Pregnancy of Revenge (2 page)

Eventually she had spoken to Jess and offered to give her the painting she had posed for. Jess had been in
favour
of the pictures being exhibited, and approved of Charlie's idea to give any money made to charity, and Charlie had finally agreed to Ted's proposal.

At least something good would come out of her father's
death, she thought with a tinge of sadness as she proceeded towards her goal.

Almost at the exit, the last canvas arrested her attention for a moment. The lady portrayed had incredibly long dark hair curving over one shoulder and falling almost to her thigh. But it was the face of the woman that really disturbed her. The artist had captured the love, the need in the dark eyes to a point it was almost painful to see.

Poor fool, Charlotte thought with a rare cynical smile twisting her full lips. How had the woman never realized what a philanderer Robert Summerville had been? Of the thirty paintings in the gallery, ten were nude studies of women. With a wry shake of her head she turned to walk away.

Jake
d'Amato's
narrowed gaze never wavered from the woman Ted had indicated as he moved through the elegant crowd at Ted's side.

She was about five eight, he judged: shapely with long legs, a simple black wool dress
moulding
her figure, outlining high, firm breasts and the gentle curve of her hips and thighs. Her hair was ash blonde and swept up in a twist on top of her head. Jake's dark eyes glittered with primitive male appreciation, and surprisingly he found himself drawing in a stunned breath. She wore little make-up and yet she was quite beautiful. She had obviously inherited her father's good looks but in an innocent, understated way.

Then his body tensed, and his dark eyes flared with barely leashed rage. Anna had been right. Charlotte Summerville had refused to meet Anna in life, and in death her disdain for her father's last lover was obvious in the knowing cynical smile that twisted her full lips, followed by a dismissive shake of her head as, with a sexy sway of her hips, she turned away from the portrait. As for innocent—he doubted a woman with a body like hers even remembered the meaning of the word.

'Charlotte, darling.'
Ted's voice rang out loud and clear. 'I have someone here who wants to meet you.'

Charlie stiffened, cursing under her breath. Dwelling on the past, she had left it too late to escape. Reluctantly she lifted her head, resigned to wasting yet more time being polite to some wealthy fat old man who got off on looking at paintings of nude women.
All in pursuit of the great god Mammon.
Bare mammary glands were obviously a great money-spinner. Her lips curved up in a naughty smile at the thought.

'Allow me to introduce you to Jake
d'Amato.
He is a great admirer of your father's work, and has just bought this painting.'

Charlie's blue eyes, still lit with
humour
, met Ted's. 'Yes, of course.'

Privately she thought the man must be mad or blind. In her opinion her dad had been a much better landscape painter than portrait—apart from the last one; that did have character in the face. But she let nothing show on her face as, lifting her hand, she raised her eyes to the man at Ted's side.

There her gaze stuck as though
hypnotised
by the sheer physicality of the man. He wasn't the fat old man she had thought—anything but.

From his bronzed skin taut over high cheekbones to the straight nose and the firm mouth beneath, and finally to a hard, square jaw, the man was devastatingly attractive. Tall, something over six feet, and broad of shoulder, he exuded an aura of supreme confidence and masculine power that eclipsed every other man in the room. With his well- groomed black hair falling casually over his broad brow and his dark good looks he was clearly of Mediterranean
de-
scent. He was the most compellingly attractive man she had ever seen, and he was smiling down at her.

'Charlotte. I am delighted to meet you, and may I say how sorry I am at your sad loss?'

Somehow Charlie found her small hand enfolded in a strong male grasp, and he did not let it go. Not for him the brief handshake; and the piercing quality of the dark eyes that held hers was almost frightening in its intensity. She felt the power of his overwhelming masculinity like a blow to the heart, and her breath lodged in her throat.

A black brow quirked in amused enquiry as the silence lengthened and belatedly Charlie managed to respond with a mouth that had suddenly gone dry. 'Thank you, Mr
d'Amato.'

'Oh, please, call me Jake. I do not want to stand on formality with you.' He lightly squeezed her hand. 'I too have recently lost a member of my family and I know exactly how you feel.'

Charlie fervently hoped not, because the warmth of his hand holding hers was sending an incredible surge of awareness through her whole body. But along with her purely physical reaction, she could not help being impressed by his sympathy. Her blood tingled and a curious spiraling excitement sizzled through her that made her even more tongue-tied, and she simply stared at him.

'But it must be a great consolation to you that your father has left you such a remarkable body of work.'

Body
being the operative word.
Charlie had the irreverent urge to giggle, and she could not prevent her lips parting in a broad smile.

'Yes, thank you,' she agreed, and tore her sparkling eyes from his to stare down at their joined hands. For heaven's sake, get a grip, she chided herself, and strove to control her erratically beating pulse. Finally she made a tentative effort to withdraw her hand from his, a responsive quiver lancing through her as he tightened his grip. In that moment she knew she would happily have held onto the man for ever, so fierce was her response to Jake
d'Amato.

Jake noted her brilliant smile and it only added to his anger, but he let nothing show on his impressive features. 'It is my pleasure,' he said softly, and, bending his dark head, he pressed a swift kiss on the back of her hand, before finally releasing it. 'It is an
honour
to meet you. And now, please, you must give me your honest opinion on the painting I have purchased.' Placing a guiding hand at her waist, he turned her back to look at the portrait. 'Lovely, don't you agree?' Jake was determined to make her look at Anna's face—a woman she had insulted in life, but was happy to exploit after death.

The sound of Jake's deep, melodious voice sent another responsive quiver through Charlie, and his hand on her waist and the warmth of his great body seemed to envelop her. For 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 he brilliant blue eyes plus the invitation in the tight nipple: starkly outlined beneath the fabric of her dress had an
un
expected 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 was 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 it, 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 or 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 he
dad, but only a complete idiot would willingly get entangled with a philanderer of the same ilk.