Читать книгу His For Christmas - Amy Andrews - Страница 15

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘ANYONE WOULD THINK,’ said Niccolò slowly, ‘that you were trying to avoid me.’

Alannah looked up to find herself caught in the spotlight of a pair of ebony eyes, which cut into her like dark twin lasers. Winter light was flooding into the main reception room of the still bare Sarantos apartment, emphasising its vast and elegant dimensions. She had been there all morning, sitting on the newly upholstered window seat and sewing tassels onto a cushion, but the sight of the Sicilian standing in the doorway made her suspend her needle in mid-air.

She tried to compose herself and to say the right thing. Just as she’d been trying to do the right thing, ever since she’d crazily decided to have sex with him. She needed to treat what had happened as a one-off, and keeping their relationship on a purely professional footing was the only sane solution.

For both of them.

She put the needle down and pushed her empty coffee mug along the floor with the tip of her sneaker. ‘Of course I’m not trying to avoid you,’ she said lightly. ‘You’re my boss—I wouldn’t dare.’

‘Is that so?’ He walked towards her. ‘So why wouldn’t you have dinner with me last night?’

‘I explained that,’ she protested. ‘I had to travel to Somerset to buy some paintings and the man who owned the shop was just about to close up for the holidays, so it was the only day I could go. And then on the way back, there were loads of leaves on the line so the train was delayed. Didn’t you get my voicemail message?’

‘Oh, yes, I got your voicemail message,’ he said impatiently. He stood looking down at her, feeling perplexed and more than a little frustrated. This had never happened to him before. Usually he had to barricade his bedroom once a woman had been granted access to it—he couldn’t remember a lover ever being so reluctant to return. His mouth tightened. ‘But the fact remains that on Tuesday we had sex and I’ve barely seen you since.’

She shrugged. ‘That’s just the way it’s worked out. You’re employing me to get this apartment done in a hurry and that’s what I’m trying to do. That’s my primary role, isn’t it? You’re not paying me to keep appearing at your office door and haunting you.’

Niccolò felt his mouth dry. He wouldn’t mind her appearing at his office door. She was making him think of a few very creative uses for his desk… He swallowed. ‘Am I going to see you later?’

Alannah sucked in a breath, trying not to be flattered at his persistence, but it wasn’t easy. Because she had been dreading this meeting. Dreading and yet longing for it, all at the same time. Ever since she’d slipped out of his Mayfair apartment on Tuesday she’d told herself that it would be safer to stay away from Niccolò and not pursue the affair any further. She liked him. She liked him way more than was sensible for what she was sure he’d only ever intended to be a casual hook-up. And she didn’t do casual. Just as she didn’t do the kind of affair which would end up with her getting her heart smashed into a hundred little pieces.

‘You’re my boss, Niccolò,’ she said.

‘I haven’t lost sight of that fact, mia tentatrice. But what does that have to do with anything?’

‘You know very well. It’s…unprofessional.’

He gave a soft laugh. ‘You don’t think we might already have crossed that boundary when you lay gasping underneath me for most of the night?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘And on top of me at one point, if my memory serves me well.’

‘Stop it,’ she whispered, feeling colour flooding into her cheeks. ‘That’s exactly what I’m talking about. It blurs the lines and confuses things. I’m trying to concentrate on my work and I can’t when you—’

‘Can’t stop wanting a rerun?’

‘A rerun is what you do with movies. And it’s a bad idea.’

‘Why?’

She sighed. ‘What happened last week was…’ Her words tailed off. How best to describe it? The most amazing sex she’d ever had? Well, yes. She had certainly never realised it could be so intense, or so powerful. But there had been another blissful side to that night which was far more worrying. She’d realised that she could get used to waking up with Niccolò lying asleep beside her, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Just as she could get used to thinking about him at odd moments of the day and wishing he were there to kiss her. And those kind of daydreams would get her nowhere.

Because where would that leave her when the whole thing imploded? She’d just be another heartbroken woman crying into her gin and tonic, trying to resist the urge to send him a ‘casual’ late-night text. She would run the risk of making herself vulnerable and she wasn’t going to let that happen. She felt a new resolve steal over her. ‘A mistake,’ she said.

