Читать книгу The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress - Кэтти Уильямс, CATHY WILLIAMS, Cathy Williams - Страница 6

CHAPTER ONE

MEGAN stooped down so that she was on the same level as the six-year-old, brown-haired, blue-eyed boy in front of her. Face of an angel, but spoiled rotten. She had seen many versions of this child over the past two years, since she had been working in London. It seemed to be particularly predominant at private schools, where children were lavished with all that money could buy but often starved of the things that money couldn’t.

‘Okay, Dominic. Here’s the deal. The show’s about to start, the mummies and daddies are all out there waiting, and the Nativity play just isn’t going to be the same without you in it.’

‘I don’t want to be a tree! I hate the costume, Miss Reynolds, and if you force me then I’m going to tell my mummy, and you’ll be in big trouble. My mummy’s a lawyer, and she can put people into prison!’ he ended, with folded arms and a note of irrefutable triumph in his voice.

Megan clung to her patience with immense difficulty. It had been a mad week. Getting six-year-old children to learn and memorise their lines had proved to be a Herculean feat, and the last thing she needed on the day before school broke up was a badly behaved brat refusing to be a tree.

‘You’re a very important tree,’ she said gently. ‘Very important. The manger wouldn’t be a manger without a very important tree next to it!’ She looked at her watch and mentally tried to calculate how much time she had to convince this tree to take his leading role on stage—a role which involved nothing more strenuous than waving his arms and swaying. She had only been at this particular school for a term, but she had already sussed the difficult ones, and had cleverly steered them away from any roles that involved speech.

‘I want my mummy. She’ll tell you that I can be whatever I want to be! And I want to be a donkey.’

‘Lucy’s the donkey, darling.’

‘I want to be a donkey!’

Tree; donkey; donkey; tree. Right now, Megan was heartily wishing that she had listened to her friend Charlotte, when she had decided to leave St Margaret’s and opted for another private school. Somewhere a little more normal. She could deal with normal fractious children. She had spent three years dealing with them at St Nick’s in Scotland, after she had qualified as a teacher. None of them had ever threatened her with prison.

‘Okay. How about if we fetch your mummy and she can tell you how important it is for you to play your part? Remember, Dominic! It’s all about teamwork and not letting other people down!’

‘Donkey,’ was his response to her bracing statement, and Megan sighed and looked across to where the head of the junior department was shaking her head sympathetically.

‘Happened last year,’ she confided, as Megan stood up. ‘He’s not one of our easier pupils, and fetching his mum is going to be tricky. I’ve had a look outside and there’s no sign of her.’ Jessica Ambles sighed.

‘What about the father?’

‘Divorced.’

‘Poor kid,’ Megan said sympathetically, and the other teacher grinned.

‘You wouldn’t be saying that if you had witnessed him throwing his egg at Ellie Maycock last Sports Day.’

‘Final offer.’ Megan stooped back down and held both Dominic’s hands. ‘You play the tree, and I’ll ask your mummy if you can come and watch me play football over the vacation if you have time.’

Forty-five minutes later and she could say with utter conviction that she had won. Dominic Park had played a very convincing tree and had behaved immaculately. He had swayed to command, doing no damage whatsoever, either accidental or intentional, to the doll or the crib.

There was just the small matter of the promised football game, but she was pretty sure that Chelsea mummies, even the ones without daddies, were not going to be spending their Christmas vacation at home. Cold? Wet? Grey? Somehow she didn’t think so.

Not that she had any problem with six-year-old Dominic watching her play football. She didn’t. She just didn’t see the point of extending herself beyond her normal working hours. She wasn’t sure what exactly the school policy was on pupils watching their teachers play football, and she wasn’t going to risk taking any chances. Not if she could help it. She was enjoying her job and she deserved to. Hadn’t it taken her long enough to wake up in the morning and look forward to what the day ahead held in store for her?

From behind the curtain she could hear the sound of applause. Throughout the performance cameras and video recorders had been going mad. Absentee parents had shown up for the one day in the year they could spare for parental duty, and they were all determined to have some proof of their devotion.

Megan smiled to herself, knowing that she was being a little unfair, but teaching the children of the rich and famous took a little getting used to.

In a minute everyone would start filtering out of the hall, and she would do her duty and present a smiling face to the proud parents. To the very well-entertained parents—because, aside from the play, they would be treated to substantial snacks, including crudités, delicate salmon-wrapped filo pastries, miniature meatballs and sushi for the more discerning palate. Megan had gaped at the extravaganza of canapés. She still hadn’t quite got to grips with cooking, and marvelled at anyone who could produce anything edible that actually resembled food.

