Emma, page 4
She hung back. ‘Did you manage to get a table in the restaurant?’
He frowned again. Why would he not? ‘Of course.’
She glanced away and shook her head slightly, and he was teased by the tiny smile she tried to hide.
‘I amuse you?’
‘Very much so. But it’s nice because you are so very different from the men around here.’ She walked past him onto the veranda, the hint of roses she left in her wake teasing him almost more than her words, and then she handed him her house keys. ‘I’m guessing you want to lock the door?’
‘Grazie. You learn.’
‘I don’t sweat the small stuff.’
He had no idea what she meant. Her profile against the lights from the veranda made chest tight. Did she not see how seductive she looked in those trousers? He had changed his preferences already.
She must have seen his confusion at her words. ‘I’m a smart woman.’ She tossed her head teasingly.
The movement exposed her throat to the light. ‘And very beautiful.’
She laughed as she moved ahead of him across the veranda. ‘I could get used to this.’
He heard the whispered words but was sure he’d not been meant to. How could this woman not have a hundred men beating a path to her door? It was a tragedy he went home tomorrow or he would have shown her what she deserved...or maybe it was a good thing. Either way he could introduce her to the way she should be cared for tonight.
As Gianni followed Emma down the path the heady fragrance drifted around them and under the rose arch he had the sudden urge to reach out and halt her progress, turn her beautiful face towards him, and taste the promise he saw. But he held back. Something he would no doubt regret later when the scent of roses would remind him of this moment that could have been. Like the words that had tumbled out earlier about his wife. Such things he’d not spoken of for years. His words escaping from his mouth like suddenly released prisoners. It was a wonder she hadn’t run away from him.
This time she’d waited beside the car for him to open the door and the sleeping animal inside him growled complacently at securing her compliance. That beast had been dormant for a very long time and he’d forgotten the satisfying taste of cosseting a woman.
When she was seated he bent to lift a swathe of material from the hem of her trousers that had fallen outside the door and the material cascaded across his palm and fell like liquid around her tiny feet. All sensory input that teased him more. He clenched his fingers as he moved back to shut the door before he trod with restrained haste to join her.
Still he could feel the material, cool and seductive like the woman who awaited him. She had him entranced.
Chapter Seven
Emma
Gianni’s big, muscled body slid lithely in beside her and his door closed quietly. Emma felt the car shrink between them. Yet not claustrophobic. Different. It felt intimate and exciting, as if every nerve in her body waved receptors at the man beside her. Strange feelings for a woman who thrived on control and organisation in her own space.
He glanced across before he started the engine and it was as if he touched her with that long appreciative look. A slow caress. Hurriedly she did up her seat belt.
He smiled, his eyes glowing like a big brown-eyed tiger, and her belly kicked. ‘I could have helped,’ he said.
She rubbed her arms. The thought of his hand at her waist gave her more goose-bumps. Not likely, buddy.
He gestured with his head at her home. ‘Do you and your daughter live alone?’
She raised her eyebrows at him but doubted he’d see that in the dashboard light. ‘Not something I should tell a man I barely know.’
‘Good,’ he said, and she laughed again.
He was funny. And old-fashioned, yet she had the feeling that his moral code might bend dramatically when his own desires were at stake. She didn’t think he realized how at sea she was on dates with men. Luckily.
She looked out the window and back again. ‘Just Grace and me. My father comes sometimes to stay when he can. My brothers used to live with me but the last of them has just married. They’re both shift workers so they come and go a lot anyway.’
His brow lowered. ‘In my country, alone in a house is not good for a woman and her daughter. It is different here?’
Irritation pulled her mouth. ‘Yes,’ she said shortly. ‘Here my daughter is safe. Lyrebird Lake is a safe place. We have very little crime and I know everyone in town.’ Though, if she was honest, maybe a little of her unexpectedly annoyed response was due to the fact she didn’t want to think about the example she was setting to her daughter by going out with a man she barely knew, a man who made her feel sexy for the first time in her life.
His heavy brows drew together. ‘And people don’t drift through?’ His voice was dry. ‘I’m sure Angus said there is a working mine? A transient, casual population only up the road?’
She tilted her head at him. Defiantly. ‘Where I live is fine. And not your concern.’ His interest had become too pointed. ‘In this country customs differ. Did you say we would eat?’
He sat back, and then nodded. ‘My apologies. It is none of my business.’ He started the car and of course now she felt guilty. She shrugged that off in the dark. He could get over it. Get used to the way women could look after themselves in Australia. Had to look after themselves. She thought with amusement about her ex-boyfriend Tommy and her brothers, and the way she more looked after them. The town should fly a women’s independence flag for her at Lyrebird Lake.
No conversation occurred until they drove into the cobbled courtyard of the Lakeside and the restaurant lights spilled into the car park and reflected back off the water.
She stayed in her seat, very tempted to open her own door just to annoy him, but that would be petty. Was she bored with his old-fashioned manners already? Her door swung open, scents rolled in, jasmine, lake mist and food. Her stomach rumbled and she hoped he didn’t hear it.
