“Go on, Theresa,” he prompted gently. “Get ready. Meet me down here in half an hour?” She nodded at the question in his voice.
Sandro remained extremely closemouthed about where they were going, ignoring Theresa’s increasingly desperate pleas for information. It was highly unusual for him not to tell her what to expect. He usually drilled information into her, what their hosts liked and what he wanted her to talk about. He always seemed afraid that she would mess it up somehow but he was markedly different this time, he seemed unusually relaxed and every time Theresa asked him to tell her about their eventual destination he told her not to worry about it. She stole irate peeks at his handsome profile, hating his nonchalance in the face of her edginess. He was dressed even more casually than she was, wearing name brand sweatpants that had definitely seen better days, battered sneakers of the same brand and jacket to match the pants.
“Stop staring,” he growled, not even sparing her a glance, keeping his eyes glued to the road ahead. “You’re making me nervous.”
Yeah right! Mr Nerves of Steel, who handled the powerful Ferrari with grace and confidence, was nervous. She didn’t believe that for a second. She pursed her lips and diverted her gaze to the rapidly darkening horizon beyond her window. They had been driving for nearly forty minutes now and Theresa had no clue where they were. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes for a few moments, feeling like the past few weeks of uncertainty were finally catching up with her.
“We’re here…” Sandro’s voice jerked her out of her doze some time later and she stretched voluptuously before sitting up to take stock of their surroundings. The car was already parked in the driveway of a huge house. The place made their own, not immodest, house seem like a garden cottage. There were five other sleek and expensive sports cars parked in the driveway and every light, both inside and out of the house seemed to be on.
Theresa unbuckled her belt and was out of the car before Sandro could even move. She stood with her hands braced on the roof of the Ferrari and stared up the immense house in unabashed curiosity. She was aware of Sandro, rummaging about in the space behind the front seats before climbing out of the low-slung car with feral grace and rounding the bonnet to join her on the passenger side of the car.
“Theresa, I don’t want you to think that…” whatever he had about to say was cut off when another car, this one an expensive metallic-blue Lamborghini, slid to a stop behind theirs. Sandro glanced over and swore when he seemed to recognise the car.
The sole occupant emerged from the car in seconds and Theresa could see him quite clearly beneath the bright lights flooding the driveway. He was a tall, dark-haired, gorgeous man about Sandro’s age and he had a huge, friendly grin on his face as he strode over to join them. Theresa found herself helplessly admiring his sexy, loose-limbed gait. He was dressed in similar fashion to her husband, just sporting a different name brand on his sweat suit.
“De Lucci!” He greeted her austere husband with a hearty slap on the back.
“Max,” Sandro nodded in return, not seeming to share the man’s exuberance at all. He turned to fully face the man and placed a peremptory hand in the small of Theresa’s back to turn her as well. He kept his hand there even after they were both facing the other man.
“Who’s this gorgeous babe?” Max turned that killer smile on her and Theresa found herself helplessly returning it. Sandro levelled a fulminating glare at the other man, who seemed to take his ill-humour in stride and grinned even wider.
“My wife, Theresa,” Sandro snapped curtly, the warning in his voice more than a little obvious.
“You’re married to this goddess?” Max kept his very appreciative gaze on Theresa’s blushing face and his grin became a smile of genuine warmth. “I always knew you were a man of impeccable taste, De Lucci but I have to admit, my opinion of you has just sky-rocketed!” he held out a hand towards Theresa, who took it after only the slightest of hesitations.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” his smile gentled and he lifted her hand to his mouth, dropping a reverent kiss on the back of it. “I’m Max Kinsley.”
“Uh… T. Theresa,” she stammered, choking back a giggle at the man’s theatrics. She suspected that he was just trying to wind Sandro up and it seemed to be working because her husband’s hand had curled into a fist in the small of her back. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Kinsley.”
“There will be none of this formality between us” He admonished. “I’m Max and you are Terri! Or Tessa if you prefer. Now, please… allow me to escort you inside.” His grip on her hand tightened slightly as he tugged her towards him but Sandro’s hand shot up to the elbow of her free arm.
“Her name is Theresa and I will be escorting my own wife inside!” Sandro gritted out through his teeth, obviously holding onto his temper by the barest of threads.
“How remiss of me,” Max said with feigned regret, releasing her slender hand with exaggerated reluctance. “I’d completely forgotten that you were there, De Lucci!” Sandro made a slight growling sound in the back of his throat and Theresa couldn’t stifle her giggle this time. Max looked delighted by the sound and stepped back with a jaunty little salute.
“We will continue our acquaintance inside, Tessa my darling” he promised before turning away and bounding up the stairs leading toward the front door of the house. He had a tog bag, which she hadn’t previously noticed, slung over one broad shoulder.