Scandals Of The Powerful: Uncovering the Correttis / A Legacy of Secrets (Sicily's Corretti Dynasty) / An Invitation to Sin (Sicily's Corretti Dynasty) (Mills & Boon M&B) Page 2

  Damn.

  It was then she saw him again, and despite the dark glasses, she could see that he was unashamedly watching her. ‘Signor Fattispecie!’ Emily smiled.

  ‘The name is Anton.’ He made his way over and introduced himself. Emily waited for him to give his surname, to reveal a bit more as to who he was.

  He did neither.

  ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Emily.’ He watched her frown as she tried to fathom how he knew her name. ‘I heard your contact speak. So, you’re here to cover the wedding?’

  Emily nodded. ‘You?’

  ‘To observe,’ he said.

  ‘Oh!’

  He could be a Corretti. He was dark and delicious, and like them—well, according to her research, anyway—he gave nothing away. His voice was low and richly accented, and there was that urge again to rip off his glasses, that wish for this man to reveal just a little more of himself to her.

  ‘So,’ Anton asked, ‘covering a wedding is a sore point?’

  Yes, he’d understood every word.

  ‘Can I ask why?’

  ‘My career’s just been shot.’ Emily was honest. His presence was just so consuming that there wasn’t the room in her mind to fathom lying or watering down the truth. ‘Well, slowly strangled.’ She looked at him and saw just a hint of a small smile lift the edge of a very beautiful mouth, and so she proceeded on. ‘Prolonged suffocation.’

  ‘What do you usually work on?’

  ‘I’m an investigative journalist.’ Emily sighed. ‘Or I thought I was till I was sent here. Still, this wedding sounds pretty interesting.’ He did not respond to her probe. ‘I heard there was a lot of rivalry between the families.’

  ‘Heard?’ Anton checked.

  ‘Read,’ Emily admitted.

  ‘Read what exactly?’

  She breathed out through her nostrils, feeling as if she was being tested. She was unsure just whom she was speaking to, but she so badly needed to know more. ‘That Antonioni Battaglia is the minister of trade and industry.’ She watched as from behind his glasses one perfect eyebrow raised. ‘That his backing is needed for the regeneration of the docklands.’ She was aware he could be a member of either family, but it was all or nothing and Emily chose to push on. ‘And I read that the Correttis want the docklands project.’

  ‘Do you really want to cover more than just the wedding?’ He made her a little nervous, or was it just that he made her breathless?

  ‘Yes.’ Emily nodded. ‘Are you related to them?’

  He gave a small, mirthless laugh and shook his head in clear distaste.

  ‘Do you know them, then?’

  ‘Very well, though sometimes they would prefer that I did not.’

  Emily blinked.

  ‘Tomorrow Antonioni will see his daughter, Alessia, married into the Corretti dynasty. Unlike his father and grandfather, Antonioni could never amass his own fortune. He’s an embittered politician and only too happy to buy into power.’

  ‘So, how do you know all this?’

  ‘Because I make it my business to know.’

  Emily was used to getting information from others, but she knew full well that Anton was revealing this by choice, not because of her excellent interviewing skills. She just didn’t know why. Yet she wanted more from him, more insight and information and... Emily swallowed. She didn’t want their conversation to be over. She wanted more time with this intriguing man.

  ‘Scusi,’ he said, and she stood waiting as he took a phone call, feeling a bit awkward when he glanced over to her and then proceeded to make another.

  ‘I’ll go....’

  ‘Wait,’ he said, reaching out and taking her wrist, and Emily stood there, terribly aware of the contact but choosing to wait as instructed. Clearly he knew the families. It might be her only way in.

  ‘Do you want to know more about them?’ Anton asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Emily nodded. ‘Would you be happy to answer a few of my questions?’ She found she was blinking, only rather rapidly. Oh God, she was flirting, which she hadn’t done in forever.

  ‘Over dinner?’

  ‘That would be lovely.’ She gave a small swallow. There was this strange charge to the air and she decided to make it very clear that this would be a working dinner. ‘If you’re willing to be interviewed, then the paper can pay.’

