The Ultimate Risk
The loud smash of glass shattering on the tiled floor hurtled Gina back to reality, and she looked around to see that one of the waitresses had dropped a tray of glasses. She was shocked to realise how close she was standing to Lanzo and she jerked back from him, her face burning when she caught the hard gleam in his eyes. How long had she been staring at him like an over-awed teenager? she wondered, feeling hot with embarrassment. She had no recollection of either of them moving, but their bodies had been so close that her pelvis had almost brushed against his.
Tearing her gaze from him, she saw that the waitress was trying to gather up the shards of glass with her hands. ‘I’ll get a broom,’ she muttered, and hurried across the restaurant, grateful for the chance to escape Lanzo’s intent stare.
He watched her walk away from him, feeling himself harden as he studied the gentle sway of her bottom beneath its covering of tight navy silk.
Oh, Gina! What a transformation time had wrought, he mused, for he had suddenly solved the puzzle of why she seemed familiar. He remembered her now—although she looked very different from the shy waitress who had followed him around with puppy-dog devotion and been so sweetly anxious to please him that summer he had spent in England.
He had not known that her proper name was Ginevra. It suited the sophisticated woman she had become. And really it was not surprising that he had initially failed to recognise her, he assured himself, because this elegant woman, with her toned figure and her mane of glossy chestnut hair, bore scant resemblance to the slightly plump, awkward girl who had delighted him with her unexpectedly passionate nature when she had been his lover for a few weeks one summer, a long time ago.
Was the grown-up Gina still the sensual, uniquely generous lover who had appeared in his dreams for several months after he had returned to Italy? Lanzo brooded. Events in his life had taught him to live for the present and never revisit the past. But he was prepared to make an exception in this instance, he mused, watching her until she disappeared into the kitchens with a determined gleam in his eyes that would have worried her had she seen it.
CHAPTER TWO
IT STILL wasn’t completely dark, even though it was almost eleven o’clock, Gina noted when she emerged from the restaurant and glanced up at the indigo sky which was studded with a few faint stars. The water in the harbour was flat and calm, and the salt tang carried on the breeze was a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the restaurant.
She loved the long days and balmy evenings of June, and she paused for a moment, enjoying the fresh air which was cool but did not require her to slip on her jacket, before she turned and began to stroll along the quay.
‘I did not realise that you still lived in Poole.’ A tall figure stepped out of the shadows, and Gina’s heart skittered when Lanzo fell in step beside her. ‘I visit several times a year and I’m surprised I haven’t seen you around.’
Gina gave him a startled glance, her heart thudding with the realisation that he had finally recognised her. The expression in his eyes made her pulse quicken. It was the intense, predatory look of a panther stalking its prey, she thought, and then gave herself a mental shake. He was just a man, she reminded herself irritably. But the soft night air carried the spicy drift of his aftershave, and as her senses quivered she ruefully acknowledged that Lanzo would never be ‘just’ anything.
‘Perhaps you did see me on one of your previous visits, but you didn’t remember me,’ she said tartly, still feeling faintly chagrined that he had not realised her identity back at the restaurant.
‘Oh, I remember you, Gina,’ he said softly. ‘Although I admit I did not immediately recognise you tonight. You’ve changed a lot since I knew you.’
He wanted to run his fingers through her long silky hair, but he had noticed how she had tensed the moment she had seen him outside the restaurant. The flash of awareness in her deep blue eyes when she had first spotted him had told him that she was as conscious of the fierce sexual chemistry between them as he, but for some reason she seemed determined to ignore it.
‘Your hair especially is different from the style you wore ten years ago,’ he commented.
‘Don’t remind me,’ Gina groaned, utterly mortified by the memory of the curly perm she had believed would make her look older and more sophisticated than the ponytail she’d had since she was six. The perm had been a disaster, which had transformed her hair into an untameable bush with the texture of wire wool, and rather than looking sexy and sophisticated she had resembled a chubby poodle. As if the perm hadn’t been bad enough, she had been a few pounds overweight, she remembered grimly. ‘I can’t imagine why you ever noticed me,’ she muttered.
