He leaned closer so his warm breath whispered against her earlobe, ‘What is?’
She turned her face slightly so the tip of her nose brushed his cheek and inhaled his musky skin. ‘That I’ve lost my appetite for food.’
‘Do you have an appetite for something else?’
It took all her strength not to dart her tongue out and lick him.
She clenched the insides of her thighs, as if that action would be anywhere near enough to reduce the heat swirling and pulsing in her pelvis. Every cell in her body danced with awareness...
‘Enjoying the dinner?’
In the flash of a moment Aislin was pulled back to earth.
She turned her head to Riccardo D’Amore, who stood behind them, well aware she was blushing like a teenager.
She forced her attention away from Dante’s hot body and the things he was doing to her to the here and now.
Riccardo had made a beeline for them during this sumptuous meal, giving them an excellent opportunity to seal the validity of their relationship in his mind and for her to charm him for Dante’s sake.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have a clue how to charm anyone, and reminded herself that Dante only wanted her to be her. Which was just as well, seeing as she didn’t know how to be anyone else.
She would have to blag it.
For Dante’s sake she would blag it to the best of her ability.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered cheerfully. ‘The food is divine and there’s so much of it! I’m just sorry I stuffed my face in the earlier courses because I’m too full to manage another bite.’
Dante put aside his irritation at the interruption and listened with the utmost bemusement at the chatter falling from Aislin’s lips. Turning to Riccardo, he was further bemused to see something close to adoration spread over his jowly face.
‘The food please you?’ Riccardo asked, moving his bulk between them.
Dante could have stuck his spoon in him for forcing Aislin’s thigh to part from his.
A rush of discomfort zapped through him to acknowledge that, far from welcoming Riccardo’s interest in them, which was the whole reason he was paying Aislin such an obscene amount of money, he was having to bite his tongue to stop himself from telling Riccardo to get lost and leave them alone.
‘It’s better than any restaurant,’ she enthused. ‘And the cocktails are to die for. Have you tried one?’
‘No.’
‘Here.’ She handed her cocktail glass to him. ‘Try that. I haven’t used the straw, you’re safe.’
Dante did not think his bemusement could grow any more than to see Riccardo D’Amore complying with Aislin’s order.
He took a sip and pulled an appreciative face. ‘Molto bella.’
She obviously got the gist of his approval for she beamed. ‘I don’t know what it’s called—the waiter made it for me.’
He grinned in reply then looked from Aislin to Dante. ‘You share sister?’
Needles made a sudden sharp crawl up Dante’s spine.
So this was why Riccardo had come to them. The Sicilian gossip mill was on excellent form that evening.
Aislin answered for them with a proud nod and reached into her little clutch bag. ‘Her name’s Orla. Do you want to see a picture?’ She scrolled through her phone and thrust it at him. ‘That’s Orla.’
Riccardo looked from the picture to Dante, his eyes as black as night. ‘She look like your father.’ The gist was clear—here was proof of Salvatore Moncada’s amorous, immoral ways from beyond the grave.
Dante inclined his head in acknowledgement. The needles had made their way to his scalp.