was you tonight? At the ball?’ If she’d been less stunned, she might have cared about how much her strained voice revealed. But she was battling shock. She had no thought to spare for pride.
He didn’t answer.
Heat sparked low in her abdomen and washed through her like a flood tide. It had been him. He’d held her in his arms.
How often had she yearned for his embrace? Despite what she’d told herself about forgetting the past.
He’d held her and she hadn’t known him?
But she had, hadn’t she? Despite the new cologne, the paleness of his once-golden skin, the scar.
Fear jolted through her, stealing her breath.
He’d been hurt! How badly? Urgent questions clamoured on her tongue.
Shakily Carys gathered the tattered remnants of control. She ignored the unspoken questions, opting for the most important one.
‘What do you want?’ Her voice sounded stretched too thin, like beaten metal about to snap under pressure.
‘I’ve already told you.’ Impatience threaded his words. ‘To see you.’
She couldn’t prevent a snort of disbelief at his words. How times had changed.
Finally pride came to her rescue.
‘It’s late. I’ve had a long day and I’m going home. There’s nothing more to say between us.’ Tentatively she slipped her feet to the floor, waiting to see if her legs would collapse under her.
‘Are you sure?’ His words, soft and deep like the alpine eiderdowns they’d once shared, brushed across her senses. His voice was alive with erotic undercurrents.
She jerked upright.
Flame licked that secret needy place deep inside her, the place that had been cold and empty ever since she’d left him. The realisation drew her anger.
No, she wasn’t sure. That was the hell of it.
‘I’m in the presidential suite,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’ll expect you in ten minutes.’
‘You have no right to give me orders.’ Belatedly she found her voice.
‘You don’t wish to meet me?’ Incredulity coloured his tone.
Had he never had a knock-back from a woman?
Certainly not from her. She’d been putty in his elegant, powerful hands from the instant she’d fallen head over heels for him.
‘The past is the past.’ At the last moment she prevented herself saying his name. She didn’t want the sound of it on her lips. It was too intimate, evoked too many memories.
‘Perhaps so. But I wish to meet you.’ His tone made it clear that he wasn’t about to go down on bended knee and beg her forgiveness.
Carys rubbed her forehead. The very thought of Alessandro, darling of the jet set, commercial power-broker and hundred percent red-hot macho Italian male on his knees before any woman was ludicrous.
‘You have ten minutes,’ he reiterated.
‘And if I don’t come?’
He took his time responding. ‘That’s your choice, Ms Wells.’ His formality in that silky smooth voice held more threat than any bluster. Or was that her imagination?
‘I have personal matters to discuss. I thought you’d prefer to do that in the privacy of my suite. Of course, I can see you instead during business hours tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘I understand you share an office with colleagues? Presumably they won’t be inconvenienced by our conversation.’
He left the sentence dangling and Carys bit her lip, imagining how her workmates would react to Alessandro and his personal matters.
‘No doubt your manager won’t mind you taking time off to deal with a private matter,’ he purred in that outrageously delicious accent. ‘Even though I understand you’re only here on an extended probation?’
Carys’ jaw dropped. He’d had her records investigated! How else could he know about her long probation period since she’d been employed without completing her qualifications?
Those employment details were supposed to be confidential.
Her defensive hackles rose as the old sense of inadequacy surfaced. Of not being good enough. Not making the grade. And more, of being cornered, facing an implacable, unstoppable force that threatened to overpower her.
Defeat tasted bitter on her tongue.
Or was that fear? Fear that, despite his initial rejection, Alessandro had come to take Leo from her.
Her shoulders tightened.
‘Ten minutes,’ she confirmed.
Alessandro stood at the full-length window, staring across the Yarra River to the lights of Melbourne’s cityscape.
He didn’t see them. Instead his brain conjured an image of blue-grey eyes, wide and apparently guileless.
He shifted as heat shot through his body straight from his groin at the memory of her soft body nestled against him.
From the moment he’d sighted her across the ballroom, he’d known. The awareness he’d experienced looking at her photo was nothing compared with tonight’s instant gut-deep certainty.
This woman was his.
Alessandro tossed back the espresso his butler had brewed, feeling the shot of caffeine in his blood.
His earlier flash of memory told him they hadn’t parted amicably. Hell, she’d walked out on him! No other lover had ever done that.
Yet he knew with absolute certainty there was still something between them. Something that accounted for the nagging dissatisfaction that had plagued him since the accident.
Why had they separated?
He intended to discover everything about the yawning blankness that was his memory of the months preceding his accident.
He refused to let her escape till he had answers.
From the moment he’d held her, the sense of unfinished business between them had been overwhelming. Even now he felt the low-grade hum of awareness, waiting for her.
There was more too. Not just the immediate sense of connection and possessiveness. There was an inner turmoil that surely must be long-dormant emotions.
He’d watched her, listened to her, and been dumbstruck by the intensity of his conflicting feelings.
Alessandro had harnessed all his willpower to drive himself to recover from his injuries and turn around the faltering family business. He’d blocked out everything but the need to haul the company from the brink of disaster. Everything else had been a pallid blur.
Until now no one had come close to breaking through his guarded self-possession. Not his step-mother, not the many women angling for his attention. Not his friends.
Despite his wide social circle, he was a loner like his father. The old man had isolated himself, focusing only on business after his first wife’s betrayal and desertion.
As a result Alessandro had learned the Mattani way early, concealing his boyish grief and bewilderment behind a façade. Over the years that façade of calm had become reality. He’d developed the knack of repressing strong emotions, distancing himself from personal vulnerability.
Until tonight. When he’d come face to face with Carys Wells. And he’d…felt things. A stirring of discontent, desire, loss.
He frowned. He had no time for emotions.
Lust, yes. He was no stranger to physical desire. That was easily assuaged.