She possessed a vulnerability beneath the sophisticated façade, a genuine empathy that held no artifice. A rare trait among the women of his acquaintance. He doubted she was aware he could define each tone of her voice, every expression, no matter how fleeting.
Tonight, for whatever reason, she was on edge, and he sought to alleviate it a little.
He lifted a hand and cupped her nape, tilting her head, then he covered her mouth with his own in an evocative tasting that brought forth a faint sighing sound as she leaned into him and kissed him back.
How long did it last? Seconds, minutes? She had no sense of time, only the feeling of regret as he broke contact.
His eyes were dark, unfathomable, and she was conscious of every breath she took, each beat of her heart as it thudded in her breast.
‘There’s a difference between sex and lovemaking, mi mujer,’ Miguel said gently. ‘You might do well to remember it.’ He smoothed the pad of his thumb along the lower curve of her lip, and proffered a faint smile. ‘You have no lipstick.’
Hannah gathered her wits together quickly. ‘While you, hombre, have a mouth rimmed with hazelnut noisette.’ She considered him carefully. ‘It’s not a good look.’
He laughed, a soft, deep, husky sound that curled round her heart and tugged a little. ‘Minx. I don’t suppose you have a tissue in that minuscule bag you carry?’
‘Of course,’ she said solemnly, extracting a tissue and handing it to him. ‘I am always prepared for any eventuality.’
He used the tissue and discarded it, deactivated the car alarm, then unlocked the door and she slid into the passenger seat. Restoring colour to her lips took only seconds, and it was done by the time Miguel slipped behind the wheel.
Minutes later he eased the powerful Jaguar towards the remote-controlled gates, picking up speed as he gained the street.
Summer daylight saving time bathed their surroundings with a soft golden glow, and while the heat of the day still hovered it was offset by the car’s air-conditioning.
The rain-storm had passed, the wet bitumen the only evidence of its brief intensity.
‘Who are our fellow guests? Do you know?’ Hannah queried idly.
‘Forewarned is forearmed?’ Miguel posed as he paused at an intersection, and she offered him a faintly wry smile.
‘Something like that.’ There were a few socialites of her acquaintance who delighted in setting a cat among the pigeons, then observing the result. It was very cleverly orchestrated, and provided amusing entertainment to the perpetrators.
A few years ago she had been an object of their speculation. Gossip, she amended, was unavoidable, but she detested any deliberate attempt to hurt or offend.
‘Graziella mentioned Angelina and Roberto Moro, Suzanne and Peter Trenton,’ Miguel relayed, shooting her a quick glance as the lights changed and traffic began to move. ‘Esteban also has an invitation.’
Two partners in a prominent law firm and their wives, Hannah mused, together with Miguel’s widowed father.
The del Santos invariably invited between ten and fourteen guests to share their table, and rarely revealed the identity of everyone attending. Graziella always commented that it made the evening interesting.
Hannah wondered who Graziella had invited to partner her charming father-in-law. A widow? Perhaps a divorcee?
‘Is there any earth-shattering news I should be aware of?’ Hannah queried as the car cleared another intersection.
‘In the need to conduct scintillating conversation?’
Hannah bit back a wry retort. ‘It negates any nasty little surprises.’
‘Such as?’
‘The fall of a prominent businessman due to tax avoidance. His wife cranked up her credit card in several élite boutiques.’
Miguel spared her a sharp look. ‘Yours was one of them?’
‘You got it in one.’ It wasn’t a fortune, she could write off the loss, but it left a nasty taste in her mouth that someone she trusted had deliberately ripped her off.
‘Leave it with me.’
Resentment flared. ‘I can handle it.’
‘You don’t need to,’ he responded smoothly.
Hannah wanted to hit him. ‘My business,’ she said firmly. ‘My problem.’
It could wait, Miguel decided, aware that pursuing it now would only exacerbate the situation.
Kew was an old, well-established suburb with large stately mansions, and Miguel turned the car into a leafy avenue, then halted outside an impressive set of gates leading to Graziella and Enrico del Santo’s imposing residence.
‘We’ll discuss this later.’ The window slid down and he pressed the intercom, gave his name, then waited as the gates swung open.
‘The responsibility is mine, the action my decision,’ she insisted as he parked the car on a wide pebbled apron adjacent the main entrance.
‘Independence in a woman is an admirable quality,’ Miguel intoned silkily. ‘But there are times when you take it too far.’
He slid from behind the wheel, and she stepped out, then closed the door.
‘And a man’s indomitable will is a pain in the butt.’
‘Pax,’ Miguel slanted coolly, and she offered him a brilliant smile.
‘Of course, amante,’ Hannah offered in a deliberately facetious response. ‘I wouldn’t dream of tarnishing our image.’
‘Behave,’ he admonished as they mounted the few steps to the massive double entrance doors.
They swung open as they reached them, and a tall well-built man in his fifties offered an affectionate greeting.
‘Hannah.’ Enrico leant forward and pressed his lips lightly to one cheek, then the other, and pumped Miguel’s extended hand. ‘Come through to the lounge.’
As they drew close it was possible to hear the light hum of conversation, and Enrico led them into a large spacious room filled with heavy antique chairs and sofas grouped into comfortable facing sets.
Men stood, resplendent in formal dinner suits, and each of the women resembled a model out of Vogue, the epitome in elegance and cosmetic perfection.
Hannah let her gaze skim a few familiar faces, her smile genuinely warm as she moved forward. She was one of them, born into established old money, educated and groomed to become part of an élite social clique. Hell, she’d even married into it.
Graziella enveloped them warmly, then she placed an arm through one each of theirs and drew them towards the centre of the room.
‘You know most everyone. Except some dear people I very much want you to meet. They are visiting from Europe this summer.’
Graziella and Enrico had friends in almost every city in the world, and frequently entertained guests in their home.
‘Aimee Dalfour, and her niece, Camille,’ Graziella indicated in introduction. ‘Hannah and Miguel Santanas.’
Camille was tall, slender, and startlingly beautiful, with hair that cascaded way down past her shoulders in a fall of lustrous sable. Exquisitely applied make-up, flawless textured skin, and a body to die for. Add a designer gown and shoes, expensive jewellery, and the result was drop-dead gorgeous.
‘Miguel,’ Camille purred in a sultry accented drawl. ‘C’est opportune.’ She extended her hand and silently dared him to take it, her dark eyes simmering with blatant challenge.
This woman was trouble,