Читать книгу Modern Romance Collection: March 2018 Books 1 - 4 - Кэтти Уильямс, Cathy Williams - Страница 19

CHAPTER NINE

SMALL WAVES SLAPPED rhythmically against the side of the craft and, on the shoreline, distant lights glittered like scattered diamonds. Standing on the deck of his luxury yacht, Rocco Barberi surveyed the guests who were drinking champagne and chattering, wondering why he felt like a spectator at his own party. Fresh oysters and tiny blinis heaped with caviar were doing the rounds, and below deck one of the dealers from the famous nearby casino was demonstrating card tricks to accompanying squeals of disbelief. The party had the indefinable buzz of being a success—and Rocco had just been presented with the succulent cherry which would sit on top of the cake.

A short while ago, Marcel Dupois had taken him aside to say they were satisfied with his offer for the company, and saw no reason for any further delay. Rocco sensed that a deal could be concluded as early as next week and he should have been toasting his own success and looking hungrily to the future, just as he always did.

So why was he feeling a distinct lack of enthusiasm about putting together a new deal?

Why the hell was his temper feeling so damned frayed?

He knew why. The evidence was right there before his eyes. Nicole, wearing a close-fitting scarlet dress—a colour he’d never seen her in before—which apparently she’d made herself, just as she’d made the white sundress he’d torn from her body earlier that day. A Nicole who once again had everyone eating out of her hand with a sunny display which was in marked contrast to her distinctly cool mood once they’d left their hotel room.

Had she been angry with him for being so frank with her this afternoon? Her chilly attitude towards him had seemed to suggest as much. As soon as they’d arrived back at his house she had excused herself, saying she needed to get ready—and during the drive here she’d spent the whole time playing with her mobile phone, and acting as if he weren’t there.

Yet the moment they’d set foot on his yacht she had blossomed into the vivacious beauty who was drawing the eye of everyone at the party. Heads turned as she walked by and he found himself wondering if people could detect her natural sensuality, as if what they’d been doing straight after lunch was manifesting itself in her glowing appearance. His fingers tightened around the rail, because now he was bitterly regretting having told her things. Things about his parents. About not knowing about love. Things she didn’t need to know.

Annelise Dupois was tapping him on the arm. ‘Oh, but she is so charmant,’ she said, her gaze following the direction of his to where Nicole was standing, her mahogany curls illuminated by a soft golden light overhead so that she looked like a dark angel. ‘My husband and I were just saying what a lucky man you are, Rocco.’

And for once in his life, Rocco couldn’t think of a thing to say. Was it lucky that Nicole had somehow acquired the power to make him feel stuff he had no desire to feel? His mouth hardened.

‘I understand you and your wife have been estranged?’ Javier Estrada chose just that moment to break into his thoughts—the Argentine’s apparently innocent question belied by the spark of interest in his black eyes, which was setting Rocco’s teeth on edge. He knew the South American tycoon’s reputation as a ruthless womaniser and had no intention of giving him the green light where Nicole was concerned. Things might be almost over for them, but he was damned if he would stand by and let a man like Estrada salivate all over her.

‘Not any more. We are in the process of reconciliation,’ Rocco answered coldly, not caring that it was a lie.

‘Pity,’ murmured Estrada, and it was as much as Rocco could do not to have him ejected from the boat. Better still, to heave him into the dark waters himself!

But he strode away from him just as a pretty waitress extended her tray of champagne and Rocco waved an impatient hand. He didn’t want food, or drink, or to dance to the sound of the string quartet which was entertaining people at the far end of the vast deck. All he seemed capable of doing was thinking about the woman he had married and wondering if he’d taken a temporary leave of his senses when he’d demanded she accompany him this weekend.

He hadn’t expected her to be so...

He shook his head. That was the trouble. He had entertained zero expectations where Nicole was concerned. Even when he’d discovered that his desire for her was as potent as before, he’d thought some long-overdue sex was all he needed. It had seemed a simple solution to vent his frustration and get the wife who had deserted him out of his system—all in one neat swoop. His mouth twisted. It just didn’t seem to be working out that way. He wondered how he could have made such a bad call and how this whole weekend could have turned into something else. Something he hadn’t bargained for. He felt as if Nicole was stripping away layers of himself, leaving him raw and revealing a side he’d always kept hidden. How had that even happened? he asked himself furiously. But really, he knew.

He stared at the dark rippling waves of the sea. It was because Nicole had changed. She was no longer that uncertain woman who gazed at him with reproachful eyes and was prepared to take whatever he dished out. This new version was more sure of herself. Confident and self-assured, she was behaving as if leaving their marriage had given her the courage to be herself. As if he had been holding her back.

