Page 13 of Seduced by Her Fake Husband (The Martinelli Wedding #2)
Chapter Seven
I f the staff had done an incredible job turning the ballroom into a casino, magic had been used to transform it into this sensuous delight of deep red walls and even deeper red heavy drapes.
Not a sliver of natural light penetrated, all illumination coming from the gold and crystal chandeliers and the candles and heart-shaped lamps running the centre of the long tables laid out like a horseshoe around the dancefloor.
All the men, dressed in compulsory black tuxedos and masks, were lined up facing the ladies as they entered.
Their stillness would have been impressive if Luisa was capable of being impressed, but anticipatory sickness was churning too hard for her to think with any coherence.
She’d barely crossed the threshold when her heart lurched at the tall, dominating figure to the far left of the room, and she plucked out a number from a theatrical top hat without any thought.
“What number are you?” Marisa asked.
Luisa pulled her stare away from the tall, masked figure making her heart thump so wildly. “Sixty-four. You?”
“One hundred and six.”
Another gong rang out.
Time to take their seats.
Gennaro tried to pay attention to the gorgeous lady seated to his left and pretend he didn’t recognise her behind her mask as Sophia Silva, the brains behind a luxury goods empire.
The female guests all looked spectacular in their elaborate ballgowns and theatrical masks, but there was one woman, seated far on the other side of the ballroom, he couldn’t stop his eyes from seeking.
Wearing a low-cut black dress that fitted like a corset to her hips and then spread out like a fan to her feet, it was only when she walked that you saw the side splits in the skirt that ran to the top of her thighs.
With her glossy dark hair piled onto her head and elegant ringlets framing her face and blood-red lips below the black gothic mask she wore, she was the sexiest creature he’d ever seen.
His blood thickened every time their gazes locked across the room.
The first course finished, the gentlemen all selected a fresh number and moved to the corresponding seat. Gennaro’s seat took him further from her, the angle being so he could only see a glimmer of her profile.
After the fish course, it was all change again. When he rose to his feet, the woman’s head turned to him.
His next placement was beside the bride…
although, of course, he had to pretend not to recognise her too…
and a slightly better view of the beautiful woman.
Though he and Siena both made the effort of small talk whilst pretending not to recognise each other, all he could see was the man to the ravishing woman’s right, engaging her in conversation and making her laugh.
He was too far away to hear the sound of her laughter but he could imagine it, and his jaw clenched as he envisaged himself flying across the dancefloor to separate the man’s head from his body.
Their main course finished, Gennaro didn’t bother selecting a new placement number. He went straight to the ravishing woman in the corset dress and took the seat to her right.
With most of her face hidden behind an elaborate gothic black mask, her plump red lips were the only facial feature completely visible from a distance. This close, the large, dark brown eyes were clearly visible too, and when they locked onto his, a deep frisson snaked his spine.
“Enchanted to meet you…” He allowed his gaze only the smallest of darts to her placement number, “… number sixty-four. How are you enjoying your evening?”
The doe eyes flickered. Her reply was a cautious, “Very well, thank you.”
There was a tap on his shoulder. He turned his head to the suave male guest hovering behind him. “Yes?”
“I think this is my seat,” the man said apologetically.
He didn’t blink. “You’re mistaken.”
He turned his back to the hovering man without a second thought, put his elbow on the table to rest his chin on his knuckles, and locked the doe eyes in his stare again.
She was fingering the rim of her wine glass, gazing at him contemplatively. “Breaking the rules of the ball?”
He inched forward. “Some rules demand to be broken.”
There was another flicker in her dark eyes. Creamy golden cleavage and shoulders rose. Her graceful throat moved. “Who determines which rules should and shouldn’t be broken?”
He put his mouth to her ear and inhaled her skin.
She smelt like heaven.
“I do,” he whispered .
She drew back. The pulse at the base of her neck was jumping. “ You choose?”
“I choose which rules I’m prepared to break. It is for others to choose their own.”
Fresh glasses were placed before them. After red wine had been poured, Gennaro lifted his glass. “To breaking rules.”
Only by sheer strength of will did Luisa raise her glass without her hand shaking. “To choosing which rules one is willing to break.”
