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The Twelve Nights of Christmas
‘I never thought this moment would come, Pietro. Let’s celebrate.’ Rio Zaccarelli sat back as the vintage champagne was poured into his glass. Across the table, his lawyer opened his case and handed him a sheaf of papers.
‘I’m not celebrating until this one is in the bag. How did you get a table here? I’ve never seen so many rich, powerful people in one place.’ Pietro glanced discreetly over his shoulder, his gaze skimming the other diners. His eyes widened as he focused on a man in a dark grey suit. ‘Isn’t that—?’
‘Yes. Don’t stare or you’ll have security teams swarming over your lunch.’ Rio flicked through the papers, scanning the contents. As he reached for his champagne he noticed that his hand shook slightly and he wrenched back his emotions, forcing himself to treat this like any other business deal. ‘You haven’t eaten here before?’
‘I’ve been waiting a year to get a table at this restaurant and you do it in one phone call. There are times when I wish I had your influence.’
‘Complete this deal and I’ll get you a table. That’s a promise.’ Complete this deal and I’ll buy you the restaurant.
‘I’ll hold you to that. You have to sign on the back page.’ Pietro handed him a pen and Rio signed the documents with a bold scrawl.
‘As usual, I owe you—for your discretion as well as your astonishing legal brain. Order the lobster. It’s sublime and you’ve more than earned it.’
‘Thank me when it’s all signed and sealed and not before. I’ve learned not to celebrate until the ball is in the net. It’s been a hard fight and this may still not be finished.’ The lawyer took the wedge of papers and slipped them into his briefcase. ‘The stakes are high. They haven’t stopped fighting, Rio. They don’t want you to win this.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ A red mist of anger coloured his vision and his fingers tightened on the delicate stem of the champagne flute. The tension was like steel bands around his body. ‘I want to be kept updated, Pietro. Any changes, phone my personal line.’
‘Understood.’ Pietro snapped his case shut. ‘This deal could still blow itself apart. The most important thing is that you need to keep yourself whiter than fresh snow between now and Christmas. Don’t get yourself so much as a parking ticket. Not a blemish. Not a rumour. My advice as a friend who knows you? Find an isolated ski lodge and lock yourself away. No liaisons with women, no kiss and tell stories—for the time being, sex is off the agenda.’
Rio, who hadn’t gone ten days without sex since he’d lost his virginity, kept his face expressionless. ‘I’ll be discreet.’
‘No.’ Pietro leaned forward, switching from friend back to lawyer in the blink of an eye. ‘If you want this deal watertight, then discretion isn’t enough. I’m saying no sex, Rio. Unless it’s married sex. If you happen to suddenly fall for a decent, wholesome girl whose entire objective in life is to love you and give you babies, that might actually help your case—’ he gave a faint smile and spread his hands in a fatalistic gesture ‘—but, knowing you as I do, there’s not much chance of that.’
‘None at all. There’s no such thing as a decent, wholesome girl and if there were she’d undergo a personality change the moment she met me,’ Rio drawled. ‘Within minutes she’d be thinking about prenuptial agreements and record breaking divorce settlements.’
Pietro picked up the menu. ‘I don’t blame you for being cynical, but—’
‘I understand you. No sex. Sounds like I’m in for an exciting Christmas.’ Rio thought of the Russian ballerina who was currently waiting in his apartment, lying on silk sheets, waiting for the visit he couldn’t risk making.
He’d send her diamonds and give her the use of his private jet to fly home to Moscow for Christmas. They could pick up their relationship in the New Year. Or not. Realising that he wasn’t bothered either way, he frowned.
Perhaps it was a good job he had an urgent business trip to make. He could work off his excess energy in other ways.
His eyes blank of expression, Rio stared out of the glass sided restaurant that had views over the centre of Rome, watching the crazy traffic fighting for space on the streets below.
There was nothing he wouldn’t do to achieve the outcome he wanted. Even denying his libido for a short time.
Pietro put down the menu and picked up his glass, a hint of a smile on his face. ‘I have a feeling this will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Go somewhere there are no women. I hear Antarctica is sparsely populated at this time of year.’
‘I have to fly to London on business.’
‘You are confronting Carlos?’
‘I’m firing him,’ Rio said coldly. ‘His appointment was a mistake. I’ve had a full report from the external management consultant I put into the hotel. I need to deal with the situation before his appalling mismanagement affects the reputation of my company.’
‘I don’t suppose I can persuade you to wait until after the deal is signed?’
‘Carlos cannot affect this deal.’
‘In theory I would agree, but—’ frowning, his lawyer put his glass down slowly ‘—this has been a difficult fight and we’re not there yet. I’m uneasy.’
‘That’s why I’m paying you such an astronomical sum. I pay you to be uneasy, so that I can sleep.’
Pietro lifted an eyebrow. ‘Since when did you start sleeping? You work harder than I do. Especially at this time of year. I assume you’re planning to work right through Christmas?’
‘Of course.’
The lawyer picked up the warm, crusty bread roll from his side plate and broke it in half. ‘Why do you hate this time of year so much?’
A cold, sick feeling rose in his stomach. Aware that, as always, he was the focus of attention in the restaurant, Rio sat still, his features carefully composed. Catching the eye of a pretty European princess who had been gazing at him across the restaurant since he’d arrived, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. Desperate for distraction, he contemplated accepting her blatant invitation, but then he remembered Pietro’s warning. No sex. Whiter than white.
Instead, he drained his champagne glass and formulated an answer to the question. ‘Why do I hate Christmas? Because everyone uses Christmas as an excuse to stop work,’ he lied smoothly, wrestling down his emotions with sheer brute force. ‘And I’m a demanding boss. I hate time wasters, you know that. But I appreciate all the hours you’ve put into this deal and I will heed the advice. Until this deal is closed, the only person sleeping in my bed will be me.’
‘It might make for a boring Christmas, but that is exactly the way it should be. I’m serious, Rio. Stay indoors. The only things you should be touching are your laptop and your phone.’ Pietro looked him in the eye. ‘Don’t underestimate how much could still go wrong.’
‘Whiter than white,’ Rio purred, a faint smile touching his mouth. ‘I can do that if I really concentrate. Anyway, I’m not likely to meet a woman who interests me in London. Shall we order?’
‘You can’t do this to me! You can’t just throw me out of my home! I can’t believe you changed the locks when I was out. Don’t you have any human feeling?’ Evie grabbed the man’s arm, almost slipping on the snow and ice as he shrugged her off and dropped his tools back into his bag.
‘Life’s tough. Blame your landlord, not me. Sorry, love.’ But he didn’t look sorry and Evie felt the panic rise as the enormity of the situation hit her.
‘It’s only twelve days until Christmas. I’ll never find anything else at this short notice.’
The emotions she’d been suppressing for six stressful weeks suddenly broke through the front she’d been presenting to the world.
This was supposed to have been her wedding day. Tonight she would have been flying to a romantic hotel in the Caribbean on her honeymoon to make a baby. Instead, she was on her own in a big, cold city where no one seemed to care about anyone else. It was snowing and she was homeless.
‘At least let me get my things.’ Not that she had much. The few things she’d brought with her could probably fit into one rubbish bag.
Even as the thought wafted through her mind, the man gestured to a black bin liner leaning against the door.
‘Those are your things.’ The man snapped his bag shut. ‘Good job you haven’t got much stuff.’
Evie wondered what was good about not having much stuff. She’d thought moving to London would be exciting and full of opportunities. She hadn’t realised how expensive it would be. Everything cost a fortune. And she hadn’t realised how lonely it would be living in a city. She couldn’t afford a social life. When a few of the girls at work had invited her out, she’d had to refuse.
The snow fluttered onto her head and neck and Evie huddled deeper inside her coat, her spirits as low as the temperature.
‘Just let me stay here tonight, OK? I’ll try and find somewhere tomorrow—’ She felt as though she was holding everything together by a single fragile thread. It had been that way since the day Jeff had texted her to tell her the wedding was off. Concerned about her grandfather’s distress, she’d taken refuge in the practical, returning presents with polite notes attached, cancelling the church and the venue, explaining to all the well-wishers who arrived at the house. She’d told herself that she’d shed her tears in private, but she’d discovered that cancelling a wedding was almost as much work as organising one, without any of the excitement to drive you forward. By the time she’d fallen into her bed at night she hadn’t had the energy to cry. ‘Please—it’s going to be impossible to find somewhere else to live this close to Christmas.’
‘It’s a dog eat dog world, love.’
Evie recoiled. ‘I love dogs. I’d never eat a dog! And it’s supposed to be the season of goodwill.’
‘I feel plenty of goodwill. Thanks to landlords like yours, I have a job.’
‘Well, it’s nice to know I’m supporting someone through the credit crunch—’ Feeling a vibrating in her pocket, Evie dug out her phone, her anxiety doubling when she saw the number. ‘Just wait there a moment and don’t go anywhere because I have to answer this or he’ll worry—he’s very old and—Grandpa? Why are you calling in the middle of the day? Are you OK?’ She prayed he hadn’t had another one of his turns. It was one thing after another. Her life was unravelling faster than a pulled thread in a sweater. She’d wanted so badly to make him proud. Instead, all she was going to do was worry him.
‘Just checking up on you because I saw the pictures of the snow on the news.’ Her grandfather sounded frail and Evie tightened her grip on the phone, hating the fact that he was getting older.
