“Red?”
Matteo gave Bryce a startled glance. “Yes,” he answered slowly when Bryce returned his gaze innocently. “Her features are delicate, and dominated by eyes of the deepest—”
“Green?”
He glared at the other man. “What the hell, Bryce?”
His brother-in-law grinned. “Don’t worry, I haven’t suddenly become psychic.” He gave Matteo’s shoulder a squeeze. “There’s a woman standing over in the doorway I’m pretty sure wasn’t on our guest list, which leads me to suspect she might be on yours.”
Matteo, having turned sharply to look toward the doorway and seen an uncertain Grace glancing nervously about the room, was no longer listening to the other man. Instead, he was already halfway across the room, intent on getting to Grace before she turned tail and ran, which, from her deer-in-the-headlights expression, she looked set to do any second.
Until she saw him walking toward her.
The look of relief and the smile that then lit up her face caused a warmth to spread and grow in Matteo’s chest.
He reached out to grasp both her hands in his as soon as he was close enough to do so. “You came.”
Color brightened the pallor of her cheeks. “Well, let’s try to avoid me doing that in the middle of your sister’s wedding reception, shall we?”
Matteo chuckled. “I’m not guaranteeing anything with you looking this beautiful.” He admired her appearance in the calf-length dark green gown that hugged her slender curves, and the green high-heeled sandals that added another three inches to her height. Her hair cascaded in a riot of loose red curls over her shoulders and down her spine. As usual, she wore little makeup, but then, she didn’t need to. Her complexion was naturally creamy, her lashes long and dark, and her lips a deep rose color. “No, I’m definitely not guaranteeing anything,” he repeated gruffly.
Grace had absolutely no idea what she was doing here.
She had felt relieved yesterday when Matteo left the bookstore. Had listened to Carla after the other woman came to her office and listed all the illegal things and the killings Matteo had ordered carried out, or was believed to be personally responsible for, and why Grace should stay well away from him.
Grace already knew, or had guessed, most of that.
Yet she still hadn’t been able to stop tormenting herself with thoughts of Matteo.
Last night, when she was alone in her apartment.
This morning, when she woke up.
Later, working at the bookstore.
This afternoon, once she was at home again.
All the time knowing he was at his sister’s wedding and she had an open invitation to join him there.
Matteo’s business card, which Grace had yesterday thrown in the bin before taking it out again and stashing it out of sight in the card section of her purse, had seemed to silently mock her.
By five thirty she’d had enough of tormenting herself. By six o’clock, she’d taken the business card from her purse to look on the back of it, where Matteo had written down exactly where he would be today and when. By seven o’clock, she had already taken a bath and changed into the one dress she had which she thought suitable for a wedding reception. A cab had dropped her off outside this hotel at exactly seven fifteen.
Which was when Grace had taken a deep breath and paused to ask herself what on earth she was doing here when she’d spent years distancing herself from men like Matteo.
The answer was all too obvious.
Matteo admitted to being obsessed with her, and Grace now had to accept that, no matter how irresponsible or ill-advised it was on her part, she was just as obsessed with him. Why else would she have responded so wantonly on both occasions he had made love to her?
The men she’d dated since moving to England had been mild-mannered and…well, nice, but also bland. Deliberately so. She’d already had, Grace thought, all the excitement she ever wanted in her life.
But Matteo refused to be banished from her thoughts, nor could she deny the physical response those wayward thoughts of him engendered. Her nipples hardened. Her heartbeat raced. Her breathing became labored. Between her thighs—God, between her thighs ached, and her juices wet her panties rather than just dampened them.
So she had stood on the pavement outside, gazing up at the glass-and-chrome frontage of the exclusive hotel, knowing she should leave. Instead, her sandaled feet had moved of their own volition and taken her inside the building rather than away from it. Once inside, there had been clear directions to the wedding reception of Bryce and Bella. Directions that Grace, keeping her mind deliberately blank, had simply followed.
“You look very handsome in your wedding regalia,” she now complimented Matteo.
Because he did: the light-gray morning suit and dark waistcoat, matched with a white shirt and pale blue cravat, were all tailored perfectly to his muscular shoulders and chest and the trimness of his waist. Most men who were part of an official wedding party hired their wedding suits on the basis they would probably never wear it again, but Grace had a feeling that didn’t apply to Matteo. The formal clothing fit him too well and the cloth looked too expensive to have come from a hire shop.
Matteo tucked one of her hands into the crook of his arm and held it there. “Let me introduce you to Bella and Bryce, and then I’d like to dance with you. Okay?”
Grace’s stomach gave a jolt at the suggestion of meeting Matteo’s sister and her new husband, but it was the thought of dancing with Matteo that caused her heart to race and between her thighs to heat. The fluidity in the way he moved told her he would be an excellent dancer. “Okay,” she heard her husky reply.
Grace’s nervousness increased as they moved through the crowded room to where she could see the bride in her beautiful white wedding gown. Over by the stage, where the musicians were getting ready to
