Читать книгу Hot Christmas Nights: Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding / His for Revenge / Mistletoe Not Required - Anne Oliver, Anne Oliver - Страница 10

GIANCARLO’s cell-phone flashed an incoming call and he frowned when he saw the name which flashed up on the screen.

Cassandra.

His frown deepened. It was barely an hour since he’d seen her and hadn’t he said he’d call her, even if he hadn’t really meant it at the time? Even if just the thought of plunging into that luscious curvy body could send his blood pressure soaring.

But he had been busy appeasing his conscience—telling himself that it would be better for her if he just let things drift. Because the last thing an innocent like Cassie needed was to get herself involved with a man with a track record as a heartbreaker. She’d soon be going back home to Cornwall and the Christmas holidays would take her mind off things. And maybe it was better not to get her hopes up by beginning an affair which had no future.

Then snapshot images of blonde hair and pale curves clicked into his memory with aching clarity and, quickly, he lifted the phone.

‘Cassandra?’ he said, instinctively registering alarm as a barely recognisable voice started pouring out words which made no sense at all. Words like ‘fraud’ and ‘security’. ‘Cassandra, is that you? For God’s sake—calm down! I can’t understand a word you’re saying. What’s going on and where are you?’

‘I’ve been h-hauled off by security staff at the store!’ she stumbled. ‘They’ve s-said that I might want to get myself a lawyer.’

‘Lawyer?’ he thundered.

‘Yes! There’s been the most terrible mix-up—and it’s looking serious. Really serious. Giancarlo, r-remember those c-andles you bought…’

He cut right through her blustering hysteria. ‘Don’t say another word. I’m coming right over,’ he said grimly.

His chauffeur drove him straight round to Hudson’s, where he demanded to speak to the store manager, who led him to a private room in the bowels of the building where he found Cassie, her face all red and blotchy with tears. A slow fury began to rise inside him as she lifted her face towards his, like a mouse caught in a trap.

‘Ah, this must be your lawyer,’ said the female security guard, her fingertips automatically touching her hair.

In the midst of her misery, Cassie watched as Giancarlo strode into the room, thinking how strong he looked—and how formidable. Thank God he was here, she thought fervently before blinking in confusion. Her lawyer? Her eyes asked him a question but he gave a barely imperceptible shake of his head.

‘Hello, Cassandra,’ he said. ‘Do you want to tell me what’s been going on?’

The sound of his voice broke through the emotional barriers she had erected since this whole unbelievable scenario had taken place—an emotional state made more acute by the way she’d spent the previous night. She felt them topple down now, leaving her helpless and vulnerable as she looked up into the obdurate features of his dark face. ‘Oh, Giancarlo,’ she whispered, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks once more. ‘They say I’m a thief!’

Leaning over to press a pristine handkerchief into her palm, Giancarlo turned and fixed the general manager with a blistering look. ‘Would you mind telling me what’s going on?’

It took only minutes for him to establish that he had not actually paid for the candles he’d bought. He frowned as he tried to remember signing for the impulsive purchase. Maybe he hadn’t. The two of them had been too busy flirting and responding to the siren call of their bodies for either of them to notice that his card had not gone through the till.

The problem had been compounded by him forgetting to take the package home with him—and by a rather jealous shop assistant who had set out to cause trouble for Cassandra when she’d seen her in the changing room—only she had really hit the jackpot. On her say-so the floor manager had done a stock-check, discovered the discrepancy, and then immediately alerted the general manager. But the facts were plain enough. The candles had not been paid for and Cassandra had taken them. Technically, there had been a theft—and she could be charged.

‘Madre de Dio,’ Giancarlo said beneath his breath—despairing of the chaos which seemed to have come tumbling into his life. How was it possible that a little absent-mindedness could have had such a potentially damaging outcome? Because he had been blinded by her beauty, that was why! Because he, the master of order and control, had acted impulsively—and now he must pay the price for that impulsiveness. And so must she. Her virginity was lost and she was being branded a common thief—oh, she must be delighting in the day that she ever set eyes on him!

But he recognised that anger would not serve him well in such a situation—and neither would sheer force of character. Instead, with the judicious use of tact and determination, he managed to get the matter dropped by explaining that nothing more sinister than a mix-up had occurred and by repaying the money which was still owed.