Out of nowhere came the memory of Alessandro, of how he’d used to laugh at her attempts at cooking. When it came to recipe books she was, she had told him, severely dyslexic.

It was weird, but seven years down the road she still thought of him. Not in the obsessive, heartbroken, every-second-of-every-minute-of-every-waking-hour way that she once had, but randomly. Just little memories, leaping out at her from nowhere that would make her catch her breath until she blinked them away, and then things would return to normal.

‘Duty calls!’

Megan snapped back to the present, to see Jessica Ambles grinning at her.

‘All the parents are waiting outside for us to tell them what absolute darlings their poppets have been all term!’

‘Most of them have been. Although I can think of a few…’

‘With Dominic Park taking first prize in that category?’

Megan laughed. ‘But at least he waved his arms tonight without knocking anyone over. Although I did notice that Lucy the donkey kept her distance. Amazing what a spot of blackmail can do. I told him he could watch my next football match.’ She linked her arm through her colleague’s and together they headed out to the main hall, leaving behind a backstage disaster zone of discarded props and costumes, all to be cleared away the following afternoon, when the school would be empty.

The main hall was a majestic space that was used for all the school’s theatrical performances and for full assemblies. A magnificent Christmas tree, donated by one of the parents, stood in the corner, brightly lit with twinkling lights and festooned with decorations—many from the school reserves but a fair few also donated by parents. Elsewhere, along one side, were tables groaning with the delicacies and also bottles of wine—red and white.

The place was buzzing with parents and their offspring, who had changed back into their school gear, and numerous doting relatives. In between the teachers mingled, and enjoyed the thought that term was over and they would be having a three-week break from the little darlings.

Megan was not returning to Scotland for the holidays. Her parents had decided to take themselves off to the sunshine, and her sisters were vanishing to the in-laws’. Playing the abandonment card had been a source of great family mirth, but really she was quite pleased to be staying put in London. There was a lot going on, and Charlotte would be staying down as well. They had already put up their tree in the little house they shared in Shepherd’s Bush, and had great plans for a Christmas lunch to which the dispossessed had been cordially invited. Provided they arrived bearing food or drink.

A surprising number of people had seemed happy to be included in the ‘dispossessed’ category, and so far the numbers were up to fifteen—which would be a logistical nightmare, because the sitting room was small—but a crush of bodies had never fazed Megan. The more the merrier, as far as she was concerned.

She heard Dominic before she actually spotted him. As was often the case with him, he was stridently informing one of his classmates what Father Christmas was bringing him. He seemed utterly convinced that the requested shed-load of presents would all be delivered, and Megan wondered whether he had threatened the poor guy with a prison sentence should his demands not be met.

She was smiling when she approached his mother, curious to see what she looked like. Matching parents to kids was an interesting game played by most teachers, and this time the mental picture connected perfectly with the real thing.

Dominic Park’s mother looked like a lawyer. She was tall, even wearing smart, black patent leather flats, with a regal bearing. Dark hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, and her blue eyes were clever and cool. Despite the informality of the occasion, she was wearing an immaculate dove-grey suit, with a pashmina loosely draped around her shoulders.

She was introduced via Dominic, who announced, without preamble, that this was Miss Reynolds and she had promised she would take him to watch her play football.

‘You must be Dominic’s mum.’ Megan’s smile was met with an expression that attempted to appear friendly and interested but somehow didn’t quite manage to make it. This was a woman, Megan thought, who probably distributed her smiles like gold dust—or maybe she had forgotten how to smile at all, because it wasn’t called for in a career that saw her putting people into prison, if her son was to be believed.

‘Correct, Miss Reynolds, and I must say that I was very disappointed when Nanny told me today that Dominic would be playing a tree. Not terribly challenging, is it?’

She had an amazing accent that matched her regal bearing perfectly.

‘We like to think of the Nativity Play as a fun production, Mrs Park, rather than a competition.’ She smiled down at Dominic, who was scowling at some sushi in a napkin. She took it from him. ‘And you made a marvellous tree. Very convincing.’

‘When will you be playing football?’ he demanded.

‘Ah… Timetable still to be set!’

