The Italian's Forbidden Virgin (Mills & Boon Modern) (Those Notorious Romanos, Book 2) Carol Marinelli (ebook reader with built in dictionary .TXT) 📖

His eyes never left her face as she continued to speak. ‘My mother has spent the last quarter of a century planning my wedding—any old billionaire will do—but I shall only marry for love.’ She smiled at him then and teased him a little. ‘Do you even know what that word means, Gian?’

‘No,’ he replied, ‘and I don’t care to find out.’

‘As is your prerogative, but it is mine to feel sad for the Duchess. What was her name?’

‘Violetta,’ Gian answered, ‘like...’ He hesitated, for he had been about to compare the name to Ariana’s eyes. For several reasons, that would not be a sensible thing to do. Neither was the way he was looking into them right now.

Yes, he had noticed the huskiness of her voice and the earlier batting of her eyelashes. There was a friction in the Ariana-scented air, and his hand wanted to know for itself the softness of her cheek—so much so that Gian had to focus on not lifting his hand and cupping her face.

Gian, despite his formidable reputation, had scruples, and to kiss her, as he now desired to, while still involved with Svetlana was not something he would do.

And, aside from that, this was Ariana Romano.

The daughter of a man he respected and the little sister of his lifelong friend. And soon to be an employee. A casual affair she could never be, and that was all Gian wanted or knew.

Ariana Romano was completely off limits.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘VIOLETTA.’ ARIANA REPEATED the name of the forgotten Duchess while gazing into his eyes. ‘That’s beautiful.’

She practically handed him a response—and so are you—except Gian refused to rise to the bait.

Or rather he fought not to rise.

They stood facing each other in the doorway, their bodies almost as close as when they danced their one duty dance each year at the Romano Foundation Ball.

And he was as turned on as he had been while holding her in that dress of silver.

Of course it had been more than an educated guess, for she had looked utterly stunning that night.

Gian was well aware of his past with women.

And he was decided on his future too.

Casual, temporary, fleeting, there were many ways to describe the nature of his relationships, except entering into any of the above with Ariana was an impossible concept. If they were seen out more than a couple of times the press would soon get hold of it and her mother would too. As much as Angela resented Gian for holding Rafael’s second wedding here, she would forgive him in an instant to have a title in the family.

No, there could be no kisses, though certainly the moment was ripe for one...

‘What?’ Ariana said. She could feel a sudden charge in the air, a slight frisson that had her on her guard. She assumed he was displeased and wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t have brought up the Duchess’s name, or been so derisive of Fiordelise.

Ariana could not read men.

Well, not real men, which Gian undoubtedly was.

She could read fake men, who wanted to be seen with her just for appearances’ sake. And though she tried to convince herself they cared, she could never bring herself to take it beyond anything other than a tasteless kiss.

Despite popular gossip, Ariana was completely untouched.

Her flirting was all for the cameras.

No, she could not read this man, who stared into her eyes and gritted his jaw and, in the absence of experience, she assumed he was displeased. ‘I’ve offended you,’ Ariana said. Completely misreading the tension, she shrugged, not caring in the least if she had upset him by refusing to rave about the mistress, Fiordelise.

‘You haven’t offended me,’ Gian said, snapping back into business mode. ‘I’m just telling you the history of the place—as you asked.’

‘Well, I’ve enjoyed hearing it.’

It was nice to be here with Gian.

Nice to have a conversation that was about more than the latest fashion or who was sleeping with whom.

It was, quite simply, nice.

‘Tell me more,’ Ariana said, walking back through to the master bedroom and resuming her place on the lounge. Bending over, she pulled on one of her suede stilettoes.

‘There’s not much more to tell.’

‘Liar.’ She smiled and caught his eye. ‘Go on,’ she persisted, ‘tell me something that no one else knows.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Why wouldn’t you?’ she asked, peering up at him through her eyelashes as she wedged the other shoe on.

Usually, Gian could not wait to get out of the Penthouse Suite, yet Ariana was so curious and the company so pleasing that he decided the world could surely wait and he told her a titbit that very few knew. ‘The Duke had a ring made for Fiordelise.’

‘A ring?’ That got her interest and Gian watched as her pupils dilated at the speed of a cat’s. ‘What was it like?’

‘It is the insignia of the hotel,’ Gian told her. ‘The Duke would only ever let her look at it, though; she never once put it on. He held onto it on the promise that one day he would marry her.’

‘I’m liking the Duke less and less,’ Ariana said, smiling.

‘Then you’ll be pleased to know that when the Duchess died and he offered Fiordelise the ring, she declined it.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. By then she had fallen in love with a servant. The old Duke was too tired to be angry, and too embarrassed by her rejection to ever admit the truth. Fiordelise saw out her days in her boudoir with her manservant tending to her needs...’

‘Good for her.’ Ariana smirked.

‘Don’t tell the guests, though.’

She laughed, and it sounded like a chandelier had caught the wind.

Right there, in the presidential suite of his signature hotel, something shifted for Gian.

Ariana was more than beautiful.

And she was more complex than he had known.

More, he admired her for the mutinous act of trying to shed her pampered existence—with conditions of course. ‘Come on,’ he said, trying to keep the reluctance