‘May I assist you?’ He held his hand out to help her. His voice drifted low and courteous, no hint of assertiveness as it curled around her like a tender scarf. It was interesting he hadn’t presumed this time.
No, she wasn’t bored with being spoilt, she thought as she shivered in the sensations and hugged them to herself. His fingers were warm and strong when she took his hand, just like last time, and she felt the same burning sensation up her arm and further in, across her chest, the tightening of her breasts. Goosebumps rose.
‘Are you cold?’
So attentive. She didn’t know how to deal with the unfamiliarity of his concern. ‘A little,’ she lied, as she crossed her arms over embarrassing nipples. Instantly he slipped his jacket off and the warmth of man-heated silk caressed her shoulders.
Like an unexpected gift the subtle wash of his aftershave mixed with the scent of male bombarded already overloaded senses. Her heel slipped on the cobbles under her feet. She had not felt faint for a second, no she had not!
His arm came around her. ‘Are you well?’ He frowned down at her. ‘It has been an emotional day. Perhaps I should take you home.’
‘No, I’m fine. Really.’ She straightened out of his embrace and stepped back. Hot cheeked. ‘I just slipped in my heels.’
Her heart thumped in her chest like a bass drum and she took a long cool breath of the night air into her lungs. Stood tall. Or as tall as she could with her height. Despite the pinching in her toes, she definitely needed high heels with this guy. ‘I’m fine,’ she said again. ‘Just a silly slip. Let’s go in.’
His brows remained creased, and he watched her. ‘As you wish.’ He glanced over her attire again with a tiny glint in his eyes. ‘It would be a shame not to share your beautiful preparations with the world.’
Yes, she thought dryly. She could hardly wait for the gossip. It would fly.
The restaurant was dimly lit with red lamps in brackets on the wall and candles on the tables. Maybe no one would see her. Or her nipples, which were settling thank goodness. Sheesh.
They were led to a white linen-covered table that faced out over the lake, a shiny green-leafed ficus providing privacy from the next couple and the room buzzing with the hum of quiet conversations.
‘Lovely table,’ Emma said with a glance around and strangely, for a town she’d grown up in, there wasn’t a familiar face to be seen. But other tables seemed as private or strategically placed as theirs so maybe there were townsfolk here. Either way, people would hear tomorrow that Emma had been out with a man. A stranger.
She handed him back his jacket and Gianni lifted one imperious eyebrow as he waited for her to be seated before he slid back into his jacket.
She sat and a waiter helped her push in her chair. Her brain froze with a brief moment of panic about what conversation she could make with this Italian she barely knew, sitting opposite in such an intimate setting.
How would they fill the time between courses?
It wasn’t like she did this every night.
The only men she conversed with were her family and friends, and the husbands and partners of women she cared for in labour. Then again, Gianni looked to be socially practised enough for both of them. She hoped.
His pale grey suit moulded to his body and she guessed some designer’s label would be tucked inside, and his shirt, though understated, fitted as if sewn onto him. His tie was silk.
The maitre d’ draped the starched napkin across her lap and reverently handed her the menu. The choices had no prices, so... Not to trouble her pretty head over cost, she guessed, and she crinkled her brow in amusement.
Well, well, Lyrebird Lake. You multi-layered lady. Her country town had city chic. She’d had no idea. Another first, and darn if she wasn’t going to enjoy the experience. She might not be back. And he was leaving. Her shoulders eased and she pushed back against the upholstered chair. It was a dream dinner with a dream date. She would enjoy herself.
Her escort bent his head to discuss wine with the waiter and her eyes were drawn to the sculptured lines of Gianni’s face. Such a strong and determined jaw, angular cheekbones and a Roman nose that proclaimed lineage and power. He could almost be classified as too grand to relax with, yet she didn’t feel intimidated by him. Especially now she’d decided this was going to be fun.
She wondered why she felt such calm. The man was imposing. So different from any man she knew, but something in his eyes – and perhaps that obscure vulnerability only she seemed to see in the chiselled fullness of his mouth – drew her like a moth to a flame and dared her to touch the light. The idea thrilled her with danger that crackled along her nerves and lifted the smile on her lips – a smile she couldn’t seem to lose now she’d allowed it free rein.
He took his eyes from the waiter as if he felt her watching him. His brows lifted and she was caught in his gaze. Trapped by his interest, his fascination for her. Trapped by heat. Trapped by the feeling she had to take this moment or regret it forever.
The hum from the other diners faded and slowly warmth infused into her skin.
‘Champagne?’ There was a caressing nuance in his voice that raised gooseflesh she couldn’t hide.
Emma swallowed, to make her voice work. So much for the calm she’d just celebrated. Being with Gianni made her think of a rollercoaster. A very, very exciting one. ‘Thank you.’ What havoc could alcohol wreak on her already shaky control, she mocked herself.
He indicated the menu, frozen in her hands. ‘Have you chosen?’
Food. She’d forgotten food. She flicked a glance at the blur of words on the page. ‘It all looks wonderful.’
He smiled. ‘Perhaps the seafood platter? For two?’ His knee grazed hers under the table and her heart skidded like a stone across the water outside. It was ridiculous, the impact of a slide of material on material, but there was no doubt she was as receptive to him as a ripple on the lake was to that stone.