And fortunately, he was a big-spending customer. He suspected that the jewellery he’d purchased for his various lovers over the years helped ensure that the whole incident was quickly glossed over. Within the hour, he and Cassandra were standing on the pavement outside the glittering windows of the store—while his driver sat in the limousine at the kerbside.

Giancarlo looked down at her slumped and dejected shoulders. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m free, aren’t I? If they’d got nasty they might have pressed charges and then I’d have ended up with a criminal record.’ She turned her teary eyes up to him—her unlikely saviour. ‘Th-thank you,’ she said, feeling some of the nightmarish feeling subside—but still unable to shake the strange sensation of numbness. As if everything which had happened since she’d knocked on his front door was happening to somebody else. She swallowed down yet more tears, but her voice was shaking so much that her words stuttered out like little pieces of gravel. ‘Th-thank you so much,’ she said again, her voice still trembling. ‘I feel so st-st-stupid.’

‘Well, don’t. Don’t.’ On impulse, he took her into his arms as she began to cry again—feeling her tears soak into his shirt and the soft tremble of her beautiful body as he held her close. And in that moment, her sheer and helpless vulnerability filled him with shame that he should have misjudged her so. Mistaken her for a provocative and experienced lover simply because she had been born to look that way. And now, because of a fierce attraction between them—an attraction which he had seized and capitalised on—her reputation lay in tatters.

Taking his crumpled handkerchief from her trembling fingers, he tilted her chin and began to wipe away the new tears which were trickling down her cheeks. ‘Don’t blame yourself. It was as much my fault as yours. I wasn’t paying attention. Neither of us were.’ He looked into her red-rimmed violet eyes and wondered how she could still manage to look so beautiful. ‘And you’ve lost your job.’

‘I know.’

‘What will you do?’

Cassandra swallowed. In his arms she had felt safe—but now that she was no longer protected by their powerful warmth the horror of what lay ahead filled her with anxiety. It was more than having to leave Hudson’s—though that was bad enough—it was how she was going to explain it to everyone. Her mum. Her flatmates. The owner of the shop back in Padstow when she crept back home and told them all that she had been a failure.

She’d let herself and everyone down—and made herself look like a complete fool in front of Giancarlo into the bargain. She knew she should be rejoicing that the outcome hadn’t been as bad as it could have been—because at least she hadn’t acquired a criminal record—but she felt utterly deflated. And isn’t part of that because you know that you’ll never see him again? Because you’ve made a fool of yourself in more ways than one.

‘I don’t know what I’ll do,’ she whispered. ‘But I’ll think of something.’

Giancarlo studied the forlorn slant of her shoulders. She was, he realized, still wearing the same dress she’d had on last night—and her face was bleached of all colour and shiny with tears. He felt another sharp stab of conscience.

‘Did you have any breakfast this morning?’ he demanded.

‘Not really. Well, no—I didn’t. I was rushing off to work,’ said Cassie quickly—not wanting to tell him that the thought of having to face Gina over a coffee-pot had filled her with disquiet.

He glanced at his watch and then pulled open the door of the car, his other hand in the small of her back as he gently propelled her forward. ‘Get in.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Out for lunch.’

‘But I can’t go out looking like this.’

‘Precisamente, bella. That’s why we’re going shopping first—to buy you something pretty to wear.’

‘No, honestly—’

‘Yes, honestly,’ he mocked. ‘As a small recompense for the hassle you’ve had to endure this morning—for which I am partly responsible.’

He made it sound like buying a child an ice cream after they’d grazed their knee and Cassie flinched. ‘I don’t want recompense!’

‘A treat, then. Something nice after something so unpleasant. Please.’ He flicked a tear-damp strand of hair away from her lips. ‘It will take your mind off things. You know you’re going to have to agree, Cassandra—because I won’t take no for an answer.’

But something in the way he said it only increased her feelings of unease and isolation. As if she could be bought off—just as he’d bought off the store. Buy her ‘something pretty’ and she would go away quietly and never bother him again. Well, she would do all that anyway—but without the billionaire pay-off.