  ‘Good.’ There was a twist of a smile on the edge of his mouth. ‘I just booked us a table for eight p.m.’

  Had he been so sure she’d say yes?

  ‘I’ll meet you in the hotel foyer just before that.’

  There was a flutter in her stomach that wasn’t just from nervousness as he continued speaking. ‘Wear something nice.’

  ‘Nice?’

  ‘Formal.’

  Emily frowned. She didn’t want formal; she wanted a small cafe where they could properly talk. She didn’t have time to shop for something nice for some fancy restaurant. But already he was gone.

  Emily heard the bells of the church and realised she had less than an hour to get ready. She headed back to the hotel and dashed up to her room. The only formal item of clothing she had was the dress she had brought in the vague hope of squeezing into the wedding, but surely it was far too much for dinner?

  She really didn’t have much choice.

  Emily was used to getting ready at a moment’s notice, but as she did her hair and make-up, there was a slight tremor to her hand at the prospect of dinner with Anton.

  Why hadn’t she pushed for his surname before agreeing to dinner with him? She could have looked him up and found out whom she was dealing with.

  Emily pulled on the silver dress and strappy sandals she had brought with her and piled up her hair, pinning it in place. A couple of long blond curls kept falling out, but glancing at the clock, she knew there wasn’t time to fix it. She looked in the mirror for one final check before heading down to the foyer, worried that she was ridiculously overdressed.

  She need not have worried.

  Anton had changed into a suit, and though still unshaven, with his hair brushed back he looked elegant and expensive. Yet there was an edge to him, a touch of the untamed as he watched her approach, and his eyes told her he approved as to her outfit choice.

  Navy eyes, Emily noted, and smiled as she added another detail to tonight’s dream.

  ‘I didn’t get your surname?’ Emily said as he took her elbow and they walked out into the street and to his waiting car.

  ‘I did not give it,’ Anton responded. ‘Do you really think I want you quoting me?’

  ‘No....’ She was more than a little nervous now. His low black sports car was as expensive looking as he was, and as the door closed on her and he climbed in, she knew he could be taking her anywhere. ‘I do like to know who I’m dealing with, though. You could be anyone.’

  ‘So could you,’ Anton pointed out, starting the engine. ‘Do you usually go out for dinner with men you have only just met?’

  ‘In my line of work, yes,’ Emily said in a rather hopeless attempt to remind him that she was here only for business, except she knew she was fooling herself.

  Despite what Adam might think, Emily was, in her own way, tough. She kept her wits about her at all times. She had to in her line of work. Yet around Anton she was struggling to keep her head. From the second he had stepped into the elevator, he had been heavily on her mind.

  Emily sneaked a look at his strong profile. He was easily the sexiest-looking man she had ever been out with, but it wasn’t just his looks that attracted her to him; it was the mystery and the intrigue that she found intoxicating. She could not read him. He handled the car with ease. He was far from tense in the heavy traffic. If anything he seemed a little bored by the roadblocks set up for the coming wedding. The crowds gathering and spilling out onto the streets did not faze him either. Yet there was an edge to him she could not place, a guardedness in his responses that told Emily he did not readily welcome intrusion.

  ‘You have a quest
ion?’ As if he could feel her scrutiny, he turned to her.

  ‘I have many,’ Emily said as he turned his attention back to the traffic.

  ‘Go ahead.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I thought you wanted to find out about the Correttis.’

  ‘I do, but—’

  ‘Keep your questions to them.’

  They pulled up outside a very smart restaurant. People were lined up outside and Emily was glad that he had booked ahead—Anton wasn’t exactly liberal with small talk. The car door was opened for them, and it was clear the doorman knew him because there was a brief greeting. As she walked into the restaurant, Emily blinked. The place really was sumptuous, the guests elegant. The smell of herbs and garlic had Emily’s mouth watering.

