Seconds later the disappointed crowd reluctantly dispersed, leaving Laura standing there clutching her bouquet alone. Helplessly, jealously, her gaze followed the glamorous pair—clearly heading for somewhere more private. The moment the striking soprano steered Fabian out of the marquee altogether Laura felt almost faint from hurt and disappointment.
It wasn’t until the majority of the concert’s audience had left, and the remaining invited guests staying for supper had filed into another lavishly decorated marquee, that Laura saw Fabian again. With no sign of the possessive Aurelia—even though she was one of his guests of honour—Laura wondered what was the reason for the older woman’s absence. Glimpsing a distinct mark of scarlet lipstick at the edge of Fabian’s chiselled jaw, she felt her heartbeat go wild in anguished protest. She’d nursed the ridiculous hope that maybe the two weren’t as close as things indicated, but now she knew different. Clearly the two of them had slipped away to be intimate, and she had been left to talk to Fabian’s guests and reassure them of his imminent return on her own.
Suddenly the magic of the wonderful evening turned to dust, like a handful of brittle autumn leaves clasped in her palm, and as Fabian gestured that she come and sit beside him at the top table her feet obeyed reluctantly. There was suddenly a great impulse in her to escape and mull over her unhappiness in private.
‘You look very beautiful in that dress,’ he said, his accented voice velvety pitched and intimate. But Laura didn’t feel very beautiful. Not any more … Even though the dress Dante and she had finally chosen was a stunning creation of ice-green silk with a halter-necked front high enough to hide her scars and a back that plunged daringly low. All she could focus on was the lipstick mark left by Aurelia.
‘Very sexy. You must keep it and wear it just for me,’ Fabian continued, pinning her to the spot with his hot, hungry gaze.
Thinking of what he might have been doing with another woman just minutes ago, as well as the controversial business proposition that still awaited Laura’s answer, she feverishly grasped at the need for some perspective on the situation before her heightened feelings careened out of control.
‘You know I can’t do that.’ ‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s haute couture, and I’m well aware that it’s probably worth a small fortune!’
‘What high-minded principles you have, Laura! I have never known a woman to refuse a gift of mine yet, and you are not just any woman! You know what I refer to.’
She did—and the thought made her swallow hard.
‘It is still too much, Fabian.’
‘Then you would deny me the pleasure of giving you this gift, and that does not make me feel good.’
Although he was still smiling, his glance had slightly chilled, and Laura wondered how she had seemingly acquired quite the talent for saying the wrong thing to him.
‘I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to sound so ungrateful.’ Her spirits sank even further at his rebuke. ‘It’s an extremely kind gesture … thank you. And I didn’t get a chance to thank you for the massage earlier either.’
Embarrassed heat cascaded spectacularly through her as she realised how that might sound to anyone overhearing their conversation. Though this time Fabian was looking anything but chilly. Leaning even closer towards her—so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath skim across her mouth—he seemed suddenly fascinated by that particular part of her anatomy.
‘Would it surprise you to know that I was jealous of Giuseppe this afternoon? So jealous that I found it extremely hard to concentrate on anything else after I left you.’
‘Fabian … why isn’t Aurelia here?’
Her question, used to deflect the frighteningly intimate nature of his conversation, didn’t seem to particularly perturb him. Those broad shoulders of his, encased in exquisite tailoring, lifted in a nonchalant shrug. ‘She suddenly found that she had another engagement to go to.’
‘I wish—’
‘What is it you wish, Laura?’
‘I wish that you would tell me—’
‘Your eyes are full of questions … but we cannot discuss them now. I am afraid it might look like I am neglecting my guests if I just talk to you alone … as much as that is my preference.’
Giving her an enigmatic smile, he turned to the glamorous middle-aged mayor’s wife sitting on the other side of him, who was quite volubly announcing what a fantastic evening it had been and how she was already looking forward to the event next year.
‘Alla salute!’
‘What are we toasting?’
‘The welcome end to a very successful evening,
I think.’
As he pulled out a chair at a table for two, positioned on the terrace overlooking the olive groves, the peaceful Mediterranean night with its array of stars wrapped itself around them in a glittering dark stole. Fabian took a sip of his sambuca, savouring with pleasure the burst of warm aniseed that flooded his tastebuds. Opposite him, Laura took an experimental sip of the liqueur that was his personal favourite, and ran the tip of her tongue round her sweetly shaped top lip. A singular tightening gripped him low in his belly, and the quiet but forceful thrum of sexual need lit a match to his already heated blood.
Aurelia had done her best to entice him away to her own villa for the night, and had left in a huff when he’d refused her. But there was only one woman who interested Fabian enough right now for him to want to spend the night with, and that was the slender grey-eyed blonde, with her air of fragility yet uncommon strength too, in front of him.
‘Why welcome?’ she asked now, the thin stem of her liqueur glass positioned carefully between finger and thumb.
‘Because …’ he drawled, with a non-committal shrug. The protective wall he automatically employed when it came to his past had slammed into place. Now that the whole event was over there was a strong need in him to put it behind him and concentrate on the immediate future instead. A future in which he had certain hopes he was anxious would come to fruition.
‘Because what? Why won’t you talk to me about it?’
‘I would much rather talk about something else. Such as the proposal I made to you. Do you have an answer for me yet?’
Not welcoming the uncertainty that gripped him suddenly, Fabian broodingly examined Laura’s face, to try and ascertain whether her answer was going to be positive or negative. He strove hard to contain his own impatience. Sighing softly, she returned her glass to the table.
‘Before we discuss that, I’d like to know why you seemed so on edge about the concert. You indicated before that your father was cruel … Holding these concerts on his behalf must bring back some less than happy memories for you, I’m sure?’
‘Happy?’ he mocked. ‘That is not an adjective that I would use to describe anything remotely associated with my father! In our home, he ruled like a dictator!’ The words left him with all the brute force of a fist slamming into his gut. ‘No … remembering him does not make for happy memories, Laura! How could it? My mother and I were nothing but possessions to him … like ornaments he could move from room to room, or crush beneath his boot if he so willed!’
Tipping back his head, he drained the liqueur glass dry in one swallow. As the effect of the alcohol hit, Fabian let the still painful memories briefly resurface.
‘To the outside world he was a man to admire … to envy. He had power, wealth, a beautiful wife and a son. But to us he was everything opposite