‘I would like to lay you down on the bare floor and make love to you, but I am short of time and must go straight from here to a meeting. And I don’t feel it would do my reputation much good if I walked in so dishevelled.’ He grimaced as he remembered that time in the hallway of his apartment, when he had shown all the finesse of a teenage boy. ‘And I am aware that perhaps you like your lovemaking to be a little more slow and considered.’
‘I…thought I did.’
He heard the reluctance in her voice but noticed she was still gripping tightly onto his arms. Her lips were trembling, even though she was biting down on them in an effort to stop it—and he realised just how turned on she was.
‘Of course…’ He moved his hand down to the ridge of hard denim between her legs. ‘I probably do have enough time for other things. Things which you might enjoy.’
‘Niccolò,’ she said breathlessly.
‘What do you think?’ he said as he edged his middle finger forward and began to stroke her. ‘Yes, or no?’
‘Y-yes,’ she gasped.
‘Keep still,’ he urged—but to his delight she didn’t obey him. Or maybe she just couldn’t. Her head was tipping back and suddenly she didn’t look remotely shy…she looked wild. Beautiful. He felt her thighs part and heard her moaning softly as he increased the relentless pressure of his finger.
She came very quickly, tightening her arms around his neck and making that shuddering little crescendo of sighs with which he’d become so familiar on Tuesday night. As he kissed her again her fingers began to claw at his shirt, as if she wanted to tear it from his chest, and for a moment he thought about changing his mind and taking her in the most fundamental way possible.
Temptation rushed over him in a dark wave. Impatiently, his hand strayed to the belt of his trousers, until some remaining shred of reason forced him to play out the ensuring scene. What did he have in mind? Rushing into his meeting with his shirt creased and a telltale flush darkening his skin? Using Alekto’s apartment to have sex with a woman—wouldn’t that be kind of cheap? On every single level, it wouldn’t work—but that didn’t make it any easier to pull away from her.
She started buttoning her shirt back up with trembling fingers and he walked over to the window to compose himself, willing his frustration to subside.
Outside, a light flurry of snowflakes was whirling down and he felt a sudden sense of restlessness. He thought about the impending holiday and what he would be forced to endure, because one thing he’d learned was that unless you were prepared to live in a cave—it was impossible to ignore Christmas. Already there was a glittering tree which he’d been unable to ban from the main reception of his offices. He thought about the horrendous staff party he’d been forced to attend last night, with those stodgy mince pies they were so fond of eating and several drunken secretaries tottering over to him with glassy smiles and bunches of mistletoe.
He turned round. Alannah had finished buttoning up her shirt, though he noticed her hands were shaking and her cheeks still flushed.
‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ he questioned suddenly.
‘Oh, I’m wavering between an invitation to eat nut roast with some committed vegans, or having an alternative celebration all of my own.’ She glanced over his shoulder at the snowflakes. ‘Like pretending that nothing’s happening and eating beans on toast, followed by an overdose of chocolate and trash TV. What about you?’
He shrugged. ‘I have an invitation to ski with some friends in Klosters, but unfortunately my schedule doesn’t allow it. I hate Christmas. What I would really like is to fast-forward the calendar and wake up to find it was the new year.’
‘Oh, dear,’ she said softly.
His eyes met hers and another wave of desire washed over him. ‘But since we are both at a loose end, it seems a pity not to capitalise on that. We could ignore the seasonal madness and just please ourselves.’
She opened her eyes very wide. ‘Are you asking me to spend Christmas with you, Niccolò?’
There was a pause. ‘It seems I am.’ He gave a cool smile. ‘So why don’t you speak to Kirsty and have her give you one of my credit cards? You can book us into the best suite in the best hotel in the city—somewhere you’ve always wanted to stay. Forget the nut roast and the beans on toast—you can have as much caviar and champagne as you like.’ He gave a slow smile as he touched his fingertips to her raven hair. ‘Maybe I can make some of your Christmas wishes come true.’
* * *
Alannah felt like taking her sharpest pair of scissors and snipping the small square of plastic into tiny pieces. She thought about what Niccolò had said to her. Make her wishes come true. Really? Did he honestly think that staying in a fancy hotel suite was the sum total of her life’s ambition, when right now her biggest wish would be to tell him that she didn’t need his fancy platinum credit card and she’d rather spend Christmas day alone than spend it with him?
Except that it wouldn’t be true, would it? She might want it to be true, but it wasn’t. Why else would she be sitting hunched in front of her computer, about to book a two-night break in a London hotel? She wondered what had happened to her determination to forget the night she’d spent with him and maintain a professional relationship.
She bit her lip. It had been shattered by Niccolò’s resolve—that was what had happened. She had been lost the moment he’d kissed her. A single touch had been enough to make all her good intentions crumble. All her silent vows had been a complete waste of time—because she’d gone up in flames the moment he’d taken her in his arms.
She remembered the way his fingertip had whispered over the crotch of her jeans and her face grew hot. She hadn’t been so shy then, had she? He’d soon had her bucking beneath him, and he hadn’t even had to remove a single item of clothing. And still in that dreamy, post-orgasmic state she had agreed to spend Christmas with him.
That was something it was hard to get her head round. There must be millions of things he could be doing for the holiday—but he wanted to spend it with her. Her. Didn’t that mean something? Her mouth grew dry. Surely it had to.
She stared at the credit card, which Kirsty had crisply informed her had no upper limit. Imagine that. Imagine having enough money to buy whatever you wanted. The best suite in the best hotel. How fancy would a hotel have to be for Niccolò not to have seen it all before, and be jaded by it? She ran through a list of possibilities. The Savoy. The Ritz. The Granchester. London had heaps of gorgeous hotels and she’d bet that he’d stayed in all of them. Had constant exposure to high-end affluence helped contribute to his inbuilt cynicism?
She was just about to click onto the Granchester when something made her hesitate. Perhaps it was a desire to shift him out of his comfort zone—away from the usual protective barriers which surrounded him. He had knocked down some of her defences, so why shouldn’t she do the same with him? Why shouldn’t she try to find out more about the real Niccolò da Conti?
She thought of a fancy hotel dining room and all the other people who would be congregated there. People who had no real place to go, who just wanted the holiday to be over. Or even worse—the wink-wink attitude of Room Service if they started asking for turkey sandwiches and champagne to be brought to their room.
An idea popped into her mind and it started to grow more attractive by the minute. She stared at the long number on the credit card. She might not have much money of her own, but she did have her imagination. Surely she was capable of surprising him with something unexpected. Something simple yet meaningful, which would incorporate the true meaning of Christmas.
His