‘A mistake,’ he repeated.

‘Maybe that’s a bad way to put it. It was obviously very enjoyable.’ She pushed the cushion away and forced herself to face the truth, no matter how unpalatable it was. ‘But the fact remains that you don’t really like me. You told me that.’

He smiled. ‘I like you a lot more now.’

‘You described what you felt for me as, and I quote—“a wildness”. You made me sound like a mild version of the bubonic plague.’

‘I don’t think any plague feels quite like this—except maybe for the fever in my blood when I close my eyes at night and find it impossible to sleep because I can’t get you out of my mind.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘And you look incredibly beautiful when you’re being defiant. Do you do it because you know how much it turns me on?’

‘It’s not defiance for the sake of it,’ she said. ‘It’s defiance for a reason. I’m not doing it to try to entice you.’ She forced herself to say it. To put the words out there instead of having them nagging away inside her. ‘This relationship isn’t going anywhere. We both know that.’

‘So you’re not pregnant?’

His words completely shattered her fragile façade and she stared at him, her heart pounding. During the day, when she was busy working, it was easy to push that thought to the back of her mind. It was at night-time when it became impossible. That was when the fear flooded through her body as she tried to imagine just how she would cope with having Niccolò da Conti’s baby. That was when she had to fight to stop herself imagining a downy little black head, glugging away contentedly at her breast.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s too early to do a test.’

‘Which means we may be about to be parents together, sì? I think that constitutes some sort of relationship, don’t you?’

‘Not the best kind,’ she said.

‘Maybe not. But I need to know that if you are pregnant—if you are—whether I am the only man in the frame who could be the father.’ His black eyes burned into her, but he must have seen her flinch because his voice softened by a fraction. ‘Is that such an unreasonable request?’

She met his gaze, telling herself that in the circumstances he had every right to ask. But that didn’t make it hurt any less and some of that hurt came spilling out.

‘Yes. You are the only man in the frame. Did you think that because of my previous line of work that there would be a whole load of contenders?’ She shook her head in despair. ‘You really are fond of stereotypes, aren’t you, Niccolò? Well, for your information, there isn’t. If you really must know, I could count my previous lovers on one hand and still have some fingers free—and there’s been no one in my life for the last three years.’

Niccolò let out the breath he’d been holding, unprepared for the powerful hit of pleasure which flooded through his body in response to her words. He was the only man in the frame. There had been no one else in her life for the past three years.

He stared at her, his eyes taking in the way she was illuminated in the harsh winter light. Her thick hair looked blue-black, like the feathers of a raven. He swallowed. Dai capelli corvini.

In her jeans and loose shirt she shouldn’t have looked anything special, but somehow she looked unbelievably beautiful. Against her hair, her skin was creamy and her pallor emphasised the dramatic blue of her eyes. A little brooch in the shape of a dragon-fly glittered on her lapel and suddenly he found himself envying the proximity of that worthless piece of jewellery to her body.

What if there were a baby?

His mouth hardened.

He would cross that bridge when he came to it.

The shrill sound of the doorbell shattered the silence.

‘That’ll be one of the painters,’ she said. ‘He rang up to say he’d left his keys behind.’ Rising to her feet, she walked over and picked up a shoal of silver keys from where they lay on another window seat. ‘I won’t be long.’

Alannah was aware of his eyes burning into her as she left the room. Her shoes were squeaking as she went to open the front door where one of the painters stood. There were four of them in total and they’d been working around the clock—and although she’d stopped short of making cups of tea for them, she’d been friendly enough. This one had plaster dust in his hair and he was grinning.

She forced a smile as she held out the clump of keys. ‘Here you go, Gary.’

But after he’d taken them and shoved them into his dust-covered jeans, he caught hold of her wrist. His big, calloused fingers curled around her skin and his face had suddenly gone very pink. ‘I didn’t realise you were the Alannah Collins,’ he said suddenly.

