Far From Perfect (11 page)

“Martin agreed to it?” Anna queried, her smooth brow puckering in disbelief.

“Yes, he seemed to think it would be an excellent idea,” lied Nick, resisting the urge to point out that if she’d cared about the man at all she would have phoned him by now and be fully aware of what was going on.

“Does he know what you want to meet him for?”

“No, not precisely. I simply told him I had a proposal to discuss with him.” Nick studied her face, watching her every perplexed reaction. “I didn’t specify what type of proposal I had in mind.”

“I still think it would be better to meet at Deverill Square.” She pursed her lips, clearly thinking hard. “Like I said, there’s no danger of Martin making a fuss. He’s a solicitor. He’s used to difficult negotiations.”

“And so am I, if you recall. As my father’s troubleshooter it’s my business.” Nick clasped his hands and studied the knuckles of his left hand. “But if he should choose to criticize you for your decision to help me, I might have to take issue with that,” he finished with emphasis.

Anna’s eyes flared like green fire. “You’re not seriously suggesting that you’d hit him if you don’t get your own way? For heaven’s sake, Nick, grow up.”

“Of course not. What sort of barbarian do you think I am?” Nick replied coolly, although not without wondering exactly how he would feel if anyone were to hurt Anna in any way. It would be untenable. “But I
am
Italian, and we’re a volatile race. I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t lose my temper.” For a brief second, he thought with bitterness of his parents’ marital rages.

Anna let out a heavy sigh and put a long, slender hand to her face. She seemed almost oblivious to her own action, but it made Nick experience a poignant twist of longing.

Oh, to feel her touching
his
face, stroking it with tenderness, with desire.

The shrill bell-like ringtone of his mobile phone shattered his moment of silent yearning. Inwardly cursing, he plucked the unit from his pocket and flipped it open, intending to cancel the call without answering.

“
No! Non ora!
” The words slipped out harshly when he saw the number displayed in the tiny back-lit panel, probably the very last one he wanted to connect to right at this moment.

Please not now, he thought, pressing OK with a sense of heavy trepidation.

Chapter Five

Watching the square outside, Anna wondered yet again why she’d agreed to this three-way dinner. It seemed pre-doomed to turn into a disaster, yet somehow he’d made it sound like a rational, civilized way to go about things. At the time.

Now, she was dreading it. Letting out a sigh, she rubbed her temple in small circles with her fingertips.

Great. The evening hadn’t even begun and she already had a headache gathering. No real surprise there though. Emotional tension almost always triggered her occasional migraines—and in the last twenty-four hours she’d probably had more of that than in her entire life to date. And ninety-nine per cent of it could be laid squarely at Nick’s door.

It was Nick who had forced himself into centre stage of her life when for four years she’d managed to banish him to the periphery.

It was Nick whose pre-emptive strike had put her in the ludicrous situation of being engaged to him when she should have been getting engaged, if not to Martin, then to somebody sensible like him.

It was Nick who, virtually without effort, had roused the sleeping demon of her mindless sexual desire for him and put her entire emotional wellbeing in deadly peril.

“I’d hate you if I didn’t love you,” she growled as she strode yet again to the window to look out for him. Not that she couldn’t manage both at once.

For some reason best known to himself, Nick hadn’t returned to stay at Deverill Square after last night’s debacle. Anna presumed that he was back at the Savoy. Wouldn’t want to be too far from your fabulous designer wardrobe, would you, Signor Fashion Victim? What fabulous ensemble would he materialize in tonight, she wondered? Something exceptional and designer, but undoubtedly understated. Even though he was a beautiful dresser he was anything but flashy.

She grimaced. Poor Martin dressed quite well too, but he just didn’t have high style in his blood that even the humblest Italian male did. Nor did he have the limitless assets of a billionaire playboy.

A circuit of the room, then back to the window again, and still no sign of Nick.

Anna shuddered, her thoughts returning to Martin.

Their recent phone conversation had been prickly. Never one to discuss feelings, Martin had sounded stilted, and uncharacteristically befuddled, and he’d completely avoided the deeper implications of Nick’s request for a meeting. His main concern seemed to be what his mother would think about Anna being seen with another man.