  Instead of being led through to the main restaurant, though, they were taken upstairs. Emily assumed it was because they were a last-minute booking. Only as she rounded the bend on the stairs did she realise that this section was the most exclusive, and she was terribly grateful for the prompt from Anton to dress formally. The jewels on the elegant guests glittered more than the candles on the beautifully dressed tables. One wall was glassed, French windows leading out to a balcony where the guests ate to the stunning backdrop of the Mediterranean at sunset.

  Anton had better have some good information. Otherwise she was going to have hell to pay when she put in her expenses.

  He spoke with their host as they walked through the restaurant, and when they reached their table, Emily frowned as instead of sitting opposite her, Anton took a seat to her side, their waiter hastily rearranging the place settings.

  ‘I like to face the view,’ he said. He was sitting so close that their knees briefly brushed and Emily pulled hers away.

  ‘You are nervous,’ he commented.

  ‘Do you blame me?’ Emily asked, and then it happened. The man who had given her nothing suddenly gave her the first thing her mind had begged for on meeting him—she was treated to his smile. His full mouth moved slowly and she saw his white, perfectly straight teeth. But more than that, his face lightened as his smile reached right to his eyes and claimed Emily’s ability to breathe in the process.

  ‘You have nothing to be nervous about,’ Anton said. ‘You are with me.’

  ‘Which tells me nothing,’ Emily responded with a wry smile, but yes, despite her nervousness around him, she did not feel unsafe.

  ‘Wine?’ he asked, but Emily shook her head.

  ‘Not while I’m working.’ This was, perhaps, a poor excuse. Normally Emily would be the one ordering it in the hope that whoever she was interviewing might open up a touch further, but she felt terribly aware that she needed to somehow stay in control here. ‘Speaking of work...’ She went to her bag to pull out her recorder but as she did, his hand closed over hers.

  ‘Not here.’ There was a slightly ominous note to his voice, and she looked at the hand closed over hers. ‘Why would you draw attention to yourself?’

  ‘I’m not,’ Emily breathed. ‘It’s more that I’ve got a terrible memory.’

  ‘Perhaps that is why your career is shot.’ His hand was still around hers. He watched her suppress a smile as she guessed that he knew she was lying—there was nothing wrong with Emily’s memory, and certainly not around him. Every feature of his was emblazoned on her mind for later recall. Even the scent of him, she would surely recognise twenty years from now. Not the bergamot and cardamom of his cologne but the unique male scent that was Anton. Her gaze moved from his navy eyes to his mouth and for a bizarre moment she thought she was about to be kissed. More than that, she was aching for him to do so. His next sentence was, for a brief second, logical under the caress of his gaze.

  ‘I’m going to move in as if to kiss you.’

  As his hand moved to capture her chin, a more sensible Emily emerged. She was in a restaurant with an unknown male, a possible contact with the most dangerous family in Sicily, and she was about to let him kiss her. She had no idea what was happening, was almost tempted to grab her bag and run, yet she was overwhelmed, spellbound too, and struggled to find an assertive tone. ‘Could you remove your hand, please?’

  ‘Emily.’ In his voice there was none of the panic she felt. ‘Look at me and keep looking at me while I tell you what you can now know.’

  Her face was on fire as she did as told, her breath burning in her chest as she met the blaze of his eyes.

  ‘Seated behind me are the Correttis.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  SHE UNDERSTOOD now Anton’s hand on her chin and why his face was so close, for immediate was the temptation to glance over his shoulder.

  She looked down to his mouth. He was talking in low, sensual murmurs, as if they were lovers, and though the words were not of romance, they still sounded like a caress. ‘Do not for a second let them think you are interested in them. It is why I sit with my back to them. They must think you have only eyes for me, or we will be asked to leave.’

  ‘Okay.’ Her heart was hammering. She was in a restaurant with the Correttis. She was up close with the untouchables and there was excitement and terror in her veins, and not just for that reason. Emily looked at the beautiful man whose breath she could feel on her lips. She had so many questions that she must ask him, but the only thing she could see now was his mouth.

  ‘I got a booking because I told them I was proposing to my girlfriend, so for tonight, we are lovers.’