‘But you won’t forget, will you?’ he insisted. ‘Because my mummy’s a—’

‘Yes, yes, yes… I think I’ve got the message on that one, Dominic.’ Megan smiled at his mother. ‘I’ve been told that I shall be flung into prison without a Get Out Of Jail Free card if I don’t let him watch one of my matches….’

‘Silly boy. I’ve told him a hundred times that I’m a corporate lawyer! And we shall have to discuss Dominic watching your football match, I’m afraid. We’re very busy over the Christmas period, and Nanny won’t be around for three days, so I shall be hard-pressed to spare the time to take him anywhere.’

Megan was busy feeling sorry for poor Nanny, who had clearly been inconsiderate enough to ask for time off over Christmas, when she was aware that they had been joined by someone. The elegant lawyer had stopped in mid-flow, and there actually was something of a smile on her face now as she looked past Megan to whoever was standing behind her.

‘Alessandro, darling. So good of you. I’m absolutely parched.’

Alessandro!

The name alone was sufficient to send Megan into a tailspin. Of course there was more than one Alessandro in the world! It was a common Italian name! It was just disconcerting to hear that name when she had been thinking about him only minutes earlier.

She turned around, and the unexpected rushed towards her like a freight train at full speed, taking her breath away. Because there he was. Alessandro Caretti. Her Alessandro. Standing in front of her. A spectre from the past. Seven years separated memory from reality, but he had remained the same. Still lean, still muscular, still staggeringly good-looking. Yes, a little older now, and his face was harsher, more forbidding, but this was the man who had haunted her dreams for so long and still cropped up in her thoughts like a virus lying dormant in her bloodstream—controlled, but never really going away.

She had never seen him in a suit before. Seven years ago he had worn jeans and sweatshirts. He was wearing a suit now, a charcoal-grey suit, and, yes, a white shirt—so some things must not have changed.

Megan could feel the blood rushing into her face, and it was a job to keep steady, to hold out her hand politely and wonder if he would even recognise her. Her hair was shorter now, but still as uncontrollable as it always had been. Everything else was the same.

She was shaking when she felt the brief touch of his hand as she was introduced.

What was he doing here? Was he Dominic’s father? But, no. From next to her she could hear that cut-glass accent saying something about her fiancé. He was engaged! Wearing a suit and engaged to the perfect woman he had foreseen all those years ago when he had broken up with her.

He didn’t appear to recognise her as he held out the glass of wine to his fiancée, eliminating her from the scene by half turning his back on her.

On the verge of flight, she was stopped by Dominic announcing yet again—this time to Alessandro—that Miss Reynolds would be taking him to a football match. At this, Alessandro focused his fabulous dark eyes on her and said, unsmilingly, ‘Isn’t that beyond the call of duty, Miss Reynolds?’

How can you not even recognise me? Megan wanted to yell. Had she been so forgettable? Didn’t he even recognise her name? Maybe he had met so many women over the years that faces and names had all become one great big blur.

‘It seemed the only way to persuade Dominic to be a tree.’ It was a miracle that her vocal cords managed to remain intact when everything else inside was going haywire. ‘And it’s not taking him to a football match. It would be to watch me playing football.’

‘You play football?’

His dark, sexy voice wrapped itself around her, threatening to strangle her ability to breathe.

‘One of my hobbies,’ Megan said, taking one protective step back. She dragged her eyes away from that mesmerising face and addressed his fiancée. ‘I hope you have a lovely Christmas, Mrs Park.’ She realised that she was still clutching the discarded sushi, which had seeped through the napkin and was now gluey against the tightly closed palm of her hand.

‘You’ll have to give my mother your phone number, Miss Reynolds, and your address. For the football match? You promised!’

Two steps further back and a brief nod. ‘Sure. I’ll leave it on a piece of paper on the front desk. Now, I really must dash…meet some of the other parents… Very nice to meet you…’

Her eyes flickered across to Alessandro, then away. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was sipping his wine, his eyes drifting in boredom across the room, indifferent to her babbling. An insignificant teacher. Why should he be interested in anything she had to say? He didn’t even remember who she was!

For the next hour Megan kept her distance from them, but time and again she found herself seeking him out in the crowd. He was always easy to spot. He dominated the room—and not just with his powerful physical presence. He looked as though he owned the space around him and only the special chosen few were invited in.

She should really have stayed to the end, until after all the parents had departed, because a few of the teachers were planning on going out for a drink, but with her nervous system in total meltdown she fetched her coat, scribbled the wretched phone number and address on a piece of paper, which she left on the front desk, and headed for the underground.

