The Italian's Perfect Lover
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A commitment-shy Italian count, who lives for the pleasures of the present, meets an archaeologist who’s obsessed with the past.
Falling for the perfectly handsome Alessandro Cavour, Count di Montecorvio Rovella, is the last thing archaeologist Emily Carlyle needs as she recovers from the physical and emotional scars inflicted by an ex-boyfriend. But she can't avoid him when she finds out he owns the estate where she's discovered an ancient Roman site.
Restoring one particular mosaic on the site has become an obsession with Emily – one which Alessandro can't understand. He has no interest in digging up the past because, despite appearances, he bears his own scars. Consumed by guilt over the death of his wife and son, commitment-shy Alessandro lives only for the pleasures of the present. But he hadn’t reckoned on falling in love. And love, he discovers, forces difficult choices...
Italian Romance
- The Italian’s Perfect Lover
- Seduced by the Italian
- The Passionate Italian
- An Accidental Christmas
Excerpt
Alessandro Cavour, Conte di Montecorvio Rovella, watched as the voluptuous blonde, who had just gate-crashed his party, popped a third piece of bruschetta into her mouth.
If she was trying to fit in she was going the wrong way about it. Women in his world barely ate; they wore only black—not a blood-red sheath—and curves were not an option.
“Shall I have her removed, sir?”
Alessandro shook his head and drank the last of his whisky, relishing its fire. He needed fire. He needed a diversion. And he’d just found one.
“No. Leave her to me.”
***
Where was he?
Emily Carlyle brushed the crumbs from her dress and anxiously scanned the room for the elderly count upon whom all her hopes were pinned.
She needed to mingle. God, how did she do that?
She needed to fit in. And she certainly didn’t do that.
Her hand rose to push her glasses more firmly on her nose before she remembered she’d left them off tonight. Not, she thought, peering around the room, that there had been any point.
She was surrounded by the cream of Neopolitan society: moneyed, elegant, perfect. And she was none of these things. And never would be.
She tugged the wrap more securely around her shoulders. She might not be ashamed of her imperfections but there was no reason to display them—not tonight—not when so much was riding on it.
Where the hell was he?
Suddenly she felt a chill of awareness slither down her spine: someone was watching her. She turned slowly to see a man—blurred a little at first—moving through the crowded room towards her, staring directly at her. When he came into focus she could see his coal-black eyes held both heat and cool control: predator’s eyes.
Her heart pounded once, fiercely, before settling into a fast tattoo that sent adrenalin racing through her veins, stimulating her body into a state of readiness. Fight or flight? At that instant, she could do neither.
Then the crowd parted and the man emerged and stood before her. There was nothing about his appearance that contradicted her first instinct. A predator took whatever he wanted and she knew this man could do just that. It wasn’t just that he was the most striking man she’d ever seen; it wasn’t simply that he was the most charismatic—although conversations had stalled in his wake and all eyes were on him; it was his difference to the others that signaled his power.
In a room of immaculately dressed people, this man stood before her disheveled and arrogant. His black tie hung loosely either side of his open shirt and his hair—raked back as if by careless fingers—hung in tactile curls on his collar. He either didn’t notice he was flouting convention or he didn’t care. She’d bet her life it was the latter.
This was a man who was used to getting his own way; this was a man who didn’t want to be here.
There, they had something in common.
She stepped back to move out of his way. Because she hadn’t lived twenty-six years without knowing that men, that gorgeous, didn’t make a bee-line for her.
But he also side-stepped so he stood squarely in front of her.
He looked even better close up. She was preternaturally aware of the textures on his face: a day’s worth of stubble, the lines that bracketed his mouth and of an errant curl that fell like a question mark on his forehead.
She swallowed hard.
That men like this existed, she’d never imagined. That one could be touching her arm, with an intimacy that sent shivers down her spine, was impossible.
“Scusi.”
“Sure, sorry,” she mumbled, stepping aside so he could pass.
He smiled. “No, signorina. It is you I’ve come to speak with.”
She could feel her eyes widen in shock and opened her mouth to reply only to find her voice had somehow diminished to a whisper.
“I think you’ve got the wrong woman.”
“Davvero?”
Her eyes dropped to his lips: amusement flickered at their corners.
She nodded. “Really.”
“And who would be the right woman?”
She shrugged. “Anyone else.”
He frowned. “Your husband or boyfriend is here?”
“No, I don’t have one.”
“Ah, then you are free to talk.”
Her irritation, at his presumption that a boyfriend would be the only reason why she wouldn’t want to talk with him, should have brought her back to her senses.
“But I don’t know you—”
“We can remedy that —”
“And I can’t think why you would want to speak with me. Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for someone else?”
“I always make it a point to speak to the most beautiful woman in the room. And if I’ve mistaken you for such, then perhaps it is because you are.”
The instinctive laugh froze on her lips. There was something about his manner, about his tone, about the expression in his eyes, which stopped her reacting with her usual self-deprecating humor.
She knew it to be a lie but how persuasive, how devastating, it was to hear such words addressed to her. She’d spent years avoiding her femininity, scared of being seen as an object. Bitter experience had taught her that objects could be owned and possessed and people did what they liked with their possessions, even tried to destroy them.
Now, she’d just walked straight into what she’d been avoiding all these years. And it thrilled her like nothing before.
He was like no-one before.
***
