A Clash With Cannavaro

‘And that was even before you knew who I was.’

The softness of his voice and his nearness was making her head start to swim. She hated him! And yet it was taking all her willpower not to thrust out her breasts in invitation to those hands that had pleasured her like no other man ever had.

But she didn’t. And thankfully he didn’t attempt to touch her.

Instead, straightening up, with his face taking on grim lines, he said, ‘May I also advise that if you take me to court and you lose, then you will get nothing from me. Is that clear? Not a cent.’

‘That’s good,’ she returned, pulling up her strap, relieved at least to be able to breathe again. ‘Because I don’t deal in cents. Only common decency! Unlike you Cannavaros. But then you don’t ever think about anything else except making money!’

‘Which is marginally more commendable, I think, than being one of life’s takers,’ he remarked with an unperturbed, humourless curl to his devastating mouth. ‘Nevertheless, where agenda-armed little vamps are concerned I find that it is always best to be one step ahead.’

‘So you insult me with the promise of some disgusting pay-off!’

He sent another cursory glance around him at the obvious decay of her clean yet humble environment. ‘You look as though you could use it.’

‘Not half as much as I could use you getting off my property!’

‘Of course.’ Though he had stepped away from her now, the fresh masculine scent of him still lingered in her nostrils. ‘But I will be back. You can depend on that. And when I do return, I will see my nephew. Is that understood?’

He looked so commanding that for a moment Lauren could only nod. ‘I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you,’ she riposted as soon as she found her voice.

‘In that case...I will see myself out,’ he said, obviously satisfied that he had achieved what he had set out to do, which was to scare her silly with his threat to take Daniele away from her.

Well, if he wanted a fight, she would give him one! she thought, calling on all the powers of survival she had had to engage as a teenager after losing both her parents. After all, since Vikki had died, Daniele was all she had, and Emiliano Cannavaro could swing before she would give up her little nephew to him or anybody else!

But the fear had taken hold and she couldn’t shake it off. And that wasn’t the only thing unsettling her as she listened to his powerful car growling away.

It was that raging sexual attraction that had flared into life the minute she had seen him again, coming across the yard. But, even worse, her body’s betraying response to it when he had had her trapped—without even touching her—against the dresser. An attraction, she thought hopelessly, which had been born in her the instant she had laid eyes on him across that crowded ballroom, and reluctantly she let her thoughts drag her back to those two days in that exclusive London hotel two years ago.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN HER SISTER had invited her to her pre-nuptial party on the eve of her marriage to one of Italy’s most eligible bachelors, Lauren hadn’t envisaged spending what felt like hours smiling politely at a twice-divorced ageing Romeo of a banker until her face ached.

She’d been renting a bedsit in London at the time, having leased the farmhouse for some extra income with a view to going back to college and doing some serious studying. But she had felt as out of place in the city, she remembered, as she had in the emerald-green strapless gown she had been wearing at that party which, with no long-standing boyfriend to accompany her, she had chosen to attend alone. That still hadn’t stopped her from feeling immensely relieved when another guest had finally claimed the Romeo’s company.

Her sudden isolation, however, had left her exposed to the gaze of a man she hadn’t known then was Emiliano Cannavaro, although she had sensed him watching her for most of the time that she had been suffering the older man’s unwelcome attention.

With a clear field between them after the banker had moved away, Lauren had been unable to avoid meeting the cool intensity of his midnight-dark eyes.

He must have been around thirty then and was, from his tanned skin and thick black hair that flopped forward at the temples, like a number of the guests, unmistakably Italian. Yet, in this man she hadn’t known, Lauren had sensed an air of cool detachment and authority that had set him apart from the rest. Perhaps it had been that autocratic nose and the way that intensely dark shadow around his jaw had added something to its angular strength that had given her the notion that he wasn’t a man to be messed with. Or perhaps it had been that restless quality about him and the rather bored suggestion that he would rather have been somewhere else. But what he had had was presence. And it had been nothing less than spell-binding! Add that impression of straining muscle beneath the constraints of his dark tailored evening suit and Lauren had realised why every woman who had passed within ten yards of him seemed to fall over herself with the need to be noticed by him. And he hadn’t taken his eyes off her once!