‘I mean it. I don’t want you to buy me something to wear,’ she said proudly.

He was about to argue when he saw the fierce light which shone from her eyes and the determined little tilt of her chin and realised that her words were not empty words. And wasn’t it a damning indictment of his own life that he should be so taken aback by her rejection of his offer? When had anyone last refused him anything—especially money?

‘But I want to take you to lunch,’ he persisted softly—because with her spirited little display she had gone from being someone who had the potential to become a burden to an object of desire again. ‘Can’t I drive you home to change?’

Cassie was about to refuse when something stopped her—because maybe here was an opportunity for them both to get a reality check. Wouldn’t Giancarlo be shocked when he realised just how different their two lives were—and wouldn’t it help her accept that it would never, ever have worked between them?

‘Okay,’ she agreed, with a shrug. ‘Why not?’

But she felt dry-mouthed and nervous throughout the long ride to Greenford as grand mansions gave way to normal rows of houses and apartment blocks. Because this was where the ordinary people lived—the ones who quietly ran the city. People like her.

When the limousine pulled up outside the apartment block, she could see his eyes narrow slightly and she tried to imagine how it must look to him. There was absolutely nothing wrong with it and seventy people lived within its walls with varying degrees of happiness—but it was like a different world from the rarefied atmosphere of the tree-lined street in which Giancarlo lived.

‘Are you going to wait in the car?’ she questioned anxiously.

‘Why don’t I come in?’

What could she say? That she was worried about the inevitable disorder which would greet them—an untidiness caused by too many people living in too small a space? Wouldn’t that then seem as if she was ashamed of her life, and her friends?

‘Please do,’ she said, with a forced smile.

It was as bad as she had expected—or, rather, it was worse. Empty beer cans and wine bottles were strewn over the table, along with a few foil containers containing the congealing remains of a curry and—unforgivably—the faint smell of cigarette smoke. Cassie saw Giancarlo give a faint shudder.

‘They obviously had some sort of party here!’ she said brightly.

‘Obviously,’ he echoed sardonically.

‘Why don’t you wait here while I go and get changed? I won’t be long.’

‘Don’t be.’

He watched as she pulled open a bedroom door—glimpsing a room the size of a shoe-box before she closed the door behind her. He thought back to his own days of living frugally—but he had never lived like this. His brilliant law degree had guaranteed that he walked straight into a good job and the power of his personality had meant that he was able to negotiate a good rate on a rented flat where he had lived, while charting his rapid route to success.

The door opened and she emerged. Giancarlo blinked—realising that it was her sheer youth and natural beauty which ensured that in a few moments she had pulled off the kind of look which older, richer women spent all morning in the salon trying to achieve.

She’d put on a simple grey jersey dress and a pair of slouchy black leather boots. She must have quickly washed her face for the smudgy eyes and blotchiness had disappeared—but had added nothing more than a lick of lipstick. Her long pale hair was clipped back at each ear—and the rest fell in a silken tumble around her shoulders. She looked, he thought—utterly delectable.

‘Shall we go?’ Cassie questioned.

He thought that if she’d been a little more experienced, she might have tried to seduce him here—in an attempt to broker further closeness between them—and the fact that she hadn’t tried made him want her. Really want her. He felt the aching at his groin and thought about taking her to bed. Weighed up the novelty and attraction of the idea against the reality of a small and uncomfortable room and the horror of having to be introduced to her flatmates if any of them returned.

‘Yes. Let’s go,’ he answered briskly. ‘You must be starving.’

Cassie nodded. At least he hadn’t changed his mind about lunch—because hadn’t there been a terrible, insecure part of her which had worried that he might have gone by the time she emerged? Simply disappeared, as if he’d thought better of it? She didn’t know what she was going to do—but at least this meal could provide a little distraction, which meant she didn’t have to think about the future for an hour or so. Her dream of a glorious break in London had now turned into a nightmare. Not only had she been sacked—but she had hitched a star to a thoroughly unsuitable man.

But you haven’t hitched your star to him, Cassie, she reminded herself sharply. He’s simply taking you for a fancy lunch because you lost your job this morning, and afterwards—he’s going to send you on your merry way.