He was the person she loved most in the world. She owed him everything. ‘I’m fine, Grandpa.’ She shivered as more flakes of snow found their way inside her coat. ‘You know I love the snow.’
‘You always did. Built any snowmen yet? You always loved building snowmen.’
Evie swallowed. ‘I I haven’t had the chance yet, Grandpa. Soon, I hope. There’s a huge park opposite the hotel where I’m working. It’s crying out for a snowman.’ She didn’t tell him that no one paused to build a snowman in London. Everyone was too busy rushing from one place to another.
‘Are you at work now? I don’t want to bother you if you’re at work, dealing with some high-powered celebrity.’
High-powered celebrity?
‘Well er ’ Her face scarlet, Evie moved away from the man who had just tipped her life into a rubbish bag and wondered whether the lie she’d told about her job was about to come back to bite her. It was one thing trying to protect her grandfather, but she’d probably gone a little over the top. Or possibly more than a little. ‘Grandpa—’
‘I boast to everyone about you. I’m so proud of you, Evie. I told that stuffy Mrs Fitzwilliam in the room next door to mine, “My granddaughter has got herself a brilliant high-powered job. She may have been left standing at the altar—”‘
Evie pressed her fingers to her aching forehead. ‘It wasn’t at the altar, Grandpa. No one got as far as the altar—’
‘”—but she picked herself up and now she’s a receptionist at the smartest hotel in London and she never would have had that opportunity if she’d married useless Jeff.” He was nothing but a dreamer. And he wasn’t good enough for you, you know that, don’t you? He was wet, and you don’t want a man who is wet. You need a real man.’
‘Any man would be a start,’ Evie muttered under her breath, ‘but fat chance of that.’
‘What was that?’
‘Nothing.’ For once grateful for her grandfather’s hearing aid, she changed the subject quickly. ‘Are you OK? Are they treating you all right there?’ Although he’d persuaded her he wanted to go into the same home as his closest friend, she still wasn’t comfortable with the idea.
‘My bones are aching in the damp weather and they make too much fuss here.’
Evie smiled. ‘It will be summer soon. And I’m glad they’re fussing.’
‘I wish I could see you at Christmas but I know it’s too far for you to come for just one day. I’m worrying about you on your own. I miss you, Evie.’
Flattened by homesickness, Evie felt a lump settle in her throat. ‘I miss you, too. And I’ll try and come up as soon as I can. And don’t worry. I’m fine.’ She pushed the words past her cold lips and then waved her hand frantically as the man loaded his tools into his van. Was he really just going to drive away and leave her here, standing on a snowy pavement in the dark? What had happened to chivalry? Her fiancé broke up with her by text and this man was about to leave a vulnerable woman alone in a big, scary city with nowhere to spend the night. Where were all the knights in shining armour when you needed them? Her grandfather was right—she needed a real man. Down with rats, wimps and cowards.
‘So how’s the job going?’ Her grandfather used his most bracing voice. ‘I told Mrs Fitzwilliam that you have Hollywood stars staying and that you’ll be meeting and greeting them personally. That shut her up. Nosy old madam.’
One Night…Nine-Month Scandal
‘I don’t care if he’s on a conference call, this is urgent!’
The voice outside his office belonged to his lawyer and Alekos paused in mid-sentence as the door burst open.
Dmitri stood there, papers in his hand, his face a strange shade of scarlet.
‘I’ll call you back,’ Alekos drawled and hit the button to disconnect himself from his team in New York and London. ‘Given that I’ve never seen you run anywhere in the ten years you’ve worked for me, I assume you’re the bearer of bad tidings. A tanker has sunk?’
‘Quickly.’ The normally calm, steady Dmitri sprinted across the spacious office, banged into the desk and spilled the papers over the floor. ‘Switch on your computer.’
‘I’m already online.’ Intrigued, Alekos shifted his gaze to his computer screen. ‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’
‘Go to eBay,’ Dmitri said in a strangled voice. ‘Right now. We have three minutes left to bid.’
Alekos didn’t waste time pointing out that placing bids with an online auction-house didn’t usually form part of his working day. Instead he accessed the site with a few taps of his fingers.
‘Diamond,’ Dmitri croaked. ‘Type in “large, white diamond”.’
A premonition forming in his mind, Alekos stabbed the keys. No; she couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have.
As the page sprang onto his screen, he swore softly in Greek while Dmitri sank uninvited onto the nearest chair. ‘A m I right? Is it the Zagorakis diamond? Being sold on eBay?’
Alekos stared at the stone and felt emotion punch deep in his gut. Just seeing that ring made him think of her, and thinking of her set off a chain reaction in his body that shocked him with its intensity. He struggled to shake off the instantaneous assault on his senses triggered by those rebel thoughts. Even after four years of absence she could still do this to him, he thought grimly. ‘It’s the diamond. You’re sure she is the seller?’
‘It would appear so. If the stone had come on the market before now we would have been notified. I have a team checking it out right now, but the bids have already reached a million dollars. Why eBay?’ Bending down, Dmitri gathered together the papers he’d dropped. ‘Why not Christie’s or Sotheby’s, or one of the big, reputable auction-houses? It’s a very strange decision.’
‘Not strange.’ His eyes fixed on the screen, Alekos laughed. ‘It’s entirely in character. She’d never go to Christie’s or Sotheby’s.’ Her down to earth approach had been one of the things he’d found so refreshing about her. She’d been unpretentious—an attribute that was a rare commodity in the false, glittering world he inhabited.
‘Well, whichever.’ Dmitri tugged at his tie as if he were being strangled. ‘If bids have reached a million dollars then there’s a high probability that someone else knows this is the Zagorakis diamond. We have to stop her! Why is she doing this now? Why not four years ago? She had plenty of reason to hate you then.’
Alekos leaned back in his chair, considering that question. When he spoke, his voice was soft. ‘She saw the pictures.’
‘Of you and Marianna at the charity ball? You think she heard the rumours that the relationship is serious?’
Alekos stared at the ring taunting him from the screen. ‘Yes.’
The ring said it all. Its presence on the screen said this is what I think of what we shared. It was the equivalent of flinging the diamond into the river, only far, far more effective. She was selling it to the highest bidder in the most public way possible and her message was clear: this ring means nothing to me.
Our relationship meant nothing.
She was in a wild fury.
His own anger slashed like the blade of a knife and he stood up suddenly, taking this latest gesture as confirmation that he’d made the right choice with Marianna. Marianna Konstantin would never do anything as vulgar as sell a ring on eBay. Marianna was far too discreet and well-bred to give away a gift. Her behaviour was always impeccable; she was quiet and restrained, miserly with her emotions and, most importantly, she didn’t want to get married.
Alekos stared at the ring on the screen, guessing at the depth of emotion hidden behind the sale. Nothing restrained there. The woman selling his ring gave her emotions freely.
Remembering just how freely, his mouth tightened. It would be good, he thought, to cut that final link. This was the time.
Watching the clock count down on his computer screen, Alekos made an instantaneous decision. ‘Bid for it, Dmitri.’
His lawyer floundered. ‘Bid? How? You need an account, and there is no time to set one up.’
‘We need someone just out of college.’ Swift and decisive, Alekos pressed a button on his phone. ‘Send Eleni in. Now.’
Seconds later, the youngest PA on his team appeared nervously in the doorway. ‘You wanted to speak to me, Mr Zagorakis?’
‘Do you have an eBay account?’
Clearly stunned by the unexpected question, the girl gulped. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘I need you to bid for something. And don’t call me sir.’ His eyes on the screen, Alekos watched as the clock ticked down: two minutes. He had two minutes in which to retrieve something that should never have left his possession. ‘Log in, or whatever it is you do to put in a bid.’
‘Yes, sir. Of course.’ Crumbling with nerves, the girl hurried to his desk and entered her username and password. She was shaking so badly that she entered her password incorrectly and Alekos clamped his mouth shut, sensing that if he showed impatience he’d just make her more nervous.
‘Take your time,’ he said smoothly, sending a warning glance towards Dmitri who looked as if he were about to have a stroke.
Finally entering her password correctly, the girl gave him a terrified smile. ‘What bid do you want me to place?’
Alekos looked at the screen and made a judgement. ‘Two-million US dollars.’
The girl gave an audible gasp. ‘How much?’
‘Two million.’ Alekos watched the clock counting down: sixty seconds. He had sixty seconds to retrieve an heirloom that he never should have given away. Sixty seconds to close the door on a relationship that never should have happened. ‘Do it now.’
‘But the limit on my credit card is only f-five hundred pounds,’ the girl stammered, ‘I can’t afford it.’
‘But I can. And I’m the one paying for it.’ Glancing at the girl’s ashen features, Alekos frowned. ‘Do not pass out. If you faint now, I won’t be able to bid for this ring. Dmitri is head of my legal team—he will witness my verbal agreement. We now have thirty seconds, and this is very important to me. Please.’
‘Of course, I—sorry.’ Her hands shaking, Eleni tapped the amount into the box, hesitated briefly and then pressed enter. ‘I—I’m—I mean you’re—currently the highest bidder,’ she said faintly and Alekos lifted an eyebrow.
‘Is it done?’
‘Providing no one puts in a last-minute bid.’
Alekos, who wasn’t taking any chances, promptly put his hands over hers and entered four-million dollars.
Five seconds later, the ring was his and he was pouring the shaking girl a glass of water.
‘I’m impressed. Under pressure you responded well and you did what needed to be done. I won’t forget it.