“It’s a bit irregular, Anna,” he’d said, “You know Mother is a stickler about that sort of thing.”

What sort of thing?
Anna wanted to ask.
Since when have we been living in the Victorian age?

But instead, she’d kept her cool and said, “Well, perhaps you should have insisted on picking me up yourself and taking me to La Girandole? I’m sure Nick wouldn’t have minded.”

Hesitation. “Well, he seemed quite firm that he pick you up,” Martin demurred, a cross edge in his voice. “And it doesn’t do to alienate rich and powerful men, does it? A person like that has a lot of influence.”

He certainly does
, she thought, a sinking, shifting feeling attacking her middle, bringing with it a sense of resentment. Partly against Nick, for thinking he could play people games just because he’d set his mind on something and because he
was
rich and powerful. But more than that, she felt irritated with Martin for not standing up to him. And for not expressing the slightest hint of jealousy. If the tables had been turned, Nick wouldn’t have stood for his own high-handed actions.

Was Martin really the one she’d ever wanted to be with?
Instead
of Nick? She supposed she’d turned a blind eye to a man in his thirties’ habit of constantly deferring to his mother. And that slight hint of acquisitiveness. Being fairly easy-going, she’d not let it get to her. Until now, when faced with an entirely different kind of questionable male behavior from another quarter.

Mulling things over, her attention was wrenched away from inner debate by the entirely unexpected phenomenon of someone speaking Nick’s name
on the television
.

Anna had been watching the box on and off while she’d been waiting. Although her father constantly teased her about it, one of her favorite shows was an early evening magazine called Paparazzi Beat. It was hilariously trashy, covering the lives and loves of the rich and famous, and celebrities, pseudo and otherwise in the most lurid terms. Anna watched it, she supposed in her heart of hearts, for the same reason she devoured the celebrity magazines.

Because every now and there was news of Nick and his latest female conquest.

This news-byte was half over by the time she focused in on it, but her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of the notoriously temperamental film star Maria Rossi looking characteristically distraught as she left the set of the film she was making in London. Her eyes covered by huge shades, and her red lips clamped in a sullen line, she was clinging—like a limpet—to a very familiar escort.

Oblivious to the chattering presenter, Anna glared at the solicitous way Nick handed the Italian beauty into her car and the perfect match the two of them made together. Both were elegant and breath-catchingly attractive, and figures of such intrinsic glamour that they seemed on a different plane to the mere mortals who observed them.

Then, suddenly, something dawned on Anna. Almost grabbed her by the throat.

The clip was either live or very recently recorded because Nick was wearing exactly the same dark, exquisitely tailored three-piece business suit he’d had on at lunchtime. Teamed with exactly the same white shirt and subtle but distinctively patterned tie.

“So
that’s
who phoned you.”

Anna frowned at the screen, even though the presenter had moved on to another story. “She’s the one you as good as dismissed me like a minion for, and couldn’t get out of the room fast enough for.”

She was exaggerating, of course. Nick had expressed genuine regret at having to curtail their impromptu business lunch, and the expression on his face when he’d given her a peck on the cheek at their parting had been most peculiar. But now, glancing down at the sexy little dark mauve vintage top and sleek black trousers she’d chosen for the evening, and her favorite pair of strappy heels, Anna wondered whether it had been worth all the agonizing over her appearance for tonight. Nick was no doubt with his Italian film goddess now. His
real
girlfriend.

His fake fiancée would be the last thing on his mind.

I can’t do this.

Anna paced a bit, hugging herself and trying to ease the grim sensation in her heart. Images of Nick and Maria poured into her mind like acid. There was no way she could put on the act he wanted her to, smiling and behaving as if she adored him, and he her.

Not when his nights were spent naked in the arms of one of the most beautiful women in the entire world.

Expecting a phone call any moment to say the dinner was off, Anna flinched in astonishment when, a short while later, she saw a low, black aerodynamic shape come gliding into the square. Irrational excitement and hope accompanied the thrumming, throaty, growling roar that seemed to shake the very glass she was peering through.

Nick had come to collect her in his Lisitano Vampiro.