In all honesty he had not taken much notice of her when he had first arrived in Poole to oversee the launch of the Di Cosimo restaurant here all those years ago, Lanzo remembered. Gina had simply been one of the staff—a part-time waitress who helped out with the washing up on nights when the restaurant was especially busy.
She had been a shy, mousy girl, with an annoying habit of looking at the floor whenever he spoke to her—until on one occasion he had been so irritated by her studious inspection of the carpet that he had cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face upwards and had found himself staring into the bluest eyes he had ever seen.
The unremarkable waitress was not so ordinary after all, he had been amazed to discover, as he had studied her flawless peaches-and-cream complexion and her wide, surprisingly kissable mouth. He could not remember their conversation—it had probably been something inconsequential, like asking her to fill the salt-cellars—but after that he had noticed her more often, and had invariably found her watching him. Although she had blushed scarlet and hastily looked away whenever he had met her gaze.
That summer ten years ago had been a dark period in his life, Lanzo reflected grimly. Alfredo had died in the spring, and he had been struggling to come to terms with the loss of the man he had regarded as a second father—the man who would have been his father-in-law had it not been for the devastating fire that had swept through the di Cosimo family home and taken the lives of Lanzo’s parents and his fiancée five years before that.
Cristina’s face was a distant memory now—like a slightly out of focus photograph—and the pain of her loss no longer felt like a knife being thrust through his heart. But he remembered her; he would always remember the gentle girl he had fallen in love with all those years ago.
Widower Alfredo and Lanzo’s parents had been delighted when he had announced that Cristina had agreed to be his wife. But a week before the wedding tragedy had struck.
The familiar feeling of guilt made Lanzo’s gut clench, and he stared out across the harbour to where the darkening sky met the sea, lost in black memories. He should not have gone on that business trip to Sweden. Cristina had begged him not to, saying that they needed to talk. But he had been shocked by her revelation that she was pregnant—so unprepared for the prospect of having a child when they had both decided that they would wait at least five years before they started a family.
He had been so young—only twenty—and determined to make his father proud of him as he took on more responsibilities at Di Cosimo Holdings. But that was no excuse, he thought grimly. He’d known Cristina had been hurt by his lack of enthusiasm for the baby. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, and instead had insisted on going on the business trip when he had known full well that he could have sent one of his staff in his place. But he had wanted time alone, to get his head around the idea of being a father, and so he had ignored Cristina’s tears and flown to Sweden.
Within twenty-four hours he had realised that he had behaved like an idiot. He loved Cristina, and of course he would love their child. He had been impatient to get home and convince her that he was delighted about the baby, but his meeting had overrun, meaning that he had missed his flight, and he’d had to spend another night away. The following morning he had arrived in Italy and been met by Alfredo, who had broken the devastating news that his parents and Cristina had all died in the fire that had destroyed the di Cosimo villa.
Lanzo’s jaw tightened as he remembered the agony of that moment—the feeling that his heart had been ripped from his chest. He had not told Alfredo that Cristina had been a few weeks pregnant. The older man had been utterly distraught at the loss of his only daughter and there had seemed little point in making his grief worse. But the bitter truth was that he could not bear anyone to know how he had failed his fiancée and his unborn child, Lanzo acknowledged. He should never have gone away. Cristina had died believing that he did not want their child, and he had never been able to forgive himself for not being with her when she had needed him most.
Alfredo had never got over losing his daughter, but the older man had become an invaluable father figure and advisor, for with his own father gone Lanzo had become the head of Di Cosimo Holdings at the age of twenty. Five years later Alfredo’s death had hit him hard, but he had dealt with it as he had dealt with the loss of Cristina and his parents—by burying his grief deep in his heart.
