‘Well. You know. It’ll be-a meeting. Dinner between two adults.’
‘Two adults,’ he echoed musingly. ‘Would that be two consenting adults, tesoro?’
‘No, it would not,’ she snapped. ‘It would be two adults with a-a situation to resolve.’
As the door closed Alessandro’s smile faded, and he turned to the window and stared down at the George Street traffic. He should have known when the Sydney takeover flashed up on the head office radar that Fate was somehow involved.
However he looked at it, whether she liked it or not, he was tied to Lara Meadows.
And her child.
He wondered idly who the child resembled. Probably took after her mother. It was to be hoped so, although surely he’d read that the dark-coloured gene was more likely to be dominant in determining eye colour. He would hardly be human not to be curious.
It would be a pity, if a man happened to have created a child, just one small soul among all the zillions that had ever existed, never to see its face.
Her face.
Lara tottered back to her desk and collapsed in her chair to plan what she would wear. Not that it was important. She wasn’t trying to beguile him, or anything. There was no point, if he was flying back to the other side of the world in the not too distant future.
Of course, if there’d been any possibility of him staying she might have considered having another shot at it. He still seemed very attracted, while she…And he was gorgeous, he made her heart race like a mad thing, and- She put her hands to her face.
He was the father of her child.
Funny how last night he hadn’t wanted to hear a thing about Vivi, while today…
Today she could have sworn he’d listened closely to everything she said.
CHAPTER NINE
FIVE o’clock took an eternity to arrive. Lara was first out the door, knowing she had to run for the early train home, see Vivi settled with Greta, try to make herself gorgeous, and rush back into town.
She only hoped her little black dress would be good enough. She’d loved it when she bought it for the staff dinner, but the woman Alessandro had chosen to marry, be it ever so briefly, was a fashionista of the first order. How could she compete with that? Single mothers couldn’t afford Milano dresses, and a man of his sophistication would be sure to realise her dress’s lack of pedigree.
But there wasn’t much choice. It was either the black or a tea-dress she’d worn to a wedding the year before.
She made an impatient gesture at herself. How pathetic she’d become, worrying about this kind of detail when six years ago she’d hardly given a thought as to whether Alessandro admired her clothes. It had been enough then that he’d appreciated her in whatever she wore.
Well, seemed to. Last night had certainly felt like appreciation. The trouble was, it had knocked her completely off-balance. How had a tense, serious situation reignited such smouldering passion? And there was no use blaming Alessandro. In her heart she had to acknowledge she’d been equally aroused. Perhaps, on his side, it was just the inevitable hangover from the past, but on her side the sweet old painful feelings lingered on. Trouble was, heartbreak was wrapped up with them now.
Still, somehow her emotions had to be put aside for Vivi’s sake. Whatever happened tonight, she couldn’t forget its significance for Vivi’s future.
Later, though, surveying herself in her black lacy bra, undies, and sheer, silky stay-up stockings, in spite of her resolutions her excitement jumped a notch. They looked right, as if the real Lara Meadows, the sexy, feminine Lara, who wasn’t afraid to be frivolous with clothes, had been called up and given a last brief chance at life.
Vivi looked on with big, solemn eyes as she paraded herself in front of the mirror, only just restraining herself from giving her hips a wiggle.
The babe was back.
She slipped on the dress. It was a dramatic sheath that fell to just above her knees, with a simple but stunning reliance on her curves for shape. The sleeves were elbow length, and, though it wasn’t a wild plunger, the bodice dipped to reveal a generous glimpse of cleavage. At least she had a cleavage now, thanks to her darling.
She hardly ever wore earrings for fear of drawing attention to the scar tissue that travelled from behind her ear, down her nape almost to her shoulder, but the dress demanded them. After a quick search she fastened in some pearls that nestled in her lobes. Hair swinging halfway to her waist, stockings, stiletto heels, eyeshadow, red lipstick…She should pass, shouldn’t she?
Saying her goodbyes to Vivi in the kitchen where Greta was preparing dinner, she tried to act as if it were any other evening out and she weren’t stirred up with an excitement that bordered on fever.
‘And don’t worry, Mum. I’ll make sure I’m back before eleven. You’ll have plenty of time to make your shift.’
As she let Vivi slide to the floor Greta said casually, ‘Do you think he might change his mind?’
Lara restrained herself from glancing down at Vivi. For a second she held her breath. ‘I don’t know. Last night-I wouldn’t have thought so. Today-I can’t predict.’ She met Greta’s all-too-perceptive eyes. ‘I know, I know. But Venice is a long way from here, Mum. Think of that.’
And she had to remember what tonight was all about, she thought, slipping on her black coat. She really needed to cool it. Trouble was, it was overwhelmingly clear to her now that she’d only been half alive for the past six years. It was impossible not to look forward to seeing him, to relish meeting him at the Seasons just like before, fired up with the old anticipation that felt so much like joy.
If only she remembered to keep control of herself, stick to the script and not-not-agree to go upstairs to his room.
As she closed the front door behind her she noticed a sleek black limousine parked across from the house, dominating the smaller cars parked along the narrow street with its size. Heavens. One of those air hosties had landed a big one.
As she reached the gate the driver got out and, to her bemusement, started crossing the street to her. When he reached the footpath on her side he said, with a respectful tilt of his cap, ‘Miss Meadows?’
Oh, God.
Alessandro stepped from the lift and strolled across to the bar. He was early, but he wanted to catch sight of Lara first. He chose a stool at one end that gave him a strategic view of the entrance.
The bartender glanced at him, but Alessandro shook his head. Not yet. He needed a clear brain.
He glanced at his watch, musing on times he’d met her here before. She’d rush through those glass doors, all lit up as if switched on with some internal glow. It had seemed to him that she stood out in any crowd-he’d always been certain other men must notice her and would try to win her away from him. At that time he’d seemed to possess some magic faculty that had helped him to sense her presence in a room, even before he’d actually seen her.
As if to taunt him, something drew his gaze to the door, and held it fast while his pulse jumped. She was there, paused inside the entrance, taking her bearings and unbuttoning a black coat that came to her mid-calf, somehow emphasising the slenderness of her legs and fine slim ankles.
He was aware of that rare sensation in his chest.
She caught sight of the bar and started to make for it, the chandeliers catching the gloss of her hair, expectation in her face. After last night, he was noticing the changes in her. She wasn’t the giddy girl she’d been when he first knew her, always rushing, bubbling over with exuberance. He could see now she walked with a graceful, womanly glide, the confidence of maturity in her steady gaze.
But she still had the glow, he recognised with a quickening of his blood, seeing her search for him, her eyes