And now,’ he kept his voice casual, ‘I need to know exactly where to send the money. Does the seller give you a name and address?’
Ignoring Dmitri’s startled glance, Alekos reached for a pen and paper.
He needed to decide whether to do this in person or hand it over to lawyers.
Lawyers, his common sense told him. For all the reasons you haven’t tracked her whereabouts over the past four years.
‘You can email any questions you have,’ Eleni said weakly, her eyes on the diamond on the screen. ‘It’s a beautiful ring. Lucky woman, ending up with that on her finger. Wow. That’s so romantic.’ She looked at him wide-eyed and Alekos didn’t have the heart to disillusion her.
Had he ever been romantic? If being romantic was to indulge in an impulsive, whirlwind romance then, yes, he’d been romantic. Once. Or maybe ‘blinded by lust’ would be a more accurate assessment. Fortunately he’d come to his senses in time. With a cynical smile at his own expense, Alekos reflected on the fact that a business approach to relationships, such as the one he had with Marianna, was vastly preferable. He’d had no particular wish to understand her, and she’d showed no interest in trying to understand him.
That was so much better than a girl who tried to climb into your thoughts and then seduced with raw, out-of-control sex that wiped a man’s brain.
Feeling the tension ripple across his shoulders, Alekos stared out of the window as Dmitri hastily ushered the girl out of the room, promising to deal with all the financial aspects of the transaction.
Closing the door firmly, the lawyer turned to face Alekos. ‘I’ll arrange for the funds to be transferred and the ring collected.’
‘No.’ Driven by an impulse he decided was better not examined, Alekos reached for his jacket. ‘I don’t want that ring in the hands of a third party. I’ll collect it myself.’
‘In person? Alekos, you haven’t seen the girl for four years. You decided it was best not to get in touch. Are you sure this is a good idea?’
‘I only ever have good ideas.’ Closure, Alekos thought grimly, striding towards the door. Hand over the money, take the ring and move on.
‘Breathe, breathe, breathe. Put your head between your legs—that’s it. You’re not going to faint. OK—that’s good. Now, try telling me again—slowly.’
Lifting her head, Kelly mouthed the words. No sound came out. She wondered whether it was possible to go mute with shock. It felt as though her entire body had shut down.
Her friend glared at her in exasperation. ‘Kel, I’m giving you thirty seconds to produce sound from your mouth and then I’m throwing a bucket of water over you.’
Kelly dragged in air and tried again. ‘Sold—’
Vivien nodded encouragingly. ‘You’ve sold something—right. What have you sold?’
‘Sold.’ Kelly swallowed. ‘Ring.’
‘OK, finally we’re making progress here—I’m getting that you’ve sold a ring. Which ring?’ Viv’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘Holy crap, not the ring?’
Kelly nodded, feeling as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. ‘Sold ring—eBay.’ She felt dizzy and light-headed, and she knew she would have been lying on the floor in a dead faint by now if she hadn’t already been sitting down.
‘All right, well, that’s good.’ Her expression cautious, Vivien’s smile faltered. ‘I can understand why that seems like such a big thing. You’ve been wearing that ring around your neck for four years—which is probably four years too long given that the rat who gave it to you didn’t turn up for the wedding—but you’ve finally seen the light and sold it, and I think that’s great. Nothing to worry about. No reason to hyperventilate. Do you need to breathe into a paper bag or something?’ She looked at Kelly dubiously. ‘You’re the same colour as a whiteboard, and I’m rubbish at first aid. I closed my eyes in all the classes because I couldn’t stand the revolting pictures. Am I supposed to slap you? Or do I stick your legs in the air to help blood flow? Give me some clues here. I know the whole thing traumatised you, but it’s been four years, for crying out loud!’
Kelly gulped and clutched her friend’s hand. ‘Sold.’
‘Yes, yes, I know! You sold the ring! Just get over it! Now you can get on with your life—go out and shag some stranger to celebrate. It’s time you realised that Mr Greek God isn’t the only man in the world.’
‘For four-million dollars.’
‘Or we could just open a bottle of—what? How much?’ Vivien’s voice turned to a squeak and she plopped onto the floor, her mouth open. ‘For a moment there I thought you actually said four-million dollars.’
‘I did. Four-million dollars.’ Saying the words aloud doubled the shaking. ‘Vivien, I don’t feel very well.’
‘I don’t feel very well either.’ Vivien gave a whimper and flapped her hand in front of her face. ‘We can’t both faint. We might bang our heads or something, and our decomposed bodies would be discovered weeks from now, and no one would even find us because your place is always such a mess. I bet you haven’t even made a will. I mean, all I own is a load of unwashed laundry and a few bills, but you have four-million dollars. Four-million dollars. God, I’ve never had a rich friend before. Now I’m the one who needs to breathe.’ She grabbed a paper bag, emptied out two apples and slammed it over her mouth and nose, breathing in and out noisily.
Kelly stared down at her hands, wondering if they’d stop shaking if she sat on them. They’d been shaking since she’d switched on her computer and seen the final bid. ‘I—I need to pull myself together. I can’t just sit here shaking. I have work to do. I have thirty English books to mark before tomorrow.’
Vivien pulled the bag away from her face and sucked in air. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You never have to teach small children again. You can be a lady of leisure. You can walk in there tomorrow, resign and go for a spa day. Or a spa decade!’
‘I wouldn’t do that.’ Shocked, Kelly stared at her friend, the full implications of the money sinking home. ‘I love teaching. I’m the only one not looking forward to the summer holidays. I love the kids. I’ll miss the kids. They’re the nearest I’m ever going to get to a family of my own.’
‘For crying out loud, Kel, you’re twenty-three, not ninety. And, anyway, you’re rich now. You’ll be a toy girl, or a sugar mummy or something. Men will be queuing up to impregnate you.’
Kelly recoiled. ‘You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?’
‘I’m a realist. And I know you love kids. Weird, really; I just want to bash their heads together most of the time. Maybe you should just give me the money and I’ll resign. Four-million dollars! How come you didn’t know it was worth that much?’
‘I didn’t ask,’ Kelly mumbled. ‘The ring was special because he gave it to me, not because of its value. It didn’t occur to me it was that valuable. I wasn’t really interested.’
‘You need to learn to be practical as well as romantic. He might have been a bastard, but at least he wasn’t a cheapskate.’ Vivien sank her teeth into one of the apples that she’d tipped out of the paper bag, talking as she ate. ‘When you told me he was Greek, I assumed he was a waiter or something.’
Kelly flushed. She hated talking about it because it reminded her of how stupid she’d been. How naive. ‘He wasn’t a waiter.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘I can’t even bear to think about it. How could I ever have thought it could have worked? He is super-cool, super-intelligent and super-rich. I’m not super-anything.’
Dare She Date the Dreamy Doc?
CHAPTER ONE
‘I can’t believe you’ve dragged me to the middle of nowhere. You must really hate me.’ The girl slumped against the
rail of the ferry, sullen and defiant, every muscle in her slender teenage frame straining with injured martyrdom and
simmering rebellion.
Jenna dragged her gaze from the misty beauty of the approaching island and focused on her daughter. ‘I don’t hate
you, Lexi,’ she said quietly. ‘I love you. Very much.’
‘If you loved me, we’d still be in London.’
Guilt mingled with stress and tension until the whole indigestible mix sat like a hard ball behind her ribs. ‘I thought
this was the best thing.’
‘Best for you, maybe. Not me.’
‘It’s a fresh start. A new life.’ As far away from her old life as possible. Far away from everything that reminded her of
her marriage. Far away from the pitying glances of people she’d used to think were her friends.
‘I liked my old life!’
So had she. Until she’d discovered that her life had been a lie. They always said you didn’t know what was going on in someone else’s marriage—she hadn’t known what was going on in her own.
Jenna blinked rapidly, holding herself together through will-power alone, frightened by how bad she felt. Not for the first time, she wondered whether eventually she was going to crack. People said that time healed, but how much time? Five years? Ten years? Certainly not a year. She didn’t feel any better now than she had when it had first happened. She was starting to wonder whether some things just didn’t heal— whether she’d have to put on the ‘everything is OK’ act for the rest of her life.
She must have been doing a reasonably good job of convincing everyone she was all right because Lexi was glaring at her, apparently oblivious to her mother’s own personal struggle. ‘You had a perfectly good job in London. We could have stayed there.’
‘London is expensive.’
‘So? Make Dad pay maintenance or something. He’s the one who walked out.’
The comment was like a slap in the face. ‘I don’t want to live off your father. I’d rather be independent.’ Which was just as well, Jenna thought bleakly, given Clive’s reluctance to part with any money for his daughter. ‘Up here there are no travel costs, you can go to the local school, and they give me a cottage with the job.’
That was the best part. A cottage. Somewhere that was their own. She wasn’t going to wake up one morning and find it had been taken away from them.
‘How can you be so calm and civilised about all this?’ Lexi looked at her in exasperation. ‘You should be angry. I tell you now, if a man ever treats me the way Dad treated you I’ll punch his teeth down his throat and then I’ll take a knife to his—’
‘Lexi!’
‘Well, I would!’
Jenna took a slow deep breath. ‘Of course I’ve felt angry. And upset. But what’s happened has happened, and we have to get on with it.’ Step by step. Day by day.
‘So Dad’s left living in luxury with his new woman and we’re exiled to a remote island that doesn’t even have electricity? Great.’
‘Glenmore is a wonderful place. Keep an open mind. I loved it when I was your age and I came with my grandparents.’