It was a sturdy walk from the school, away from the chaos of expensive cars bearing the little darlings back home. After a few minutes there was only the sound of her boots on the pavement and the usual delightful London noises. The distant thrum of traffic, the occasional high-pitched whine of a police siren, the muted voices of people passing her.

Hunched into her coat and with her head down, braced against the freezing wind, Megan only became aware of the car after it had stopped right in front of her—and she only became aware of it then because she nearly crashed into the passenger door, which had been flung open.

Two words. ‘Get in!’

Megan bent and peered into the car. She knew the driver of the car. Of course she did. She would have recognised that voice anywhere.

‘Drop dead.’ She slammed the door shut with such ferocity that she was surprised it didn’t fall off its hinges.

The cool walk had restored some of her sanity, and she had figured out why he hadn’t seen fit to say that they had met before. He was a successful city gent now, engaged to be married to his female counterpart. Why spoil the rosy picture by announcing any connection to a lowly teacher? Even before he had become successful—which he undoubtedly was, if the suit and the car were anything to go by—he had ditched her because she had been inappropriate to his long-term plans. How much more inappropriate would she be now?

The car cruised alongside her, its window now rolled down, and she heard him say with lazy intent, ‘You can either get in, or else I’ll pay you a little visit at your house. Your choice.’

Megan looked through the window. ‘What are you doing, Alessandro? I thought you didn’t recognise me.’

‘Naturally I recognised you. I just didn’t see fit to launch into an explanation of how our paths had crossed. Wrong time, wrong place.’

The baldness of that statement only skimmed the surface of the shock he had felt on seeing her. To have your past leap out at you and grab you by the throat… He had felt driven to do this—to follow her on her way home—although now that he had Alessandro was beginning to wonder what would be achieved. Curiosity had got the better of him—maybe that had been it?

Somewhere in his seven-year meteoric rise to power, curiosity had become a rare luxury. His gift for money-making in the complex world of derivatives had engineered a swift rise to giddy, powerful heights. It had also provided him with more than sufficient disposable cash to move effortlessly into acquisitions. Alessandro had everything that money could buy, but the ease with which he had made millions had left him with a jaded palette. After his initial shock on seeing Megan, his curiosity to find out what she had been up to in the past seven years had been overpowering and irresistible, and—face it—he could indulge his curiosity. He could indulge anything he wanted to.

‘What do you want?’

‘Get in the car, Megan. It’s been a long time. It would be bizarre not to play a little catch-up game, don’t you think?’

‘I think it’s bizarre that you left your fiancée so that you could follow me.’

‘Old friends meeting up. Victoria would have no problem with that. Thankfully she’s not a possessive woman. I’ll drop you home. It’s a ridiculous night to be…doing what? Catching a bus? Taking a tube somewhere?’

‘Go away.’

‘Not still playing childish games, are you, Megan? You know you’re as curious to find out about me as I am to find out about you, so why fight it?’

Megan got in. For one thing the wind was whipping her coat all over the place. For another the tube would be packed and uncomfortable, and quite possibly not running to schedule. And, yes, she was curious. He had been an important piece of her past, and maybe catching up, hearing all about his bright, shiny new life, would provide her with the tools for closure.

‘Nice car.’ She took in the walnut dashboard and the plush leather seats. ‘I don’t know much about cars, but I’m thinking that you climbed up that ladder without taking too many knocks on the way up, Alessandro.’ She couldn’t prevent the note of bitterness that had crept into her voice—a leftover from the hurt all that time ago.

‘Did you ever think that I wouldn’t?’ He wasn’t looking at her. His concentration was entirely on the road and on the illuminated map on his dashboard, detailing directions to her house. He had got the address from the scrap of paper she had left at the front desk, and had punched it into his navigation system as soon as he had got into his car, having safely seen Victoria and Dominic to a taxi.

Not looking at her, but still seeing her in his head, he thought she looked exactly as she had all those years ago. Curly blonde hair, big blue eyes, full mouth that always looked on the verge of laughing. He had had no choice but to follow her.

‘Arrogance isn’t a very nice trait.’

‘Who’s being arrogant? I’m being realistic. And nice isn’t a trait that gets anyone very far in the business world. What are you doing in London, anyway?’

‘Oh, I forgot. I was supposed to be a little country girl who was destined to stay in the country.’

‘You’re bitter.’

‘Can you blame me?’

‘I did what was necessary. For both of us. In life, we all do.’

