Chapter Ten
Bronte was hungry all right and it wasn't for food.
Her brain refused to compute.
She moved like an automaton as he led her to the table, sat her in a chair and poured her champagne.
He sat opposite and gazed as if fascinated into her eyes.
"Tell me about your life, your hopes and dreams, Bronte."
She simply stared at him.
Marshalling her thoughts from a brain still buzzing with the toxic mix of arousal and disappointment, she wondered how on earth she was going to handle this man. What on earth had she been thinking? She hadn't been thinking that was the trouble. Her hormones and a complex, attractive man had got the better of her.
Those dark eyes studied her over the rim of his glass and Bronte felt like an insect pinned to a specimen board.
The selection of food; smoked salmon, tender loin of lamb and vegetables looked wonderful and she was sure it must taste wonderful too. In her mouth it tasted of sawdust. If only she was more experienced and a woman of the world who could handle a man like Nico. If only she was a little more street-wise instead of a provincial fool completely out of her depth and behaving like an unsophisticated moron.
"I am surprised you are not married."
The question brought her head up. Okay he wanted to chat; she could do that, no problem.
"I had a narrow escape."
Nico speared a pepper and drew back to study her face.
"What happened?"
"Things didn't work out."
"Why?"
Carefully Bronte set down her knife and fork. She didn't want to do this with this man, not now, not ever. What business was it of his? Anger and frustration curled in her stomach.
"He's moved on." Her eyes stayed on his. "These days I feel a certain amount of ambivalence about marriage. Anyway, what about you? Any family?"
She caught his surprise, the flash of pain and realised she'd touched a nerve.
His gaze clouded.
"I have no family." The words were spoken as a challenge. "We are talking about you."
The look in his eye warned her to step back. He couldn't have it all his own way. It simply wasn't healthy. Someone needed to take a stand against his incredible will.
She ploughed right on.
"No, you are talking about me. I'm talking about you. No mother, father, siblings?"
He shot her a look of smouldering impatience mixed with something dark she couldn't identify.
"My mother died when I was ten. I never knew who my father was."
Immediately contrite, her hand found his. Easy sympathy for him flooded her heart; she knew exactly how it felt not to know her biological father.
"Oh, Nico, I am so sorry. What happened?"
He pulled his hand from hers and picked up his glass, took a sip and stared at her with eyes that had gone so cold she shivered.
"I was a child. It is not something I care to discuss. As I said, we are talking about you."
She held his stare and their eyes clashed. Okay, have it your way, she thought. With a bravado she knew she didn't possess, she shrugged.
"What would you like to know?"
"Did you love him?"
Thrown by the blunt question, Bronte opened her mouth and then found herself being totally honest.
"I don't know. At the time I must have thought so or I wouldn't have said yes to his proposal. He's incredibly attractive and intelligent with the fidelity of a tom-cat. He thought my family had money, which made him a fool and me an even bigger one for believing in him. I suppose it's better to find out before we tied the knot rather than after."
She heaved in an unsteady breath and sampled a sliver of lamb.
"He cheated on you?"
His shocked tone made her smile and feel marginally better.
"Apparently, with the girl who is now his wife. I learned something very interesting about myself too."
His eyes never left her face. "Which was?"
"I don't forgive betrayal."
Nico ran his tongue over his top teeth, picked up his glass and sat back.
"What did you do?" A gleam entered his eye as a hot flush rose to her cheeks.
Licking her lips, she stared at her plate.
"Well, he asked for his ring back and the way he did it and the things he said, I ..." She took another breath.
"What did you do, Bronte?"
Her eyes met his - she spoke very fast,
"I sold my two carat princess cut diamond set in white gold on eBay for ten pounds."
His shout of laughter gave her a jolt. As did the soft kiss he pressed to the back of her hand.
"Good girl."
She merely shrugged and nibbled delicately on another piece of lamb.
"He got his own back. He has a clever tongue and a sly charm. People think I started Sweet Sensation because I'm destitute and have no other skills to fall back on. They also believe I'm single and I don't date because he broke my heart and I'll never get over him."
"Hmm, so is that why you went out on a date last night? To prove that you are over him?"
Heat flared into her cheeks.
