The Ultimate Risk. Chantelle Shaw

that her raised voice was drawing attention from other guests. ‘I would never have a relationship with a married man. My necklace was left to me by my grandmother, if you must know,’ she said coldly, dismayed to feel her heart-rate quicken when Lanzo ran his fingertip lightly over the pearls and then, by accident or design, traced the line of her collarbone.

      ‘The pearls were a wedding present to Nonna Ginevra from my grandfather, and I’ll always treasure them.’ Her grandparents had been happily married for sixty years before they had died within a few months of each other. Gina regarded the necklace as a symbol of hope that marriages could last, even though hers had ended after two years. She glared at Lanzo. ‘Excuse me, I need some fresh air,’ she snapped, and spun round to walk away from him.

      She had only taken two steps when a voice called her name.

      ‘Gina—just the person I wanted to see. You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve found tenants who want to rent your flat.’

      Gina smiled faintly at Geoffrey Robins, who owned an estate agency in Poole. ‘That is good news,’ she agreed.

      ‘They want to move in at the end of the month, if that suits you. And the rent they are prepared to pay will cover your mortgage repayments. Did you say you were going to move back to your father’s place until you find another job?’ Geoffrey asked her. ‘Only I heard on the grapevine that Peter is putting the farm on the market following his heart attack.’

      She nodded. ‘Yes, Dad is selling the farm. But Sarah and Hazel have both said that I can stay with them, and hopefully I’ll find a job soon.’ Both her stepsisters had growing families and small houses. Moving in with one or other of them was not going to be ideal, but Gina knew that her only hope of keeping her flat was to rent it out for a few months.

      ‘Well, I’ll catch up with you next week and let you know a few more details,’ Geoffrey said. His eyes lit up when he saw a waiter approach them. ‘Ah, I think I’ll have another glass of that excellent Burgundy.’ He reached out his hand to take a glass of wine, but as he did so the waiter stumbled, the glasses on the tray shot forward, and Gina gave a cry as red wine cascaded down the front of her dress.

      ‘Scusi! Mi dispiace tanto, signora!’ The horrified waiter apologised profusely in his native Italian. The yacht’s crew were of a variety of nationalities, and this waiter was young and very good-looking—another heartbreaker in the making, Gina thought wryly.

      ‘E’bene. Non si preoccupy.’ It’s fine. Don’t worry, she assured him calmly.

      ‘Apparently the best way to remove a red wine stain is to cover it in white wine,’ Geoffrey advised, handing her a small white handkerchief which was of no use at all.

      ‘I’m quite wet enough, thanks,’ Gina said dryly, supremely conscious of the interested glances she was receiving from the other guests.

      She was annoyed that her dress was probably ruined. Her days of being able to afford expensive clothes, which had been a requirement of her job at Meyers, were over, and she would not be able to replace the dress. But far worse was the knowledge that she was the centre of attention. She frantically scanned the salon for Richard, her heart sinking when she saw that he was still deep in conversation with a potential client.

      ‘Come with me,’ a deep, gravelly voice commanded, and before she could think of arguing Lanzo had slipped his hand beneath her elbow and steered her swiftly through the throng of guests out onto the deck.

      ‘I don’t believe it,’ she muttered as she dabbed ineffectively at the spreading wine stain with the handkerchief. ‘Dinner is going to be served in a few minutes. I wonder if the Sheikh has anything I could change into?’

      ‘I doubt it. Rashid probably keeps a selection of skimpy negligees for his mistresses, but you might not feel comfortable wearing one to dinner.’

      ‘You’re right. I wouldn’t,’ Gina muttered, infuriated by the amused gleam in Lanzo’s eyes.

      ‘There’s only one thing to do. I’ll take you home.’

      She glanced pointedly at the sea stretching far into the distance. The English coastline was not even visible. ‘What a brilliant suggestion,’ she said sarcastically. ‘The only snag is that I can’t swim that far.’

      ‘You don’t have to, cara. My boat is moored alongside the yacht.’

      Frowning, Gina followed Lanzo to the stern of the yacht and stared down at his powerboat. ‘I’m not sure …’ she said doubtfully.