The moment the car slid to a halt, Anna sprang back from the window. No way must he know she’d been looking out for him like dopey emo teenager pining for her boyfriend. Even if that was more or less what she
had
been doing. Snapping off the offending television, she wished to heaven that she’d never turned it on in the first place.

Now it was impossible to indulge in her secret little deluded fantasies that Nick actually cared for her in the way she’d once dreamed of, as well as needing her for his schemes. Last night’s kisses—and the touching—hadn’t been about genuine desire for
her
but simply a red-blooded male seizing the moment, and a bit of sexual titillation with woefully needy woman whose backbone resembled that of a jellyfish.

Yet, despite the sobering realizations, when the doorbell trilled, mad fluttering butterflies took flight in her chest.

Dear heaven, I’m actually looking forward to this, she thought, trying to hold on to her deep breathing exercises. I’ve missed the bastard. And only since lunchtime. I’m insane.

For four years, she’d barely seen Nick Lisitano at all and done her best not to even think about him—yet now, after only a few hours, she felt pain if he wasn’t in the vicinity.

Why on earth had she let things get this bad, this soon? She didn’t
want
to feel this way. She’d believed she’d inoculated herself against Nick forever. But now it would have been easier not to breathe than to stop yearning for him.

The bell trilled again and she swung open the door.

“Good evening, Anna. Have you missed me?”

Nick’s voice was light, and his blue eyes teased her as he stood on the doorstep, hands in his pockets, his stance totally relaxed yet vaguely challenging.

He’d changed out of the buttoned-up business suit that Maria Rossi had been fawning all over, and the one he wore now was more casual and less structured, but still sublime. It’s muted, grey-blue color, along with the darker tones of his matching shirt and tie, brought out the brilliance of his eyes with enormous drama, and its fluid styling suggested the raw athleticism of the body beneath the cloth.

He looked amazing, as ever. And as ever, he was completely aware of the fact.

“No, not at all,” lied Anna smoothly, intensely satisfied when Nick’s brow puckered. “In fact, I’m surprised you even bothered to turn up at all.”

“Why would you say that?”

He sounded perplexed and a little angry, and suddenly Anna couldn’t blame him. Her greeting had been less than gracious and it made her feel decidedly bratty in hindsight.

“I didn’t mean to, actually,” she backtracked, then paused to check her bag for her keys, her purse and her handkerchief. It was a displacement activity to avoid looking Nick in the eye. “It’s just been a busy day and I’m a bit tired. Take no notice of me. Shall we go?”

The sooner they got started, the sooner this potential disaster would be over. Snatching up the pashmina she’d draped over the hall chair, she flashed him a tight, plastic grin.

“I thought I might come in and say good evening to Clive.” Nick’s sharp gaze scanned her, a hint of worry in his sculpted features. Without warning, he reached out and softly cupped Anna’s cheek, making her shiver involuntarily, “If you’re not well,
cara
, we don’t have to go out.”

“I’m fine. Really. We need to get this over with, don’t we? And Martin’s waiting.” Anna wished Nick would take his fingers away. They were doing shocking and disturbing things to her entire system. Weak with instant desire, she had to consciously stop herself leaning into the pressure of his touch and purring with the pleasure of it.

Nick frowned again, and his long hand flexed momentarily before withdrawing. “Okay. If you’re sure? But perhaps we can just spare a moment to say hello to your father?”

“I’m afraid he’s gone out to dinner with Lydia and a group of friends. It’s a belated birthday thing for some people who couldn’t be here last night.”

At that, Nick simply nodded and gestured towards the car. “Let’s go then, shall we?”

Confronted by the crouching, menacing vehicle, Anna thanked the stars she’d chosen to wear trousers. Even so, getting into the low, streamlined cockpit was going to be a stiff test in not looking like a total klutz. In a skirt she would have had to flash a long expanse of thigh—and perhaps more—and after last night she wasn’t prepared to gift Nick with an opportunist sighting of her knickers.

Surprisingly though, when Nick popped the dramatic gull-wing passenger door, Anna managed to slither into the car with a nice bit of grace, helped by the clasp of his supporting hand. The glint in his eye, however, when his gaze traveled the whole length of her legs, told her he’d been aware of her qualms about underwear, skirts and cars.