‘Fine,’ she managed, and recited fun over and over to herself in her mind as she took a sip of mineral water the waiter had poured. The liquid was cold and delicious and much better for her state of mind than the flute of sparkling wine that arrived magically, complete with moisture-blushed strawberries on a tiny silver salver.
He removed his attention for a moment while he discussed the menu with the waiter and her shoulders sagged a little in relief. When had it become a battle to prevent her body from leaning towards him so she could sit and stare at him like a gawky teen? She focussed on the reflection of the candlelight on her cutlery.
Cool down. He’s just a gorgeous guy. And you’re a professional woman with an eight-year-old daughter.
‘Tell me.’ His voice made her jump and her gaze flew to his. ‘Do you ever leave this town?’
‘Every week.’ She looked away from him, actually thankful he’d picked a topic that grounded her like no other. ‘I visit my mother in Brisbane.’ And attend the monthly Huntington’s disease meetings and any speaking engagements they’d booked for her to help the cause raise money for research. But she didn’t want to go into her personal nightmare.
‘Your Grace is used to car travel?’
Where was this leading? ‘Grace? Most times. She stays with her paternal grandmother every second weekend. They’re very close.’ He frowned and she guessed it was confusing.
‘Are you close to your daughter’s father?’
What had Tommy to do with it? He was quite happy playing in a band in Holland. ‘I’d prefer not to talk about my daughter or her father.’
He didn’t answer and she watched his impassive face for a clue as he sipped his wine. When he spoke again it was on a different subject, which was good. Seems he wasn’t slow at picking up taboos. ‘It has been an interesting visit to your town. The funeral less tragic than I expected. It is a shame I did not plan to stay longer.’
Emma was thinking it was lucky. ‘Will you tell me more about your work?’
‘I’d prefer not to talk about my work,’ he said, and smiled at his mimicry of her. ‘But I will tell you that I have been given leave after my last assignment.’ He raised his eyebrows at taboo subjects. ‘Perhaps it is different for you. Do you wish to talk about your job?’
‘I’m always happy to talk about midwifery.’
Chapter Eight
Gianni
Emma spoke of her work. With flashing eyes, warm reminiscent smiles and anecdotes. All the passion and wonder she saw in a woman giving birth in her voice.
Gianni watched her like a hawk. He’d thought it would be pleasant to bring this woman to dine with him.
Pleasant hadn’t happened.
Nothing so mediocre.
Her company intrigued him, fascinated him, and irritated him with all he didn’t understand, and the desire to reach across and bring her wrist to his mouth made his hands clench on the white tablecloth.
But this wasn’t the time or the place for slaking hungers that had suddenly caught up with him. Hungers he’d thought he’d forgotten. He’d do well to eat quickly and return this woman to her home before it became dangerous for them both.
Her enthusiasm had passed from discussing her work, which he regretted, because with the passion she displayed she became even more captivating.
‘What of you?’ she asked. ‘Who’s at home for you?’
Nobody. ‘I have not thought of home for a long time. I travel between the next disaster and my family business in Rome.’ He shrugged. ‘Haven’t opened my large house for many years, but that may change when I see Leon and settle what is between us. My life will have more direction again perhaps.’
‘Nieces and nephews?’
‘I have one nephew. He must be eight now. My late sister-in-law said I was pompous with children. I have met him only once.’
Sometimes he used shock to silence questions. There would be no more chances after tonight to discover what made this woman different. What drew him to her? How did he find such a thing out?
Questions...like she was doing?
‘How long ago did your wife die, Gianni?’
‘Ten years.’ Bluntly.
He saw by her face she’d been expecting a more recent loss. ‘And you’ve loved her that whole time?’
Such questions. ‘Do you really want to know?’ His voice came out deep and low and the awareness of the game she was playing grew with his words. He could see her naiveté now. And her fearlessness. Such an enthralling mix. Did she dare to go on?
She met his gaze. Intrepid. ‘I’d like to know why I can feel your pain as more recent. Especially if you’d only met your wife prior to your wedding.’
He inclined his head at her perception. ‘You do not hold back, Emma.’
‘Should I?’
He shrugged. ‘You are different from the women I’ve known. The brief occasions when I needed to be social. My wife may have died years ago, and it is true we barely knew each other in the short time that we had, but it was enough.’
Her voice softened and there was no chance of the question carrying to other tables. ‘How did she die, Gianni?’
How had he let her die? ‘Maria wished to see Africa. I thought it a good way to overcome the awkwardness of barely knowing each other.’ He grimaced with distaste. ‘Since I had been told she loved another on the morning of our wedding.’
‘Nice well-wisher.’ He could see Emma felt indignant on his and his wife’s behalf. ‘By...?’
He smiled at her. Aware of her attempt to free him from the ghosts of his past. ‘I will humour you for so long...’ He left the end of the sentence dangling, like she had. Showing her it was his choice to continue but he would also stop when he decided.
She seemed content with that. In truth, he’d offered more than he thought he would.
She waited patiently. ‘My brother’s wife. Whom I suspect enjoyed her moment of triumph, but I must not speak ill of the dead.’
