Fool. He wasn’t eight years old and full of fairy-tale dreams for a loving family now.
The woman wandering about the grounds had been a welcome distraction. He’d watched from the villa, initially outraged at her blithe trespassing. But he’d grown increasingly intrigued as she’d strolled through the roses with that smile lighting up her face.
‘The fireworks are supposed to be spectacular,’ she said as she waited for him to start the car. ‘You’re promising me all the fireworks, right?’
He glanced at her profile—had she really meant that as innocently as it had sounded? She turned to look at him fully, her expression limpid. The longer he looked at her, the deeper the colour ran in her cheeks. He was fascinated by the hint of vulnerability in her reaction.
‘What?’ she suddenly snapped. ‘Do I have something on my nose?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘Are you flirting with me?’
‘What? No!’ That colour in her cheeks ran crimson now. ‘Hurry up and drive. I want to see the fireworks. I’ve been looking forward to them all day.’
Warmth flowed through his veins. ‘I wouldn’t mind if you were flirting with me.’
Her mouth opened, then closed, then her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re shocking, you know that?’ She stared straight ahead as if to ignore him. But then suddenly turned to snap at him again. ‘Does everyone flirt with you?’
‘Mostly.’ Still grinning, he finally started the engine, enjoying the crazy whim that had led him to take a total stranger to the most exclusive party on the European continent.
Her eyes had hit him the second he’d been able to see again after wiping all that water from his own. Large and framed with long lashes, they were caramel-coloured and captivated him completely. When he added her flawless, lightly tanned skin, providing a perfect backdrop for those wide eyes and lovely curving lips, it made for pretty. Her long hair was tied back in a bun but had hints of blonde and brown in the loose tendrils that curled about her sweetheart-shaped face...
Yes, it all added up to his new definition of gorgeous. She was on the shorter side, with curves in the places he appreciated most. That worn denim skirt had stopped just at her knees and shown smooth-looking legs, while her blouse had been floral. He’d liked the way the buttons had strained to contain her breasts. He’d imagined popping them open one by one. But in the end it had been the melted caramel colour of her eyes—all sweet warmth—that he’d kept returning to. There was a lightness in them that he found unusual, enchanting, sweet.
Rafe did not do sweet. Rafe did sophisticated. It was safer to play with women who knew the rules of the one-night-only game. But fresh, half-wet, funny Grace intrigued him. Temptation had been irresistible and reckless.
So now here she was alongside him, wearing a killer dress that emphasised every one of those bountiful curves. He wanted to kiss down that deep scooped neckline and feel her lean closer for more. His muscles tensed.
Well, he had been celibate for six weeks—virtually a marathon for him and the longest stretch in his adult life. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on the winding road. Grace was not a one-night-stand prospect. She wasn’t the type. When she’d said this was the most adventurous night of her life so far, she’d meant it.
A small army of models was arriving at the villa tomorrow. There’d be more than one to frolic with afterwards if he still wanted to. Frankly, though, the speculation didn’t excite him.
He glanced at Grace again and wished he had that hose once more. If that dress were wet, it’d turn translucent and he’d know for certain that she wore nothing beneath it. He suspected so, he could almost see the outline of her nipples. He shifted in his seat and touched his foot harder on the accelerator, irritated with his sudden descent into basic thinking. Was he suddenly some hormonal teen? The sooner they got to the party, the sooner he could get a grip on himself.
Palazzo Chiara was lit up like a fairy-tale castle. He pulled up by the waiting valet and scooted around to help Grace out before she tripped on the stones or something equally unfortunate. But his half-sarcastic gallantry was rewarded when he saw the look on her face as she gazed at the palazzo.
‘You like it?’ He couldn’t help smiling at her reaction.
‘It’s huge.’
‘The Villa Rosetta is big.’ He puffed out his chest.
Her eyes kindled with amusement. ‘You’re defensive about size? I never would have suspected you’d be so insecure.’
‘I told you I needed armour tonight.’ He winked. ‘You think it’s better than the Villa Rosetta?’
‘Nothing is better than Alex’s roses,’ she declared loyally. ‘This place is too huge. It’s beautiful, but it’s not a home. The Villa Rosetta is a home—you can sense the love in it.’
Her genuine words touched a raw spot and he refrained from replying by guiding her into the reception hall. A liveried waiter stepped forward with a gleaming silver tray laden with tall champagne flutes.
‘You’re sure you don’t want a drink?’ Rafe teased her.
She shook her head. He passed on the offer as well and walked her further into the room so she could appreciate the gold and marble interior. Her breathy gasps delighted him and he kept walking, aware of heads turning. He carefully avoided eye contact with a couple of the models due at the villa tomorrow. He didn’t want to be interrupted yet. Grace’s face was fascinatingly mobile and it was impossible for her to hide her reactions. Captivated, he pointed out more of the various features—from the tumbling crystal chandeliers to the sparkling waterfall in the centre of the room. But she saw some of the people looking their way and definitely recognised some.
‘Famous people,’ she noted quietly. ‘Rich people.’
‘Rich and famous people.’ He nodded.
‘A Venn diagram of the upper echelon.’ She nodded. ‘And just one outside the circle.’
‘Is that one feeling self-conscious?’
‘Absolutely. But she’s absolutely determined to get over herself.’
He laughed, liking her frankness.
‘Pleasure to see you here, Rafe.’ Toby Winters, a party-hard aristocratic banker with a vast holiday estate on the lake, interrupted them loudly. ‘I heard work on Villa Rosetta is complete. Welcome to the neighbourhood.’
‘Thank you,’ he said calmly. ‘Julia, lovely to see you.’
Julia, Toby’s wife, was too busy looking Grace over to bother answering. Besides, Toby had intervened again.
‘You’re racking up quite the portfolio,’ Toby said. ‘I envy your energy.’
Rafe smiled but tuned into the conversation that was occurring about a foot lower than his eye level, where Julia was interrogating his fish-out-of-water guest.
‘I’m only here because he made me come,’ Grace said.
Oh, Lord. Did she have any idea how that husky comment was going to be interpreted?
Grace had offered Julia a disarming smile, but Julia wouldn’t disarm in any way.
‘He made you?’ Julia’s eyebrows might have risen had her forehead not been fixed in place by the poison she’d injected beneath her skin.
‘I’m working for him.’ Grace blushed. ‘C-currently... Just for...’ She trailed off.
Rafe gritted his teeth to stay serious.
‘You work for Rafe?’ Julia asked archly.
Grace, in her oblivious innocence, nodded.
‘Yes.’