Amy Andrews - His For Christmas

‘I cannot believe that she has had the nerve to show her face,’ he bit out. ‘I can’t believe she’s even here.’

‘Well, she is. I invited her.’

‘I thought you hadn’t seen her since I withdrew you from that appalling school.’

Michela hesitated. ‘Actually, we’ve…well, we’ve stayed in touch over the years,’ she said. ‘We emailed and phoned—and I used to see her whenever I was in England. And last year she came to New York and we took a trip to the Keys and it was just like old times. She was my best friend at school, Niccolò. We go back a long way.’

‘And yet you told me nothing of this before?’ he demanded. ‘You maintain a secret friendship and then spring it on me on the eve of your marriage? Didn’t you stop to consider how it might look—to have someone as notorious as this tawdry exhibitionist playing a major role in your wedding?’

Michela lifted her hands up to the sides of her head in a gesture of frustration. ‘Are you surprised I didn’t tell you, when this is the kind of reaction I get?’

‘What does Lucas say about your connection with her?’ he demanded.

‘It happened a long time ago. It’s history, Niccolò. Most people in the States haven’t even heard of Stacked magazine—it folded ages ago. And yes, I know that a video of the original shoot seems to have found its way onto YouTube—’

‘What?’ he exploded.

‘But it’s really quite tame by modern standards,’ said Michela quickly. ‘If you compare it to some of the music videos you see these days—well, it’s almost suitable for the kindergarten! And Alannah doesn’t do that kind of stuff any more. You’ve got her all wrong, Niccolò, she’s—’

‘She is a tramp!’ he gritted out, his Sicilian accent becoming more pronounced as his temper rose once again. ‘A precocious little tramp, who shouldn’t be allowed within ten feet of decent society. When will you get it into your head, Michela, that Alannah Collins is—’

‘Whoops!’ A cool voice cut into his angry tirade and Niccolò turned to see a woman strolling into the room without bothering to knock and suddenly his words were forgotten. If somebody had asked him his name right then, he thought he might have trouble remembering it. And yet for a moment he almost didn’t recognise her—because in his memory she was wearing very little and the woman in front of him had barely an inch of flesh on show. It was the sound of her naturally sultry voice which kick-started his memory and his libido. But it didn’t take long for his eyes to reacquaint themselves with her magnificent body—nor to acknowledge the natural sensuality which seemed to shimmer from it in almost tangible waves.

She was wearing jeans and a white shirt with a high collar, but the concealing nature of her outfit did nothing to disguise the luscious curves beneath. Thick black hair like lustrous jet hung over her shoulders, and eyes the colour of denim were studying him with a hint of mockery in their depths. Niccolò swallowed. He had forgotten the pale creaminess of her complexion and the rosiness of her lips. He had forgotten that this half-Irish temptress with an unknown father could burrow underneath his skin, without even trying.

As she moved he could see the glitter of a little blue dragonfly brooch gleaming on her shirt-collar, which matched the amazing colour of her eyes. And even though he despised her, he could do nothing about the leap of desire which made his body grow tense. She made him think of things he’d rather not think about—but mostly she made him think about sex.

‘Did I just hear my name being taken in vain?’ she questioned lightly. ‘Would you like me to walk back out and come in again?’

‘Feel free to walk out any time you like,’ he answered coldly. ‘But why don’t you do us all a favour, and skip the second part of the suggestion?’

She tilted her chin in a way which made her black hair ripple down her back, like an ebony waterfall. But the smile she slanted at him didn’t quite reach her eyes.

‘I see you’ve lost none of your natural charm, Niccolò,’ she observed acidly. ‘I’d forgotten how you could take the word “insult” and give it a whole new meaning.’

Niccolò felt a pulse begin to pound in his temple as his blood grew heated. But much worse was the jerk of lust which made his groin feel unbearably hard. Which made him want to crush his mouth down over her lips and kiss all those insolent words away and then to drive deep inside her until she screamed out his name, over and over again.

Damn her, he thought viciously. Damn her, with all her easy confidence and her louche morals. And damn those sinful curves, which would compel a grown man to crawl over broken glass just to have the chance of touching them.

‘Forgive me,’ he drawled, ‘but for a moment I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.’

He saw the brief discomfiture which crossed her face and something primitive gave him a heady rush of pleasure to think that he might have touched a nerve and hurt her. Hurt her as she had once hurt his family and threatened to ruin their name.

But she turned the look into a bright and meaningless smile. ‘I’m not going to rise to that,’ she said as she turned instead to his sister. ‘Are you ready for your fitting, Michela?’

Michela nodded, but her eyes were still fixed nervously on Niccolò. ‘I wish you two could be civil to each other—at least until the wedding is over. Couldn’t you do that for me—just this once? Then you never need see one another again!’

Niccolò met Alannah’s speculative gaze and the thought of her smiling serenely in a bridesmaid gown made his blood boil. Didn’t she recognise that it was hypocritical for her to play the wide-eyed innocent on an important occasion such as this? Couldn’t she see that it would suit everyone’s agenda if she simply faded into the background, instead of taking on a major role? He thought of the powerful bridegroom’s elderly grandparents and how they might react if they realised that this was the same woman who had massaged her own peaking nipples, while wearing a dishevelled schoolgirl hockey kit. His mouth hardened. How much would it take to persuade her that she was persona non grata?

He flickered his sister a brief smile. ‘Why don’t you let Alannah and I have a word or two in private, mia sorella ? And let’s see if we can sort out this matter to everyone’s satisfaction.’

Michela gave her friend a questioning look, but Alannah nodded.

‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘You’re quite safe to leave me alone with your brother, Michela—I’m sure he doesn’t bite.’

Niccolò stiffened as Michela left the suite and his unwanted feeling of desire escalated into a dark and unremitting tide. He wondered if Alannah had made that remark to be deliberately provocative. He would certainly like to bite her . He’d like to sink his teeth into that slender neck and suck hungrily on that soft and creamy skin.

Her eyes were fixed on him—with that infuriating look of mild amusement still lingering in their smoky depths.

‘So come on, then, Niccolò,’ she said insouciantly. ‘Do your worst. Why don’t you get whatever is bugging you off your chest so that we can clear the air and give your sister the kind of wedding she deserves?’

‘At least we are agreed on something,’ he snapped. ‘My sister does deserve a perfect wedding—one which will not involve a woman who will attract all the wrong kind of publicity. You have always been wild—even before you decided to strip for the cameras. And I don’t think it’s acceptable for every man at the ceremony to be mentally undressing the bridesmaid, instead of concentrating on the solemn vows being made between the bride and groom.’