Reckless Nights in Rome Page 8

  Chapter Eight

  Nico knew the precise moment Bronte entered the room.

  He stood in a quiet corner, where he could keep an eye on the quality of service. He couldn't see her, but he knew with every fibre of his being she had arrived.

  If he'd been a romantic he would have said there was a change in the air, a frisson of energy, a connection between them through time and space. Since he knew for certain he didn't have a romantic bone in his body, Nico went with his instincts and his entirely physical reaction.

  Blood pooled low in his belly. The music from the live band vibrated through the floor and connected with the hot rhythm of the blood coursing through his veins.

  Again, Nico wondered what it was about this woman that affected him on such a visceral level. He struggled to understand it. It was as though common sense had deserted him.

  He'd had more than his fair share of incredible women. Along with Alexander, they'd cut a swathe through the capitals of Europe on a search and destroy mission to see who could bed the most promising beauties. He wasn't embarrassed about it, no-one and nothing could touch them and they did no harm. Naturally, he took care of the business end of sex personally. No little surprises for him. Ahh, those were the days. But tonight the memories almost embarrassed him.

  Nico didn't view Bronte in the same way. He didn't see her as a conquest. If anyone had asked him how he saw her he would be hard pressed to answer. Logic did not play any part in his feelings. With Bronte, there was a connection he'd never experienced. Amused with himself and not a little irritated, he wondered if he wasn't going too far too fast.

  But then he saw her.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  Lei e cosi bella.

  She was beautiful.

  The black silk gown clung to small breasts and narrow hips. As she swung the silver curtain of her hair to one side, she turned and he got a full view of her back, naked and as smooth-as-silk.

  His tongue felt thick in his mouth.

  A young man, his colour high, dragged Bronte laughing and protesting onto the dance floor. He spun her around, held her back against him thrusting his pelvis in time to the hot beat of the music. The up lights shone through her dress.

  Nico couldn't believe what he was seeing. Good God, she was naked. What the hell was she thinking? Eyes narrowing, his mouth a tight line, he stalked towards her. By the time he reached her, three things struck him.

  She had no idea that the lights made her dress virtually see through. She was having the time of her life. And he would die a happy man to have her smile at him just like that.

  The music segued into a slow romantic number.

  With a firm hand he tapped the man on the shoulder, who took one look at his face and relinquished her.

  Bronte slid into his arms and it didn't surprise him how good she felt there. Weeping violins filled the air. He placed his hands on her hips and she raised her brows as she stared up into his face. Her palms rested reluctantly on his chest as she leaned away, her back stiff.

  "You appear to attract drunken young men." He made the observation with a wry smile. Her breath hitched as he placed her hands around his neck and pulled her close, hip to hip.

  Emerald eyes studied him, they held caution and a shy wariness he found incredibly arousing.

  Clearing her throat she said, "He's harmless."

  Those big eyes stared into his and he couldn't help it. With a soft murmur Nico buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent as he swept feather light fingertips from her shoulders to the small indentation above her buttocks. He took his time, enjoying the feel of the silky, fragrant skin. Her sensitive shudder told him she felt it too. The power of their attraction both thrilled and dismayed him. What would it be like to explore her, he wondered, how would she feel under him?

  Raising his head, his heart took a stumble as those emerald eyes, drowsy now with desire, stared into his. Bronte's soft bottom lip quivered as her breath hitched.

  Something was happening and he was torn between the need to run and the need to explore.

  "You have amazingly soft skin." His voice sounded rough to his own ears and he cleared his throat. He wanted nothing more than to take her to his suite and take his time making long, slow, love to her.

  Bronte realised she needed to take a step back.

  The look in his eyes was a heady mix of possession and predator. That mouth was firm, tense even. The room spun, probably due to the fact she was holding her breath. She inhaled in an attempt to kick-start her brain.

  She enjoyed the sensation of his hands on her skin and the tingling at the base of her spine. She enjoyed her cheek pressing to his chest and the feel of the strong beat of his heart. The trouble was she was enjoying it too much. The heat and scent of his body made her mouth water. The hot tugs in her belly and breasts were so seductive.

