sharp, a prick of hateful regret stabbed her throat. So when her words came they were laden with biting precision. ‘In your dreams, Dante.’
A loud throat-clearing from behind acted like a fist striking glass, shattering the moment. As soon as Dante slackened his grip she jolted back and slammed into the wall, wincing as rough stone bit into her skin.
Claire and her father stood at the top of the stone steps, just watching like a couple of bloody voyeurs.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Claire. ‘What have we here?’
Eva stabbed her palms with blunt nails. ‘Oh, I...’ What on earth was she supposed to say?
She risked a look at Dante. He stood like cast bronze. Just staring at Eva. Eyes hard, jaw so stiff she fancied his teeth ached. He was angry. No. He was furious. With her. Well, he wasn’t the only one!
‘I was just saying to Nick, here,’ Claire said, all innocence and light, catching Eva’s attention, ‘where has that gorgeous boy got to? I want to be the first to congratulate him.’
Eva felt Dante stiffen beside her and the air became so heavy she could feel it bearing down upon her shoulders.
Ohhh, something was not right. Anguish unravelled behind her breast and Eva knew in an instant that she was about to be very stupid. She was about to fall in the trap Claire was spinning for her. But she was missing something here and she didn’t like it one bit.
‘Congratulate him?’ Eva asked.
Claire’s ice-blue eyes glittered with venom. ‘Didn’t you know? Dante here is engaged to my old school chum, Rebecca Stanford.’
Eva blinked, sure she mustn’t have heard correctly. He was getting married again? ‘What?’
‘Yes,’ said Claire. ‘She came to see me yesterday after she flew in from Singapore.’
Eva sucked in air so quickly she almost lost her balance. This was not happening. But Claire hadn’t finished hammering the nails in her coffin yet.
‘We had a lovely lunch with Prudence West. I believe you’re designing her gown. Such an honour.’
Eva felt Dante’s gaze burning into her cheek. She couldn’t look at him. She hated him right now. Years of hard work, clawing her reputation back from the brink. Working eighteen hour days to build the Eva St George brand. And then one look at this devil incarnate and everything was tossed to hell!
‘I hope she forgives you, Eva. It’s not nice to poach someone else’s fiancé.’
Eva reached out for Claire’s arm, knowing the violent quiver of her hand betrayed her inner state but she was too far gone to care. ‘Listen, Claire, you’re taking this all the wrong way. Dante is my...’ What? Friend? Claire was too clever to fall for that blazing lie. And how much, if anything, had she heard? Brain reeling, Eva tried to think of their last words. Something about...oh, God—taking her against the wall! ‘There is nothing going on here.’
‘Didn’t look that way to me. Oh, don’t worry, my lips are sealed. Although I feel I should warn you.’
From the corner of her eye, Eva saw Dante shift his attention to the swell of her chest. Heard him groan in disgust.
But, before she had the chance to follow his gaze, Claire spoke. ‘You haven’t taken the microphone off your dress.’
CHAPTER TWO
DANTE’S HAND SHOT to the ruffled bodice of Eva’s gown and he curled his fingers around the small black mike, warm from her—or should he say their—body heat and tore it free.
He dropped the plastic shell to the frosted stone and crushed it beneath his heel in a satisfying crack.
‘Please tell me...’ she whispered, standing tall, lifting her chin in the face of adversity ‘...that what just happened didn’t really happen. I’m just in some nightmare. I mean, you are here, after all.’
Dante held up one flat palm to prevent another word until he’d at least shaved the edge off his volatile mood and figured out what the hell was going on.
Nick St George paused as his viper wife tried to tug him back into the ballroom and Dante fired the spineless man with the Vitale glare before they disappeared from view. How could he have stood there and let that bitch set Eva up for a fall? What she was hurtling into he had no idea, but he was determined to find out.
As for him...Cristo, he’d bet his Lamborghini that within five minutes Rebecca would hear of his apparent indiscretion. A shaft of unease fired through his gut, yet, as quickly as it flared, he thrust it away. Rebecca would be easily placated. The good old-fashioned way.
Eva smoothed her tight sheath over her curvaceous hips, brushing the wrinkles free. ‘I have to get out of here,’ she said. ‘I have to think.’ Head swiveling, she searched the floor. ‘There’s little point going back in there; Claire will have me hung, drawn and quartered by now.’ She spotted her bag leaning against the old stone wall and bent over to snatch it up.
Dante’s heart rate kicked up a few thousand beats per minute as the heart-shaped curve of her full derrière filled his vision and brought forth a multitude of sinful images.
Cristo, she was lethal.
He tore his eyes away as she straightened up and shimmied past him, heading for the stone steps. ‘Well done, Dante; you’ve most likely just ruined me. At the ball in honour of my mother!’
Dante blinked. ‘I have ruined you? Forty minutes I’ve been in your company and already you have wreaked havoc in my life.’ Every time. Dannazione, the woman never failed.
Pausing on the edge of the top step, she swung around, mouth agape. ‘What exactly have I done to you? Just tell Rebecca Stanford the truth. I was...upset. You came for Finn and you gave me a...a...brotherly hug.’
Brotherly? He still had an erection that minus two degrees couldn’t diminish. There was nothing fraternal about that!
‘Siblings do not kiss each other,’ he bit out.
He wished the lighting were better so he could see if the flush on her chest was real. Because he was sure the woman had just propositioned him. Again. She was no innocent. She knew where kisses led. Given another three minutes, he could have taken her up against the bloody wall.
Cristo, she was like a Venus flytrap. Luring, bewitching, with that sweet, grieving vulnerability, which she knew would beguile him. Because, in a once-in-a-lifetime moment of weakness—so she’d known she was not alone—he’d told her the brief details of burying his own mother. For two minutes of time he’d resurrected the fetid blend of conflicting emotions, only to bury them back into the depths. So the siren knew exactly how to play him.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘obviously, I was of unsound mind. Because I have no interest in you. Whatsoever. In fact, you can rest assured hell will freeze over before I touch you again. Give me some credit, for heaven’s sake, I’ve got some pride.’
Something close to affront clawed down his chest. It was as unsettling as it was idiotic.
‘Just tell Rebecca you hate me,’ she went on. ‘Nothing but the truth. I promise you within seconds your stunning fiancée will tumble back onto your well-frequented bed!’
Dante almost laughed. Almost. ‘My sleeping arrangements seem to bother you, Eva.’
Her head reared. ‘Hardly. I couldn’t care less what you do. But you could’ve told me you were getting married,’ she said, her husky voice fracturing with a heartfelt anguish that made him pause mid-step, frowning at the contradiction between her words and tone. ‘I was caught completely unawares. I could’ve at least come up with a better look than a shocked guppy for a retort.’
‘Because appearances are everything, of course.’ There was truth in that sarcastic inflexion and he knew it. She knew it. Any bad press