What would happen to her rigid control when she was no longer protected by the comforting security of navy blue or black?
She was convinced she had the mental strength to resist the chemistry between them.
Alessio suddenly discovered just how much he was looking forward to proving her wrong.
CHAPTER FIVE
LINDSAY stared at her reflection in despair.
When she’d returned to the villa to find the wardrobe stocked with a wide selection of summery clothes, she’d been relieved and grateful.
Reluctant though she’d been to admit as much to Alessio, she was boiling and had been finding her skirt scratchy and uncomfortable in the shimmering Caribbean heat.
Relief had turned to amazement as she’d examined the contents of her new wardrobe more closely.
Unaccustomed to such a degree of luxury, she was woman enough to feel a flare of excitement as she’d rifled through the dresses on the rail and sifted her way through beautifully folded tops and cardigans, all separated by tissue paper to minimise creasing. And it hadn’t just been clothes. There were shoes, all in her size, bags, accessories and a basket heaped with a selection of exclusive make-up, all new and still in the packaging.
But her laughter had faded as soon as she’d realised that none of the clothes was what she would have chosen. It was true that neither of the two skirts she had with her was suitable for a week on a Caribbean Island. For a start they were just too hot and, yes, she’d be the first to agree that they were also too formal.
But there was informal and then there was—romantic. Romantic and sexy. And the entire wardrobe that had been provided for her seemed to fall into that category. She’d spent half an hour rifling through the rail over and over again, searching for something that said ‘work in a warm climate’. But everything in front of her just seemed to shriek ‘take me, take me’.
The options had either been too short, too fitted, too low cut, or too dressy.
One dress in particular had caught her attention and she’d looked at it in despair, knowing that only an extremely sexually confident woman would dare to wear strapless, scarlet silk.
She certainly wasn’t that woman.
Which was why, in the end, she’d opted for the turquoise dress.
It shimmered in the light and had clearly been lovingly created by some top designer with seduction in mind.
It wasn’t quite as terrifying as the wicked scarlet dress, but it still made her feel uncomfortable.
How could she possibly join a man like Alessio Capelli for dinner wearing something like this?
It was asking for trouble.
For a start it was semi-transparent, presumably designed to be worn over glamorous underwear on an intimate occasion. Or possibly over a swimsuit, by someone so wealthy that shockingly expensive silk could be regarded as beachwear.
The rest of the wardrobe was much the same. Brightly coloured tops, beach dresses, long floating skirts—everything achingly feminine and designed for an ultra-romantic holiday.
But she wasn’t on holiday.
And knowing Alessio Capelli—knowing his ego and his arrogance—if she wore these clothes, he’d take it as a sign that she wanted to take their relationship a step further.
It was incredibly generous of him to have provided her with a suitable wardrobe, but—
Her eyes narrowed as a sudden thought struck her.
Generous? Was he being generous? Or was he testing her in some way?
Remembering the way he’d teased her, she suddenly realised that it was far more likely that there was a deeper, darker reason for the choice of clothes.
Angry with herself for being so naïve, she glared at her reflection in the mirror.
This wasn’t generosity on his part.
He wanted her to feel uncomfortable.
He wanted her out of her depth.
Apparently he found the unfortunate chemistry between them entertaining and he didn’t bother to pretend otherwise. But nor was he allowing her to pretend. He was upfront and straight about the attraction.
And she was honest enough with herself to admit that she was on dangerous ground. Alessio wasn’t a man that women could easily ignore. He was, quite simply, the most devastatingly attractive man she’d ever met. Sinfully handsome, he had a way of looking at a woman that made her think of nothing but sex.
And it wasn’t just looks. If it had been, perhaps she would have found him easier to resist, but his sharp intelligence made him stimulating company and she was finding it impossible to forget how kind he’d been to her on the plane when she’d been ill.
That kindness had been all the more surprising given his reputation.
If she was honest, the chemistry between them was starting to terrify her.
She, of all people, knew the dangers of that degree of chemistry—she knew just how easy it was to confuse overwhelming physical attraction with something deeper. And yet, even knowing that, her body still hummed and simmered and responded to the lazy, suggestive glint in his eyes.
And she didn’t want that. Dear God, she really, really didn’t want that.
She’d seen where that could lead.
Feeling intensely vulnerable and incredibly alone, Lindsay sank down on the edge of the bed and forced herself to do something that she never usually allowed herself to do.
She thought about her childhood.
Instead of blocking out those memories, she allowed them to filter through to her brain. What started as a trickle became a flood, and for a brief, horrible moment she was a little girl again, curled up in her tiny bed with her younger sister asleep in her arms. And she was listening to the sounds through the wall. Those sounds.
The sounds she hated.
The sounds that meant that her father would be coming back home for a while. ‘It’s all right, Lindsay, we’ll be a family again. Everything is going to be different now.’
Breathing rapidly, Lindsay rose to her feet, slamming the lid back down on her thoughts, appalled at how quickly she could regress from competent professional to needy child.
She was well aware of how vulnerable the needy child was. Look at Ruby. There was no doubt in her mind that her mixed up little sister flitted from one relationship to another because she was looking for the love and security she hadn’t had as a child.
Impatient with herself, Lindsay paced barefoot into the bathroom.
But she wasn’t going to do that.
Sex wasn’t love.
Sex wasn’t security.
Sex was just—well, sex.
Turning on the taps, she leaned over the washbasin, filled her palms with cold water and splashed her face as if washing her face might also wash away the memories that she’d conjured up.
It had only been a brief glimpse, but it was enough.
Enough to strengthen her resolve.
With the cool water came a feeling of calm and she blotted her face with a towel and stared in the mirror.
It didn’t matter what dress she chose to wear. It wasn’t going to make a difference to who she was or how she’d chosen to live her life. She was never, ever going to let sexual chemistry cloud her judgment.