in … Hold … And out …
It was no good. The surge of white-hot tingling fury that was currently coursing through her veins wasn’t going to be calmed down with yoga. She needed tranquillisers at the very least. Or a general anaesthetic.
The trouble was, she admitted disgustedly to herself, it wasn’t just anger that was making her knees shake so much that she had to lean on the banisters for support. Waiting on the landing outside what used to be her grandmother’s room, Anna cursed her own stupidity and the pathetic weakness that had made her hormones sing in response to his blatant flirting.
How could she have told such a ridiculous lie? Fliss would kill her when she found out she had ‘borrowed’ her identity. Oh, God—supposing Emiliani complained to her boss and she got into terrible trouble? Anna felt panic surge through her.
She’d just have to be very, very nice to the obnoxious Signor Emiliani and make sure that he had no cause to complain, but jeez, that wasn’t going to be easy. How could he be so complacent—so sure of himself—to have already scheduled contractors to start destroying her beloved château when the sale was far from assured? She felt a fresh wave of indignation crash through her at the thought.
Thank goodness for GreenPlanet. It wasn’t over yet.
She turned. Through the open doorway she could see him standing at the window. He was leaning against the sill, his arms stretched out on either side and his broad shoulders blocking out an unreasonable amount of daylight. No doubt he was planning which parts of the formal parterre would have to be flattened to make way for the helipad and all-weather tennis courts, she thought bitterly, trying not to notice the way his unruly blond hair curled on to the collar of his dark linen suit, or the length of the suntanned fingers resting so lightly on the window sill. Even with his back to her there was something about his slim-hipped, elegant figure that screamed self-assurance and power.
I always get what I want.
GreenPlanet was no match for him, she acknowledged with a mixture of despair and awful, treacherous excitement. He had an aura of quiet, dangerous focus that made her shiver.
Levering himself upright, he turned to her and she experienced a momentary frisson of shock at the youthful beauty of his face. The skin over his elegant cheekbones was taut and bronzed, and his aura of restless energy was like that of an exotic animal in the absolute peak of physical condition. He couldn’t be that much older than she was and yet he seemed as hard and cold and jaded as a man twice his age. What the hell had happened to turn him to stone?
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’ she stuttered, suddenly jolted out of her thoughts and aware that she’d been staring. Although he was no doubt used to that.
He leaned his narrow hips against the window sill and folded his arms. ‘Come on, Felicity, you can do better than that. This is the part where you’re supposed to talk about location and square footage and security. You’re an estate agent, remember?’
His voice was quiet, amused, slightly reproving. Anna gritted her teeth as she recognized that he was testing her, teasing her.
‘Of course. And you’re an internationally renowned property developer, signor,’ she retorted, trying to keep her tone light. ‘I wouldn’t presume to tell you anything about this building or any other, since of the two of us you are so clearly the expert.’
‘Wouldn’t or couldn’t?’
He spoke very softly, the words dropping into the silence like pebbles into a lake. Anna felt the ripples spreading through the still air between them and, despite the warmth of the afternoon, she shivered suddenly.
He was so on to her. And so enjoying it. For the sake of her own pride as well as Fliss’s professional reputation, she had to do a bit better than this.
‘What do you want to know?’ Squaring her shoulders, she walked slowly towards him, slipping again into that clipped upper-crust drawl. ‘As I’m sure you can see for yourself, Château Belle-Eden is a perfect example of the nineteenth century Anglo-Norman style, set in five acres of prime real estate in one of the world’s most desirable locations.’
‘Very impressive.’
‘That was the intention.’ She had reached the window now and stood beside him, unable to meet his eyes. ‘It was built in 1897 for the owner of one of Paris’s most exclusive department stores and no expense was spared on its construction or its furnishings. The walls were covered with silk from—’
‘I wasn’t actually talking about the property.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
He was looking at her steadily. ‘I was referring to your in-depth knowledge of Château Belle-Eden.’
‘I told you, I’ve been responsible for the marketing of this property at the London end,’ she said abruptly, staring straight ahead of her to where the driveway snaked through the pine trees towards the road and the cliffs beyond. ‘As I was saying, this is one of the most sought after locations in the world. Cannes is a mere three kilometres away, the château has its own stretch of private beach, accessed through the pine forest—which you can see over there to your left.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Much to Anna’s relief, he shifted his smoky, searching gaze and looked out of the window to where the GreenPlanet tents and guy-ropes of washing were just about visible above the pine trees. His eyes were narrowed and slightly menacing.
‘Do you intend to keep the château as a private residence, Signor Emiliani?’ she asked, trying to keep her tone casual.
Slowly he turned back to face her with a mocking smile. ‘No. I thought I’d use it as a youth hostel. And maybe establish a permanent camp over there in the woods for hippies and drop-outs. That way maybe I’d be able to get on with my other projects at least without having them constantly on my case.’
She didn’t flinch, he noticed. Not a flicker of emotion passed through those slanting, watchful eyes.
‘It was a genuine enquiry, signor.’
‘I’m sure it was. But if you think I’d be stupid enough to tell you honestly what I plan to do with this building then you’re obviously underestimating me.’
She looked steadily at him. ‘Have you finished here?’
There it was again. She was perfectly polite, perfectly correct, but he picked up that tiny spark of challenge which a man who was less in tune with his instincts would undoubtedly have missed. Angelo Emiliani had not come from an orphanage in Milan to take his place in the international rich lists by behaving as other men did. Instinct was his speciality.
‘For the time being, yes.’
‘Good. Follow me.’
‘My pleasure.’
And it certainly was a pleasure, he thought idly, watching the way the short linen dress cast undulating shadows on to the backs of her slim brown thighs as she sauntered down corridors, opening the doors on an endless succession of vast empty rooms. Despite the perfect respectability of the dress, there was something oddly rebellious about the way she wore it. Maybe it was the way she had teamed it with those slim bangles which made a soft, silvery, musical sound as she moved, or maybe it was the contrast of her long golden legs beneath the sober black.
There was something about this girl that whispered ‘toxic'. She gave the impression that the lightest brush against her would result in chemical burns.
The fact that she was lying to him didn’t disturb Angelo at all. The fact that she was doing it so convincingly bothered him a little more. Environmental protesters were a constant source of irritation and disruption in his business, but he had never considered them to be a serious threat to his plans before. But this girl knew more about this property than a hippy-dippy eco-warrior should do.
It didn’t