Page 8 of ‘I Do’ for Revenge

His body tightened in response.

Not appropriate.

It hadn’t been then, and it wasn’t now.

She said, ‘Actually, maybe a sandwich, please.’ Then almost as an afterthought, she said, ‘And some sausages, if that’s okay.’

Vito picked up the phone and made a call, then put it down again. She was hovering by the door, still in her jacket. ‘Sit down, Flora. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?’

With almost palpable reluctance she came back in and perched on the edge of one of the sofas.Notthe reaction Vito was used to from women.

‘A glass of water, thank you.’

Vito went to the lavishly stocked mini-bar and took out some water for her and a small bottle of whiskey for himself. He put the drinks in glasses and came back over, handing her the water. He said, ‘If you want something stronger, let me know.’

She shook her head. ‘No, this is fine, thank you.’ She took a gulp of water.

Vito noticed something and cursed softly. ‘You’re still bleeding.’

She lifted her hand and blood was trickling down her finger. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise—’

Vito was already on the phone issuing an order. He put the phone back down and said, ‘Come into the bathroom, let me see it.’

Flora was rummaging through her bag clearly looking for something. ‘It’s fine, I have another tissue here somewhere—’

‘Flora—’

Her head came up and she looked at him.

He said, ‘Let me see it, please.’

Flora lifted off her bag and stood up. Vito went into the bathroom and turned on the light. She followed him in.

He said, ‘Give me your jacket.’

She slipped it off and he draped it over the back of the door. Then he took her hand in his and peeled off the makeshift tissue bandage. He muttered, ‘Didn’t they have any plasters?’

‘I didn’t hang around to find out. The boss wassoangry.’

Vito looked at Flora. This close, he could see freckles across her nose. It felt curiously intimate. Her cheeks went a little pink.She wanted him.Vito was used to women wanting him but this was different. He sensed she’d never admit it, never mind use it.

She said, ‘What is it? Have I got something on my face?’

Once again he was struck by how...pretty she was. With no make-up or adornment. Huge eyes. Long lashes. Those cheekbones. A mouth that was pure provocation, lips full and soft.

How had he not noticed before?

He knew how—because he’d been so fixated on her uncle.

He shook his head. ‘No, there’s just something...different about you.’

With visible self-consciousness, she touched her head with her free hand. ‘It’s probably my hair. I don’t straighten it any more. Can’t afford to. And I never could do it myself.’

Vito could see that it looked a little wild, with curly tendrils close to her hairline. He curbed the urge to free it and see it spill over her shoulders. He turned on the cold tap and put her finger under the water, hearing her intake of breath.

There was a knock on the door outside. Vito said, ‘Hold it there until I get back.’

He could have sworn he heard a muttered‘yes, sir’, but he went out and opened the door and admitted the room-service attendant who had arrived with a trolley containing the food and a first-aid kit.

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