Читать книгу Falling For Her Italian Billionaire - Annie Claydon - Страница 11

ALONE IN HIS bedroom Gabriel tore off his clothes, leaving them in an untidy pile on the floor, and threw himself down on the bed. The room was bathed in sunlight and it was hurting his eyes so he reluctantly got up again and drew the curtains. That was better.

He was so tired. Asleep almost before he lay back down...

* * *

Eleven years old and alone in the darkness. His leg hurt. Gabriel had dragged himself over to the heap of rocks that had fallen near the mouth of the cave and tried desperately to move them, but they were too big. He’d called his brother’s name, knowing that he wouldn’t answer but hoping somehow for a miracle. Pietro had been buried, along with his friends, and only Gabriel was left.

Time was measured only by fitful sleep and growing hunger pains.

He heard the sound of water, and crawled to find it, pain shooting through his injured leg. The water tasted clean and cool, marred only by the metallic taste of his own blood, where he’d torn his fingers trying to dig.

He lay down on the floor of the cave. It would be better if he stayed here. Pietro was here, and his ghost seemed to beckon Gabriel into his arms...

* * *

Gabriel woke with a start, cold sweat covering his body. Breathe. Wake up. He commanded himself back into the world of the living. Rolling off the bed and stumbling to the bathroom, he turned on the tap, immersing his face in cold water, the shock bringing him to his senses.

Sometimes he’d go for weeks without having the dream. Then something would happen and it would be back again, never changing and still so real that he could almost touch it. Gabriel supposed that the sedative effects of the flunitrazepam might have something to do with it this time. Or maybe the feeling that he was trapped now too, with unknown dangers surrounding him.

He didn’t remember the rescuers bringing him out of the cave, he’d been too far gone by then, but he remembered waking up with his mother at his bedside. He’d seen the light streaming in through the windows, and promised himself he’d never be trapped again. He’d stay in the light and the fresh air, and he’d go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

His parents’ constant, and understandable, concern for him had made that promise difficult to fulfil during the uneasy years of his teens. But Gabriel had learned to keep the peace, giving his mother the reassurance she needed while still reserving a measure of freedom for himself.

Gabriel switched on the shower, soaping himself clean, trying to tease his mind away from the dregs of the nightmare. He should concentrate on all the bright things his life contained. The memory of Clara’s cool fingers on his face suddenly burst into his head, making him shiver.

He wondered vaguely what Clara would have to say about the freedom that he valued so greatly. The thought that she had no authority to say anything about the way he led his life was tempered by the idea that it was probably her reports to his parents that were keeping his mother sane at the moment. And the growing realisation that he liked her. She was honest, and she had the kind of strength that he admired in a person.

And she was beautiful. Maybe it was his drugged state that had endowed her with the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. The fantasy of being approached by a gorgeous woman and told he was in danger from a criminal plot seemed like something out of a spy thriller.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he padded back into the bedroom, glancing at the clock. It was already three in the afternoon, and he’d slept too long. He should go downstairs and face Clara. Then maybe this whole situation, and Clara herself, would seem a little more ordinary.

* * *

‘Still here, then.’ Clara had heard Gabriel moving around upstairs for the last half-hour. When he appeared in the kitchen doorway he had showered and shaved, and looked a great deal better than he had first thing this morning.

She looked up at him and gave him a smile. ‘You thought I was going somewhere?’

He shrugged. ‘I wasn’t entirely sure that you were ever here at all. I suppose that what you said this morning still stands as well?’

‘Yes. I’m afraid it does.’ Disbelief was a common enough reaction. But the smiling, casual joke that Gabriel made of it was unusual. Most people were a bit more visceral about it, almost pleading with her to tell them that it was all a mistake.

‘Since this all seems to be real...my first concern is for the well-being of my charity. I assume you have details of The Watchlight Trust.’ He nodded towards the laptop that was open in front of her on the kitchen table.

In the circumstances, his first concern should be for his life. Maybe Gabriel took it for granted that he was invulnerable, the rich frequently did. But it seemed she’d found something that he cared about enough to want to protect it.

‘Yes, I do. Interesting name...’

‘We aim to serve those who keep a watchlight burning and are there for us when we’re in trouble.’

‘I can support that. I used to work as an ambulance paramedic...’ Clara bit her tongue. Her own past wasn’t relevant here.