‘People choose to come here?’ Lexi glared at the rocky shore, as if hoping to scare the island into vanishing. ‘Is this seriously where you came on holiday? That’s totally tragic. You should have sued them for cruelty.’
‘I loved it. It was a proper holiday. The sort where we spent time together—’ Memories swamped her and suddenly Jenna was a child again, excited at the prospect of a holiday with her grandparents. Here—and perhaps only here—she’d felt loved and accepted for who she was. ‘We used to make sandcastles and hunt for shells on the beach—’
‘Wow. I’m surprised you didn’t die of excitement.’
Faced with the sting of teenage sarcasm, Jenna blinked. Suddenly she wished she were a child again, with no worries. No one depending on her. Oh, for crying out loud—she pushed her hair away from her eyes and reminded herself that she was thirty-three, not twelve. ‘It is exciting here. Lexi, this island was occupied by Celts and Vikings—it’s full of history. There’s an archaeological dig going on this summer and they had a small number of places for interested teenagers. I’ve booked you on it.’
‘You what?’ Appalled, Lexi lost her look of martyred boredom and shot upright in full defensive mode. ‘I am not an interested teenager so you can count me out!’
‘Try it, Lexi,’ Jenna urged, wondering with a lurch of horror what she was going to do if Lexi refused to co-operate. ‘You used to love history when you were younger, and—’
‘I’m not a kid any more, Mum! This is my summer holiday. I’m supposed to have a rest from school. I don’t want to be taught history!’
Forcing herself to stay calm, Jenna took a slow, deep breath; one of the many she’d taken since her daughter had morphed from sweet child to scary teen. When you read the pregnancy books, why didn’t it warn you that the pain of being a mother didn’t end with labour?
Across the ferry she caught sight of a family, gathered together by the rail. Mother, father, two children—they were laughing and talking, and Jenna looked away quickly because she’d discovered that nothing was more painful than being around happy families when your own was in trouble.
Swallowing hard, she reminded herself that not every modern family had perfect symmetry. Single-parent families, stepfamilies—they came in different shapes. Yes, her family had been broken, but breakages could be mended. They might heal in a different shape, but they could still be sturdy.
‘I thought maybe we could go fishing.’ It was up to her to be the glue. It was up to her to knit her family together again in a new shape. ‘There’s nothing quite like eating a fish you’ve caught yourself.’
Lexi rolled her eyes and exhaled dramatically. ‘Call me boring, but gutting a fish with my mother is so not my idea of fun. Stop trying so hard, Mum. Just admit that the situation is crap.’
‘Don’t swear, Alexandra.’
‘Why not? Grandma isn’t around to hear and it is crap. If you want my honest opinion, I hope Dad and his shiny new girlfriend drown in their stupid hot tub.’
Relieved that no one was standing near them, Jenna rubbed her fingers over her forehead, reminding herself that this was not the time to get into an argument. ‘Let’s talk about us for a moment, not Dad. There are six weeks of summer holiday left before term starts. I’m going to be working, and I’m not leaving you on your own all day. That’s why I thought archaeology camp would be fun.’
‘About as much fun as pulling my toenails out one by one. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m fifteen.’
And you’re still a child, Jenna thought wistfully. Underneath that moody, sullen exterior lurked a terrified girl. And she knew all about being terrified, because she was too. She felt like a plant that had been growing happily in one spot for years, only to be dug up and tossed on the compost heap. The only difference between her and Lexi was that she had to hide it. She was the grown-up. She had to look confident and in control.
Not terrified, insecure and needy.
Now that it was just the two of them, Lexi needed her to be strong. But the truth was she didn’t feel strong. When she was lying in bed staring into the darkness she had moments of utter panic, wondering whether she could actually do this on her own. Had she been crazy to move so far away? Should she have gone and stayed with her parents? At least that would have eased the financial pressure, and her mother would have been able to watch out for Lexi while she worked. Imagining her mother’s tight-lipped disapproval, Jenna shuddered. There were two sins her mother couldn’t forgive and she’d committed both of them. No, they were better on their own.
Anger? Oh, yes, she felt anger. Not just for herself, but for Lexi. What had happened to the man who had cradled his daughter when she’d cried and spent weeks choosing exactly the right dolls’ house? Jenna grabbed hold of the anger and held it tightly, knowing that it was much easier to live with than misery. Anger drove her forward. Misery left her inert.
She needed anger if she was going to make this work. And she was going to make it work.
She had to.
‘We’re going to be OK. I promise, Lexi.’ Jenna stroked a hand over the teenager’s rigid shoulder, relieved when her touch wasn’t instantly rejected. ‘We’ll have some fun.’
‘Fun is seeing my friends. Fun is my bedroom at home and my computer—’
Jenna didn’t point out that they didn’t have a home any more. Clive had sold it—the beautiful old Victorian house that she’d tended so lovingly for the past thirteen years. When they’d first married money had been tight, so she’d decorated every room herself…
The enormity of what she’d lost engulfed her again and Jenna drew in a jerky breath, utterly daunted at the prospect of creating a new life from scratch. By herself.
Lexi dug her hand in her pocket and pulled out her mobile phone. ‘No signal. Mum, there’s no signal!’ Panic mingled with disgust as she waved her phone in different directions, trying to make it work. ‘I swear, if there’s no signal in this place I’m swimming home. It’s bad enough not seeing my friends, but not talking to them either is going to be the end.’
Not by herself, Jenna thought. With her daughter. Somehow they needed to rediscover the bond they’d shared before the stability of their family had been blown apart.
‘This is a great opportunity to try a few different things. Develop some new interests.’
Lexi gave her a pitying look. ‘I already have interests, Mum. Boys, my friends, hanging out, and did I say boys? Chatting on my phone—boys. Normal stuff, you know? No, I’m sure you don’t know—you’re too old.’ She huffed moodily. ‘You met Dad when you were sixteen, don’t forget.’
Jenna flinched. She had just managed to put Clive out of her mind and Lexi had stuffed him back in her face. And she wasn’t allowed to say that she’d had no judgement at sixteen. She couldn’t say that the whole thing had been a mistake, because then Lexi would think she was a mistake and that wasn’t true.
‘All I’m asking is that you keep an open mind while you’re here, Lexi. You’ll make new friends.’
‘Anyone who chooses to spend their life in a place like this is seriously tragic and no friend of mine. Face it, Mum, basically I’m going to have a miserable, lonely summer and it’s all your fault.’ Lexi scowled furiously at the phone. ‘There’s still no signal. I hate this place.’
‘It’s probably something to do with the rocky coastline. It will be fine once we land on the island.’
‘It is not going to be fine! Nothing about this place is fine.’ Lexi stuffed the phone moodily back in her pocket. ‘Why didn’t you let me spend the summer with Dad? At least I could have seen my friends.’
Banking down the hurt, Jenna fished for a tactful answer. ‘Dad is working,’ she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound too robotic. ‘He was worried you’d be on your own too much.’ Well, what was she supposed to say? Sorry, Lexi, your dad is selfish and wants to forget he has responsibilities so he can spend his summer having sex with his new girlfriend.
‘I wouldn’t have cared if Dad was working. I could have hung around the house. I get on all right with Suzie. As long as I block out the fact that my Dad is hooked up with someone barely older than me.’
Jenna kept her expression neutral. ‘People have relationships, Lexi. It’s part of life.’ Not part of her life, but she wasn’t going to think about that now. For now her priorities were remembering to breathe in and out, get up in the morning, go to work, earn a living. Settling into her job, giving her daughter roots and security—that was what mattered.
‘When you’re young, yes. But he’s old enough to know better. They should be banned for everyone over twenty-one.’ Lexi shuddered. ‘Thank goodness you have more sense. It’s a relief you’re past all that.’
Jenna blinked. She was thirty-three. Was thirty-three really past it? Perhaps it was. By thirty-three you’d discovered that fairy tales were for children, that men didn’t ride up with swords to rescue you; they were more likely to run you down while looking at the pretty girl standing behind you.
Resolutely she blocked that train of thought. She’d promised herself that she wasn’t going to do that. She wasn’t going to generalise and blame the entire male race for Clive’s shortcomings. She wasn’t going to grow old bitter and twisted, giving Lexi the impression that all men were selfish losers. It wasn’t men who had hurt her; it was Clive. One man—not all men.
It was Clive who had chosen to have a rampant affair with a trainee lawyer barely out of college. It was Clive who had chosen to have sex on his desk without bothering to lock the door. There were moments when Jenna wondered if he’d done it on purpose, in the hope of being caught so he could prove how virile he was.
She frowned. Virile? If she’d been asked for a word to describe Clive, it certainly wouldn’t have been virile. That would have been like describing herself as sexy, and she would never in a million years describe herself as sexy.
When had she ever had wild sex with a man while still wearing all her clothes? No one had ever been that desperate for her, had they? Not even Clive. Certainly not Clive.
When Clive had come home from the office they’d talked about household accounts, mending the leaking tap, whether or not they should have his mother for the weekend. Never had he walked through the door and grabbed her, overwhelmed by lust. And she wouldn’t have wanted him to, Jenna admitted to herself. If he had grabbed her she would have been thinking about all the jobs she still had to do before she could go to bed.
Blissfully unaware that her mother was thinking about sex, Lexi scuffed her trainer on the ground. ‘There would have been loads for me to do in London. Cool stuff, not digging up bits of pot from muddy ground. I could have done my own thing.’