  However, she was more than aware they were in the middle of a dance floor with her friends and acquaintances surrounding them.

  Lifting her cheek from his chest, she looked around. Sure enough, she spotted her brother's gimlet eye on them. He stood next to Rosie who watched them, grinning like a fool.

  The music changed to a fast number and she stepped back with a small smile of apology.

  "I need a drink."

  He led her from the dance floor, his eyes narrow and thoughtful and she wished she knew what he was thinking. His hand kept hold of hers, then he drew her firmly to his side in a possessive gesture that had her brother eye him sharply and Rosie's eyebrows shoot into her hairline.

  Nico signalled a waiter with a tray, who jumped to attention. He handed her a glass of champagne.

  Bronte smiled her thanks, excused herself and moved slowly around the room to mingle with the wedding party.

  She needed the time to pull herself together and had absolutely no idea what she said to people. Her entire focus was on Nico, where he was and who he spoke to. Every second she was aware of his dark eyes tracking her every move.

  She smiled, chatted and kissed the bride and groom. The bride's mother was a little worse for wear and ordered her husband to dance with Bronte.

  Peter Cavendish, an old friend of her late father, led her to the dance floor.

  "You look lovely this evening, my dear." His gravelly voice sounded happy and relaxed now his speech was over. He told her he hadn't slept for weeks worrying about it. With a flourish that made her laugh, he twirled her around in an energetic waltz. "Your parents would be proud to see what you and Alexander have achieved, damn proud."

  She smiled mistily up into his rugged face.

  "They would have just loved this, wouldn't they?"

  A weight lifted from her shoulders. Life moved on. Ludlow Hall would never be the same, but Peter was right, her parents would have been proud.

  "Absolutely," he replied.

  With a quick peck on her cheek, he handed her to Alexander, who led her to the bar.

  "What would you like?" He ordered a mineral water for himself and turned to her. His green eyes were filled with concern and she suppressed a sigh.

  "Make that two."

  Eyeing him over the glass, Bronte braced herself for the lecture. She watched him scan the room, his eyes narrowing when they settled on Nico who was talking to Rosie.

  He took a breath and turned, his eyes sharp as a blade met hers.

  "What are you doing with Nico?"

  She knew that look and bristled. "Dancing."

  Alexander gave a grunt, sipped his drink and ran a hand over the back of his neck in a gesture she recognised.

  "That wasn't dancing." His eyes stayed on hers. "He'll eat you alive."

  With a frown, Bronte met his gaze dead on. "I thought he was your friend? The man who saved the day?"

  Alexander pressed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

  He appeared to be a man at the end of his tether and Bronte felt alarm slide up her spine. He looked exhausted. Burning eyes met hers and she was sho
cked at his expression.

  "He is not good enough for you. You are so far above him ..."

  Baffled, she simply stared. "I don't understand."

  "Don't be fooled by the charm and the polish. Underneath it Nico is a street fighter. He's totally ruthless."

  "When did you become a snob?"

  "Being a snob has nothing to do with it. I've seen him with women, he's not a man I want my sister involved with." When she kept her eyes on his, Alexander took a breath, it was clear to her he was struggling to find the right words. "He is what he is because he grew up hard and he grew up hungry. As a child Nico had a choice, to survive or die. He not only survived, he conquered."

  "Surely that's something to be admired, to be proud of?" Her voice was soft with sympathy for Nico the child.

  Alexander nodded. "It is. But he has no soft spots. No nurturing or space in his heart for another." His eyes stayed on hers. "He's not for you."

  She shook her head. "He's your friend. A friend you trusted your heritage to."

  "I trust Nico Ferranti with my life. But not with my sister."

  There were times and this was one of them, when Bronte detested her brother's overprotective attitude.

  "So, you're warning me off. Honestly, Alexander, do you really think I would be stupid enough to fall for a man like him? I'm not in the market for a long term relationship, am I? What could I offer a man like Nico?"