Unused to being studied with such blatant interest, Lauren had looked quickly away to where the reed-slim blonde with the baby doll face and her far too handsome groom-to-be had been standing by the buffet tables with their arms interlinked in front of them, sipping from tall flutes of champagne.

‘Is that envy I see in your eyes? Or are you wondering, as I suspect you are, whether they are as happy as their animated laughter suggests?’

The heavily accented voice at her shoulder made every nerve sharpen in Lauren’s body, causing her fingers to tighten around the stem of her own glass. But it was the way its rich tones washed over her like a warm wave that had her catching her breath as though she had been submerged beneath the power of its sensuality.

‘Why shouldn’t they be happy?’ The effect of his nearness produced her unusually curt rejoinder. Nevertheless, her eyes challenged his, even though she knew her cheeks were probably as red as her swept-up hair that the woman in the store where she had bought her gown a few days ago had said would complement the emerald creation superbly.

‘Why, indeed?’ Up close, he looked even more stupendous than he had from a distance. His features were strong with clearly defined cheekbones, and his mouth, she recognised at once, had a hard-edged sensuality that could probably drive most nubile women mindless just from the promise of its unquestionable passion. His winged collar looked stark white against the hard bronze of his skin and he smelled good too, of some subtle masculine cologne that Lauren wanted to inhale—and keep on inhaling—until her suddenly starved senses were full of him. ‘She must have something very special to have brought Angelo Cannavaro to heel.’

Unaware that he was the brother of her sister’s fiancé, it was the fact that he was obviously acquainted with the groom’s playboy reputation that prompted Lauren to ask, ‘Are you a friend of the family?’

That passionate mouth of his twitched slightly before he said, ‘I would not exactly...call myself that.’

A business associate then, she speculated silently, and wondered, as she still did, at the reason for that definite hesitation in the way he said it.

A burst of laughter brought her attention to the couple, who were twirling to imaginary music with their arms still linked, champagne flutes still held high.

‘She strikes me as a young woman who knows what she wants and exactly how to get it.’

The man’s gaze was resting on the obvious mound of Vikki’s middle beneath the smoky blue satin of an outrageously low-cut, backless dress, split almost from hip to hem. But the critical note in his voice made Lauren bristle and look up at his devastating profile with narrowing eyes. ‘What are you implying, exactly?’

His thick hair gleamed darkly as he turned back to her again. ‘No implication, I assure you. But she must obviously be aware that there are worse fates than linking up with one of Italy’s oldest and most...significant families.’

Lauren’s hackles continued to rise. ‘And there are some who might say she could do better than marry into a family which has put too much emphasis on making money at the expense of investing the right kind of values in its offspring.’

Her piqued rejoinder brought a speculative curve to his mouth. ‘With you being one of them, I suppose?’

She hadn’t intended to make such a pointed remark about the groom’s family. It had slipped out before she could contain it, but his comments had irked, especially as she had been so worried about Vikki.

Ever since they had lost their parents within days of each other to that tropical disease six years ago, Lauren had found herself at eighteen playing mother and father to her often difficult and rebellious sixteen-year-old sister. Vikki had reacted to her parents’ death by lashing out at the world, and her anger and resentment at their loss had resulted in a spiralling lifestyle of alcohol-fuelled all-night parties, illegal drugs and far too many one-night stands.

Painfully, Lauren recalled how Vikki had refused to listen to her concerns about her ruining her life and eventually, when Vikki was still only seventeen, their differing opinions and clash in personalities meant they could no longer remain under the same roof and Lauren had seen very little of her sister over the next few years.

When Vikki had telephoned only three weeks prior to that party to say that she was not only pregnant, but getting married, Lauren had been as surprised as she’d been happy for her sister. She’d also had to secretly admit to feeling more than a little relieved.

It wasn’t until the sisters had met for a tearful reunion lunch that Lauren had learned of Vikki’s choice of husband, and her gratitude that her wayward sibling was finally settling down had dissipated on a surge of anxiety.