‘There will be lots of things to do here.’
‘On my own. Great.’
‘You’ll make friends, Lex.’
‘What if I don’t? What if everyone hates me?’
Bought: Destitute Yet Defiant
They’d come to kill her.
Two years of working on the seedier side of the city had honed her senses and taught her to keep herself sharp. She watched and she noticed—and she’d noticed them. A small group of men drinking too much, although she knew that would please Joe, who always hiked his prices when the punters were too drunk to notice. From her vantage point on the stage, she’d seen the notes changing hands, the bottles of whisky, the empty glasses and the glazed eyes but she’d just kept on singing, her voice pouring honey and whipped cream over anyone who bothered to listen. Ignoring the sick feeling in her gut that warned her that her time had finally run out, she sang about love and loss, knowing that the lonely men who frequented Joe’s Bar knew far more about the second than the first.
And so did she.
It was an existence far from anyone’s dreams but Jessie had stopped dreaming when she had been five years old.
‘Hey, doll!’ A man seated near the stage leered at her and waved a note. ‘I fancy a private performance. Come over here and sing that song on my lap.’
Without missing a beat, Jessica backed away from him, flung her head back and belted out the final verse of the song with her eyes closed. As long as she had her eyes shut tight she could pretend that she was somewhere else. She wasn’t singing to a crowd of leering men who had given up on life, she was singing to a packed stadium or opera house—to people who had paid the equivalent of a month’s rent just to hear her voice. In that same fantasy she didn’t have gnawing hunger pains in her stomach and she hadn’t mended her cheap gold dress a hundred times. But most of all, she wasn’t alone.
Someone out there was waiting for her.
Someone was going to pick her up from work and take her home somewhere warm, cosy and safe.
The song ended. She opened her eyes. And saw that someone was waiting for her.
Several men, but they weren’t from her dreams—they were from a dark, terrifying nightmare.
And she knew that they’d come for her. Fear had shadowed her every step for so long that she felt worn out with anxiety—tired of looking over her shoulder.
The last warning she’d received had been a physical one, leaving her with bruises that had kept her home for a week.
But this time they weren’t here to deliver a warning.
Feeling her mouth dry and her heart pound, Jessie reminded herself that she had a plan.
And a knife tucked in her suspender belt.
He sat in the back of the room, the darkness allowing him a rare moment of anonymity in a life lived in the spotlight. The previous night he’d walked the red carpet with a starlet on his arm. His business had made him a billionaire before he was thirty and he enjoyed the privileged existence of the super-rich, but his life had once been lived in places like this—surrounded by drunks, violence and the ever present threat of mortal danger. He’d grown up here—almost been sucked under by the greasy underbelly of society until he’d finally dragged himself, by sheer grit and determination, into a different world.
Another man might have chosen to lose those years, but he hated pretence of any sort and he carried the damage without apology, amused that the visible scars had proved as attractive to women as his dark, murky past.
Nothing aroused a woman’s interest more than a bad boy, Silvio mused, knowing that if they’d been able to see inside his soul they would have run a mile. He was well aware that the women he mixed with liked the idea of danger, but not the reality. He also knew that the girl on the stage lived danger with every step and every breath.
He couldn’t believe how far she’d sunk and he identified an emotion alien to him—guilt.
It was because of him that she was living this life.
His tension mounted as she moved in time to the beat, the subtle slide of her hips causing the man closest to him to lose his grip on his drink. The shatter of glass on the floor was a familiar sound and barely drew a glance from those around. Or maybe they were too numbed by the anaesthetising effects of alcohol to react.
Silvio sat in perfect stillness and the whisky on the table in front of him remained untouched. The glass was no more than a prop. Knowing what was to come, he couldn’t afford to dull his senses. He also knew that whatever you escaped from today would still be waiting for you tomorrow, and he wasn’t in need of a pause button.
He was a man who faced his mistakes, and he was facing one now.
He never should have left her.
No matter how difficult things had become between them, no matter how deep her hatred of him, he should not have walked away.
The girl moved gracefully across the stage, seducing the audience, raising pulse rates and hopes in equal measure, her melting dark eyes and glossy mouth promising everything.
He’d watched her grow up. Seen her evolve from child to woman and nature hadn’t just been generous in bestowing her gifts; she’d been lavish.
And Jessie exploited those gifts as she sang with passion and feeling, her incredible voice sending a tingle down the length of Silvio’s spine. Watching her sway, he felt himself grow hard and the power of his response angered him because he’d never allowed himself to think of her like that.
He set his jaw, reminding himself that the chemistry they shared was a forbidden thing. Something neither of them had ever pursued and never would.
She was singing a ballad now, a slow, sultry rebuke to some man who had broken her heart, and he narrowed his eyes, knowing that she wasn’t singing from experience. Jessie had never allowed a man anywhere near her heart.
She’d shut herself away emotionally when she had been a child. Only her brother had been able to penetrate the defensive shield she put between herself and the world.
Changing his mind about the neutralising effects of alcohol, Silvio reached for his glass. He downed it in one mouthful, his gaze never shifting from the girl on the stage.
Her ebony curls tumbled over her bare shoulders, the tantalising curves of her gorgeous body enhanced by a gold mini-dress that skimmed across the top of her incredible legs, leaving virtually nothing to the imagination.
Which was presumably intentional.
If a man had been searching for gold and discovered Jessie, he would have died happy.
The whisky burned his throat. Or was it the anger? Was this really what she’d done with her life in his absence? It took extraordinary will power to prevent himself from dragging her off the stage and hauling her out of there, away from the greedy eyes and lecherous minds.
But he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. This was the last time, he promised himself. The last time she was standing on that stage.
The barman approached, but Silvio refused the offer of another drink with a faint shake of his head, his ice-cold gaze shifting from the girl to the group of men hovering around the table near him.
He knew every one of them, and he knew the danger she was facing.
He’d made a mistake, he thought grimly, thinking she’d be better off without him. When she’d ordered him out of her life, he should have ignored her. But it had been impossible to defend himself from her accusations because everything she’d said to him was true.
Silvio’s mouth tightened, aware that he’d chosen the worst possible night to re-enter her life. Tonight was the third anniversary of her brother’s death.
And he was responsible for that death.
Knowing she had no time, Jessica didn’t waste any of it changing. Less than a minute after she’d slipped into the tiny cupboard that Joe laughingly called a dressing room, she was out of the door again, a thin cardigan covering the gold dress, trainers on her feet instead of heels. Her feet were crying from the vicious bite of the cheap shoes but she’d taught herself to ignore the pain. Her feet always hurt. Everything hurt. Tonight was no different.
Her heart was thundering, her palms were sweating but she forced herself to focus, knowing that if she let the fear swallow her now, it would all be over.
And she owed this to Johnny.
Did they know what tonight was or was it a coincidence?
A lump formed in her throat as she thought of her brother. He’d always been there for her, but when he’d been in trouble she hadn’t been able to save him—
Nursing her anger, she stepped out into the dark alleyway that ran along the back of the club, wondering whether this was going to be it for her. Was it going to end here in this grimy dark street amongst people who didn’t care if she lived or died?
‘Well, if it isn’t our baby doll.’ A slow male drawl came from the darkness and they emerged in a group, hoods over their heads, their faces obscured by the darkness. ‘Do you have the money or are you ready to give us a private performance?’
Almost melting into the gutter with fear, Jessie managed to curve her lips into a smile. ‘I don’t have the money, but I have something else. Something better,’ she said huskily, her voice smooth and full of promise. ‘But you’re not going to be able to claim it from there.’ She gave the leader a provocative smile and beckoned him over. ‘You’ll need to come closer. One at a time.’
The man gave a short laugh. ‘I knew you’d see sense. Why are you covering up that gold dress?’ He sauntered towards her and Jessie forced herself to stand still and swallow the scream that was sitting at the base of her throat.
‘It’s raining.’ She undid her cardigan and watched with satisfaction as his eyes popped out of his head and his brain stopped working. Men were so predictable. ‘I’m cold.’
‘You’re not going to be cold for long, baby doll. There are six of us here to warm you up.’ He stopped in front of her, all arrogant swagger, showing off in front of the other members of his gang. ‘Where are the sexy heels?’ He grabbed the cardigan and dragged it off her, the movement tearing the flimsy fabric. ‘I really hope you haven’t forgotten the sexy heels, babe, or I’m going to have to punish you.’
‘I haven’t forgotten the shoes,’ Jessie said sweetly. ‘In fact, I have them right here.’ Really angry now because he’d ruined her only cardigan, she brought her hand round in front of her and jabbed the stiletto heel of her shoe hard into his groin.
With a howl of pain the man doubled up and then crumpled to the ground.
Jessica stood for a moment, slightly shocked by the sight of his writhing, agonised body. And then the shoe fell from her nerveless fingers and she ran.
Her trainers splashed through the puddles, the breath tore in her lungs and her knees were shaking so badly her legs wouldn’t work properly.
From behind her came shouts, swearing, and then the thunder of feet as the rest of the men started in pursuit.
It was like being chased by a pack of wild hunting dogs, the terrifying inevitability of the ending slowing her pace.
Was it better to run and be caught from behind? Or better to turn and face the enemy?
She wanted to see what was happening—she didn’t want to be blinded.
And then she slammed into something solid and a pair of strong hands caught her and stopped her flight.
Oh, God, somehow one of them had got around her. She was trapped.
It was all over.
