When he wanted to sleep with a woman. She turned away, stared across the lobby feeling ridiculously old and prudish. She'd never thought she'd end up twenty-eight and celibate. When Charles proposed, she'd thought she’d have such a differ*ent life. She'd be a wife, lover and mother. Instead fate intervened and she'd become this. Tired. Worried. Worn,
"I can show you my suite, if you'd like," he offered.
They were standing in the hotel's grand lobby now, almost directly beneath the vast blue glass dome and Sam flashed him a look of disdain. "No, thank you."
Cristiano laughed, softly, seductively. He liked that flash of fire in her. It was a relief to know she wasn't always so grave and serious. And yet already the spark in her was gone, replaced by more quiet worry, the line of which was almost permanently etched between her fine brown eyebrows.
Last night she'd looked regal, a conquering warrior, and yet today in the morning light, dressed in her simple, sturdy tweed coat, her fair English complexion tinged pink and her blue eyes wide, round, he thought she looked very young, very English, and very scared.
Cristiano liked women, enjoyed women, but he didn't enjoy them scared.
He wanted Samantha, wanted to own her, possess her, but not trembling like a frightened puppy in his bed. He wanted a woman, a strong woman, with spirit.
"Well, you will see it," he said lazily, "the question is just— how soon?"
Sam was listening to him, she was, and yet his words didn't penetrate her brain.
Instead she watched his mouth move, the lips parting, shap*ing, and she found herself fascinated by the shape of his mouth, the hard lines of his face. He had a strong jaw, strong straight nose, fiercely black eyebrows and then there was that cleft in his square chin and two deep grooves on either side of his firm mouth. His eyes, thickly lashed, were neither green nor gold, but hazel, what ought to be an ordinary hazel but there was so much heat in his eyes, so much spirit and intelligence his eyes fairly snapped with energy. With life.
Again it struck her that he was awake. Alert
Alive.
Had she been with Johann so long she'd forgotten what it was like to speak to a man that really looked at her? Listened to her? Had she been so isolated these past four years she'd forgotten how men behaved?
"How soon until you see it, Baroness?"
Samantha blinked, knew she'd missed whatever question or point Cristiano had just said. "I don't know," she stammered.
He inclined his head, then turned, and walked through the hotel's grand lobby toward one of the sitting areas at the far end of the room.
Sam had to hurry to catch up with him as he walked. He was tall, broad shouldered, and his steps, long but measured.
"We must talk," she said breathlessly, trying to keep up with him.
Cristiano barely turned his head to look at her. "About what?"
She nearly sputtered in surprise. "You know perfectly well what I've come to discuss. It's barbaric. Inhumane. You don't gamble with people's lives, much less children's lives."
He slowed his pace as they reached the low velvet couches up*holstered in royal shades of purple, red and blue. "I don't gam*ble with lives. I prefer cash. Stocks. Real estate. Unfortunately your husband had just you left so he offered you up."
"You didn't have to be unscrupulous, Mr. Bartolo! You could have taken the higher, moral ground."
Cristiano's eyebrows lifted, one black eyebrow arching slightly higher than the other, and Sam thought he looked exactly the way the devil would, if the devil played cards. "And why would I want to do that, Baroness?"
06-12-07, 02:41 PM
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