But it was too late. His gaze had caught hers and there was no escape. ‘You know, it seems a little unfair that you know all about me and I know so little about you.’

He’d laid a trap for her and she’d fallen straight into it. Clara felt her cheeks redden. ‘You can have a copy of my CV...’

He shot her a languid smile. ‘Don’t do that. I prefer a more personal approach to information-gathering.’

For now, getting the file straight was Clara’s primary focus, and the idea of a personal approach was disconcerting. She cleared her throat.

‘And what exactly does The Watchlight Trust do?’

‘We’re building a knowledge and research base, and we run courses and conferences for people in the emergency and other rescue services. Alistair Duvall and I co-founded the charity five years ago. We’re both medical doctors with training in traumatic injury. Alistair specialises in physical rehab and limb replacement, and my speciality is in PTSD and its associated disorders. We run a clinic, next door to our offices, which deals mainly with outpatients but we do have facilities for fifteen in-patients as well.’

‘And the clinic is solely for rescue service personnel?’

Gabriel shook his head. ‘Not now. We came to the very obvious realisation that the techniques we were using to help those who were injured while rescuing others could be applied across a wider range of people. We welcome anyone who feels we can help them.’

He grinned suddenly, waiting for her to finish typing the extra information into the file on her laptop. ‘Got all that, or do you want me to go a bit slower?’

‘I’m keeping up. Could someone damage your own reputation or that of DeMarco Pharmaceuticals by attacking The Watchlight Trust?’

‘If anyone attacks The Watchlight Trust then my reputation is the least of my worries.’ The gleam of defiance in his eyes might be commendable, but it wasn’t going to help with the security situation. ‘Legally speaking and in terms of culture and decision-making, the charity is entirely separate from my father’s company.’

‘And in practice?’

Gabriel puffed out a breath. ‘In practice, DeMarco Pharmaceuticals lends us conference and training facilities from time to time, and we have use of the private plane when it’s available. My mother throws a fundraiser every year, which brings in a lot of money. And although I’m nominally a salaried director, I don’t draw my salary because I have an allowance from the family trust.’

‘And do you put any of your own money into the charity?’

‘There are a few high-risk projects that I fund myself, on the basis that they’re largely a gamble.’ She noted the gleam in his eyes as he spoke. Apparently high risk was something that excited him, and that was going to be a concern.

She’d deal with that later. ‘So in terms of public perception, The Watchlight Trust has a very great deal to do with DeMarco Pharmaceuticals. I think we must consider security at their offices.’

He nodded. ‘That sounds wise. Alistair’s the one to contact about that, you have his number?’

Clara nodded. ‘I have a proposal for CCTV and movement sensors that we can install here in your house, too...’

‘No.’ He turned and flipped open a cupboard, raising one eyebrow when he found it empty. ‘You’ve been busy. What did you do with the teabags?’

‘Next cupboard along.’ Gabriel clearly wasn’t inclined to discuss the need to send everything in his kitchen off for testing, any more than he wanted to discuss CCTV. But Clara had to take measures to ensure his safety.

‘Security cameras aren’t designed to invade your privacy. We can position them discreetly and you’ll forget they’re even there...’

He put teabags into two mugs, setting the kettle to boil. Then turned, leaning against the countertop, his arms folded. ‘I’ll save you the trouble. I don’t want any kind of surveillance equipment in my house.’

This was her way in. ‘Then you’ll be pleased to hear that we’ve swept the house for bugs, and didn’t find anything.’

A pulse started to beat at the side of his forehead. Gabriel was obviously coming to the realisation that Clara wasn’t the only one who might be watching or listening. It didn’t seem to please him.

‘What makes you think that you would?’

‘Have you worked out how the flunitrazepam got into your system yet?’

His gaze left her face and Gabriel stared pensively at the floor. ‘No.’

‘Neither have I. Until we do, we need to assume that anything’s possible.’

‘Or maybe we should try not to jump to conclusions, and assume that things are okay until we know otherwise.’

‘And what would you consider a reliable warning that things aren’t okay? You ending up in hospital?’ Clara pressed her lips together. That point would have been better made calmly.

‘I don’t have an answer to that.’ Gabriel looked up at her, the knowingness in his eyes making her shiver. He seemed to see straight through her, past her veil of professionalism and right down to the moment when seeing him lying in that hospital bed had made her want to reach out and touch him.

