Francesca grinned. ‘Oh, dear. Is that the best cliché you can come up with?’
‘Cliché? What cliché? I meant it.’
He was almost at her before she even realised that he was sprinting out of the bed, and she spun round and headed straight out of the door towards the kitchen, shrieking as she felt him closing the distance between them. No time to switch on any of the lights, but then no need either. Every curtain was pulled back, allowing the bright night sky to fill the open spaces of the rooms.
Angelo caught her from behind, but he didn’t spin her around to face him. Instead he buried his head in her hair, breathing her in, wanting her more than he could remember ever wanting anyone in his life before.
Initially, he had decided that their frequent separations, when he was away on one side of the world and she was modelling on the other side, would be a good thing. Relationships, he had discovered, were prone to becoming stale. The first flush of lust very quickly gave way to the tedium of the predictable and there was no greater death to a relationship than predictability.
Not so with her. He missed her when she wasn’t around. Lately he had found himself sitting in on meetings during which his mind had been at least half preoccupied with thoughts of when he would be seeing her again.
‘We need to talk,’ he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. ‘I’m only going to be here for three nights, then I fly to New York for two days’ worth of meetings, then on to London.’
Francesca felt the familiar flutter of disappointment, which she kept to herself.
‘What are your movements? Any chance that one of your shoots might coincide so you could be with me in the States?’ Did that have an air of pleading about it? He hoped not. Pleading was not his style. Nor, for that matter, was asking someone to accompany him on one of his business trips. Women had always been a background presence to his work life, but the thought of another week without her while he rushed all over the globe was not a thrilling prospect.
Francesca disentangled herself from him and switched on the kitchen light.
‘No chance,’ she said, with her back to him as she opened the fridge door and looked inside for something wholesome and quick. She had arrived at the apartment several hours before him and had had a chance to stock up on a bit of food. Still not looking at him, she now extracted some cheese and tomatoes.
‘Right.’
‘Not that I wouldn’t love to, Angelo…’ She was staring into the bread bin, which was bulging with some delicious Italian bread.
‘Your work schedule is even more hectic than mine,’ he said, keeping his voice light. ‘I wish you would look at me when I’m talking to you.’
‘I can’t look at you and slice bread at the same time.’ She paused and turned to face him, though. ‘I really wish I could come with you, Angelo. I’d love to see New York with you, but you know you would be busy working anyway. We probably wouldn’t have much time together. And you’re right, my life is too hectic.’ She shrugged and smiled ruefully. ‘But then, I’m twenty-four. If I can’t cope with hectic now, when can I? Not to mention the small fact that I have to earn a living.’
‘Do you?’ He paused, letting the significance of his question fill the silent space between them. Then he strolled over to where she was busying herself with the bread and cheese and turned her round to face him. ‘You hardly lead a wildly extravagant lifestyle,’ he murmured, cupping her face with both his hands and bending down so that he could deliver one of his wickedly seductive kisses. When he finally drew back, that brief spurt of anger he had felt at her refusal to accompany him on his trip was replaced by the satisfaction of knowing that this woman was utterly his. He touched her and she melted, and that was something he found intensely pleasing.
‘I know you have your little apartment in Paris, but you rent that. So where does your vast fortune go?’
‘Vast fortune is a bit of an overstatement.’ The conversation was drifting into waters best left uncharted, and she eased herself out of his embrace. Tellingly, her body was still tingling in response to his kiss.
‘Is it? I thought models only got out of bed if they were guaranteed shockingly large amounts for the effort…’
Francesca laughed.
She had a laugh that was infectious. It had been one of the first things Angelo had noticed about her. Standing in her little crowd of head turners, that rich, warm laughter had singled her out as the only one in touch with reality, with a sense of humour. And when she laughed she always tilted her head back slightly so that her long, straight dark hair rippled almost down to her waist. He caught her hair in his hands and curled his fingers through the silky mass.