LITMIR.BIZ

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the first time in her life she experienced the bone-melting awareness at the touch of a man, a sensation that overwhelmed her, and she knew with a feminine instinct as old as time that this man could be her destiny.

      Charlie frowned. She wasn’t given to flights of fantasy and it scared her, plus her intense awareness of him was tempered by the distaste she felt that he had bought the nude. Gathering together the shreds of her control, she said, ‘Lovely, yes,’ then added dryly, ‘if you have a penchant for pictures of naked ladies.’

      ‘You show me a man who does not, Charlotte, and I will show you a liar,’ he said teasingly, his heavy lidded eyes sweeping over her beautiful face and lower to linger on the provocative thrust of her breasts. ‘Though I must admit, I much prefer the live variety.’ The brown eyes darkened, an unmistakable message in their depths, leaving Charlie more flustered than ever.

      She could not believe it. Jake d’Amato was flirting with her. She didn’t know how to respond so she simply smiled like some idiot teenager. She felt her nipples harden beneath the lace of her bra, and, hopelessly embarrassed, she blushed scarlet and was lost for words yet again.

      Jake d’Amato stilled. The sexual attraction visible in her brilliant blue eyes plus the invitation in the tight nipples starkly outlined beneath the fabric of her dress had an unexpected effect on his powerful body. It had been a long time since a woman had so instantly aroused him. That it should be this woman would have shocked him rigid—if he had not been rigid already for a much more basic reason.

      He did not like it. He had had every intention of putting her down in public. Revealing her as the selfish, money-grubbing parasite she was, and leaving. But suddenly that scenario no longer held such great appeal. Instead he found himself imagining what her lush lips would taste like—the high, firm breasts in his hands, in his mouth…and the only place he wanted to put her down was naked on a bed under him.

      He must be going crazy. The Summerville family were responsible for the untimely death of Anna Lasio, and for the grief of her parents. Embarrassing Charlotte was nothing compared to the turmoil the Summervilles had caused in what was the closest thing to a family Jake possessed. Given that Charlotte Summerville was not the young girl he had been led to believe, but a mature woman who should know better, a much more satisfactory course of action sprang to mind.

      He was here on business, with meetings lined up over the next fortnight. For once in his life combining business with pleasure held great appeal. Without conceit, he knew he was a good lover and it would be interesting to slowly seduce the lovely Charlotte until she was desperate to share his bed, as her father had done his foster-sister…

      Turning on the charm, he murmured softly, ‘Ah, I see I have embarrassed you, Charlotte.’ His dark eyes narrowed on her face. ‘You think I am some old lecher who spends his day ogling naked women, perhaps?’ he prompted, and noted the deepening flush in her pale cheeks with amusement. It was a long time since he had seen a woman blush and Charlotte Summerville did it beautifully. She played the innocent to perfection, even though he was sure she was anything but.

      ‘Let me set your mind at rest, Charlotte. I am a businessman first and foremost, and when I see a good deal I snap it up, whether it be a company or art. The painting is an investment. I do not wish to sound callous, but you, who sanctioned the exhibition, must be well aware work by a dead artist is much more marketable than that by a living one.’

      The ease with which he had read her thoughts was scary. But Charlie knew his cynical assessment was correct. ‘Yes,’ she murmured, finally finding her voice.

      ‘And let me reassure you…’ his deep voice thickened as he turned back to the painting ‘…this is the only nude I want to own. I believe it is your father’s best and last.’

      Following the line of his gaze, Charlie looked once more at the picture, in which her father had captured the mood of the woman perfectly.

      ‘Yes, she is beautiful,’ she agreed again. But, though it might be his best, she knew it wasn’t his last. There was a half-finished portrait in her possession of a red-headed woman. Determined to try and match his sophistication, she looked up at Jake. ‘But not, I think, his last,’ she said archly, and was about to tell him of Robert’s last affair in what she hoped was a sophisticated attempt to keep his interest. But her effort was wasted; he wasn’t listening. She saw the glazed look in his dark eyes, and reality hit her like a slap in the face. The man was transfixed by the portrait.

      But then, he had just paid a hefty amount of money for the picture—why wouldn’t he be fascinated? she told herself firmly. What was she thinking of, trying to impress a man she had just met? A man, moreover, who was captivated by the portrait of a luscious brunette. Where did that leave her, a very average blonde? Precisely nowhere, and she castigated herself for being a fool.

      Her first assessment had been right before she’d ever seen Jake d’Amato. He was certainly no fat old man. The very opposite—a more striking male would be hard to find. But as for the rest, she had been correct. He was wealthy—it was evident in the supreme confidence he displayed, and in every line of the designer suit right down to the handmade shoes, never mind the fact he had bought the painting. But that aside, she told herself firmly if a little regretfully, he was also the type of guy who got off on looking at pictures of nude women.

      Not her sort of man at all. She had been here far too long and it was scrambling her brain. She tightened her grip on her clutch bag and with a swift sidestep put some space between them.

      ‘Well, I wish you joy of your purchase, Mr d’Amato. Nice to meet you, but now I must be leaving.’ And, spinning on her heel, she dived headlong into the crowd before she made a bigger fool of herself than she already had.

      Safely in the ladies’ cloakroom, she studied her reflection in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her blue eyes unusually bright. She could not believe a man who was obviously from the same mould as her father could have such a startling effect on her, and it scared her witless. She had loved her dad, but only a complete idiot would willingly get entangled with a philanderer of the same ilk.

      The only reason Charlotte existed was because Robert Summerville, nineteen and studying art, had got her mother pregnant, and her parents had insisted they marry. It was probably the only time in his life Robert had been coerced into anything. When he had graduated two years later he had left wife and daughter with the maternal grandparents in the Lake District and gone to find his ‘true artist’s soul’. Charlie and her mother hadn’t seen him for three years, and only then to obtain the inevitable divorce.

      Charlie suddenly thought it was quite possible Jake d’Amato was also a married man, and she had been so overwhelmed by his effect on her she had behaved like a fool. How embarrassing was that? She needed to get back to her own world, and quick. A taxi back to the apartment her friend Dave had lent her, a simple dinner and an early night were what she needed, not swooning over some man. Straightening her shoulders, she walked out of the cloakroom, and hastily left the building.

      She stood on the edge of the pavement and glanced up and down the street. Not a taxi in sight. ‘Damn it to hell,’ she muttered.

      ‘Now is that any way for a lady to talk? Shame on you, Charlotte,’ a deep, dark voice drawled mockingly.

      Charlie spun around, and found herself only inches away from a large male body. ‘Mr d’Amato,’ she said coolly, but she could do nothing about the surge of colour in her cheeks.

      ‘Jake,’ he corrected. ‘Now what seems to be your problem, Charlotta? Maybe I can help.’

      The accented way he said her name was enough to give her goose bumps. ‘Most people call me Charlie, and I am trying to get a taxi back to my flat.’

      ‘Charlie is no name for a beautiful woman and I refuse to use it,’ he declared firmly. ‘As for the taxi, that is no problem.’ The smile accompanying his words held such devastating charm Charlie could not help smiling back. ‘My car is here.’ He gestured with one hand to the sleek navy blue saloon parked on double yellow lines about ten yards away. ‘I’ll take you wherever you want to go.’

      ‘Oh,

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