An Invitation to Sin(23)

Realising that some response was expected from her, she gave a wan smile. ‘I didn't realise you had a Corretti Bambino range.'

‘We don't, but I'm just realising what an opportunity we're missing.  I've finally found a use for children-I can use them to increase my  profits. And the idea has potential to be expanded into the hotel  group-a range of clothes to give guests the chance to make sure their  child co-ordinates perfectly with their hotel suite. If we do it well,  they won't even know the children are there.'

She knew she was supposed to laugh. She knew he was being outrageous on  purpose, but the lump in her throat was wedged so securely she didn't  trust herself to speak and the feelings were so unexpected she had no  idea how to deal with them.

Registering her lack of response, his smile faded and he tilted his head  slightly. ‘You're furious with me? I was joking, tesoro. I know you  wouldn't want all that barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen stuff, but  it was what they needed to hear.'

‘Yes.' Her voice husky and she changed the subject quickly. ‘Your family  seems about as supportive as mine. Why do you want to work with them  when you already have your own successful business?'                       
       
           



       

‘Because they think I can't do it.' Luca removed her empty glass from  her hand and gave it to a waitress. ‘I have a congenital urge to prove  everyone around me wrong. And I'm a Corretti. We were born competitive.'  As he talked, Taylor felt herself relax and decided she was just tired.  Everyone had strange thoughts when they were tired, didn't they?

‘But you're not just Corretti, are you? You're Marco Sparacino's grandson.'

‘Have you been looking me up?'

‘Maybe.'

‘Non importa. I looked you up too.'

‘I'm boring, but your grandfather was a fashion legend. Right up there  with Chanel and Dior. I read his autobiography, A Life in Colour. It was  fascinating. What was it like growing up with him?'

‘It was hell. He used to criticise what we were wearing. It drove my  mother insane. No matter how she dressed, he used to tell her what she  should be doing differently. It made her deeply insecure and she grew up  thinking every problem could be solved if you were wearing the right  thing.' There was an edge to his voice that made her want to delve  deeper but it wasn't the right time or the right place, with people  pressing in on them from all sides.

‘I've seen photos of your mother. She's always so elegant.'

Luca's fingers tightened on the stem of his glass. ‘Appearance was-still is-important to her.'

‘The daughter of Marco Sparacino-how could it not be? So how did you handle him? I can't imagine you did what you were told.'

‘I got so fed up with my grandfather telling me I was wearing the wrong  thing that I once turned up to a lunch stark naked.' Luca drained his  glass. ‘When he bawled me out I told him there was no point in getting  dressed because he always told me to get changed anyway. He never  criticised me after that.'

Taylor laughed. ‘I can imagine you saying that. How old were you?'

‘Nine, I think. I don't remember. All I remember was learning that  pleasing people is a thankless task and you're much better off pleasing  yourself.'

‘But you made him proud. You've turned Corretti into something that people associate with luxury and elegance.'

‘When I took over, the focus was on couture. I persuaded them to take a  more integrated business model. We expanded into ready-to-wear and  accessories and then we launched Corretti Home. Furniture, lighting, bed  linen … ' He gave a mocking smile. ‘You can date in your Corretti dress  and then go home and have sex on your luxurious Corretti sofa wrapped up  in Corretti sheets.'

‘Is that your tag line? Corretti-Bedlinen for Better Sex?'

‘Not officially but I think it's possibly an improvement on the one we  picked for the campaign. Thank you, by the way-' his tone was casual  ‘-you were brilliant tonight. I haven't had a chance to ask how it went  today on set. Did Rafaele behave himself?'

‘It went well.' She chose not to divulge just how awful the day had been  but Luca's gaze was steady on her face and she had a feeling he knew.

‘If he steps out of line, tell me.'

‘He's my problem.'

‘You're my fiancée.'

Her stomach curled and knotted. And that, she thought, was turning out to be more complicated than she'd ever imagined.

A week later, exhausted after days of filming with Rafaele and sleepless  nights in Luca's bedroom, Taylor slid a pair of dark glasses onto her  nose, took a deep breath and left her trailer. Blinded by a storm of  camera flashes she struggled to keep the smile in place and it came as a  relief to see the red blaze of Luca's Ferrari. He was leaning against  the bonnet, talking into his phone.

‘No, I haven't heard from my brother. No, I don't have any comment on  his behaviour,' he drawled, grabbing Taylor's hand and hauling her  against him. ‘I'm the last person to comment on anyone's behaviour …  . I  don't have a comment on my own either because frankly it's none of your  business.' He hung up and pulled her into him. ‘Cristo, you're sexy. How  was your day?'

‘Exhausting. I filmed the scene where my husband appears from the dead  and discovers I'm carrying his best friend's baby.' And she'd worked  harder than she'd ever worked in order to make sure no criticism could  be levelled at her but still the director had managed to make her feel  inferior with his constant sniping. He'd made her redo each scene  repeatedly even though she knew it had been perfect the first time. He'd  wanted her to lose her temper and she'd been determined to hang on to  control even if it killed her.                       
       
           



       

‘What you need is to chill or, better still, get hot and naked with someone and that someone is me.'

She found herself looking into sultry, sexy eyes fringed with impossibly  thick, dark lashes and wishing she could do just that. And then she  found herself wishing she could turn off her senses because she didn't  want to feel this way.

Spending so much time in his company was creating a level of tension she  hadn't thought possible. He was supposed to be a solution to a problem,  instead of which he was becoming the problem.

Her instinctive response was to pull back but she was expected to play  her part so when he flattened his hand against her back and drew her  against him, she lifted her mouth to his. She'd intended it to be a  brief kiss but his hands came up to her face and he kissed her slowly  and hungrily. And because he was so good at this, because he somehow  knew everything there was to know about exactly the right way to kiss  her, she didn't even try to fight it.

Seduced by the heat of his mouth and the skill of his kiss, Taylor felt  will power drain from her like rain water down the gutter. If it had  been up to her she never would have stopped. Who would choose to end  something so perfect? And in the end he was the one who slowly lifted  his head and broke the connection.

Dizzy with it, Taylor looked up at him, expecting to see mockery, but he wasn't laughing.

And she wasn't laughing either.

‘Let's get out of here.' It was the most serious she'd ever heard him  and suddenly she was relieved she'd thought about this earlier before  he'd fused her brain with the skill of his mouth.

‘I've already planned tonight. I have a surprise for you-tickets for the  opera in Palermo.' The idea had come to her halfway through the day  when she'd been desperate to do something that allowed them to be ‘seen'  together, but still gave her privacy from the public. What better place  than a dark box high above the auditorium? And it had the added benefit  that she'd be saved from intimate conversation.

She had no idea if he even liked opera and no opportunity to ask him  with the journalists surrounding them. One of them pushed against her in  an attempt to elbow the competition out of the way and Taylor would  have stumbled but a strong arm came round her waist. Holding her safe in  the protective circle of his arm, Luca snapped something in Italian  that Taylor didn't understand. Whatever it was that he said turned the  man several shades paler and he backed away, giving them space, hands  raised in a gesture of apology.

‘Get in the car, dolcezza.' Luca was calm and in control. ‘I'll get you out of here.'

Grateful to him, Taylor slid into the Ferrari thinking how much easier  it was to handle the press when he was with her. He wore the Corretti  power as lightly and elegantly as his immaculate suits but there was  strength and steel under the casual sophistication and she knew the  press found him intimidating. They treated him with a degree of caution  they never afforded to her.