Angelo Cannavaro’s decadent lifestyle was legendary, with his penchant for glamorous women exceeded only by his wealthier, yet considerably more discreet older brother, who, by some miracle, had managed to keep himself and his personal life out of the papers! Which was why Lauren hadn’t instantly realised who he was on that first meeting. It hadn’t surprised her, though, to learn that Vikki’s year-long involvement with the twenty-five-year-old Italian playboy, whom she’d met while working as a croupier in a London nightclub, had already been a tempestuous on-off affair, with Angelo sounding rather too partial to his freedom, in Lauren’s mind, to make suitable husband material. Vikki had said he had changed since their last break-up only five months previously, but it had done very little to allay Lauren’s worries for her sister’s future.

‘It isn’t for me to cast aspersions on either the bridegroom or the calculating little blonde who’s so lucky to have him marrying her.’ She was unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice as she clutched the glass she hadn’t remembered draining so tightly it was in danger of shattering. ‘And neither should you.’

Her reprimand, instead of shaming, seemed merely to amuse him.

With a smile touching his sensuous mouth, he allowed his gaze to stray with disturbing intensity over the fine symmetry of her face, down her rather flushed throat to her full breasts, which were pushed up enticingly—too enticingly, she remembered now with a sensually inspired little shiver—above the shimmering emerald of her bodice.

‘And who are you,’ he enquired in that remarkably sexy voice of his, ‘that you jump so readily to the defence of the blushing bride-to-be?’

She found him so disconcertingly male that it was an effort to meet those equally disturbing eyes with any confidence, but she managed it. Just.

‘I’m Lauren Westwood. Her sister.’ She gleaned a wealth of satisfaction from saying that.

‘Ah!’

‘Yes,’ she added smugly before he could say another thing. ‘Another of the money-grubbing Westwoods, as you’ve obviously labelled my sister. From one of the most insignificant families in Cumbria.’

If she had expected to embarrass him then she should have guessed, Lauren thought now, that men like him weren’t easily—if ever—caught out. A mere dip of his head in almost amused acknowledgement confirmed it.

‘A gross error on my part, I think,’ he said, which was as near to an apology as Lauren knew she was likely to get. ‘In which case, you will at least allow me to get you another drink.’

‘No, I don’t...’ she started to say as he relieved her of her glass. But the accidental touch of his fingers against hers robbed the words from her mouth as a bolt of something electric ignited powerful impulses in her blood.

His smile was far too aware.

Though not inexperienced, having had a couple of undemanding relationships in the past, she was still unaware of the dangerous responses she was provoking in such a sophisticated man as Emiliano Cannavaro. She took advantage of the remarkably sudden appearance of a waiter at his side to try and stabilise her senses as he deposited her empty glass on the silver tray.

‘Insignificant is definitely not a word I would apply to you, signorina.’ He was looking at her—not in the leering way a lot of men looked at her because of her far too voluptuous figure, but with the subtlety of a man who was well acquainted with the female anatomy and knew just how to turn it to his advantage.

And how! Lauren remembered now, resenting the way he had made—and could still make—everything that was feminine in her respond readily to the pull of his flagrant masculinity.

‘Nor I you.’ A raw sexual tension made her tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth. ‘But then you know that already.’ She meant it as a barb, reluctant to acknowledge how those eyes that seemed to be penetrating the emerald silk made her breasts grow heavy. But her voice sounded husky from imagining what it would be like to feel those long tanned hands pulling down her zip, and that sensual mouth moving over the screamingly sensitive flesh covering her spine before...

She brought her thoughts up sharply as her nipples swelled inside their strapless cups.

‘What are you doing, Lauren Westwood?’ Through a rush of shaming heat she caught the sensuality in his lowered tones. ‘Trying to ensnare me with those heavy, come-hither eyes as your sister has ensnared poor unsuspecting Angelo?’

She felt herself blushing, certain that he was fully au fait with her body’s shaming responses.

‘As you’ve already pointed out,’ she returned, mortified, yet trying to maintain some degree of equanimity, ‘Angelo Cannavaro’s far from poor. And if you think pledging one’s troth is a form of penal servitude then you have a very cynical view of love and marriage!’