  She smiled to his mouth. ‘Err, no.’

  ‘Oh, we are,’ Anton said. ‘At least according to our fellow guests.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have told me all this in the car?’

  He smiled at her, his fingers moving from her chin and coiling around a lock of her hair. ‘You walked straight past them without so much as a glance.’ He watched her blink in silent admission, for of course it would have been near impossible not to look. ‘This was the only way to pull it off.’

  His mouth moved to her ear, and she closed her eyes, not for the sake of curious onlookers, just for the feel of him close. His jaw was rough and unshaven on her cheek. His cologne was subtle, yet it made her dizzy. ‘The old woman in black...’ His words were business, his voice pure pleasure, as he lightly kissed her ear. ‘That is Teresa, the matriarch. She is the reason some of the two sets of cousins are here. You would not see Luca at the same table as Santo and Alessandro otherwise.’

  She knew his caress was for the benefit of others and yet her body responded as if it were solely for her. Emily felt a shiver run through her as his breath blew gently on her ears, felt her stomach fold over a little as his mouth dusted the sensitive skin, and when he pulled his head away and looked into her eyes, for Emily, in that moment, the Correttis were forgotten.

  ‘So now,’ Anton said, ‘you see why I had to not tell you.’

  ‘I do.’

  He dropped contact then, for a waiter stood over them, and Anton ordered for them both.

  It was incredibly exhilarating to be sitting with this beautiful man with Sicily’s most notorious just a breath away. They started with antipasto and it was more heavenly than anything she had tasted—asparagus spears wrapped in prosciutto and balsamic-glazed cipollines, which he explained were like shallots. Yes, it tasted like heaven, or was it more the unexpected company she kept? Emily could hear the low murmur of conversation from the Corretti table, the occasional burst of laughter or the slight raise of voices.

  Just knowing who they were gave Emily the thrill of imminent danger—and then there was Anton.

  She had given up moving her knees. They had been lightly pressed against each other and now, as their plates were cleared, not quite so lightly, as if in warning.

  ‘If you look over again,’ Anton said when he caught her eyes wandering, ‘we change places or,’ he said, ‘I kiss you properly this time.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  Shame. He thought it but did not say it. Anton looked to where she sat beside him and though he was rarely intrigued, h
e found he was. ‘Tell me about you,’ Anton said, but as she opened her mouth to protest he got in first. ‘We are being watched not just by them but by bodyguards. It is time to speak just about you.’

  Emily nodded, felt the heat rise on her cheeks as he took her hand, and reminded herself for the hundredth time they were acting. Except her body was on fire. Not even his question doused it.

  ‘Why has your career been shot?’

  ‘I really don’t want to think about it,’ Emily said. Adam and Dianne seemed light-years away and were a place she did not want to visit, but Anton was insistent, as was his thumb in the palm of her hand.

  ‘Why would I want to share information with someone who doesn’t have the capability to properly report it?’ He watched her struggle to come up with a suitable answer and suppressed the smile from his lips. ‘Don’t worry, like you, my memory is not good.’

  ‘Liar.’ She smiled.

  ‘Said the liar.’

  She was looking down at his hand, beautiful, long fingers that curled around hers, and whatever he was doing with his thumb was making it rather hard to think. Their foreheads were almost touching to enable them to keep their voices low, and so intimate was the contact that when she spoke, the words just came out in a jumble. ‘Three months ago everything was fine. I was going out with Adam. My editor.’

  He made a tutting noise.

  ‘I know it was stupid to get involved with someone from work, but...’

  ‘But you did,’ Anton said.

  ‘Foolish me. Anyway, we were fine but then Dianne joined.’ Emily pursed her lips for a moment, clearly trying to think how best to describe the woman, and Anton watched a mouth he wanted to kiss tighten. He loved reading faces and hers was fascinating. He watched the little flickers of spite light her china-blue eyes, watched her mouth open and hesitate, and still, even as she went to speak, she chose her words. ‘She’s very savvy, very beautiful and completely determined to make her mark on the world.’