bluntness of her question took him by surprise, as did her forthright tone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marco lift a brow. His friend would call security if Luca gave the word, and the woman would be politely moved on. An almost imperceptible shake of Luca’s head knocked that idea out of court.
‘My name is Luca,’ he told her as he extended his hand in greeting.
She ignored his hand. Intelligent eyes, framed by long black eyelashes, viewed him with suspicion.
‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ he pressed, waiting for her to volunteer her name. ‘I don’t bite,’ he added when she continued to withhold her hand.
‘But you’re very persistent,’ she said, making it clear there would be no physical contact between them.
Persistent? Outwardly, he remained deadpan. Inwardly, he cracked up. Women referred to his charm and thought him attentive. Clearly, this woman had other ideas. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Fizzy water, please,’ she replied.
Turning to Marco, he murmured, ‘Aqua frizzante per la signorina, e lo stesso per me, per favore.’
‘Sì, signor,’ Marco replied, serving up two sparkling waters.
Her gaze remained steady on his as she took her first sip. There wasn’t a hint of simpering or recognition in her eyes, just that desirable mouth smiling faintly. Even now she’d had time to think about it, he was a man in a bar and that was it. She had no idea who he was, and would trust him as far as a glass of water was concerned, but no further. If she was unaware that his face had been plastered all over the news lately, since he’d ascended the throne of Fabrizio, something big must have happened in her life.
So, beautiful mystery woman, he mused as she returned his interest coolly, who are you, and what are you doing in Amalfi?
* * *
Straightening the short silk skirt on her designer dress, Callie wished she had worn the Capri pants Rosie had insisted were essential to Callie’s Italian adventure instead. So chic, Rosie had said as Callie had turned full circle, wishing she could get away with a new pair of jeans and a top. The Capris were still in the wardrobe upstairs in the hotel, as she’d been unsure which shoes to wear with them.
At least Capris would have been decent. The dress was anything but. Far too short, it was enticing. She could only imagine what this incredible-looking man had thought when he’d first seen her perched at the bar. How could she convey the fact that she wasn’t here for that type of business, and that this was, in fact, a holiday? The thought of an Italian adventure had excited her, but she hadn’t envisaged such a dynamite opening scene. She fell well short compared to the other, more sophisticated women in the bar. There was barely enough fabric in her skirt to cover her fundamentals. She couldn’t move for fear of it riding up, and with her naked thigh so close to the man’s denim-clad muscles, that was a pressing concern.
‘You didn’t tell me your name.’
She turned to look at him as the dark velvet voice, with its seductive hint of an Italian accent, rolled over her. Strange how sound could send shivers spinning up and down her spine. Her chin felt as if it had half a universe to travel, as she moved from scrutinising his muscular thighs, to staring into a pair of mesmerising black eyes. Mesmerising and amused, she noticed now. He hadn’t missed her fascination with the area below his belt. Her cheeks burned as she volunteered with a direct stare into his eyes, ‘My name is Callista.’
His lips pressed down in the most attractive way, drawing her attention to the fact that his mouth was almost as expressive and beautiful as his eyes. ‘Greek for most beautiful,’ he remarked. ‘That explains everything.’
‘Really?’ She did her best to simper and then hardened her tone. ‘I’ve heard of people being born with silver spoons in their mouths, but yours must have been coated in sugar.’
He laughed, and then affected a wounded expression. ‘I’m crushed,’ he exclaimed, holding both hands to his powerful chest.
‘No, you’re not,’ she insisted good-humouredly, starting to like him more now he’d proved to have a sense of humour. ‘You’re the most together person I’ve ever met.’
He smiled. ‘So what is Callista the huntress doing on her own in a hotel bar?’
‘Not what you think,’ she flashed back.
‘What I think?’ he queried.
‘What are you doing on your own in the bar?’ she countered.
He laughed again, a blinding flash of strong white teeth against his impressive tan. ‘I’m here to see the barman. What’s your excuse?’
‘A holiday.’ She levelled a stare on his face. ‘What do you do for a living?’
The bluntness of her question seemed to take him by surprise, but he soon recovered. ‘This and that.’
‘This and that, what?’ she pressed.
‘I guess you could call me a representative.’
‘What do you sell?’
‘I promote a country’s interests, its culture, industry and people.’
‘Ah, so you’re in the tourism business,’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s nice.’ And when he nodded, she asked, ‘Which country do you represent?’
‘Are you staying here long?’ he asked, changing the subject.
The fact he’d ignored her question didn’t escape her notice and she gave him a suspicious look. Then, obviously deciding it couldn’t do any harm to tell him a little more, she added, ‘Not long enough.’
She was enjoying the man’s company and decided to prolong the exchange. He excited her. It was no use pretending when every nerve ending she possessed was responding with enthusiasm to the wicked expression in his laughing black eyes. She’d never flirted before, and was surprised to find she rather liked it. This man could turn her insides warm and needy with a look.
‘Have you been dancing yet?’ he enquired, shooting her an interested look.
‘Is that an invitation?’
‘Do you want it to be?’
‘No, sadly.’ She gave him a crooked smile. ‘These shoes are killing me.’ Twirling a foot, she stared ruefully at the delicate designer shoes with their stratospheric spiky heels. Could anyone walk in them?
‘You could always slip them off and dance,’ he suggested.
As he spoke a band struck up for the evening’s entertainment somewhere outside on the terrace. Imagine dancing beneath a canopy of stars, she thought. How romantic. She glanced at her companion, and immediately wished she hadn’t. He really did have the wickedest black eyes, which, for some reason, made her think of slowly stripping off her clothes while he watched. She shivered inwardly at the thought. What she should be doing was making it clear that she didn’t pick up men in bars. She should collect up her things, get down from the stool and walk away. It was that easy.
Sex with him would be fun. And seriously good.
What was wrong with her? This wasn’t the type of simmering heat she’d read about in novels and magazines, but hot, feral lust, that promised very adult pleasures indeed.
‘You are extremely entertaining, signorina.’
‘Really?’ Goodness, she hadn’t meant to be. He certainly was. Sensuality emanated from him. If she embarked on her Italian adventure with Luca, it could only lead to one place. Fantastic! Callie’s inner harlot rejoiced, so now the thought of lying close to him, skin to skin, with those strong, lean hands controlling her pleasure—
‘Signorina?’
‘Yes?’ She blinked and refocused on his eyes...his disturbingly experienced eyes. However attractive and