‘Touché,’ he said softly, ‘but I wasn’t talking about a mutual exchange of vows. There are more ways of being ensnared than by just slipping a ring on one’s finger. And it has nothing to do with love...’ he seemed to place an almost derisive emphasis on the word ‘...or even liking.’

Lauren’s body pulsed with the need to retaliate in some way. Because she didn’t like him! She thought it now with as much vehemence as she’d tried convincing herself on that night. Why, then, she remembered wondering, did her breasts ache to feel his touch? And why did the thought of pushing him to the limit and provoking what she guessed would be a frighteningly controlled yet lethal anger have her playing all sorts of outrageous scenarios in her mind? Like tumbling down onto a bed beneath him and quelling their mutual antagonism in the most heated and primeval way?

‘I can assure you that nothing is further from my mind so, rest assured, you’re perfectly safe.’ She flashed him a falsely bright smile, yet knew from the almost indiscernible lifting of an eyebrow that he had picked up on the breathless note in her voice.

‘I don’t know whether to be gratified or disappointed to hear it.’ His smile was cool and mockingly sensual. ‘The question is, Signorina Westwood...are you?’

His meaning was so subtly explicit that Lauren was shocked to feel a deep answering throb in her lower body.

‘I don’t know what you’re...’ Talking about, she started to say, but her sentence was cut in midstream as Vikki Westwood, all gleaming teeth and voluminous blonde hair, suddenly exploded onto the scene.

‘Oh, great! I see you two have already met. Are you going to let on, Emiliano, as to what you think of my sister? Isn’t she gorgeous?’

‘She is.’ Vikki’s words seemed to give those dark eyes licence to tug with leisurely insolence over Lauren’s shamefully aroused body. ‘But I’m afraid we haven’t yet been properly introduced.’

‘Emiliano, this is Lauren, my older and very available sister. Lauren, this is Emiliano Cannavaro. The Emiliano Cannavaro,’ she emphasised with relish. ‘Angelo’s older brother and the head of the Cannavaro dynasty—not to mention the company—since their father died last year.’

Lauren recalled her dismay at finding out that the man she’d been as good as insulting was the one man her sister had previously warned her to be nice to. She was already cringing from the way the younger girl had pointed out her unattached status to him, without being made aware of exactly at whom she had been directing her uncharacteristically barbed remarks.

‘He flew in from Rome to join us tonight and for the wedding tomorrow, even though he’s so busy and it was such short notice and he only touched down less than two hours ago. Wasn’t that good of him?’ Vikki added unnecessarily, although her rushed and effervescent sentence went some way to explaining why Lauren hadn’t noticed him earlier in the evening. ‘But don’t be fooled by all that Italian charisma and irresistible charm because, from what I hear, he doesn’t suffer fools easily. He might look like the perfect gentleman and like a gift from the gods to all womankind but, from what Angelo tells me, he’ll break you if he can. Snap you in half.’ She clicked her tongue and made a meaningful gesture with her hands. ‘Like a twig. So mind how you tread, lovely sister.’ Lauren detected a thread of nervous anxiety in her sister’s warning and in her shrill little laugh. ‘Oh, well. Better circulate. See ya!’ And with that she spun away in a cloud of expensive perfume.

Mortified, Lauren watched her sibling grab another female guest’s arm, saw several air kisses being exchanged.

‘I hope you don’t think that my sister’s outspoken remarks have any bearing on my character,’ Lauren remarked, still recoiling from the way Vikki had referred to her as ‘available’.

‘Meaning?’ Emiliano sent her a slanted look.

‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’

‘You didn’t ask,’ he rebuked her softly, unfazed by the censuring note in her voice. ‘Why? Would it have made any difference to our conversation if you had?’

She considered his question for a moment. Yes, it would, she thought. I would have run like the wind before it took the turn that it did!

‘I thought not,’ Emiliano expressed with that mocking twist to his lips, misunderstanding her hesitation in answering.

‘Is it true what she said?’ She looked up into eyes that were much too dark to be anything but sinful. ‘That you break people?’ She recalled wondering why his own brother would say a thing like that.

Something pulled at the corners of his arresting mouth. ‘Is that what you would like to believe?’