Her heart sank as she snatched her hand away because she knew what was coming next. She wondered if it would be better to call his bluff or to slam the door in his face. But there were only a few days of the project left and it was nearly Christmas…why alienate one of the workforce unless it was absolutely necessary?

‘Will there be anything else?’ she questioned pointedly. ‘Because I have work to do.’

‘The schoolgirl,’ he said thickly. ‘With the big—’

A figure seemed to propel itself out of nowhere and it took a moment for Alannah to realise it was Niccolò and he was launching himself at Gary with a look of undiluted rage on his face.

Grabbing hold of the workman’s shirt collar, he half lifted him from the ground and shoved his face very close.

‘Che talii bastardu?’ he spat out. ‘Ti scippo locchi e o core!’

‘Niccolò!’ protested Alannah faintly, but he didn’t seem to be listening.

‘How dare you speak to a woman like that?’ he demanded. ‘What’s your name?’

The man blanched. ‘G-Gary.’

‘Gary what?’

‘G-Gary Harkness.’

‘Well, take it from me that you won’t ever work in this city again, Gary Harkness—I shall make sure of that.’ Releasing the shirt collar, Niccolò pushed him away and the man staggered a little. ‘Now get out of here—get out before I beat your worthless body to a piece of pulp.’

Alannah didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone look so petrified as the workman turned and ran down the corridor towards the elevator.

She lifted her gaze to Niccolò and met the furious blaze firing from his eyes as he clicked the door shut.

‘What was that you said to him in Sicilian?’

‘I asked him what he was looking at.’ He paused as he steadied his breath. ‘And I told him I would wrench out his eyes and his heart.’

Alannah gulped. ‘You don’t think that was a little…over the top?’

‘I think he’s lucky he didn’t end up in hospital,’ he ground out and his jaw tightened as he stared at her. ‘How often does that happen?’

‘Not much. Not these days.’ She shrugged as she began to walk back into the main reception room, aware that he was following her. Aware that her heart was pounding. This wasn’t a conversation she usually had—not with anyone—but maybe Niccolò was someone who needed to hear it. She turned to look at him. ‘It used to be a lot worse. People only ever seemed able to have a conversation with my breasts—or think that I would instantly want to fall into bed with them.’

Guilt whispered over his skin and Niccolò swallowed down the sudden dryness in his throat. Because hadn’t he done something very similar? Hadn’t he judged her without really knowing the facts and assumed a promiscuity which simply wasn’t true?

‘And I did the same,’ he said slowly.

Her gaze was fearless. ‘Yes, you did.’

‘That was why you suddenly froze in the hallway of my house when I was making love to you, wasn’t it?’ he questioned suddenly.

His perception was nearly as alarming as the realisation that the conversation had taken an even more intimate twist. Despite her determination to stay strong, Alannah couldn’t prevent the rush of heat to her cheeks. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

She started to turn her head away, but suddenly he was right there in front of her and his fingers were on her arm. They felt good on her arm, she thought inconsequentially.

‘Tell me,’ he urged.

It was hard to get the words out. Baring her soul wasn’t something she normally did—and she had never imagined herself confiding in Niccolò da Conti like this. But for once his gaze was understanding and his voice was soft and Alannah found herself wanting to analyse the way she’d reacted—not just because he’d asked, but because she needed to make sense of it herself. ‘I just remember you saying something about my body being even better in the flesh and I started to feel like an object. Like I wasn’t a real person—just a two-dimensional image in a magazine, with a staple in her navel. Like I was invisible.’

‘That was not my intention,’ he said slowly. ‘I think I found myself overwhelmed by the realisation that I was finally making love to you after so many years of thinking about it.’ There was a pause as he looked at her. ‘Do you think you can forgive me for that, mia tentatrice?’

She studied him, and the flicker of a smile nudged at her lips because it was strange seeing him in this conciliatory mood. ‘I’ll think about it.’