‘Neither do I. But we’ll know more tomorrow, and until then I need to assume the worst. Which means that the only alternative to CCTV is that I stay here in the house tonight, with a full protection detail.’

Oddly enough, that didn’t seem to bother Gabriel too much. Maybe he’d come to the conclusion that, however good her team was, they couldn’t see through closed doors. ‘I’m always happy to have house guests. I have to make some phone calls and then I’ll make the spare room up for you.’

He’d be infuriating if it weren’t for that charm of his. Actually, he was infuriating, but the charm made it all too easy to forgive him.

‘The spare room won’t be necessary.’ Clara could catch a few hours in a chair, she’d slept in worse places. ‘And if you want to make any calls, would you use my phone? I’m still waiting to hear back about the checks on your landline.’

She slid the phone across the table and Gabriel nodded, turning to pour the tea. He put one cup down on the table in front of her, then picked up her phone and strode out of the kitchen.

* * *

She could handle this. She wasn’t going to mess up. Clara twisted her fingers together in her lap and took a breath. This was the chance she’d been waiting for, a make-or-break career move, looking after one of Gladstone and Sullivan Securities’ most valued clients. She couldn’t allow herself to lose focus.

She’d already come so far. Her parents’ divorce had turned her life into a constant trek between her mother’s and father’s houses, as both of them warred over custody and pretty much everything else. Clara had escaped that and made a home for herself. And then her life had collapsed around her again. When she was tempted to see only Gabriel’s handsome face and his smile, she should remember why she’d promised herself she would never be taken in by a man again.

* * *

Six in the morning, and she’d travelled all night so she could surprise her husband. After an eleven-month tour of duty as a paramedic with the Army Reserve, Clara had arrived home.

Tim would still be sleeping and she took her boots off and climbed the stairs silently. The Clara who had trusted reached out her hand and opened the bedroom door.

She could still feel the tearing pain as she’d seen Tim, sleeping peacefully in the light of early dawn, his arm around a woman Clara had called her friend. It had been at that precise moment that trust had become a thing of the past.

She’d run down the stairs, hearing shocked voices as Tim and Sandra had woken suddenly. Picking up her boots and bag, she’d been gone before Tim had been able to follow her, slamming the front door behind her. Out into a world where her marriage was in ruins and she had nowhere to call home.

* * *

That had been four years ago. Clara had taken that moment and let it drive her. She’d worked hard, calculating every move she made. No more moments of shocked betrayal. And a home that she could truly call her own that no one could take away.

She had a good job and a nice flat. She relied on herself, and there was no way that Gabriel’s smile was going to tempt her into risking all of that.

* * *

Gabriel retreated to his study, sprawling on the sofa. Resisting the impulse to access Clara’s photographs to see if there were pictures of dogs or children or anything else that might betray that she had a life beyond this, he flipped through the contacts. His father’s number was there, along with Sara’s mobile number and the main number of his charity.

The first call was the easiest. Sara and Grant brushed off his apologies, wanting only to know whether he was all right. The second was a little more taxing. Gabriel’s co-director at The Watchlight Trust, Alistair Duvall, had not been satisfied with blanket reassurances and had questioned him more closely. Then Gabriel called his father.

He lay on the sofa, studying the ceiling as his father swung into employer mode and issued instructions. This was a serious matter, and he knew that Gabriel shared his concern that the company should not be compromised. He was to follow the advice of his security team at all times. Gabriel mouthed the words of his parting shot, knowing them off by heart. He wasn’t to worry his mother. She’d already lost one son...

He knew. He’d been there. The last twenty years had been dedicated to not worrying his mother, and to trying to make up for the son that his parents had lost. To stepping into the shoes of the older brother he’d hero-worshipped. Gabriel did what he always did, assuring his father that he’d heard, and asking to speak to his mother.

That was a less demanding conversation. His mother’s fears could be assuaged by the sound of his voice, and the promise that he was fine, if a little groggy still. They chatted for a while, and when he was sure that his mother was content, Gabriel ended the call.

He closed his eyes, stretching his limbs, wondering whether it was time to take more painkillers. Perhaps he should ask Clara, she seemed to have pretty much every area of his life under control.

But tomorrow he’d take it all back. Tomorrow was a new day. One more day that his brother didn’t have, and Gabriel had promised himself a long time ago that he’d waste none of them.