The glimmer of a smile played on his lips. “ Touché .”
They clinked their glasses together and drank.
“Tell me,” he said, “What did your last dining companion say that made you laugh?”
“You’ve been watching me?”
Of course he had. Luisa had felt Gennaro’s stare on her with every mouthful of food she’d forced into her tight stomach.
When their main course had been cleared away and he’d risen to his feet, she’d known he was going to come to her even before he’d crossed the huge dancefloor.
There had been such purpose in his steps and in his eyes that everything she’d managed to eat had churned violently.
And now he was sat beside her, a gold and black Venetian mask hiding much of his features, but, for the first time since she’d entered her parents’ living room to be given his proposal of marriage, the mask he’d always worn around her had been stripped away.
His black eyes were blatant in their intent and the intent was seduction.
Gennaro intended to seduce her, she could feel it right to the core of her being, could hardly breathe through the thrills of excitement rousing themselves in her.
Subconsciously, she’d known this was going to happen. Sick anticipation had been a living thing since that last lingering gaze in the bistro. And fear. Fear at how badly she wanted it to happen.
“I don’t imagine there’s a man here who hasn’t been.” His black eyes glimmered. “You are entirely ravishing… So tell me, what did he say to you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because you’re beautiful when you laugh.”
She arched an eyebrow and somehow managed to stop her thrashing heart from sounding in her voice. “Ravishing and beautiful in two sentences?”
“You don’t like compliments?”
“It depends on the context.”
“In what context do you like them?”
“I like them when I believe they’re coming from a place of sincerity.”
“As opposed to…?”
She forced herself to hold his stare and her composure. “As opposed to coming from a place with an end game in mind.”
“Everything a person does is with an end game in mind but that doesn’t mean compliments given to achieve an end game aren’t sincerely meant.”
Mercifully, the waiting staff chose that moment to deliver exquisitely presented chocolate tarts she would usually fall into raptures over.
She doubted she’d be able to manage a single mouthful.
It had been hard enough eating with Gennaro on the other side of the vast room, but with him sitting so close that his thigh was pressed against hers and with his molten eyes holding hers with such desirous intent and his scent swirling into her airwaves with each inhalation, her senses were going haywire.
God, he was just so divinely beautiful and so, so sexy. She hated him. Loathed him. Ached for him.
His body still angled to her, his attention fixed solely on her, he cut into his tart with the side of his spoon. “You still haven’t told me what your last dining companion said that made you laugh.”
She had to unscramble her brain to think. “He was telling me about his pet dog chewing his specially imported furniture.”
“You looked like you were enjoying his company.”
“I did enjoy it. Very much.”
His eyes narrowed a touch before he brought his mouth to her ear. “Would you have enjoyed it if he’d touched you?”
He’d barely finished asking the question when warm fingers slipped through the split in her dress to caress her naked thigh. The shock of his touch was so strong that she froze.
Molten eyes holding hers, he spooned another mouthful of chocolate tart into his mouth, chewing slowly while the fingers of his left hand made tiny circles on her thigh. “Would you have welcomed his touch?”
Although her external body was frozen, inside she was a giant throb of heat.
His mouth came back to her ear. Warm breath danced over her sensitised skin as his fingers tiptoed a little higher. “Would you have let him do this to you?”
Hot blood was roaring in her ears, and when he drew back, she gazed dazedly into his pulsing stare.
He spooned more chocolate tart into his mouth. His fingers tiptoed a little higher.
“Tell me about yourself, number sixty-four,” he said huskily, as if his hand wasn’t caressing her naked flesh. “What do you like to do? What is your passion?”
“I…” she could hardly speak. “I like to paint.”
“Let me guess… watercolour is your preferred medium and you paint illustrations?”
Her eyes widened in surprise .
His fingers tiptoed a little higher. “Illustrations for greeting cards and children’s picture books?”
They were the exact words needed to cut through the haze and bring Luisa back into the room. Snatching hold of his hand with every intention of pushing it away, she instead clasped it tightly. “How…?”
“It was always obvious to me that you would find a career in the world of art. My mother still keeps one of your illustrations in her study. She believes – and I agree with her – that one day it will be a collector’s item.”