Niccolò pulled her into his arms and she didn’t object. She didn’t object when he bent his head to kiss her either. Her breath was warm and flavoured with coffee and he wanted to groan with pleasure. She tasted as good as he remembered—in fact, she tasted even better—and there seemed something awfully decadent about kissing her in the near-empty apartment. This wasn’t the kind of thing he usually did between meetings, was it? His heart skipped a beat as his fingertips skated over her breast, feeling it swell as he cupped it, and he heard her breath quicken as he began to unbutton her shirt.

It pleased him that she let him. That she really did seem to have forgiven him for his out-of-control behaviour of the other night. That she was relaxed enough not to freeze again.

He deepened the kiss, rubbing at her taut nipple with his thumb, and she gave a little sigh of pleasure. He kissed her for a long time until she was squirming impatiently and kissing him back. Until he forced himself to pull away from her, his voice unsteady as he looked into the darkening of her denim eyes and he felt a rush of triumph fuse with the headiness of sexual hunger.

‘I would like to lay you down on the bare floor and make love to you, but I am short of time and must go straight from here to a meeting. And I don’t feel it would do my reputation much good if I walked in so dishevelled.’ He grimaced as he remembered that time in the hallway of his apartment, when he had shown all the finesse of a teenage boy. ‘And I am aware that perhaps you like your lovemaking to be a little more slow and considered.’

‘I…thought I did.’

He heard the reluctance in her voice but noticed she was still gripping tightly onto his arms. Her lips were trembling, even though she was biting down on them in an effort to stop it—and he realised just how turned on she was.

‘Of course…’ He moved his hand down to the ridge of hard denim between her legs. ‘I probably do have enough time for other things. Things which you might enjoy.’

‘Niccolò,’ she said breathlessly.

‘What do you think?’ he said as he edged his middle finger forward and began to stroke her. ‘Yes, or no?’

‘Y-yes,’ she gasped.

‘Keep still,’ he urged—but to his delight she didn’t obey him. Or maybe she just couldn’t. Her head was tipping back and suddenly she didn’t look remotely shy…she looked wild. Beautiful. He felt her thighs part and heard her moaning softly as he increased the relentless pressure of his finger.

She came very quickly, tightening her arms around his neck and making that shuddering little crescendo of sighs with which he’d become so familiar on Tuesday night. As he kissed her again her fingers began to claw at his shirt, as if she wanted to tear it from his chest, and for a moment he thought about changing his mind and taking her in the most fundamental way possible.

Temptation rushed over him in a dark wave. Impatiently, his hand strayed to the belt of his trousers, until some remaining shred of reason forced him to play out the ensuring scene. What did he have in mind? Rushing into his meeting with his shirt creased and a telltale flush darkening his skin? Using Alekto’s apartment to have sex with a woman—wouldn’t that be kind of cheap? On every single level, it wouldn’t work—but that didn’t make it any easier to pull away from her.

She started buttoning her shirt back up with trembling fingers and he walked over to the window to compose himself, willing his frustration to subside.

Outside, a light flurry of snowflakes was whirling down and he felt a sudden sense of restlessness. He thought about the impending holiday and what he would be forced to endure, because one thing he’d learned was that unless you were prepared to live in a cave—it was impossible to ignore Christmas. Already there was a glittering tree which he’d been unable to ban from the main reception of his offices. He thought about the horrendous staff party he’d been forced to attend last night, with those stodgy mince pies they were so fond of eating and several drunken secretaries tottering over to him with glassy smiles and bunches of mistletoe.

He turned round. Alannah had finished buttoning up her shirt, though he noticed her hands were shaking and her cheeks still flushed.

‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ he questioned suddenly.

‘Oh, I’m wavering between an invitation to eat nut roast with some committed vegans, or having an alternative celebration all of my own.’ She glanced over his shoulder at the snowflakes. ‘Like pretending that nothing’s happening and eating beans on toast, followed by an overdose of chocolate and trash TV. What about you?’

He shrugged. ‘I have an invitation to ski with some friends in Klosters, but unfortunately my schedule doesn’t allow it. I hate Christmas. What I would really like is to fast-forward the calendar and wake up to find it was the new year.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she said softly.

