention of him or his family. Only a few months ago she had heard of the separation of his older brother Giorgio and his wife Maya. She had also heard something about his younger brother Nicoló winning an obscene amount of money playing poker in a Las Vegas casino. But she had heard nothing of Luca. It was as if for the last two years he had completely disappeared off the news media radar.
‘No, but then again I have better things to do with my time,’ she said with a disparaging look.
His dark eyes continued to hold hers in a stare-down Bronte was determined to win. She tried to keep her expression masked but even so his presence was having an intense effect on her. She could feel her skin tightening all over, her heart was racing again and her stomach was fluttering with a frenzied flock of razor-sharp wings. Seeing him again was something she had never allowed herself to think about. On a cold, miserable, grey day in November almost two years ago he had brought their six-month affair to an abrupt and bitter end. Her love for him had over time cooled down until it was now like a chunk of sharp-edged ice stuck right in the middle of her chest. What sort of naïve fool had she been to have loved such a heartless man? He had not once returned any of her calls or emails. In fact she suspected he had switched addresses and numbers in order to get her out of his life.
And now he was back as if nothing had happened.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked with a pointed glare. ‘Why are you really here?’
He continued to look down at her from his towering height, but something about his expression had softened slightly. His dark eyes reminded her of melted chocolate, his mouth a temptation equally irresistible. She could almost feel those sculptured lips pressing down on hers. Her lips tingled with the memory and, as she thought of how he had made her feel in his arms, her chest felt as if someone was slowly pulling scratchy pieces of string from all four chambers of her heart.
Bronte felt her guard lowering and hastily pulled up the drawbridge on her emotions, standing stiffly before him, her arms folded across her middle, her mouth tight with renewed resolve.
‘I wanted to see you again, Bronte,’ he said. ‘I wanted to make sure you are all right.’
She blew out a breath of disgust. ‘All right? Why wouldn’t I be all right?’ she asked. ‘Your ego must be far bigger than I realised if you think I would be still pining over you after all this time. It’s been nearly two years, Luca. Twenty-two months and fourteen days, to be exact. I’ve well and truly moved on with my life.’
‘Are you seeing anyone?’ he asked, still watching her in that rock-steady hawk-like way of his.
Bronte pushed up her chin. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I am.’
He gave no outward sign of the news affecting him but she sensed an inner tension in him that hadn’t been there before. ‘Would your current partner mind if I stole you for dinner this evening?’ he asked.
‘I am not going out with you, Luca,’ she said with deliberate firmness. ‘Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not ever.’
He moved a step closer, his hand coming down on one of her arms to stop her from moving away from him. Bronte looked down at his long, dark, tanned fingers on her creamy bare skin within touching distance of her breasts, and felt her body shiver all over. It felt as if her blood was being heated to boiling point from that simple touch. She felt the drum roll of her heart and the deep quiver of her belly as his fingers subtly tightened. ‘Is one night so very much to ask?’ he said.
She pushed at his hand but he brought his other one over the top and held her firm. He was too close. She could feel his warm minty breath on her face. She could smell his lemon-based aftershave. She could feel her body responding as if on autopilot. ‘Don’t do this, Luca,’ she said in a cracked whisper.
‘Don’t do what?’ he asked, holding her gaze steady with his as his thumb slowly, mesmerisingly stroked along the back of her hand.
She swallowed a lump of anguish. ‘I think you know,’ she said. ‘This is a game to you. You’re here in Australia and you want a playmate. And who better than someone you already know who is going to go away when it’s over without too much fuss.’
A corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful smile. ‘Your opinion of me is a lot worse than I expected. Didn’t I give you enough compensation for bringing an end to our affair?’
More than you know, Bronte thought. ‘I sent the opal pendant back,’ she said with a defiant glare. ‘They’re supposed to be bad luck. I kind of figured I had already had my fair share in meeting you.’
A tight spot appeared beside his mouth, like a pulse of restrained anger beating beneath his skin. ‘It was very mean-spirited of you to return it in that state,’ he said. ‘It was an expensive piece. How did you smash it? Did you back over it with an earth mover or something?’
She pushed her chin a little higher. ‘I used a hammer. It was immensely satisfying.’
‘It was an appalling waste of a rare black opal,’ he said. ‘If I had known you were going to be so petulant about it I would have given you diamonds instead. They, at least, are unbreakable.’
‘I am sure I would have found a way,’ she said tightly.
He smiled then, a rare show of perfect white teeth, the movement of his lips triggering the creasing of the fine lines about his eyes. ‘Yes, I am sure you would have, cara.’
Bronte felt that quivery feeling again and tried desperately to suppress it. What was it about this man that made her so weak and needy? His mere presence made her remember every moment they had spent together. Her body seemed to wake up from a long sleep and leap to fervent life. All her senses were switched to hyper vigilant mode, each and every one of her nerves twitching beneath her skin to be subjected again to the exquisite mastery of his touch.
He had been the most amazing lover. Her only lover. She had been romantically and perhaps somewhat foolishly saving herself for the right man. She hadn’t wanted to repeat the mistakes her mother had made in falling for a wastrel and then being left holding the baby. Bronte had instead fallen for a billionaire and the baby she had been left holding he still knew nothing about.
And, given how appallingly he had treated her, she planned to keep it that way.
‘I have to ask you to leave, Luca,’ she said. ‘I have a class in a few minutes and I—’
‘I want to see you tonight, Bronte,’ he stated implacably. ‘No is not a word I will tolerate as an answer.’
She pulled out of his hold with a surge of strength that was fuelled by anger. ‘You can’t force me to do anything, Luca Sabbatini,’ she said. ‘I am not under any obligation to see you, have dinner with you or even look at you. Now, if you don’t leave immediately, I will call the police.’
His dark eyes hardened to black ice. ‘How much rent did you say you were paying on this place?’ he asked.
Bronte felt a lead-booted foot of apprehension press down on her chest until she could barely breathe. ‘I didn’t say and I am not going to.’
His smile had a hint of cruelty about it. He reached into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and handed her a silver embossed vellum business card. ‘My contact details,’ he said. ‘I will expect you at eight this evening at my hotel. I have written the name and address on the back. I am staying in the penthouse suite.’
‘I won’t be there,’ she warned him as he turned to leave.
He