For a single moment she froze, like a frightened bird caught in the talons of a hawk, and then the sound of shouts and running feet grew louder and she knew she had only moments.
Survival instincts took over.
Jessie lifted her knee to deliver a blow to his manhood but this man was quicker than her, anticipating the movement with a swift shift of his body. Without uttering a sound, he slid a strong arm around her waist and yanked her against him, ensuring that she had no room for manoeuvre.
Pressed against rock-hard muscle and powerful thighs, Jessie searched desperately for weakness and found none. At least, not in him. But being held against that powerful male body triggered an altogether different reaction inside her. Panic, yes. And something more intimate and twice as frightening. As her pelvis burned and melted Jessie struggled against his grip, shocked and appalled by the sudden flare of sexual awareness that gripped her. It must be something to do with adrenaline, she thought wildly. Something about the final moments before death making your senses more acute. Death was thundering down on her and she was aroused.
She was still trying to find an explanation for her inexplicable response when she became aware of the sudden change in the hard male body pressed against her.
So it was the same for him, she thought with a bitter smile. He did have a weakness after all—the same one all men had.
Turning that to her advantage, Jessie slid her hand down his powerful body and covered him with the flat of her hand.
His shock was only marginally greater than hers, and she heard the breath hiss through his teeth a fraction of a second before he slackened his hold. It was all she needed. Her fist landed against the side of his face and she was running again.
She took fewer than three steps before the arms closed over her again and he hauled her back like a rag doll.
‘Maledezione, don’t ever pull a stunt like that again!’ The cold, furious voice penetrated her terror and Jessie felt a flicker of fear far, far deeper than anything she’d experienced before because she finally recognised who it was who held her.
Stunned, she stared into the face she’d just punched. ‘Silvio—?’
‘Stai zitto! Be quiet! Don’t say a word,’ he commanded, his fingers tightening on her wrists as the men finally caught up with them.
Jessie’s mind went blank with shock.
Silvio Brianza.
Images exploded in her head. Images of the last time she’d seen him. Images she’d banished from her brain.
‘Hey—thanks for catching her.’ This was a different man from the one she’d injured with her shoe and Jessie wondered numbly whether his friend was still lying in the alley, clutching himself.
She didn’t even care.
She was no longer worried about them.
The air was suddenly choked with an entirely different sort of tension and her emotions were focused on the man whose powerful body was pressed against every contour of hers.
Powerful Greek, Unworldly Wife
Leandro Demetrios, billionaire banker and the subject of a million hopeful female fantasies, dragged the ‘A’ list Hollywood actress through the doorway of his exclusive London townhouse and slammed the door shut on the rain and the bank of waiting photographers.
The woman was laughing, her eyes wide with feminine appreciation. ‘Did you see their faces? You scared them half to death! I feel safer with you than I do with my bodyguards. And you have bigger muscles.’ She slid her hand up his arm, her manicured fingernails lingering on the solid curve of his biceps. ‘Why didn’t we just use the back entrance?’
‘Because I refuse to creep around my own house. And because you like to be seen.’
‘Well, we’ve certainly been seen.’ The fact evidently pleased her. ‘You’ll be all over the papers tomorrow for terrorising the paparazzi.’
Leandro frowned. ‘I only read the financial pages.’
And that’s the bit I don’t read,’ she sighed. ‘The only thing I know about money is how to spend it. You, on the other hand, know how to make it by the bucketload, and that makes you my type of guy. Now, stop looking all moody and dangerous and smile! I’m only in town for twenty-four hours and we need to make the most of the time.’ Her lashes lowered provocatively. ‘So, Leandro Demetrios, my very own sexy Greek billionaire. Finally we’re alone. What are we going to do with our evening?’
Leandro removed his jacket and threw it carelessly over the back of a chair. ‘If that’s a serious question, you can leave right now.’ His remark drew a gurgle of delighted laughter from the woman clinging to his arm.
‘No one else dares to speak to me the way you do. It’s one of the things Ilove most about you. You’re not starstruck and that’s so refreshing for someone like me.’ The tip of her tongue traced the curve of her glossy lips. ‘If I told you I was going to kiss you goodnight and go back to my hotel, what would you do?’
‘Dump you.’ Leandro’s bow-tie landed on top of the jacket. ‘But we both know that isn’t going to happen. You want what I want, so stop playing games and get up those stairs. My bedroom is on the first floor. Last door on the left.’
‘So-o macho.’ Laughing, she smouldered in his direction. ‘According to a poll just last week, you’re now officially the world’s sexiest man.’
Bored by the conversation, Leandro’s only response was to close his fingers around her tiny wrist and pull her towards the staircase.
She gave a gasp of shocked delight. ‘You honestly don’t care what anyone thinks about you, do you? Indifference is such a turn-on. And when it comes to indifference, you wrote the manual.’ She walked with a slow, swaying motion that she’d perfected for the cameras. ‘There’s a special chemistry between us. I can feel it.’
‘It’s called lust,’ Leandro drawled, and she shot him a challenging look.
‘Haven’t you ever had a serious relationship with a woman? I heard you were married for a short time.’
Leandro stilled. A very short time. ‘These days I prefer variety.’
‘Honey, I can give you variety.’ She used the soft, smoky voice that earned her millions of dollars per movie. ‘And I’m just dying to know whether everything they say about you is true. I know you’re super-bright and that you drive your fancy cars way too fast, but what I want to know is just how much of a bad boy you really are when it comes to women.’
‘As bad as they come,’ Leandro said smoothly, his hand locked around her slender wrist as he led her up the stairs. ‘Which makes this your lucky night.’
‘Then lead on, handsome.’ She kept pace with him, a smile on her full, glossy mouth. ‘You have a lot of art on your walls. Great investment. Are they original? I hate anything fake.’
‘Of course you do.’ Leandro focused on her surgically enhanced breasts with wry amusement. At a rough estimate he guessed that ninety per cent of her was fake. The short time he’d spent with her had been enough to prove to him that she was so used to playing other people, she’d forgotten how to be herself.
And that was fine by him.
As far as he was concerned, the shallower the better. At least you knew what you were dealing with and you adjusted your expectations accordingly.
‘Oh, my! Only you would have a picture of a naked woman at the head of your staircase.’ Stopping dead, she gazed up at the huge canvas and wrinkled her nose with disapproval. ‘Strange choice for a man who surrounds himself with beauty. Isn’t she rather fat for your tastes?’
Leandro’s gaze lingered on the celebrated Renaissance masterpiece that had only recently returned from being on loan to a major gallery. ‘When she was alive, it was fashionable to be curvy.’
The girl stared blankly at the exquisite brush strokes. ‘I guess they didn’t know about low carbs.’
‘Curves were a sign of wealth,’ Leandro murmured. ‘It meant you had enough to eat.’
Throwing him a look of blank incomprehension, the actress stepped closer to the painting and Leandro’s fingers tightened like a vice around her wrist.
‘Touch it and we’ll have half the Metropolitan police force keeping us company tonight.’
‘It’s that valuable?’ Her knowing gaze turned to his and she licked her lips. ‘You are one rich, powerful guy. Now, why is that such a turn-on, I wonder? It isn’t as if I care about your money.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ Leandro said, his tone dry because he knew full well that her lovers were expected to pay handsomely for the privilege of escorting her. ‘We both know you’re interested in me because I’m kind to old ladies and animals.’
‘You like animals?’
Looking down into those famous blue eyes, Leandro’s own eyes gleamed. ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for dumb creatures.’
‘That’s so attractive. I love a tough man with a gentle side.’ She slid her arms round his neck like bindweed around a plant. ‘Do you realise we’ve had dinner three times and you haven’t told me a single thing about yourself?’
‘Do you realise that we’ve had dinner three times and you haven’t eaten a single thing?’ Skilfully steering the conversation away from the personal, Leandro smoothly released the zip on her dress and she sucked in a breath.
‘You don’t mess around, do you?’
‘Let’s just say I’ve had enough of verbal foreplay,’ Leandro purred, sliding the dress over her shoulders in a practised movement. He frowned slightly as his fingers brushed hard bones rather than soft flesh.
‘People pay good money to see this body of mine up on the screen.’ She scraped her nails gently down his arm. ‘And you, Leandro Demetrios, are getting it for free.’
Hardly, he thought, looking at the earrings she was wearing. Earrings he’d given her at the beginning of the evening. ‘Shame you’re not sold by the kilogram,’ he said idly, ‘because then you wouldn’t cost me anything.’
‘Thank you.’Assuming his remark was a compliment, she smiled. ‘You, on the other hand, would cost a woman a fortune because muscle is heavier than fat and you have to be the most impressively built man I’ve ever met. And you’re so damned confident. Is that because you’re Greek?’
‘No. It’s because I’m me. I take what I want.’ He took her chin in his fingers, his eyes steely. ‘And when I’ve finished with it, I drop it.’
She shuddered deliciously. ‘With no apology to anyone. Cold, ruthless, single-minded…’
‘Are we talking about me or you?’ Leandro removed the diamond clip securing her hair. ‘I’m confused.’
‘I’m willing to bet you’ve never been confused about a single thing in your life, you wicked boy.’ Smiling, she dragged her finger over his lower lip. ‘Tell me something personal about yourself. Just one thing. This latest story about you being the father of that baby—is it true? The papers are full of it.’
Not by the flicker of an eyelid did Leandro reveal his sudden tension. ‘Are those the same papers that accused you of being a lesbian?’