The opening of a new restaurant in England had given him an excuse to spend some time away from Italy and his memories. He had thrown himself into work, and into offshore powerboat racing, which was a popular sport along the south coast. It had satisfied a need in him to push himself to his limits and beyond. He’d loved the speed, the danger and the adrenalin rush, the idea that death was one flip of the boat away—for deep down he had not really cared what happened to him. Subconsciously he had hoped that one day he would push himself too far and death would take him, as it had Cristina. But for fifteen years he had cheated death and been left alone to bear his grief. Sometimes he wondered if it was his punishment for those first doubts he’d had about being a father.
‘I noticed you,’ he told Gina abruptly. She had been a calming influence on his crazy mood that summer—a nondescript girl with a gentle smile that had soothed his troubled soul.
For the first two years after Cristina’s death he had not looked at another woman, and when he had finally started dating again his relationships had been meaningless sexual encounters. He had closed the door on his emotions and deliberately chosen mistresses who accepted his terms. But Gina had been different. Something about her youthful enthusiasm had reminded him of the carefree days of his own youth—a time that seemed bathed in perpetual sunshine before the black cloak of grief had settled on his shoulders. When he’d been with Gina his mood had lightened, and he had enjoyed spending time with her. It had only been when he had found himself thinking about asking her to return to Italy with him that he had realised there was a danger she was starting to mean something to him—and he had immediately ended their affair. For he associated love with pain, and he never wanted to experience either emotion ever again.
‘You were sweet and shy, and you used to stare at me when you thought I didn’t notice,’ he said gruffly. She had seemed painfully innocent, although she had assured him that she’d had several boyfriends, Lanzo recalled.
Sweet was such an unflattering description. It conjured an image of a silly lovesick teenager—which of course was exactly what she had been ten years ago, Gina thought ruefully. She remembered how her heart had thudded with excitement whenever Lanzo had been around—rather like it was doing now, a little voice in her head taunted. But the difference now was that she was a confident career woman—albeit one without a career at the moment—and she was perfectly in control of her emotions.
‘I admit I had an outsize crush on you,’ she said lightly. ‘But it was hardly surprising when I’d attended an all-girls school and had little contact with the male species—especially the exotic Italian variety.’
‘Why didn’t you remind me tonight that we knew each other?’ Lanzo asked her curiously.
She shrugged. ‘Because it was a long time ago, and I barely remembered you.’
His mocking smile told her he knew she was lying, and she was thankful that it was probably too dark now for him to notice her blush. They had reached the attractive block of six flats on the quayside where she lived, and as she slowed her steps he halted in front of her.
‘But you did not forget me completely during the past ten years,’ he stated arrogantly, his deep, velvety voice sending a little quiver down Gina’s spine. ‘Are you cold?’ he asked, noticing the tremor that ran through her.
‘Yes,’ she lied again, ‘but I live here. Well,’ she said briskly, desperate to get away from him before she made a complete idiot of herself, ‘it’s been nice to meet you again.’
She stepped back from him, but instead of bidding her goodnight he smiled and moved closer, so that they were enclosed in the shadowed porch area in front of the flats.
‘You can’t have lived here long. These flats were still under construction when I was here last year,’ he commented.
‘I moved here from London four months ago.’
‘That must have been a big change,’ Lanzo murmured, glancing over his shoulder at the fishing boats moored in the harbour.
Gina nodded. ‘I worked in the City and I’d forgotten how quiet it is here.’
‘What job do you do? I assume you have moved on from waiting tables?’ he said, his eyes glinting as he allowed them to roam over her navy silk dress and matching stiletto-heeled sandals. It was impossible to equate this elegant woman with the curly-haired young waitress from ten year ago.
‘Until recently I was PA to the chairman of the Meyers chain of department stores.’
He looked impressed. ‘That’s certainly a long way from waitressing. Meyers have outlets in virtually every major city around the world. But surely you don’t commute to the City from here every day?’
‘No, I decided to leave the company when my boss retired. There were a number of reasons why I wanted to move out of London.’ Not least the late-night abusive phone calls from her ex-husband, Gina thought grimly. ‘My father suffered a heart attack at Christmas. He’s recovered well, thankfully, but I decided to move closer to my family. Dad’s illness brought it home to me that you never know what the future holds.’
