EVE saw him across the other side of the room and her
world stood still. It was like watching a film, where
fantasy took over and made real life fade away and it had
never happened to her before.
That click. That buzz. That glance across the room which
held and hung on in glorious disbelief as you met the eyes
of a man and somehow knew that he was 'the one'. But of
course it was fantasy, it must be — for how on earth could
you see someone for a minute or a second and know that
this total stranger was the person you wanted to spend the
rest of your life with?
Except that this man was not a total stranger, though
maybe that was fantasy, too. After all, it had been a long
time.
She quickly glanced down at her drink and pretended to
examine it, before risking another look, only this time he
had turned away, and although her heart lurched with
disappointment that he obviously didn't share her
fascination, at least it gave her the chance to study him
without embarrassment.
She was almost certain he was Luca, but he was certainly
Italian; he couldn't have been anything else. Jet-dark
hair framed the head he held so proudly and she drank in
his perfect features as if trying to memorise them. Or
remember them. The hard, intelligent black eyes, the Roman
nose and an autocratic mouth which was both luscious and
cruel.
He was striking and innately sexy, with a careless
confidence which drew the eye and made it stay. In a room
full of rich, successful men he stood out like some
beautiful, exotic creature — his golden-olive skin
gleaming like softly oiled silk, his body all packed,
tight muscle. He looked like the kind of man who would
command without even trying — an arrogant aristocrat from
another age, yet a man who was essentially modern.
Eve was used to assessing people quickly, but her eyes
could have lingered on him all evening. He wore his
clothes with elegant assurance — a creamy shirt which
hinted at a sinewed body beneath and dark, tapered
trousers emphasising legs which were long and hard and
muscular. He was very still, but that did not mask some
indefinable quality he had, some shimmering vibrancy,
which made every other man in the room fade into dull
insignificance.
He had slanted his head to one side, listening to a tiny
blonde creature in a sparkling dress who was chatting to
him with the kind of enthusiasm which suggested that Eve
wasn't alone in feeling a gut-wrenching awareness that she
was in the presence of someone out of the ordinary. But
why should that surprise her? A woman would have to be
made out of stone not to have reacted to that package of
unmistakable, simmering sensuality.
"Eve?"
Her reverie punctured, Eve turned her head to see her host
standing beside her, holding a bottle of champagne towards
her almost-empty glass. "Can I tempt you with another
drink?"
She hadn't been planning to stay long and she had intended
her first drink to be her last, but she nodded gratefully,
welcoming the diversion. "Thanks, Michael."
The drink fizzed into the flute and she glanced around the
room. The blinds had been left open, but with a view like
that you would never want to draw them. Moonlight and
starlight dipped and dazzled off the lapping water outside
and the excited chatter, which had reached fever-pitch,
gave all the indications of this being a very successful
evening indeed.
She raised her glass. "Here's to birthday parties — your
wife is a very lucky woman!"
"Ah, but not everyone likes surprises," he said. Eve's
eyes strayed once more to Luca. "Oh, I don't know," she
said slowly as her heart began to bang against her
ribcage. "Great party, anyway."
Michael smiled. "Yeah. And great you could make it. Not
everyone can boast that they have a television personality
at their party!"
Eve laughed. "Michael Gore! You've known me since I was
knee-high to a grasshopper! You've seen me with grazed
knees in my school uniform." She gave him a wry
smile. "And I hardly think that presenting the breakfast
show on provincial television classifies me as anything as
grand-sounding as "television personality"."
Michael smiled back. "Ah, but the girl's done good," he
said.
Maybe the girl had, but right then she felt as vulnerable
as that schoolgirl with grazed knees. And, to her horror,
she realised that she had gulped most of the drink down
and that Luca — if indeed it was Luca — was still
listening to the animated blonde. And that the last thing
she needed in her life was the complication of a
charismatic, complicated kind of man who was every woman's
dream. Eve had learnt early in life that it was important
to have goals, just so long as you kept them realistic.
"And the girl needs her sleep," she sighed. "Getting up at
three-thirty every morning tends to have a negative effect
on your long-term energy reserves. You won't mind if I
slip away in a while, Michael?"
"I will mind very much," he teased. "But not if your
legion of fans are going to blame us for deep, dark
shadows under your eyes! Go when you like — but why not
come back for lunch again tomorrow, when the show's over?
There will be stacks of stuff left and Lizzy and I have
hardly had a chance to talk to you all evening."
Eve smiled. It would give her the opportunity to play with
her god-daughter who had been tucked up in the Land of Nod
all evening. "Love to," she murmured. "About twelve?"
"See you at twelve." He nodded. She was tempted to ask him
what Luca was doing there, but she was not a guileless
teenager now — and what could she say, even if she was
being her most casual and sophisticated? Who's the man
talking to the blonde? Or, Who's the tall, dark, handsome
hunk? Or even if she plucked up courage to say, Is that
Luca Cardelli, by any chance? — all those would make her
sound like a simpering wannabe!
But maybe Michael had seen her eyes straying over to the
dark, still figure.
"You know Luca Cardelli, don't you?" he asked. "Vaguely."
