The Surprise Conti Child

Her head jerked up, the gravelly voice tugging at her nerves.

Leandro Conti stared down that aquiline bridge of his nose. Neon blue lighting from the strobes cast blue shadows on his narrow, angular face, teasing her with flashes of his thin-lipped mouth.

The scowl on his brow straightened her spine. “Are you implying that I’m not good enough to wear your exalted designer shoes?”

“I do not imply.”

“You’re a jerk, Mr. Conti.”

His gaze flitted down over her neck, and her body tightly encased in a sheath dress she’d borrowed from Valentina. Even the stretchy fabric couldn’t make much of her nonexistent curves.

But under his stare, Alex felt scorched, marked.

“And you...are playing hard at being a grown-up. Unsuccessfully, I might say.”

“Damned if I do, and if I don’t, with you. At least three men wanted to take me home tonight,” she taunted recklessly, even as hurt pierced her, “so I say take your unwanted, stuffy opinion—”

His fingers tightened over her waist, but never hurting. Though his expression remained coolly remote. Alex wondered if his grip told more truth about him than his words. “Ah... I didn’t realize your goal was so low.

“Did my fashion-genius brother not advise you that those sturdy jeans and neon pink sneakers suit that innocent, American girl-next-door image of yours to perfection? It is the perfect lure.”

His infuriating attitude scraped. But the thing that her juvenile mind focused on was that he remembered her neon pink sneakers.

“Of all the faults I attributed to you, being a snob wasn’t one.”

“What did you attribute to me then?”

“Arrogance. Cynicism. As much feeling as a rock.”

He let her go then, almost shoving her away from him. As if she’d hurt him.

Alex tottered again on the heels. Her ankle throbbed.

His arm shot out again, accompanied by pithy Italian she was glad she couldn’t understand. Her body felt ragged, as if someone else controlled her limbs.

“Should you be drinking when you’re among strangers in a foreign country?”

The sharp, almost caustic tone of his words, fortunately, canceled out the sensuous web she fell into.

Oh, he made her so mad. And bold. And hot. As if every inch of her skin was on fire, hungry, desperate to be quenched with his touch.

“I had one...one glass of wine.” But since she’d barely eaten anything all day, it had gone straight to her head. “Not that I need to explain myself to you. Back off.”

One eyebrow rose in that imperious face. Arrogance dripped from the man even when he didn’t understand her. “Back off?”

His palm was a heated brand on her lower back while he was a fortress of wiry strength in front. Men she’d met at college were boys compared to Leandro Conti. Ergo, her utter lack of sophistication in handling him. “Leave me alone. You’re not my keeper, something in that vein.”

“So do you have a keeper, back home? I don’t think they’re doing a good job of looking after you.”

“What is this? The sixteenth century?” she quipped.

He wasn’t particularly amused but there was a gleam in those gray depths. An infinitesimal softening of that mouth. “You’re not quite the lost little waif I thought, are you?”

She forced a laugh to cover up the tingling she felt all over. He smelled so good, like the most decadent dark chocolate with a bitter edge to it. The one that clung to the senses long after it was consumed. The one you glutted on knowing it was going to settle into your thighs and hips. “Is it impossible for you to speak without being insulting?”

“You will not get sweet words from me, Ms. Sharpe. Barely eighteen and roaming a foreign country, staying with strangers. You might as well hang a Take Me sign around your neck. I’d never let Valentina—”

The barb landing sharp, Alex spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m twenty and I’m not Valentina.”

She’d die before she admitted that, since that first night that Valentina had brought her to the Conti Villa, all she had thought of was him. That it was his dismissive look that’d had her borrowing Valentina’s dress.

That it was his attention, his gaze that she had sought from day one. That the thought of leaving, of going back to her dull existence without knowing his kiss, his touch, haunted her.

“And Valentina and Luca are my friends, even if—”

“If you consider my brother a friend, if you mistake his intent toward you,” he said, as his nostrils flared, and she wondered if he was disgusted or angry or both, “you’re more foolish than I assumed. I should have never let Valentina bring you to the villa.”

“You find my presence so objectionable that you’re avoiding the villa, aren’t you?”

She hadn’t meant to betray that she’d noticed his absence. But he didn’t deny her claim either.

Hurt was a thorn nestled deep into her skin.

“Luca and I...we understand each other perfectly,” she added defiantly.

Although he was right.

A day after she had arrived at their villa, Luca had cornered her twice, teased her, kissed her. Made it clear within an hour that he’d love to make it more. Alex had a feeling Luca would take any woman to bury whatever lingered under that easy charm. And just as easily discard her the next morning.

But she hadn’t been tempted, at all. Alex felt nothing even as she admitted that Luca was sex on legs.

The man in front of her however...he made her feel naked and languid and achy all over, with just one look from those gray depths. For all his grating politeness, he made her feel as if he saw her, the Alexis that wanted to pack a lifetime of adventure into one short summer.

Why, she’d no idea.

“Have you already slept with him then?”

If she’d been a violent person, if the amused glint in his eyes hadn’t lulled her, Alex would’ve slapped him then. Instead, she slowly but firmly pushed his hand away and threw him a disgusted look. “Is this your job then? Follow around the women Luca tangles with and silence them with a dirty payoff—”

“I didn’t intend to offend you,” he offered roughly, and Alexis almost believed that he hadn’t meant to. That it was curiosity rather than judgment in his tone.

She had it bad, if she was justifying his cheap remarks...

“Could there be a different intention?”

“You don’t know Luca like I do. And you are...”

“I’m what, Mr. Conti? The stereotypical American slut? Easy? Weak enough for you to insult without knowing the first thing about me?”