He was much too worldly—way out of her league—and Lauren prayed he hadn’t noticed the way her throat worked nervously before she replied, ‘No, but I think you could.’

She didn’t know why she had said that, but all he did was throw back his proud dark head and laugh.

‘I am afraid that your sister, as you are probably well aware, is rather a drama queen. Isn’t that what you English call it?’ And when she nodded, he told her, ‘I do what is necessary. But I am always fair.’

Strangely, she believed him. From what Vikki had already told her about him, he could run rings around his brother for playing hard and fast. As brothers, they weren’t that close, but Vikki had sounded overawed when she’d spoken of the respect Emiliano’s leadership had generated among his colleagues as well as his employees, and Lauren had only been able to guess from the success of the company that it had the right man at its helm. After all, Cannavaro Cruise & Freight Lines were up there with the kings of the seas.

Changing course, she asked, ‘Why aren’t you best man?’ She’d already chatted earlier to the person who was taking on that role and he’d been an old college friend of the groom’s.

Emiliano’s mouth tugged down at one side. ‘It’s a long story. Why aren’t you maid of honour?’

‘It’s an even longer one.’

Something almost feral flickered in those sinful eyes. ‘I’ve got all night.’

She should have listened to the warnings leaping through her, Lauren thought bitterly in hindsight, because all her instincts of self-preservation had been urging her to shake off the sensual spell that Emiliano had woven around her ever since he had come over to speak to her, but she hadn’t seemed able to move, nor had she wanted to. But neither had she felt inclined to tell him about the past strained relationship with her sister, or what had brought it about, and so she’d evaded the issue altogether by saying, ‘I didn’t come here tonight to bare my soul to a perfect stranger.’

Perfect being the operative word, her brain had whispered provocatively.

‘My brother is marrying your sister,’ he reminded her. As if he needed to! ‘That surely relates us in some obscure way.’

She caught sight of herself in a mirrored pillar and noticed how her hair seemed to blaze like luminous fire. Or like the ultimate scarlet woman’s, she thought with a kind of feverish excitement as she glanced quickly away.

‘Even relations have secrets from each other,’ she parried with a smile, trying to avoid thinking too much about the estrangement between her and Vikki. But, in doing so, her words came out with unintended provocation and she saw the heavy masculine eyelids droop as his gaze sliced over her body.

‘In that case, we will not dwell on it a moment longer. So what would you like to tell me?’

‘That you speak very good English.’

He looked amused again. ‘So do you.’

‘I should think so!’ she told him, amazed. ‘I’m English!’

Laughter lit his spectacular eyes as he said, ‘Believe me, mia cara, the two do not necessarily go hand in hand.’

Lauren laughed with him, feeling more relaxed than she had since she had first arrived in the hotel late that afternoon with her weekend case containing her gown and her outfit for Vikki’s big day.

‘Tell me, beautiful Lauren...’ The way he addressed her sent peculiar little shivers along her spine. ‘Is it because your sister warned you what a tyrant I can be—and therefore to treat me amiably—that I now feel the ice melting around my feet?’

‘No. I never listen to or act upon anyone else’s opinion of someone without first weighing up their character for myself,’ she told him candidly. ‘And if you’re mistaking truthfulness for frigidity then you’re in danger, Emiliano Cannavaro—’ she experienced a surprising thrill in saying his name ‘—of finding yourself in very deep water.’

‘And you, Lauren, are a very smart lady and especially refreshing. But I think perhaps that you actually enjoy crossing swords with me.’

It wasn’t far from what Lauren had been thinking earlier when she had imagined them locked in sexual combat in some not so imaginary bed. A throb of tension made itself felt again, deep down inside of her, which was wholly sensual and totally out of character for her to feel with a man she had only just met.

‘You blush, mia bella.’

‘It’s hot in here,’ she prevaricated, which brought another smile to his lips because it wasn’t hot at all. In fact the hotel’s air conditioning system ensured the temperature remained comfortably cool.

‘There is, of course, a remedy for that.’

‘Which is?’ she asked cagily.

His eyes indicated the floor to ceiling doors that stood open onto the terrace.