His mouth hardened. Well, let her think whatever she wanted to think. Soon she would be gone and out of his mind. In the morning he would put her on a flight back to England and sign the divorce papers and that would be it.

The end.

He watched as Anna Rivers walked by in a strappy little silver gown—the actress slanting him a slow and lazy smile over her shoulder as she passed. Despite having discovered his marital status, the invitation in her eyes was unmistakable but Rocco wasn’t interested. He scowled. He’d had enough of women for the time being. Once Nicole had gone and the dust had settled he would resume the life he’d had before she’d tumbled into it. He would operate on a level he was comfortable with. Casual affairs with women who knew the score. Women with careers and lives of their own, who he could take or leave as it suited him. Not women who tried to burrow underneath his skin and stay there.

As soon as they left the cocktail party he would say goodnight and in the morning he would have left for the office long before she awoke. And despite the fact that she was undoubtedly the sexiest woman at the party, he would not share her bed or her body tonight. It was too disquieting. Too...intense. That way she had of cooing in his ear when he was deep inside her. The soft wrap of her thighs around his back while he rode her. He felt the warm wash of hunger heating his blood but, deliberately, he dampened it down. Bringing her here had been a mistake, he conceded grimly. A mistake he would not compound by being intimate with her again.

The phone in his pocket began to vibrate and he glanced at it, his senses instantly on alert when he saw it was a missed call from Sicily. And it was late. Was it his grandfather? he wondered, his heart clenching with instinctive dread as he followed the sway of Anna River’s bottom towards the lower deck. But once there, he bypassed the actress’s footsteps to turn left, heading for the sanctuary of his on-board office before putting a call through to the Barberi complex, just outside Palermo.

Maria answered the phone on the first ring—not a good sign—and Rocco automatically slipped into dialect to speak to the family’s housekeeper.

‘Nonno?’ he demanded.

‘Your grandfather is sick,’ said Maria.

‘How sick?’

‘He has a fever. Some kind of infection, the doctor says. We called him straight away.’

Rocco’s fingers tightened around the phone. ‘And what’s happening now?’

‘He is on medication and we have hired a nurse. She’s with him now. So am I.’ There was a pause. ‘Are you coming home, Rocco?’

‘Of course I’m coming home!’

There was another pause and this time Rocco was certain he could hear the voice of his grandfather in the background—weaker than he’d ever heard him speak before. ‘Is that Nonno?’ he demanded. ‘What’s he saying?’

Maria’s next words were tentative. ‘He wants to know if you are reconciled with your wife.’

Rocco narrowed his eyes. ‘What?’

‘Michele mentioned that Nicole has been staying with you in Monaco,’ said Maria.

Silently, Rocco swore. What right did his assistant have to go informing on him to his family, like some sort of amateur spy? He would have words with her, he thought grimly—but that would have to wait.

‘He wants you to answer his question,’ Maria said. ‘And you know he will not rest until you do so.’

Rocco stared around his on-board office without really seeing it. If it had been anyone other than his grandfather he would have told them to go to hell. But Nonno was different. He had a place in Rocco’s life which nobody else could ever occupy. He had been there for him and his siblings when their world had imploded. He had been the one true rock in their world. And he might be dying. Pain shot through him and Rocco’s eyes refocussed as slowly he became aware of his surroundings—the fancy office from which he had conducted some of his most audacious deals. Yet all the gleaming wood and brass might as well have been muddy pieces of driftwood. Suddenly all the awards and commendations counted for nothing.

Niente.

Because these were not the things which mattered.

‘No,’ said Rocco, aware that his voice was husky with fear. ‘We are not reconciled.’

His words were now being conveyed to Nonno but Rocco didn’t need Maria to come back on the line to tell him what he could hear for himself.

‘He wants to see her, Rocco. He wants you to bring her to Sicily.’

* * *

The party was in full swing and Nicole was trying very hard to listen to what the tall Frenchman with the purple bow tie was saying. She knew he was a shareholder and that they viewed Rocco’s bid very favourably. She knew that because he’d told her, even though he probably shouldn’t have done—but he, like everyone else, seemed to be knocking back the expensive champagne which was being served as freely as water. But it was difficult to concentrate on his words. Difficult to think about anything other than the fact that Anna Rivers had just left the deck with Rocco following the beautiful actress, and that he had been gone for some time.

Nicole told herself it didn’t matter where he went or who he went with, but that wasn’t quite true. She was suddenly finding that it mattered a lot more than it should have done, yet that was stupid. Just because she’d had hot sex with him that afternoon didn’t mean she had any rights over him. Hot sex when he hadn’t even kissed her. That told her pretty much what he really felt about her, didn’t it?

