LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER TWO

      CESARE EYED THE beautiful model across the table, a tightness in his body that came from the pleasurable spread of anticipation—the certainty that enjoyment was near at hand.

      He threw back a measure of the scotch, relishing the depth of its flavour, the aged quality that was full of spice. Cesare liked a good scotch—the finest. There were many things he could do without, many luxuries he could afford but rarely indulged in, because he’d spent much of his life doing without, sacrificing.

      But now he liked nice things, he liked them when he wanted them. Scotch. A great meal with a world-class view. Being able to get in his jet and fly wherever he wanted on a whim. And women. He liked women who were beautiful, interesting, experienced and sophisticated. He liked sex without strings, without complications, sex that could entertain him and satisfy him without requiring him to think about a woman once he’d left her bed.

      Jemima Woodcroft was undoubtedly all these things and he relished the chance to get to know her body, to pleasure her and delight in her before relegating her to the back of his mind, as he always did with women with whom he spent a night.

      His mind ran at its usual frenetic pace as he analysed the deal Laurence was desperately laying before him, but he was conscious of every single movement Jemima made, every shift of her body, flutter of her eyelids, purse of her lips.

      Despite the disastrous state of Laurence’s hedge fund, Cesare could see the value in the offering. There was a lot of chaff, but a few of the investments packaged in with the group were substantial. One in particular stood on the brink of making major market inroads, and there was value in that, value in investing at ground level. It was clear that Laurence didn’t understand what cards he held, or he would be shopping around instead of targeting one investor. If Cesare bailed, Laurence would be sunk.

      Good. Nothing suited Cesare better than a desperate negotiator. Desperation made people stupid.

      Cesare attributed his success in business to three factors. First, he left nothing to chance. He researched his business options aggressively, arming himself with every bit of information he could. Second, he was hungry in a way no amount of wealth could ever remove. Poverty as a child—so spectacularly in contrast to the extreme wealth that had surrounded him at the grand country houses in which his mother had worked—had left Cesare with a feeling that a blazing fire was always right at his heels, chasing him through life in a way that would never ease. True, it had turned him into a workaholic, but he didn’t see any problem with that. Finally, he obeyed his instincts as though his life depended on them.

      His instincts told him Jemima was going to be a fantastic lover; he was relishing the prospect of taking her to his bed, despite the fact he usually gave aristocrats a wide enough berth that he could land on the moon.

      Still, there was something about her, and it had nothing to do with her cousin’s predicament.

      Cesare’s instincts also told him Laurence was beyond desperate. He could smell the panic in the other man, feel it in his every frantic gesture, in the frequent glances he was shooting Jemima’s way, as though half-expecting her to intervene, to say something to help him.

      Jemima, though, was silent. Cesare couldn’t have said how she was feeling, or if she was regretting her earlier agreement. She was one of the few people he’d met in his life that he found difficult to read. Her body language was relaxed enough. She was leaning back in her chair, champagne glass resting loosely between her fingertips—the same glass she’d been sitting on all evening—her eyes following Laurence and then Cesare without making any attempt to join in their conversations.

      Knowing what was coming next, he was more than ready to put an end to this portion of the night. ‘Fine.’ He nodded, regarding Laurence carefully. ‘You have my interest.’

      ‘Your interest?’

      Cesare had to bite back a smile when he saw how crestfallen the British man was. The only reason he didn’t give vent to his amusement was that Jemima was watching him. He could feel her gaze on his face, and was well aware that she wouldn’t take kindly to him ridiculing Laurence’s expectations. Besides, despite a lifelong hatred for men like Laurence—spoiled, entitled British brats—there was something in Laurence that Cesare could almost have grudgingly come to like.

      ‘You don’t expect me to sign away five hundred million pounds on the spot, do you?’

      ‘I just think it’s a really rare opportunity,’ Laurence muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. ‘And you’re getting first option.’

      Cesare leaned forward. ‘Let’s not play with one another. I’m getting the only option.’

      Laurence’s face glowed pink. ‘No, I happen to have a couple of very cashed-up investors on the hook.’

      Now Jemima’s head swivelled towards Laurence and for the first time in at least thirty minutes she slipped up. Cesare saw the consternation

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