  "Christ, Bronte, I don't want to see you hurt."

  "What if I hurt him? Ever thought of that, or am I always the helpless victim in your mind?"

  Pain, a deep sorrow, sparked in her brothers eyes. And it burst the balloon of her anger. She was so tired of fighting with him over every little thing. She rested her head on his shoulder and gave him a hug.

  "I'm sorry, I know you're worried about me," she told him with a gentle sigh.

  His response was to gently pull her hair.

  "I'm leaving tomorrow. You can contact me through the office, Julie has my itinerary."

  She smiled into eyes that forcibly reminded her of their late father.

  "Sounds exciting, Rome, Paris, Barcelona."

  "It's work. A spot inspection of a couple of resorts."

  The way he said it, made her frown. "Trouble?"

  "No." Alexander gave her hair another tug. "I wish you would wait to meet your biological father until I can go with you."

  She flicked a look at Nico who was now chatting with the groom.

  "I thought you were supportive?"

  His smile didn't reach his eyes which held a mix of raw emotions.

  "I am." He assured her with a hug and then leaned in. His nose bumped hers. "I am, but surely I'm permitted to worry about my baby sister whom I love very much by the way."

  It wasn't a sentiment Alexander Ludlow articulated very often.

  Bronte knew how hard it had been for him, coping with the loss of their parents, turning their home into a hotel in the teeth of her fierce opposition, never mind dealing with the fall out of her devastating news and the end of her engagement. He'd been amazing. And she'd been too tied up in herself.

  With a small cry she hugged him and they swayed together as she blinked back tears that came to her all too easily these days.

  "I love you too."

  Alexander drew back, picked up his drink as his eyes searched the room. Bronte followed his gaze and found her own captured by Nico, watching them like a hawk.

  Not once did Nico's eyes leave her as she circulated and half an hour later Bronte's nerves were shot to pieces.

  "Oh, boy," Rosie whispered in her ear. "Let me know what happens if I don't see you later. I mean it. Give me a ring."

  "How are you getting home?"

  Rosie gave her a look that was full to the brim of sheer mischief.

  "Alexander's taking me."

  "Good God, be careful with him, he's my only brother."

  Rosie simply gave her a bland look.

  "Don't you worry about him. He's big enough to look after himself. He barbecued my ear about your blind date with Anthony."

  "You deserved it," Bronte told her.

  "You should have told me he hurt you, just wait until I see his sister."

  "I handled it myself. He was nursing his thumb the last time I saw him."

  "Ah, the Alexander technique. Apparently he's now walking with a limp."

  "Brothers," Bronte said in disgust. "When is he going to learn I can fight my own battles?"

  "Not him. It was Nico."

  Bronte turned shocked eyes on her friend.

  "Nico hurt Anthony?"

  With big eyes, Rosie nodded. "And he didn't leave a mark. Alexander's very impressed."

  Stunned, Bronte simply shook her head.

  She turned and rammed straight into Nico who took her arm and led her back to the dance floor without a single word.

  The look he had in his eyes for her had the butterflies in her stomach morphing into bats.

  ?

  The band was playing another slow number and he slid her into his arms as if she'd always belonged there.

  Her breath hitched again as he placed her hands around his neck.

  They fit perfectly and moved together, swaying in time to the music.

  When the band struck up a fast number, he spun her out and spun her back with a delighted smile as she laughed into his face.

  Then her breath caught as she recognised the raw desire in his eyes.

  Alexander's words swirled in her mind.

  She was playing with fire and she knew it. But wasn't it about time she lost the good girl image?

  "Nico ... I ..."

  His finger stilled her mouth, those amazing eyes burned into hers as he rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. An erotic, almost illicit little thrill shimmied up her spine.

  "That is the first time you have said my name," he said, his voice deep with an emotion she didn't recognise.

  When she raised an eyebrow, he rubbed her lip.

  "Say it again." Heat flooded her cheeks and she stared up at him, confused. "Say it again. Please, Bronte," he murmured in her ear, his breath sending tingles of desire across her cheek.

  "Nico."

  ?