His eyes met hers and another wave of desire washed over him. ‘But since we are both at a loose end, it seems a pity not to capitalise on that. We could ignore the seasonal madness and just please ourselves.’

She opened her eyes very wide. ‘Are you asking me to spend Christmas with you, Niccolò?’

There was a pause. ‘It seems I am.’ He gave a cool smile. ‘So why don’t you speak to Kirsty and have her give you one of my credit cards? You can book us into the best suite in the best hotel in the city—somewhere you’ve always wanted to stay. Forget the nut roast and the beans on toast—you can have as much caviar and champagne as you like.’ He gave a slow smile as he touched his fingertips to her raven hair. ‘Maybe I can make some of your Christmas wishes come true.’

* * *

Alannah felt like taking her sharpest pair of scissors and snipping the small square of plastic into tiny pieces. She thought about what Niccolò had said to her. Make her wishes come true. Really? Did he honestly think that staying in a fancy hotel suite was the sum total of her life’s ambition, when right now her biggest wish would be to tell him that she didn’t need his fancy platinum credit card and she’d rather spend Christmas day alone than spend it with him?

Except that it wouldn’t be true, would it? She might want it to be true, but it wasn’t. Why else would she be sitting hunched in front of her computer, about to book a two-night break in a London hotel? She wondered what had happened to her determination to forget the night she’d spent with him and maintain a professional relationship.

She bit her lip. It had been shattered by Niccolò’s resolve—that was what had happened. She had been lost the moment he’d kissed her. A single touch had been enough to make all her good intentions crumble. All her silent vows had been a complete waste of time—because she’d gone up in flames the moment he’d taken her in his arms.

She remembered the way his fingertip had whispered over the crotch of her jeans and her face grew hot. She hadn’t been so shy then, had she? He’d soon had her bucking beneath him, and he hadn’t even had to remove a single item of clothing. And still in that dreamy, post-orgasmic state she had agreed to spend Christmas with him.

That was something it was hard to get her head round. There must be millions of things he could be doing for the holiday—but he wanted to spend it with her. Her. Didn’t that mean something? Her mouth grew dry. Surely it had to.

She stared at the credit card, which Kirsty had crisply informed her had no upper limit. Imagine that. Imagine having enough money to buy whatever you wanted. The best suite in the best hotel. How fancy would a hotel have to be for Niccolò not to have seen it all before, and be jaded by it? She ran through a list of possibilities. The Savoy. The Ritz. The Granchester. London had heaps of gorgeous hotels and she’d bet that he’d stayed in all of them. Had constant exposure to high-end affluence helped contribute to his inbuilt cynicism?

She was just about to click onto the Granchester when something made her hesitate. Perhaps it was a desire to shift him out of his comfort zone—away from the usual protective barriers which surrounded him. He had knocked down some of her defences, so why shouldn’t she do the same with him? Why shouldn’t she try to find out more about the real Niccolò da Conti?

She thought of a fancy hotel dining room and all the other people who would be congregated there. People who had no real place to go, who just wanted the holiday to be over. Or even worse—the wink-wink attitude of Room Service if they started asking for turkey sandwiches and champagne to be brought to their room.

An idea popped into her mind and it started to grow more attractive by the minute. She stared at the long number on the credit card. She might not have much money of her own, but she did have her imagination. Surely she was capable of surprising him with something unexpected. Something simple yet meaningful, which would incorporate the true meaning of Christmas.

His power and privilege always gave him an edge of superiority and that couldn’t be good for him. An expensive tab in a smart hotel would only reinforce the differences between them. Wouldn’t it be great to feel more like his equal for a change?

Because what if she was pregnant? She was going to have to get to know him better, no matter what the outcome. Her heart gave a painful lurch as she waited for that intrusive yet strangely compelling image of Niccolò da Conti’s baby to subside.

She waited a minute before typing cute Christmas cottage into her browser. Because cute was exactly what she needed right now, she told herself. Cute stood a chance of making a cynical man melt so you might be able to work out what made him tick. Scrolling down, she stared at the clutch of country cottages which appeared on the screen.

Perfect.