‘Very true,’ Lanzo said in a curiously flat tone. Gina gave him a curious glance, but his expression was unfathomable. ‘Too often we take the people we care about for granted.’
She nodded. ‘I came back to Poole to work as the PA for the head of a construction company. Unfortunately the market for new houses has been hit by the recession, and Hartman Homes went into liquidation last month. I’ve been looking for a new job, but there’s not a lot around. The way things are going I might need to take up waitressing again,’ she quipped, trying to quell the familiar flare of panic that thoughts of her precarious finances induced.
‘Come and see me at the restaurant in the morning. I may be able to help you,’ Lanzo murmured.
She gave him a startled glance. ‘I was joking about being a waitress,’ she told him, privately thinking that she would consider almost any job in order to keep up with her mortgage repayments.
‘I’m serious. I urgently need a personal assistant to fill in for my usual PA while she is on maternity leave. Luisa had planned to work up until her baby was born, but she has high blood pressure and has been advised to give up work early. Her absence is causing me all sorts of problems,’
Lanzo added, sounding distinctly unsympathetic for his secretary.
‘High blood pressure can be dangerous for an expectant mother and her unborn child,’ Gina told him. ‘I’m not surprised your PA has been told to take things easy. She couldn’t have travelled with you in the later stages of her pregnancy anyway. Pregnant women shouldn’t fly after about thirty-six weeks.’
‘Shouldn’t they?’ Lanzo shrugged. ‘I admit I know little about pregnancy—it is not something that interests me.’ He had never come to terms with his belief that he had failed his unborn baby, and he had vowed never to have another child. ‘But you seem very knowledgeable on the subject.’ He frowned as a thought struck him. ‘Do you have a child?’
‘No,’ she said shortly. Since she had moved back to Poole she had met several of her old schoolfriends, pushing prams around the town, and invariably the question of whether she had children had cropped up. The answer always hurt, Gina acknowledged, however much she laughed and made the excuse that she had been too busy with her career, and there was plenty of time for babies.
‘Some of my friends and both my stepsisters have children, so obviously I’ve picked up a few facts about pregnancy. I hope your PA keeps well in the final weeks before her baby is born,’ she murmured, feeling a sharp pang of sadness that every woman but her, it seemed, had no problem conceiving a child.
That wasn’t true, she reminded herself. Endometriosis was a well-known cause of female infertility, although for years she hadn’t realised that her heavy and painful periods were an indication of a medical condition that could affect her chances of having a baby.
Her gynaecologist had explained that there were various treatments available that might help her conceive, but he had emphasised that to maximise her chances she should try to fall pregnant before she reached her thirties. As a recently divorced twenty-eight-year-old, she had been forced to face the heartbreaking fact that she might never be a mother, Gina acknowledged bleakly.
‘Where have you gone?’
Lanzo’s voice tugged her from her thoughts and she stared at him helplessly. Seeing him tonight had taken her back in time. Life had been so optimistic and so full of exciting possibilities when she had been eighteen, but the last few years especially had been chequered with disappointments, she thought sadly.
That summer she had spent with Lanzo was a golden memory she had treasured, and even the misery she had felt after he had returned to Italy had served a purpose. Desperate to put him out of her mind, she had decided to move away from Poole, where it had seemed that every street and quaint country pub held memories of the few weeks they had spent together, and instead of accepting a place at nearby Bournemouth University she had taken a secretarial course, moved to London, and forged a highly successful career.
But Lanzo had been right when he had guessed that she had never forgotten him. Oh, she’d got over him—after a while. She had grown up and moved on, and he had faded to the background of her new, busy life. But occasionally she had found herself thinking about him, and curiously it had been Lanzo, not Simon, she had dreamed about on the night before her wedding. Now, unbelievably, he was here, watching her with an intense expression in his mesmeric green eyes that made her heart-rate quicken.
‘I … I really must go in,’ she said faintly.
His slow smile stole her breath. ‘Why?’