She picked up her handbag. Well, if this was her first and last experience of being Giancarlo’s lover, then she was going to enjoy her lunch and not ruin it by moping. She would make the most of it—try to turn the memory into something to be cherished—otherwise, wouldn’t it all have been a terrible waste? ‘Yes, I’m starving.’

The car drove them to the west of the city, to a restaurant overlooking the river—a big, busy place—so heaven only knew how he managed to get a window table at such short notice. But then Cassie noticed the almost unconscious deference of the waiter—to whom Giancarlo said something smilingly in Italian—and realised that she was in the company of a man who would always get anything he wanted.

She forced herself to concentrate on the green-grey water of the river as it slid past the window and the way the intense light reflected back from its rippling surface—until she was handed a globe of red wine, the colour of rubies.

‘And please don’t tell me you never drink at lunchtime,’ said Giancarlo.

‘I don’t.’

‘Well, today you do. You need a drink.’ He took a mouthful of his own, black eyes capturing hers across the table as he lifted his glass and gave an acid smile. ‘Actually, so do I.’

Following his lead, Cassie took a sip and made no objection when Giancarlo took over the food ordering. She felt numb—the way your mouth felt when the dentist gave you an injection. She sat perfectly still as olives and water and a basket of rosemary-sprinkled bread began to appear.

‘So what will you do?’ he questioned, watching her frozen pose from between narrowed eyes.

‘I’ll have to go back to Cornwall, I guess.’

‘You don’t sound keen.’

‘I’m not. My mother will want to know why the sudden, rather dramatic change of plan. And so will my boss.’

‘And you won’t tell them the truth?’

Cassie gave a hollow laugh. ‘What, that I’ve been sacked and only just managed to avoid being charged for theft?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘I suppose when you put it like that…’

She felt like saying that was the more acceptable of two explanations—because even worse was the truth behind her arrest. About not keeping her mind on the job—swayed by the seasoned charms of an Italian billionaire and then losing her innocence to him. Well, her mother was never going to hear about that, either. ‘There is no other way to put it.’

‘You could stay and get another job,’ he suggested.

Cassie shook her head. He just didn’t understand. But then, why should he—when these sort of commonplace problems were completely outside his experience? ‘Three weeks before Christmas?’ she questioned. ‘I don’t think so. Most stores already have their full quota of staff to cope with the holiday rush—and I’m hardly going to be able to dazzle them with a glowing reference.’

Steak and chips were placed in front of them—but Giancarlo scarcely registered one of his favourite dishes. He looked into her eyes, resenting the renewed striking of his conscience provoked by her pale face and troubled expression.

‘You could stay anyway—without working,’ he suggested.

‘I can’t stay at the flat without paying rent—it’s not fair to the others—and if I’m not working then I can’t pay rent. What do they call it—a catch-22 situation?’

He took another mouthful of wine—only now the clarion call of his conscience began to wane as her words took them effortlessly on to more familiar territory. One of funds and finance and supply and demand. Because when he stopped to think about it—didn’t they each have something the other wanted? He had the money to cushion her fall from grace—and she had…His eyes drifted over her face.

She had plenty. Violet eyes and soft petal lips and a tight, young body which had caused him to act with such uncharacteristic impulse. He felt the familiar arrowing of desire. Because if he was being honest—he hadn’t had enough of Cassandra Summers. And she certainly hadn’t had enough of him.

He leaned across the table and took her cold and unresisting hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the pulse, which instantly began to skitter beneath the delicate skin. ‘I have a much better idea, cara,’ he murmured. ‘Something which I think could be mutually beneficial to us both.’

Cassie stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘What sort of idea?’ she whispered, her senses befuddled just by the way he was touching her.

‘Why don’t you come and live with me?’

Cassie’s heart missed a beat. ‘Live with you?’ she repeated dazedly.

‘Mmm.’ He saw the flare of hope in her eyes and hurried to make sure she didn’t read too much into his suggestion. ‘I don’t much like the holiday season—but you could provide a very welcome distraction. And in the meantime, you need somewhere to stay.’ Giancarlo’s lips curved into a sensual smile as he lifted her fingertips and warmed them with the brush of his lips. ‘So why don’t you come and stay until Christmas?’