His casual dismissal of her feelings was as hurtful as if he had taken a knife and twisted it into her. ‘So…you live in London? Have you made a name for yourself? I know that was top of your list of things to do. Oh, along with making lots of money.’

‘Yes, to your first question—and as far as making money, let’s just say that I’m not living hand-to-mouth.’

‘You mean, you’re rich?’

‘Filthy rich,’ he agreed easily.

‘You must feel very pleased with yourself that your plan worked out, Alessandro.’ And the very suitable lawyer with her posh voice was obviously part two of his plan. He had dumped all handicaps and moved on, with the same relentless focus that she had seen in him years ago. ‘And how did you meet…Dominic’s mother?’ she asked, twisting the knife herself now.

‘Work,’ Alessandro said abruptly.

‘She tells me that she’s a corporate lawyer.’

‘The top of her field.’

‘Guess she ticks all the boxes, then.’ Megan thought of all the boxes she had failed to tick—but wasn’t it stupid to still be bitter after all this time? He had moved on with his life and so, really, had she. Of course, he was getting married, which rated a lot higher on the Moving On With Life scale than having had a couple of boyfriends, neither of whom had lasted more than seven months, but she wasn’t going to dwell on that.

‘All the boxes,’ Alessandro agreed smoothly.

‘You’ve even managed to land yourself a ready-made family!’

‘Dominic has his own father. I’m not required to play happy families with my fiancée’s offspring.’ In actual fact, Alessandro had met Dominic all of three times, even though he had now been seeing Victoria for six months. Their schedules were both ridiculously packed, and meetings had to be carefully orchestrated—usually dinner somewhere, or the theatre, or supper at his Kensington place. With his own personal chef, eating in was as convenient as dining out. Family outings, therefore, had not been on the agenda—something for which Alessandro was somewhat relieved.

‘Charming,’ Megan said brightly. ‘I always thought that when you married someone you hitched up to all their baggage, including any offspring from a previous marriage. Crazy old me.’

‘I don’t remember you being sarcastic.’

‘We’re both older.’ She shrugged and gave him the final directions to her house, which was only a few streets away. ‘We’ve both changed. I don’t remember you as being cold and arrogant.’ Not that that didn’t work for her. It did, because she disliked this new, rich Alessandro, with his perfect life and his ruthless face. ‘You can drop me off here. It’s been great catching up, and thanks for the lift.’

About to open the car door, she felt his hand circle her wrist. It was like being zapped by a powerful bolt of electricity.

‘But we haven’t finished catching up.’ He killed the engine, but remained sitting in the dark car. ‘You still have to tell me about yourself.’

Megan looked at him. ‘Do you mind releasing me?’

‘Why don’t you invite me in for a cup of coffee?’

‘I share a house. My housemate will be there.’

‘Housemate?’

‘Charlotte. Do you remember her, Alessandro? Or have you wiped her out of your memory bank along with the rest of your past?’

‘Of course I remember her,’ Alessandro said irritably. Hell, here he was, being perfectly nice, perfectly interested, and what was he getting? She’d used to be so damned compliant, always smiling, always laughing, always keen to hear what he had to say, no sharp edges. ‘And I have a very vivid recollection of my past. I just have no wish to revisit it.’

He had released her, but her whole body was still tingling from that brief physical contact.

‘You can come in for a cup of coffee,’ she told him. ‘But I don’t want you hanging around. You might think that it’s all jolly good fun, taking a trip down memory lane, but—speaking as the person you dumped—I have zero interest in reliving old times.’

She opened the car door and walked towards the house, leaving him to decide what he wanted to do. She felt his presence behind her as she rustled in her bag for her keys, but she pointedly didn’t look round at him as she slotted the key into the lock.

‘The kitchen’s through there,’ she said, nodding towards the back of the house. ‘I’m going to change.’

She took the stairs two at a time, her heart beating like a hammer. She couldn’t believe that this was happening, that some quirk of fate had brought her past catapulting into her present. She also couldn’t believe that seeing him could have such a huge impact on her. She had sometimes imagined what it would be like to see him again, never believing in a million years that it would actually happen. In her head she had been cool, contained, mildly interested in what he had to say, but with one eye on her watch—a busy young thing with a hectic life to lead, which didn’t involve some guy who had dumped her because she didn’t match up to the high standards he had wanted. In other words, a woman of twenty-six who was totally over the creep.