‘Well …’ She searched her blank mind for a good reason. ‘It’s getting late. I should get to bed …’ She cringed. Why had she used that word? She had been fighting her memories of his toned, tanned, naked body—of his hands gently pushing her thighs apart so that he could sink between them. She felt the hot throb of desire low in her pelvis and closed her eyes, as if blotting him from her vision would free her from his sorcery.
‘Stay and talk to me for a while,’ he said softly. ‘It’s good to see you again, Gina.’
His words were beguiling. Her eyes flew open. It was good to see him too, she acknowledged silently. During the last grim months of her marriage and her subsequent divorce she had felt as though she were trapped in a long dark tunnel. But the unexpectedness of seeing Lanzo again made her feel as though the sun had emerged from behind a storm cloud and was warming her with its golden rays.
Her blue eyes clashed with his glinting gaze. She did not want to talk, she admitted shakily. She was so aware of him that her skin prickled, and her nipples felt as hard as pebbles, straining against the constriction of her bra. Perhaps he really was a magician and could read her mind. Because his eyes had narrowed, and to her shock and undeniable excitement he slowly lowered his head.
‘Lanzo …?’ Her heart was thudding so hard she was sure he must hear it.
‘Cara,’ he murmured silkily. He had wanted to kiss her all evening. Even though she had carefully avoided him for the rest of the party after she had gone to report the broken glass to the restaurant manager, his eyes had followed her around the room and he had found himself recalling with vivid clarity how soft her mouth had felt beneath his ten years ago. Now the sexual tension between them was so intense that the air seemed to quiver. Desire flared, white-hot, inside him, and his instincts told him that she felt the same burning awareness. Anticipation made his hand a little unsteady as he lifted it to smooth her hair back from her face.
Gina stiffened at Lanzo’s touch and instinctively jerked her head back. She had concealed her scar with make-up, but she was mortified to think that he might feel the distinct ridge that ran down her cheek and neck.
‘Don’t.’ The plea left her lips before she could stop it. She flushed when his brows rose quizzically. He had every right to look surprised, she thought miserably. Seconds ago she had been leaning close to him, waiting to feel the first brush of his mouth over hers. But when he had touched her face she had been catapulted from her dream-like state back to reality.
She could not bear to see the desire in his eyes turn to revulsion—as would surely happen if he saw her scar. Even worse would be his curiosity. What if he asked her how she had been injured? Nothing would induce her to make the humiliating admission that her ex-husband was responsible for the unsightly scar that now served as a physical reminder of her gullibility.
It sickened her to think that once she had believed she loved Simon, and that he loved her. Only after their wedding had she realised that she had not known the true nature of the man, who had hidden his unpredictable temper beneath a charming façade. She felt ashamed that she had been taken in by Simon, and had sworn that she would never be so trusting again. What did she really know of Lanzo? her brain questioned. Her heart had leapt in recognition when she had first seen him tonight, and all evening she had been swamped with memories of their affair, but in truth her relationship with him ten years ago had lasted for a matter of weeks and he was virtually a stranger.
Lanzo’s eyes narrowed as he watched Gina physically and mentally withdraw from him, and for a few seconds a mixture of anger and frustration flared inside him. She had wanted him to kiss her. He knew he had not imagined the desire that had darkened her eyes to sapphire pools. So why had she pulled back?
The young Gina of his memories had been open and honest, and she had responded to him with an eagerness that he had found curiously touching. It appeared that the more mature, sophisticated Gina had learned to play the games that so many women played, he thought grimly. He had had mistresses in the past who had calculated his wealth and made it clear that their sexual favours came at a price: jewellery, designer clothes, perhaps being set up in a luxury apartment. He presumed that Gina was no different, but he was surprised by the strength of his disappointment.
He stepped back from her and gave her a cool smile. ‘I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me at my house on Sandbanks?’
The address was a sure-fire winner—reputed to be the fourth most expensive place in the world to live. He had never met a woman yet who had not known that properties on that exclusive part of the Dorset coast were mostly worth in excess of ten million pounds. No doubt Gina would be rather more willing to kiss him now that she realised quite how loaded he was, he thought sardonically.