'Nothing. Bianca is panicking a little about her wedding, but I'm telling her not to worry,' she said quickly.
He raised an eyebrow. 'Don't tell me, the flowers are out of season and so you need to call the whole wedding off? She used to be quite sensible,' he added to Sophie, 'until this wedding nonsense.'
'It's not nonsense. Wait until it's your turn,' Bianca said indignantly. 'But, Marco, wait. I have a wonderful idea. Sophie should stay here with us until the wedding and come as your date. What do you think?'
* * *
Sophie should what? Marco froze to the spot, eyes narrowed at his beaming sister. Had she been consulting with their mother? Was this some elaborate plot? Was Sophie in on it? He cast her a quick glance. No, her cheeks were red and eyes lowered in mortification.
'What do I think?' he repeated.
'He thinks it's impossible.' Sophie reached up and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 'I have to get back and he doesn't need a date anyway. I don't want to cramp his style.'
'Nonsense,' Bianca said. 'He would love to have you there.'
Amusing as it was to hear the two women politely disagree about what he did or didn't want, it was time to take control. 'Of course I would love to have you attend the wedding with me, Sophie, but if you have to get back, then there is no more to say. Besides, I have a lot to do over the next few days and I would hate you to be bored here alone.'
Bianca shot to her feet and glared at him. 'It's my wedding and I want her there. I need her, Marco.'
'But...' He wasn't often at a loss for words, but seeing his usually sensible, logical sister so het up robbed him of all coherent speech. 'Bianca, Sophie's said she needs to get back. You can't force her to stay.'
But as he said the words he began to consider just what would happen if Sophie did stay. He'd warned her he had to work so there would be no expectation for him to be responsible for her-and then when they returned to England he'd give it a few weeks before casually telling his mother they had parted company. In the meantime... He laced his fingers through hers, enjoying the smoothness of her skin against his. In the meantime it had been too long since he had enjoyed one of his discreet affairs. Two nights and a day wasn't long enough, not when every time she moved the beads on her dress shimmered, showcasing the outline of her breasts, the shapeliness of her calves.
And she'd made it very clear to him she wasn't interested in anything long-term...
'Of course, if there was some way you could arrange things so that you could spend a few more days with us, then you would be very welcome, Sophie.' He smiled at her. 'Besides, bitter experience has taught me that Bianca usually gets her way, so it saves time if you just agree with her at the start.'
'But...you don't want, I mean, this is a family occasion.'
'Three hundred guests, at least a hundred of whom are my parents' business associates and another hundred Bianca and Antonio's clients. I wouldn't worry about gatecrashing.'
Her mouth opened and she stared at Bianca incredulously. 'Three hundred guests?'
'You see why it has to be perfect? Please, Sophie, say yes. I'll be in your debt for ever.'
Marco knew not many people were able to resist Bianca when she turned the full force of her charm on them and Sophie was no different. 'I suppose I could take a few more days off work. I have a lot of holidays saved up. I'm not a miracle worker,' she warned his sister, 'but I'll do my best. Okay, if you really want me to, I'll stay, but, honestly, you might be better off consulting a professional.'
'I am so happy.' Bianca clapped her hands. 'When can you take a look? Tomorrow?'
It was time to intervene. 'Tomorrow, Bianca, Sophie belongs to me. You can have her the rest of the week. No...' as she tried to interrupt '...you need to practice patience, my child. Sophie, there's someone over here I would like to introduce you to. Bianca has been monopolising you long enough.' He pulled Sophie to her feet, giving his pouting sister a mock bow. 'Arrivederci, Bianca.'
'Who are you introducing me to?' Sophie asked as he walked her away from the party, opening a door hidden in the ballroom panelling and ushering her into the small adjoining salon, lit only by a few low lamps. 'I hate to break it to you, but the party is that way and there's no one here. Unless it's some ancestor of yours,' she added, looking up at the huge portraits hanging over the mantelpiece. 'He doesn't look overly impressed with your choice of date.'