‘The difference is that my people issued a stern denial— you’ve said nothing.’
‘I’ve never felt the need to explain my life to anyone.’
‘So does that mean it isn’t your child?’ She lowered her lashes. ‘Or are you such a stud you don’t even know? You’re not giving anything away, are you? Tell me something about you.’
‘You want to know something about me?’ Leandro eased her dress down her painfully thin body and lowered his mouth to the base of her throat. ‘If you give me your heart, I’ll break it. Remember that, agape mou. And I won’t do it gently.’ The warmth of his tongue brought a soft gasp to her lips and she tipped her head back with a shiver.
‘If you’re trying to scare me, you’re not succeeding.’ Her eyes were dark with arousal. ‘I love a man who knows how to be a man. Especially when that man has a sensitive side.’
‘I don’t have a sensitive side.’ Leandro’s voice was hard as he lowered his forehead to hers. For a moment he stared into her wild, excited eyes, his breath mingling with hers. ‘I don’t care about anyone or anything. Lie down in my bed and I’ll guarantee you fantastic sex, but nothing else. So if you’re looking for happy ever after, you’ve taken a wrong turning.’
‘Happy ever after is for movies. It’s my day job. At night, I prefer to live for the moment.’ Squirming against him, she lifted her hand and stroked his rough jaw. ‘I should make you shave before you touch me, but I like the way it makes you look. You are so damn handsome, Leandro, it shouldn’t be allowed,’ she breathed, lifting her mouth to his. ‘My last leading man needed satellite navigation to find his way round a woman’s body. I have a feeling you won’t suffer from the same problem.’
‘I’ve always had a very good sense of direction.’ Leandro backed her against the door and the actress gasped her approval.
‘Oh, yes…’ Panting, she wrenched at his shirt, sending buttons flying. With a low moan of desire she pushed the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. ‘Your body is incredible. I’m definitely going to get you a part in my next movie. I want you now.’
Having reached the part of the evening that interested him, Leandro scooped her up, strode purposefully towards the bed and then froze because his bed was already occupied.
The woman sat glaring at him, her eyes a fierce blue in a face as pale as his dress shirt. She’d obviously been caught in the rain because her thin cardigan clung to her body and her long hair curled damply past her shoulders like tongues of red fire.
Given the state she was in, she should have looked pathetic, but she didn’t. She looked angry—the blaze of her eyes and the angle of her chin warning him that this wasn’t going to be a gentle reunion.
It was as if a small, unexploded firework had landed in his bedroom and Leandro felt a dart of surprise because he’d never seen her angry before—hadn’t known she was capable of anger.
He’d been on the receiving end of her injured dignity, her silent reproach and her agonised pain. He’d witnessed her disappointment and contempt. But a good healthy dose of old-fashioned anger had been missing from their relationship.
She hadn’t thought that what they had was worth fighting for.
His own anger bubbled up from nowhere, threatening his usual control, and the emotion caught him by surprise because he’d thought he had himself well in hand.
Unfinished business, he thought grimly, and was about to speak when the actress gave a shocked squeak and tightened her grip on his neck.
‘Who’s she? You bastard! When you said you were going to hurt me, I didn’t expect it to be that quick,’ she snarled. ‘How dare you see someone else while you’re with me? I expect my relationships to be exclusive.’
Surprised to realise that he’d forgotten he had the actress in his arms, Leandro lowered her unceremoniously to the floor. ‘I don’t do relationships.’ Not any more.
‘What about her?’ Balancing on her vertiginous heels, the actress shot him a poisonous look. ‘Does she know that?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Leandro was watching the girl on the bed and his humourless smile was entirely at his own expense. ‘She wouldn’t trust me as far as she could throw me, isn’t that right, Millie?’
Her eyes were two hot pools of blame and he ground his teeth. Fight me, he urged silently. If that’s really what you think of me, stand up and scratch my eyes out. Don’t just sit there. And don’t walk out like you did the first time.
But she didn’t move. She sat in frozen silence, her eyes telling him that nothing had changed.
The actress made an outraged noise. ‘So you do know her! Surprising. She doesn’t look your type,’ she said spitefully. ‘She needs to fire her stylist. That natural look is so yesterday. This season is all about grooming.’ She snatched her dress from the floor and held it against her. ‘How did she get in here, anyway? Your security is really tight. I suppose no one noticed her.’
Nothing killed sexual arousal faster than female bitchiness, Leandro thought idly, regretting the impulse that had driven him to invite the actress home. The woman’s tongue was as sharp as the bones poking out through her almost transparent flesh.
‘Well? Are you going to throw her out?’ The actress’s voice turned from sultry to shrill and Leandro studied the girl sitting on his bed, noting the flush on her cheeks and the accusation in her eyes.
He met that gaze full on, with accusation of his own.
Silent communication raged between them and the atmosphere was so thick with tension that both of them forgot about the third person in the room until she stamped her foot.
‘Leandro?’
‘No,’ he said harshly. ‘I’m not going to throw her out.’ The timing wasn’t what he would have chosen but now she was here, he had no intention of letting her go. Not until they’d had the conversation she’d walked away from a year earlier.
The actress gave a gasp of disbelief. ‘You’re choosing that plain, bedraggled, badly dressed nobody over me?’
Leandro sent his date a cold, assessing glance that would have triggered shivers of trepidation through any one of the people who worked for him or knew him well. ‘Yes. At least that way I’m guaranteed a soft landing when we tumble onto that mattress. No bones. No claws.’
The actress gasped. ‘I won’t be treated like this!’ Delivering a performance worthy of an Oscar, she wriggled back into her dress and tossed her head in anger. ‘You told me you weren’t involved with anyone and I believed you! I’m obviously more of a fool than I look.’
The Prince’s Waitress Wife
‘Keep your eyes down, serve the food and then leave. No lingering in the President’s Suite. No gazing, no engaging the prince in conversation, and no flirting. Especially no flirting— Prince Casper has a shocking reputation when it comes to women. Holly, are you listening to me?’
Holly surfaced from a whirlpool of misery long enough to nod. ‘Yes,’ she croaked. ‘I’m listening, Sylvia.’
‘Then what did I just say?’
Holly’s brain was foggy from lack of sleep and a constant roundabout of harsh self-analysis. ‘You said—you told me—’ Her voice tailed off. ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’
Sylvia’s mouth tightened with disapproval. ‘What is the matter with you? Usually you’re extremely efficient and reliable, that’s why I picked you for this job!’
Efficient and reliable.
Holly flinched at the description.
Another two flaws to add to the growing list of reasons why Eddie had dumped her.
Apparently oblivious to the effect her words were having, Sylvia ploughed on. ‘I shouldn’t have to remind you that today is the most important day of my career—catering for royalty at Twickenham Stadium. This is the Six Nations championship! The most important and exciting rugby tournament of the year! The eyes of the world are upon us! If we get this right, we’re made. And more work for me means more work for you. But I need you to concentrate!’
A tall, slim waitress with a defiant expression on her face stalked over to them, carrying a tray of empty champagne glasses. ‘Give her a break, will you? Her fiancé broke off their engagement last night. It’s a miracle she’s here at all. In her position, I wouldn’t even have dragged myself out ofbed.’
‘He broke off the engagement?’ Sylvia glanced from one girl to the other. ‘Holly, is Nicky telling the truth? Why did he do that?’
Because she was efficient and reliable. Because her hair was the colour of a sunset rather than a sunflower. Because she was prudish and inhibited. Because her bottom was too big
Contemplating the length of the list, Holly was swamped by a wave of despair. ‘Eddie’s been promoted to Marketing Director. I don’t fit his new image.’ So far she hadn’t actually cried and she was quite proud of that—proud and a little puzzled. Why hadn’t she cried? She loved Eddie. They’d planned a future together. ‘He’s expected to entertain clients and journalists and, well, he’s driving a Porsche now, and he needs a woman to match.’ With a wobbly smile and a shrug, she tried to make light of it. ‘I’m more of a small family-hatchback.’
‘You are much too good for him, that’s what you are.’ Nicky scowled and the glasses on the tray jangled dangerously. ‘He’s a b—’
‘Nicky!’ Sylvia gave a shocked gasp, interrupting Nicky’s insult. ‘Please remember that you are the face of my company!’
‘In that case you’d better pay for botox before I develop permanent frown-lines from serving a bunch of total losers every day.’ Nicky’s eyes flashed. ‘Holly’s ex and his trophy-blonde slut are knocking back the champagne like Eddie is Marketing Director of some Fortune 100 company, not the local branch of Pet Palace.’
‘She’s with him?’ Holly felt the colour drain from her face. ‘Then I can’t go up there. Their hospitality box is really close to the President’s Suite. It would just be too embarrassing for everyone. All his colleagues staring at me—her staring at me—what am I going to do?’
‘Replace him with someone else. The great thing about really unsuitable men is that they’re not in short supply.’ Nicky thrust the tray into the hands of her apoplectic boss and slipped her arm through Holly’s. ‘Breathe deeply. In and out—that’s it—good. Now, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to sashay into that royal box and kiss that sexy, wicked prince. If you’re going to fall for an unsuitable man, at least make sure he’s a rich, powerful one. The king of them all. Or, in this case, the prince. Apparently he’s a world-class kisser. Go for it. Tangling tongues at Twickenham. That would shock Eddie.’
