He looked just as tall and arrogant as he had when they’d met six days ago, although today he was dressed in a dark business suit and a pale blue shirt, with a navy blue tie neatly knotted at this throat, rather than the formal evening clothes of their last meeting.
After his final comment to her at the charity dinner—the promise in his voice—Robin had known she would see him again, of course. She just hadn’t known when or where. Certainly she hadn’t expected that he would actually come to her father’s city house, into which she had moved back since her separation and divorce.
‘Won’t you sit down, Mr Gambrelli.’ she invited and she indicated one of the sumptuous armchairs that matched the sofa she had been reclining on, reading a book, before his arrival.
‘Thank you,’ Cesare accepted.
Robin had made the suggestion as a way of perhaps lessening the nerve-tingling effect of his powerful presence on her. He seemed to dwarf the spacious room. But even as he sat down, she knew it hadn’t worked; she was still just as aware of him—could feel the flush in her cheeks and the way her nipples had hardened beneath the cream silk blouse she wore with casual black trousers.
Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her with those dark brown eyes, from beneath hooded lids—as if he were stripping each piece of clothing from her body to reveal the creamy curves beneath.
Whatever the reason, she was just as aroused by this man as she had been a week ago—could almost feel those long hands caressing her, the feel of his lips against her flesh as he tasted her.
She sat down on the edge of the sofa, lacing her slightly trembling hands together to look across at him enquiringly. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Gambrelli?’
Many things, Cesare acknowledged to himself as he regarded her, a knowing smile curving his lips.
This woman, whose beauty was no less striking today, with that honey-coloured hair loose about her shoulders, had the sort of body that could give a man so much pleasure she would have the ability to drive him completely out of his mind.
Not Cesare, of course. Any relationship he had with this woman would be of his choosing, his design, his control.
A nerve pulsed in his jaw and his mouth tightened before he answered her. ‘Perhaps we could start by having you call me Cesare.?’ he invited smoothly, and he saw the flush deepen in her cheeks.
Not the blush of a maiden—at twenty-seven, having been married and divorced, she certainly wasn’t that! But the heated colour of sexual arousal. Her eyes had become almost purple with the depth of her response.
He could see her breasts through the sheer material of her blouse, through the cream outline of her bra, their dark, aroused tips clearly visible through those thin layers of silky fabric as they pouted invitingly.
Though she looked almost prim and proper, sitting on the edge of the sofa, her hands modestly linked, her knees pressed together, as Cesare’s gaze moved slowly down over those aroused breasts to her slender waist and below, he knew without a doubt that she wasn’t sitting like that out of modesty—that she would be moist between her thighs as her body readied itself with the sexual desire she was unable to hide from him.
Robin Ingram—the unattainable Robin Ingram—wanted him with a fierceness she couldn’t hide!
Which should make the next few minutes much simpler for both of them.
This was awful, Robin decided, and she shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, very aware of the heat of her body just from looking at this man.
Damn it, if he ever stripped off in front of her, revealing that dark, muscled body in all its naked glory, she would probably have an orgasm right then and there!
‘Very well … Cesare,’ she accepted tautly, forcing her gaze to meet his. ‘I believe you wanted to see my father?’
‘No,’ he came back dismissively. ‘It was always my intention to call on you.’
Robin blinked, frowning slightly. ‘But I thought you asked to see my father …’
He gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘In the knowledge that he was not here.’
Robin stared at him, no longer sure what was going on. If Cesare had known her father was away from home when he called, then why had he bothered to ask?
‘I don’t understand.’ She gave a puzzled shake of her head.
‘No,’ he accepted dryly. ‘But I can assure you that you very soon will.’
The threat in his tone was unmistakeable now, causing a shiver of apprehension down Robin’s spine.
She stood up abruptly, her cheeks warm with anger now. ‘I don’t know what game it is that you’re playing, Mr Gambrelli, but I can assure you—’
‘No game, Robin,’ he cut in, dark eyes glittering as he looked up at her, his expression scornful, his jaw clenched. ‘Sit down,’ he instructed coldly.
‘How dare you—’
‘I said sit down, Robin,’ he repeated. ‘Must I remind you that you’re a guest in my home, Mr Gambrelli? An unwelcome guest at that!’ she snapped. ‘And that I don’t take orders from anyone!’ she added furiously.
‘You will sit down,’ Cesare told her calmly once again. ‘The two of us will talk. Or rather, I will talk, and you will listen,’ he amended. ‘And when your father returns home later this afternoon you will inform him that you have decided to become my wife.’
‘Your—your—’ Robin stuttered in stupefied outrage. ‘I most certainly will not!’ she scorned incredulously. ‘Are you taking medication, Mr Gambrelli?’ she exclaimed. ‘Would you like me to call you a doctor?’
‘I am not taking anything, Robin,’ he assured her with icy calm. ‘Neither am I insane,’ he added, as he saw the wary way she was now looking at him.
With not a trace of sexual arousal left in her tensed-for-flight body, he noted with hard amusement.
No matter. There would be plenty of time for that once she was his wife. He envisaged a lifetime of exploring the delights of this woman’s body.
Once she had married him.
He had made a more thorough investigation of Robin Ingram—briefly Mrs Robin Bennet—during the last six days, and now he even knew exactly what her bra size was, amongst other things that she would probably rather he nor anyone else didn’t know about her.
Cesare’s mouth tightened as he thought of her failed first marriage, of the real reason her husband had divorced her. And it had nothing to do with the ‘incompatibility’ that had been quoted on the petition.
Many things would change for Robin once she was his wife. She would become Marco’s mother, of course. But Cesare also intended her to bear him more sons and daughters. He intended for the beautiful, the accomplished, the elusive Ms Ingram to become Mrs Cesare Gambrelli, and to spend at least the next few years barefoot and pregnant!
Suitable retribution, Cesare believed, for this woman’s brother taking the life of his own sister, Carla—for depriving Marco of his mother.
Although he very much doubted that Robin was going to see it the same way he did.
Not that it mattered what her objections were. He had other inducements, to bend her to his will—if necessary. And, from the look of rebellion on her exquisite face, it seemed as if that was going to be the case.
Again, it did not matter. He would not be thwarted in this. Robin Ingram would become his wife, and Marco’s mother, whether she wanted to or not.
‘Sit down before you fall down!’ he ordered.
Was her apprehension—her fear of this man—so obvious? Robin wondered with an inward wince.
Well,