But the reality was turning out to be nothing like she’d imagined. Why hadn’t she taken into account his charisma—or at least prepared herself for a great onslaught of it? Because suddenly there seemed nothing in her armoury to help her withstand it.
She had never been with a man who commanded quite so much attention. She saw the pianist nodding to him, with a smile. She saw other diners casting surreptitious glances at him, even though they were pretending not to. But it was more than his obvious wealth which drew people’s gaze, like a magnet. Beneath the sophisticated exterior, he radiated a raw masculinity which radiated from his powerful body like a dark aura.
They sat down at a discreet table but suddenly the complex menu seemed too rich for a stomach which was sick with nerves. Alannah found herself wishing she were eating an omelette at her own kitchen table rather than subjecting herself to a maelstrom of emotions which were making her feel most peculiar.
‘What are you going to have?’ asked Niccolò as the waiter appeared.
The words on the menu had blurred into incomprehensible lines and she lifted her gaze to him. ‘I don’t know. You order for me,’ she said recklessly.
He raised his eyebrows before giving their order but once the waiter had gone he turned to study her, his black eyes thoughtful. ‘Are you usually quite so accommodating?’
‘Not usually, no.’ She smoothed her napkin. ‘But then, this isn’t what you’d call usual, is it?’
‘In what way?’
‘Well.’ She shrugged. ‘You made it sound like a working dinner, but it feels a bit like a date.’
‘And what if we pretended it was a date—would that help you relax a little more?’
‘To be honest, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a date that I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like,’ she said slowly.
He took a sip of water which didn’t quite disguise the sudden cynicism of his smile. ‘I find that very difficult to believe.’
She laughed. ‘I’m sure you do—given your apparent love of stereotypes. What’s the matter, Niccolò—doesn’t that fit in with your image of me? You think that because I once took off my clothes for the camera, that I have men queuing up outside the bedroom door?’
‘Do you?’
‘Not half as many as you, I bet,’ she said drily.
They were staring at one another across the table, their eyes locked in silent battle, when suddenly he leaned towards her, his words so low that only she could hear them.
‘Why did you do it, Alannah?’ he questioned roughly. ‘Wasn’t it bad enough that you were kicked out of school for smoking dope and playing truant? Why the hell did you cheapen yourself by stripping off?’
The waiter chose precisely that moment to light the small candle at the centre of the table. And that short gap provided Alannah with enough time for rebellion to flare into life inside her.
‘Why do you think I did it?’ she demanded. ‘Why do people usually do jobs like that? Because I needed the money.’
‘For what?’ His lips curled. ‘To end up in a poky apartment in one of the tougher ends of town?’
‘Oh, you’re so quick to judge, aren’t you, Niccolò? So eager to take the moral high ground, when you don’t have a clue what was going on in my life and you never did! Did you know that when my mother handed in her notice, she never found another job to match that one—probably because the reference the school gave her was so grudging. Did you know that they got all their clever lawyers to pick over her contract and that she lost all her rights?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of rights?’
‘There was no pension provision made for her and the salary she got in lieu of notice was soon swallowed up by the cost of settling back in England. She couldn’t find another live-in job, so she became an agency nurse—with no fixed contract. I had to go to a local sixth-form college to take my exams and at first, I hated it. But we were just beginning to pick ourselves up again when…’
Her voice tailed off and his words broke into the silence.
‘What happened?’ he demanded.
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does.’
Alannah hesitated, not wanting to appear vulnerable—because vulnerability made you weak. But wasn’t anything better than having him look at her with that look of utter condemnation on his face? Shouldn’t Niccolò da Conti learn that it was wise to discover all the facts before you condemned someone outright?
‘She got cancer,’ she said baldly. ‘She’d actually had it for quite a long time but she’d been ignoring the symptoms so she didn’t have to take any unnecessary time off work. By the time she went to see the doctor, the disease was advanced and she was scared,’ she said, swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat. They’d both been scared. ‘There was nobody but me and her. She was only a relatively young woman and she didn’t want…’ The lump seemed to have grown bigger. ‘She didn’t want to die.’
‘Alannah—’
But she shook her head, because she didn’t want his sympathy. She didn’t need his sympathy.
‘Our doctor told us about an experimental drug trial which was being done in the States,’ she said. ‘And early indications were that the treatment was looking hopeful, but it was prohibitively expensive and impossible to get funding for it.’
And suddenly Niccolò understood. Against the snowy tablecloth, he clenched his hands into tight fists. ‘Bedda matri!’ he said raggedly. ‘You did those photos to pay for your mother to go to America?’
‘Bravo,’ she said shakily. ‘Now do you see? It gave me power—the power to help her. The thought of all that money was beyond my wildest dreams and there was no way I could have turned it down.’ No matter how many men had leered in her face afterwards. No matter that people like Niccolò judged her and looked down their noses at her or thought that she’d be up for easy sex because of it. ‘My unique selling point was that I’d left one of the most exclusive Swiss finishing schools under rather ignominious circumstances and I guess I can’t blame them for wanting to capitalise on that. They told me that plenty of men were turned on by girls in school uniform, and they were right. That’s why that issue became their best-seller.’
Alarmed by the sudden whiteness of her face, he pushed the wine glass towards her, but she shook her head.
‘It wasn’t narcissism which motivated me, Niccolò—or a desire to flash my breasts like the exhibitionist you accused me of being. I did it because it’s the only way I could raise the money. I did it even though I sometimes felt sick to the stomach with all those men perving over me. But I hid my feelings because I wanted to bring a miracle to my mother, only the miracle never happened.’ Her voice wavered and it took a moment or two before she could steady it enough to speak. ‘She died the following spring.’
She did pick up her glass then, swilling down a generous mouthful of red wine and choking a little. But when she put the glass back down, she had to lace her fingers together on the table-top, because she couldn’t seem to stop them from trembling.
‘Alannah—’
‘It’s history,’ she said, with a brisk shake of her head. ‘None of it matters now. I’m just telling you what happened. I used the rest of the money to put myself through art school and to put down a deposit on a home. But property is expensive in London. That’s why I live where I do. That’s why I chose to live in one of the “tougher” parts of London.’
Niccolò put his glass down with a hand which was uncharacteristically unsteady as a powerful wave of remorse washed over him. It was as if