"No. Apparently Anthony's sister approached Rosie."
He took a sip of wine, watching her over the rim of his glass.
"Is Rosie the type of friend that would say you were, and I quote, gagging for it?"
With a shocked gasp, she stared at him. Any guilt she might have felt that Nico had hurt Anthony drained away.
"Of course not. Is that what he said?"
He nodded. "He is a man who cannot hold his liquor. You should have no trouble from him." That piercing look was back in his eyes. "Why are you single and do not date?"
He had her there. Of course there was no way she could tell him the truth.
That she had too much emotional baggage to take into a relationship. That until she knew who she was and where she came from and made some sort of peace with it, how could she commit herself to a man?
Mind a complete blank. She said the first thing that came into her head,
"I suppose I'm looking not to get hurt. As I said, I will never marry."
"I don't believe you."
"Excuse me?"
Nico merely shrugged at her icy tone.
"You are not a coward, you will love again. And you would make a wonderful wife."
She ignored the weight pressing on her lungs at the wonderful wife comment and forced herself to keep her tone light.
"To be honest, I'm too busy to date. Work keeps me sane."
"You make wedding cakes and attend weddings. Yet you say you will never marry." He took another sip of his wine. "It makes no sense." He placed the glass on the table. She watched his fingers as they found hers.
Nico appeared to be genuinely interested.
But then her track record in reading men was not one to be proud of was it? Her fianc?'s scathing remarks about her lack of sexual experience and the things he'd told her he needed from a 'real' woman still had the ability to make her feel physically ill.
She wouldn't fall for the charming routine, not again.
"You have smooth moves, Mr Ferranti." Bronte removed her hand and clenched it in her lap to stop the trembling. "My love life and how I live my life is none of your business."
"So, why wedding cakes?" He persisted.
"It makes me happy. I don't suppose you would understand that."
"You are not happy?"
Frustrated with him in more ways than one, Bronte took a breath and tried to explain.
"It's about capturing the moment. You know, when they hold hands and cut the cake and the look in his eyes for her. It's special."
He smiled in a way that brought her back up.
"Ah, you are a romantic. The trouble is these things never last."
Stung, she glared at him.
"There are no guarantees in life." She should know. "But I'm a part of the celebration of their love, the promises and the dreams.
"
He gave her a level look.
"And you do not want that for yourself?"
"I thought I had it for myself."
Something bitter lodged in her throat. Fury buzzed in her ears. She threw her napkin on the table. She'd had it all; the career, a close and happy family and a wonderful man who was safe, she thought. The road to their future all mapped out in front of them. Then the horror of losing her parents; the rejection from the man who said he loved her, the letter from her dead mother, the terrible discovery that...
The unexpected softness in his eyes as he watched her struggle to come to terms with her demons was an appalling temptation. Bronte almost wanted to tell him. This man was a complete stranger to her, so why did she feel the need to unburden herself to him of all people? It must be the wine she rationalised.
Trembling, she rose. "I'm leaving."
He moved fast as she headed for the door, caught her and turned her into his arms.
"I am sorry for prying. I did not mean to upset you." He muttered into her hair as she closed her eyes.
No way was Bronte going to let him cut through her defences. He was an expert at seduction. She could sense it. She couldn't think clearly when he touched her.
Nico caught her face between his hands, dark eyes searched her face and his thumb rubbed her bottom lip.
Bronte almost groaned, had to clench her jaw to remain calm.
"I am sorry," he said.
Bronte read the truth and genuine regret in those grey eyes before she nodded and he let her go.
"I'm going home."
"Let us go dancing instead. What do you say?"
For the first time in her life, Bronte honestly felt that she was simply not on the same page as another human being. He'd kissed her as if she was the most wonderful woman in the world and then stepped back. She'd just unravelled in front of him. She'd barely been able to restrain herself from spilling out grief, sadness and fear. And now he wanted to go dancing? The man gave her emotional whiplash.
She swayed on her feet while he watched her with a gentle intensity. Why did he have to look so gorgeous? Those eyes, they hypnotised her and made her forget everything but the need to be with him. She let out a barely audible sigh and told herself she was a bloody fool.
"That would be nice."