Her cheeks were flushed as she walked to the far end of the deck where it was much quieter. Did Rocco realise that the takeover bid was pretty much a done deal? Had he now decided she was surplus to requirements and he could safely ignore her for most of the party? Probably. What did she expect? That he would treat her with respect when she’d behaved that way—falling into his arms as if none of the bad stuff had happened?

There was a buzz behind her and Nicole turned to see Rocco reappear, looking dramatically handsome in his dinner suit, his black hair gleaming beneath the coloured fairy lights which were strung around the deck. He was looking around, as if trying to locate someone, and then he saw her and began to walk towards her. But the instinctive leap of her heart was replaced by a distinct sense of foreboding as she saw the ravaged look which was darkening his features.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said as soon as he’d reached her.

‘I’ve just had a call from Sicily.’ His jaw clenched. ‘My grandfather is sick.’

Nicole sucked in a breath, her shock much greater than it should have been because Turi was very old and so such news could never be described as unexpected. But some people seemed indestructible and the elderly patriarch was one of them. She tried to imagine the Barberi complex without the larger-than-life figure at its helm and couldn’t. She wondered how it would be for Rocco and his siblings if they lost the man who had always been there for them. The lynchpin of their lives. She looked up into Rocco’s empty eyes. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘How...how bad is it?’

He shrugged. ‘They don’t know. My brother is in South America and my sister has been in Los Angeles, so everyone is away. They’re both on their way home, but the flights are long and he needs someone with him now. I’m going to Sicily as soon as air traffic control have approved my flight plans. Michele is sorting that out for me now.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Briefly, Nicole closed her eyes, praying that Rocco would reach his grandfather in time, but she couldn’t prevent the other thought which came rushing through her mind. That this really was the last time she would ever see him. She opened her eyes, unprepared for the cold wash of heartache which followed in the wake of this realisation. This really was goodbye, she thought, and was just working out how best to say it, when Rocco spoke again.

‘He wants to see you, Nicole.’

She blinked, aware that his shadowed eyes had grown flinty and a muscle was working insistently at his temple. ‘Who does?’ she said.

‘Nonno. I spoke with Maria. He’s been asking for you.’

‘For me?’ She didn’t make any attempt to hide her bewilderment because there had been no real closeness between her and the octogenarian patriarch, no matter how hard she had tried. ‘But why?’

‘Who knows?’ he growled, tugging impatiently at his tie as if it were strangling him. ‘Turi is a law unto himself and always has been.’ There was a pause. ‘Will you come, Nic?’

‘Do you want me to come?’ she questioned quietly, trying not to react to a nickname he hadn’t used in a long, long time.

He seemed to steel himself before shaking his head. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I think we both know that you and I have reached the end of the line. But my grandfather could die at any moment—and who am I to deny a dying man his wish?’ He looked her straight in the eyes and they might as well have been alone in a room, rather than on a crowded yacht in the middle of a cocktail party.

Nicole met his questioning gaze. Nobody could accuse Rocco of lying—or caring how much his words could hurt. Yet behind his blunt statement she could sense a vulnerability which for once he wasn’t bothering to hide. Maybe he couldn’t hide it. Suddenly it occurred to her that right now Rocco needed her as she’d always wanted to be needed by him, but like everything else it had come too late.

And she was scared. Going back to Sicily had the potential to reopen painful wounds—but what choice did she have? If she had any kind of conscience she couldn’t refuse what he was asking of her. She was doing this for a sick man, yes, but she was also doing it for Rocco—because she could never live with herself if she let him down. And how crazy was that? ‘Of course I’ll come,’ she said quietly.

‘Grazie.’ He nodded, before glancing down at her red dress. ‘We need to go straight from here to the airfield. There won’t be time to return to the house but I can get Michele to pack your clothes and have them sent straight to the plane.’

‘That’s fine,’ she said.

‘Then let’s get going,’ he said roughly.

Silently, they slipped away from the party and Nicole could see people smiling as they passed. Were they assuming that she and the Sicilian were sneaking away to celebrate the impending deal, or maybe the renewal of their own relationship?

And for one brief moment, didn’t some rogue part of her wish it had been a real reconciliation instead of a cold-blooded arrangement to settle some unfinished business? Instead, she risked getting herself in even deeper than before, by agreeing to return to a place full of difficult memories—a place where she had been nothing more than an outsider. Would Rocco remember that and look out for her or would he simply throw her to the lions, the way he’d done before?

A hundred questions were bubbling up inside her and she stole a glance at Rocco as his private jet soared up into the starlit skies over Monaco, wondering if she should just be upfront and ask them. But his profile was hard and uncompromising and, sensing he had little appetite for conversation, or any more of her unwanted questions, Nicole spent the flight in an uneasy silence.