'That's my great, great, many more greats grandfather Lorenzo Santoro. He didn't approve of anyone or anything by all accounts, a problem in pleasure-loving Venice.'
'I won't take it personally, then.' She turned and faced him, her hair gleaming gold in the low lights, the dress swaying seductively around her thighs. 'So if you don't want to introduce me to Lorenzo, then who am I here to meet?'
'Me. I haven't seen you since New Year's Eve, almost a week ago, and I've neglected you shamefully since you got here. I think it's time I made amends.' He noted with some satisfaction how her colour rose at his words, tinging her cheeks, throat and décolletage a delicate rose pink.
'Oh...' She looked up at him then, the blue eyes earnest. 'Marco, it was really nice of you to ask me here in the first place. I'd really hate for you to think I was trying to force you into extending my invitation. Your sister seems so worried about her dress, I offered to help and the next thing I knew...'
'Sophie, I know exactly what my sister is like, please don't worry. If you wish to stay for the wedding, then I would love for you to do so, but if she railroaded you...'
'She did, but it's not exactly a hardship to stay here and explore Venice a bit more.'
'Then it's settled, you stay. And, Sophie?'
'Yes?'
He took a step closer. 'Let's get one thing straight. I wasn't being nice when I asked you here.'
'You weren't?'
'Not at all. I wanted to see you again.' His gaze dropped to her full mouth. 'I wanted to renew our acquaintance.'
'To renew our acquaintance?' she echoed. 'So that's what they call it nowadays.'
Another step. 'Do you know what this room is?'
That elusive, kissable dimple peeked out at the corner of her mouth. 'Another room for unsuspecting guests to get lost in?'
'Did you see how the door was almost hidden in the panelling? It's an assignation room. Ancestors would slip away in the middle of a ball to meet their lovers here discreetly.'
'Not Grandfather Lorenzo surely?'
'Probably not him. But the rest of the Santoros. We're a degenerate lot.'
'Consider me warned. So, Signor Santoro, did you bring me here for nefarious purposes?'
His voice was soft but full of intent and satisfaction ran through him as he saw her shiver, her eyes dilating at his words. 'I wanted to say hello to you properly.'
'And how were you planning to do that?'
She was teasing him, leading him exactly where she wanted him to go, exactly where he wanted to be. Here, now, no need to plan or think ahead. Just two people enjoying all the benefits of mutual attraction. He took another step and then another, backing her up until she hit the wall, her breath coming in short pants. Slowly but with absolute intent Marco put one arm on the wall and leaned in so she had to look up at him, her body guarded by his, surrounded by his. It took all his strength not to pull her in close, crush her against him, not to lose himself in that mouth, that small perfect body, her sweet-smelling hair. 'Hello.'
'Hi yourself.'
Her mouth curved, the dimple provoking him, daring him, tempting him and, with a groan, he succumbed, dipping his tongue into the small hollow, her answering shiver pushing the last restraints away. With a smothered growl he swung her up in his arms, capturing her mouth with his, inhaling, demanding, needing, taking as he carried her over to the chaise, discreet in the corner of the room. Her kiss was equally fierce, her hands twisted in his hair as he lowered her onto the green brocade. Sophie lay, hair fanned out around her, eyes half closed, chest heaving. Marco stared down at her, trying to regain some vestiges of control. She extended a hand, her eyes wicked in the lamplight. 'Come on, then, signor, show me just how a Santoro conducts an illicit liaison.'
CHAPTER SIX
'GOOD MORNING, SLEEPYHEAD.' Marco looked up as Sophie entered the ridiculously huge breakfast room. He looked completely at home-not surprising, she reminded herself. This was his home. He sat back in a comfortable-looking chair, newspaper spread open before him on the polished table, coffee in one hand. It was all quite normal-or at least it would be if the table weren't large enough to seat thirty, every chair an antique and the view out of the line of shuttered windows not one she had seen in a hundred iconic photos.