Now look at her! A nervous wreck.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and saw a flushed face and over-bright eyes. Charlotte, who would have given her a stiff pep talk on bastards and how they should be treated, was, of course, conspicuous by her absence. Where were friends when you needed them? Living it up with work colleagues somewhere in central London, instead of staying put just in case an urgent pep talk was required.

She was only marginally calmer when she headed downstairs fifteen minutes later, in a pair of faded jeans, an old sweatshirt, and her fluffy rabbit bedroom slippers—because, hey, why should she put herself out to dress up for a man whose taste now ran to sophisticated brunette lawyer-types with cut-glass accents?

He was waiting obediently in the kitchen, a graceful, powerful panther who seemed to dwarf the small confines of the room. He had removed his black coat, which lay over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and was sitting at the table, his long legs extended to one side and elegantly crossed at the ankles.

‘So…tell me what you’ve been up to these past few years,’ he said, watching her as she turned her back on him to fill the kettle.

This, more than the woman in the black skirt and neat burgundy shirt, was the Megan he remembered. Casual in jeans and an oversized jumper and, as always when pottering inside her flat, wearing the most ridiculous bedroom slippers. Aside from kids, he’d always figured her to be the only person in the country who wore gimmicky bedroom slippers. His eyes drifted up her body, along her legs to her breasts, and he felt as though the room had suddenly become airless.

‘I got my teacher training qualifications,’ she said, stirring coffee into the boiling water and finally turning round to hand him a mug. ‘Then I taught at St Nicks for three years. I moved down to London because Charlotte was working here and I thought it would make a change. I spent a year or so at St Margaret’s, and I started working at Dominic’s school in September.’

‘That’s a very dry, factual account. Why London? The last time I looked there were remarkably few open fields or running brooks, or little cottages with white picket fences.’

‘I decided that I fancied a change from open fields, Alessandro. Maybe you were a little too quick to shove me into the role of the country bumpkin.’ She wasn’t going to tell him how claustrophobic her life had suddenly seemed the second he had walked out of it, how the excitement of teaching in a rural school had been tarnished with the uncomfortable feeling that outside her tiny world lay excitement and adventure. He didn’t deserve to know anything about her.

‘Look, I could embellish it with all the fun things I’ve done in between, Alessandro, but they would mean nothing to you.’

‘Try me.’

‘I’d rather not. I’m tired, and I don’t have the energy.’ Acutely conscious of those dark, fabulous, watchful eyes on her face, Megan took a sip of coffee and stared down at the table.

‘I see you’re still buying those ridiculous bedroom slippers.’

‘Christmas present last year from one of my pupils,’ she said crisply, tucking her feet beneath the table. ‘It’s one of the perks of the job. Lots of bath stuff, candles, picture frames and, in this case, gimmicky slippers.’

‘How long have you lived here?’

‘Since I moved to London.’

‘Is this going to be a question and answer session?’ Alessandro drawled. ‘I ask the questions and you use as few words as humanly possible to answer?’

‘You wanted to find out what I’d been up to and I’m telling you. My life is probably not nearly as fascinating as yours has been, but I love what I do and I’m very happy.’ She drained her cup, then looked at him. ‘How long have you known…Dominic’s mum?’

‘Roughly six months.’

Roughly six months! Less time than he’d been with her. It hurt to think that he must have been bowled over to have moved from dating to engagement in such a brief period of time.

‘Not long. A whirlwind romance?’ She forced a smile. ‘It must be the icing on the cake, Alessandro. I’m very happy for you.’

Alessandro hadn’t thought about it as a whirlwind romance. He had met Victoria when she had been working with her firm of lawyers on one of his deals. He’d liked her, admired her intelligence, and appreciated her ability to respect his ferocious working agenda. Was that romance? It had certainly been enough for him to take the next step forward, but he had to admit that it was at least partly fuelled by the fact that he wasn’t getting any younger.

Unlike a lot of his city colleagues—men in their thirties, climbing the ladder to success—Alessandro had no intention of remaining a bachelor because of a preference for playing the field. Nor was he going to hang around until he was too old to enjoy playing with his kids. Sure, he had had women, but some restless, dissatisfied urge had always held him back from commitment.

Victoria, he recognised, was undemanding. She had her own high-powered job, and therefore did not look to him for constant companionship. Nor did she nag for assurances about love or any such thing. She worked for him and he, he suspected, worked for her. It was a mutually gratifying situation.

‘Icing on the cake?’ he mused. ‘Yes, I suppose it is….’