‘It would shock the prince, too.’ Giggling despite her misery, Holly withdrew her arm from her friend’s. ‘I think one major rejection is enough for one week, thanks. If I’m not thin and blonde enough for the Managing Director of Pet Palace, I’m hardly going to be thin and blonde enough to attract a playboy prince. It’s not one of your better ideas.’
‘What’s wrong with it? Straight from one palace to another.’ Nicky gave a saucy wink. ‘Undo a few buttons, go into the President’s Suite and flirt. It’s what I’d do.’
‘Fortunately she isn’t you!’ Sylvia’s cheeks flushed with outrage as she glared at Nicky. And she’ll keep her buttons fastened! Quite apart from the fact I don’t pay you girls to flirt, Prince Casper’s romantic exploits are getting out of hand, and I’ve had strict instructions from the Palace—no pretty waitresses. No one likely to distract him. Especially no blondes. That’s why I picked you in the first place, Holly. Red hair and freckles—you’re perfect.’
Holly flinched. Perfect? Perfect for melting into the background.
She lifted a hand and touched her unruly red hair, dragged into submission with the liberal use of pins. Then she thought of what lay ahead and her battered confidence took another dive. The thought of walking into the President’s Suite made her shrink. ‘Sylvia—I really don’t want to do this. Not today. I just don’t feel—I’m having—’ What—a bad hair day? A fat day? Frankly it was a battle to decide which of her many deficiencies was the most pronounced. ‘They’re all going to be thin, blonde, rich and confident.’ All the things she wasn’t. Her hands shaking, Holly removed the tray of empty glasses from her boss’s hands. ‘I’ll take these back to the kitchens. Nicky can serve the royal party. I don’t think I can stand them looking at me as if I’m—’
As if I’m nothing.
‘If you’re doing your job correctly, they shouldn’t be looking at you at all.’ Unknowingly echoing Holly’s own thoughts, Sylvia removed the tray from her hands so violently that the glasses jangled again. Then she thrust the tray back at Nicky. ‘You take these glasses back to the kitchens. Holly, if you want to keep this job, you’ll get up to the President’s Suite right now. And no funny business. You wouldn’t want to attract his attention anyway—a man in his position is only going to be interested in one thing with a girl like you.’ Spotting another of the waitresses craning her neck to get a better view of the rugby players warming up on the pitch, Sylvia gave a horrified gasp. ‘No, no. You’re here to work, not gape at men’s legs—’ Abandoning Holly and Nicky, she hurried over to the other girl.
‘Of course we’re here to gape at men’s legs,’ Nicky drawled. ‘Why does she think we took the job in the first place? I don’t know the first thing about scrums and line-outs, but I do know the men are gorgeous. I mean, there are men and there are men. And these are men, if you know what I mean.’
Not listening, Holly stared into space, her confidence at an all-time low. ‘The wonder is not that Eddie dumped me,’ she muttered, ‘But that he got involved with me in the first place.’
‘Don’t talk like that. Don’t let him do this to you,’ Nicky scolded. ‘Please tell me you didn’t spend the night crying over him.’
‘Funnily enough, I didn’t. I’ve even been wondering about that.’ Holly frowned. ‘Perhaps I’m too devastated to cry.’
‘Did you eat chocolate?’
‘Of course. Well—chocolate biscuits. Do they count?’
‘Depends on how many. You need a lot of biscuits to get the same chocolate hit.’
‘I ate two.’
‘Two biscuits?’
Holly blushed. ‘Two packets.’ She muttered the words under her breath and then gave a guilty moan. ‘And I hated myself even more afterwards. But at the time I was miserable and starving! Eddie took me out to dinner to break off the engagement—I suppose he thought I might not scream at him in a public place. I knew something was wrong when he ordered a starter. He never orders a starter.’
‘Well, isn’t that typical?’ Nicky’s mouth tightened in disapproval. ‘The night he breaks up with you, he finally allows you to eat.’
‘The starter was for him, not me.’ Holly shook her head absently. ‘I can’t eat in front of Eddie anyway. The way he watches me always makes me feel like a pig. He told me it was over in between the grilled fish and dessert. Then he dropped me home, and I kept waiting, but I just couldn’t cry.’
‘I’m not surprised. You were probably too hungry to summon the energy to cry,’ Nicky said dryly. ‘But eating chocolate biscuits is good news.’
‘Tell that to my skirt. Why does Sylvia insist on this style?’ Gloomily, Holly smoothed the tight black skirt over her hips. ‘I feel as though I’m wearing a corset, and it’s so short.’
‘You look sexy as sin, as always. And eating chocolate is the first phase in the healing process, so you’ve passed that stage, which is a good sign. The next stage is to sell his ring.’
‘I was going to return it.’
‘Return it? Are you mad?’ The empty glasses rattled again as Nicky’s hands tightened on the tray. ‘Sell it. And buy a pair of gorgeous shoes with the proceeds. Then you’ll spend the rest of your life walking on his memory. And, next time, settle for sex without emotion.’
Holly smiled awkwardly, too self-conscious to confess that she hadn’t actually had sex with Eddie. And that, of course, had been her major drawback as far as he was concerned. He’d accused her of being inhibited.
She bit back a hysterical laugh.
A small family-hatchback with central locking.
Would she be less inhibited if her bottom were smaller?
Possibly, but she wasn’t likely to find out. She was always promising herself that she’d diet, but going without food just made her crabby.
Which was why her clothes always felt too tight.
At this rate she was going to die a virgin.
Depressed by that thought, Holly glanced in the direction of the President’s Suite. ‘I really don’t think I can face this.’
‘It’s worth it just to get a look at the wicked prince in the flesh.’
‘He hasn’t always been wicked. He was in love once,’
Holly murmured, momentarily distracted from her own problems. ‘With that Italian supermodel. I remember reading about them. They were the golden couple. Then she died along with his brother in that avalanche eight years ago. Horribly sad. Apparently he and his brother were really close. He lost the two people he loved most in the world. A family torn apart. I’m not surprised he’s gone a bit wild. He must have been devastated. He probably just needs someone to love him.’
Nicky grinned. ‘So go up there and love him. And don’t forget my favourite saying.’
‘What’s that?’
‘If you can’t stand the heat ’
‘Get out of the kitchen?’ Holly completed the proverb but Nicky gave a saucy wink.
‘Remove a layer of clothing.’
Casper strolled down the steps into the royal box, his handsome face expressionless as he stared across the impressive stadium. Eighty-two thousand people were gradually pouring into the stands in preparation for the breathlessly awaited match that was part of the prestigious Six Nations championship.
It was a bitterly cold February day, and his entourage was all muttering and complaining about freezing English weather.
Casper didn’t notice.
He was used to being cold.
He’d been cold for eight long years.
Emilio, his Head of Security, leaned forward and offered him a phone. ‘Savannah for you, Your Highness.’
Without turning, Casper gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and Emilio hesitated before switching off the phone.
‘Another female heart broken.’ The blonde shivering next to him gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘You’re cold as ice, Cas. Rich and handsome, admittedly, but very inaccessible emotionally. Why are you ending it? She’s crazy about you.’
‘That’s why I’m ending it.’ His voice hard, Casper watched the players warming up on the pitch, ignoring the woman gazing longingly at his profile.
‘If you’re ditching the most beautiful woman in the world, what hope is there for the rest of us?’
No hope.
No hope for them. No hope for him. The whole thing was a game, Casper thought blankly. A game he was sick of playing.
Sport was one of the few things that offered distraction. But, before the rugby started, he had to sit through the hospitality.
Two long hours of hopeful women and polite conversation.
Two long hours of feeling nothing.
His face appeared on the giant screens placed at either end of the pitch, and he watched himself with detached curiosity, surprised by how calm he looked. There was a loud female cheer from those already gathered in the stands, and Casper delivered the expected smile of acknowledgement, wondering idly whether any of them would like to come and distract him for a few hours.
Anyone would do. He really didn’t care.
As long as she didn’t expect anything from him.
He glanced behind him towards the glass windows of the President’s Suite where lunch would be served. An exceptionally pretty waitress was checking the table, her mouth moving as she recited her checklist to herself.
Casper studied her in silence, his eyes narrowing slightly as she paused in her work and lifted a hand to her mouth. He saw the rise and fall of her chest as she took a deep breath— watched as she tilted her head backwards and stared up at the ceiling. It was strange body language for someone about to serve lunch.
And then he realised that she was trying not to cry.
Over the years he’d taught himself to recognise the signs of female distress so that he could time his exit accordingly.
With cold detachment he watched her struggle to hold back the oncoming tide of tears.
She was a fool, he thought grimly, to let herself feel that deeply about anything.
And then he gave a smile of self-mockery. Hadn’t he done the same at her age—in his early twenties, when life had seemed like an endless opportunity, hadn’t he naively allowed his emotions freedom?
And then he’d learned a lesson that had proved more useful than all the hours spent studying constitutional law or international history.
He’d learned that emotions were man’s biggest weakness, and that they could destroy as effectively as the assassin’s bullet.
And so he’d ruthlessly buried all trace of his, protecting that unwanted human vulnerability under hard layers of bitter life experience. He’d buried his emotions so deep he could no longer find them.
And that was the way he wanted it.
Without looking directly at anyone, Holly carefully placed the champagne-and-raspberry torte in front of the prince. Silver cutlery and crystal glass glinted against the finest linen, but she barely noticed. She’d served the entire meal in a daze, her mind on Eddie, who was currently entertaining her replacement in the premium box along the richly carpeted corridor.