She gave it just the right amount of consideration and
kept her voice casual. "He was here one summer, about ten
years ago, right?"
"Right. He sailed on a big white boat," said Michael, and
sighed. "Absolutely beautiful. Wonderful sailor — he put
the rest of us to shame."
Eve nodded. "I didn't know he was a friend of yours?"
Michael shrugged. "We were mates that summer and we've
kept in touch, though I haven't seen him for years. But he
emailed to tell me he was in London on business, and so I
invited him down."
She wondered how long he was staying, but she didn't ask.
It was none of her business and it might send out the
wrong message. There would be enough women here tonight
fighting to get to know him, if the body language of the
blonde was anything to go by.
"Oh, look — someone's setting off fireworks!" she murmured
instead as in the distance the sky exploded into fountains
of scarlet and blue and golden rain, and luckily Michael
went to refuel someone else's glass, giving her the
opportunity to go and stand by the window and watch the
display, alone with her thoughts and her memories.
Luca watched her, at the way her bottom swayed against the
silky green material of her dress as she walked towards
the window. People were covertly watching her and he
wondered why. But he had noticed her before that, even
before she had started staring at him, and then pretending
not to, but then, that was nothing new.
He had grown up used to the lavish attention of women
right across the age spectrum ever since he could
remember. He didn't even have to try and sometimes he
wondered what it would be like if he did. The most
rewarding business deals he had pulled off had been the
ones he had really had to fight for — but women weren't
like business deals.
He had been born with something which attracted the
opposite sex like bees to honey and, when he had reached
the age of noticing women, had quickly discovered that he
could have whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted and on
whatever terms he wanted. Very early on, he had learned
the meaning of the expression, "spoiled for choice'.
"Luca!"
He narrowed his eyes. The tiny blonde was pouting. He
raised a dark eyebrow. "Mmm?"
"You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying!"
She was right. "Sorry." He smiled, gave an expansive shrug
of his broad shoulders. "I feel guilty. I have been
monopolising you, when there are so many men here who
would wish to speak to you."
"You're the only man I want to talk to!" she declared
shamelessly.
"But that is unfair," he responded softly. 'Sì?" The
blonde wriggled her shoulders. "Oh, I just love it when
you speak Italian," she confided.
He stared down into the widened blue eyes — deep and blue
like a swimming pool and just begging him to dive in.
Unconsciously, she snaked the tip of her tongue around her
parted lips, so that they gleamed in invitation. It was
almost too easy. She could be in his bed within the hour.
At twenty-two, he would have been tempted. A decade later
and he was simply jaded.
"Will you excuse me?" he murmured. "I must make a quick
telephone call."
"To Italy?" 'No, to New York." 'Gosh!" she exclaimed, as
if he had proposed communication with Mars itself.
He smiled again, his mouth quirking a touch wearily at the
corners. "It was delightful to meet you."
He made his escape before she asked the inevitable. How
long was he staying? Would he like her to show him around?
Unless she was bold enough to replicate the incredible
time he had met a woman and within two minutes she had
asked him to take her to bed!
The woman in green was still gazing out of the window and
there was something intriguing about her stillness, the
way she stood alone, part of the party and yet apart from
it. Like a woman secure in her own skin. He made his way
across the room and stood beside her, his eyes taking in
the last rainbow spangles of the fireworks, set against
the incomparable beauty of the sea.
"Spectacular, isn't it?" he murmured, after a moment.
She didn't answer straight away. Her heart was beating
hard. Very hard. Funny how you could react to someone,
even if you told yourself you didn't want to. "Utterly,"
she agreed, but she didn't move, didn't turn her head to
look at him.
Now he was a little intrigued. "You aren't enjoying the
party?"
She did turn then, for it would have been sheer rudeness
to have done otherwise, mentally preparing herself for the
impact up close of the dark, glittering eyes and the
sensual lips and it was as devastating as she remembered,
maybe even more so. At seventeen you knew nothing of the
world, nor of men — you thought that men like Luca
Cardelli might exist in droves. It took a long time to
realise that they didn't, and that maybe that was a
blessing in disguise. "Why on earth should you think that?"
"You're here all on your own," he murmured. "Not any
more," she responded drily. His dark eyes glittered at the
unspoken challenge. "You want me to go away?"
"Of course not," she said lightly. "The view is for free,
for everyone to enjoy — I shouldn't dream of claiming a
monopoly on it!"
Now he was very intrigued. "You were staring at me, cara,"
he observed softly.
So he had noticed! But of course he had noticed — it was
probably as much a part of his life as breathing itself to
have women staring at him.
"Guilty as charged! Why, has that never happened to you
before?" she challenged mockingly.
"I don't remember," he mocked back. She opened her mouth
to say something spiky in response, and then pulled
herself together. He had been sweet and kind to her once,
and just because a girl on the brink of womanhood hadn't
found that particularly flattering, you certainly couldn't
blame him. It wasn't his fault that he was so blindingly
gorgeous and that she had cherished a schoolgirl crush on
him which hadn't been reciprocated. And neither was it his
fault that he was still so gorgeous that a normally calm
and sensible woman had started behaving like a spitting
kitten. She smiled. "So what do you think of the Hamble?"
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