Читать книгу A Deal For Her Innocence - Кэтти Уильямс, CATHY WILLIAMS, Cathy Williams - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

NICCOLO HADN’T KNOWN, until a handful of hours before his private jet was due to take off, whether he would give in to yet more impulsive behaviour and take time out to go to the Caribbean.

His timetable was locked down tighter than a bank vault. He had meetings upon meetings, all meticulously planned weeks in advance. He had conference calls scheduled for ungodly hours of the morning, because it was imperative to be able to connect with clients on the other side of the world. His social life had been reduced to three business events, none of which could be avoided.

There was no way he could play truant because a random woman had shown up in his gym a week ago and done something to his rigid self-control.

Yes, he’d told her that going to his resort would be part of the job. So far, so good, because that made perfect sense. He’d liked the fact that she hadn’t been intimidated by him into agreeing to submit what the other advertising companies had submitted. He’d admired the way she’d dug her heels in, even though he had disagreed with pretty much everything she had had to say about relationships.

And yes, he had, sitting opposite her, been tempted by a number of what if? scenarios.

But even as he’d been tempted, even as he’d acknowledged the weird, disconcerting impact she seemed to have on his nether regions, a part of him had remained contained, controlled and logical.

He wasn’t going to go there because it didn’t make sense. He’d enjoyed the brief lapse of control, and had had fun playing around with images in his head, but deep down he had fully expected to relegate her to the back of his mind the second she left his office.

Face it, he was used to dating queens of the catwalk and, even though Ms Eleanor Wilson had a certain undeniable something that made him frown and want to take a second look, she was no queen of the catwalk. No jutting cheekbones, no sinewy arms, no legs up to armpits. Average, really, and with a dress sense that would have had fashionistas screaming in horror and running for the hills.

But, for some ungodly reason, the woman had lodged in his head like a burr and he couldn’t understand it.

He did, however, know himself and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he needed to see her again because he wasn’t prepared for the tedium of having her in his system.

His relationship with the opposite sex bordered on the ridiculously predictable. He either had a business relationship with them, in which case they had about as much sex appeal as a potted plant in a suit, or else he had a sexual relationship with them, in which case they played the usual games of seduction before the whole thing became stale and he moved on.

He knew where he stood with women and he liked it that way. Despite his mother’s disapproval, and his sisters’ tiresome nagging, he was very happy indeed with his love life because it held no unfortunate surprises.

He’d endured one of those and, as far as he was concerned, one learning curve was enough for a lifetime.

Ms Eleanor Wilson, however, had managed uncomfortably to straddle both areas, which was why he’d found himself thinking about her way too often for his liking.

Which was why he knew that he had to see her again, if only to prove to himself that whatever appeal she had exercised was all in his mind.

Niccolo told himself that his baffling attraction to the woman was not, however, sufficient draw to take him away from his duties back in London. Truthfully, he knew that he could do with seeing where his money was going, and touching base with the people out there spending it on his behalf. He had paid a flying visit to the place months before, at which point he had put in place everything he wanted, and thereafter the whole show had been left in the capable hands of the small team of people who were employed by him exclusively to handle the project.

He had been updated daily with progress reports. He knew exactly what was going on but emails and conference calls were a poor substitute for face-to-face inspection. If Ms Eleanor Wilson was out there as well, then her presence would certainly add a tantalising piquancy to the trip. But first and foremost, he reasoned, this was about business, and if it was a little unexpected it was no more than a trip he would have done anyway, if at a slightly later date. At any rate, money was money, and he would be interested to see what she made of the resort because that would determine how genuine her ad campaign would eventually be and, if she wasn’t up to scratch, then regrettably she would have to go. Nothing was signed and he was well aware that she knew the implications of that. She had drawn even with the field but hadn’t yet cleared the finishing line.

He was musing over this when he spotted her approaching, dragging a small case behind her and with a capacious bag that could have housed a kitchen sink slung over her shoulder.

Immediately, he stilled and, eyes narrowed, he watched as she walked towards him.

‘Is that it?’ he asked, eyeing the tiny suitcase, which was hardly bigger than a rucksack. ‘You were allowed as much luggage as you wanted.’

Hot and bothered and feeling out of her depth, Ellie wondered whether that question required a reply. She’d had no idea who would be accompanying her on the flight over to the island and had, at first, assumed that there might also be other candidates being taken there on probation. She had been contacted by his secretary and informed of all the necessary details for a seven-day stay on the island. She had come close to looking forward to the working break until, in the chauffeur-driven car that had been dispatched for her, she’d received a call from Niccolo’s very nice secretary who had cheerfully informed her that Niccolo himself would be meeting her at the airport.

‘But he can’t be!’ Ellie had had to stop herself from wailing in despair. ‘How can he spare the time? He could barely spare the time to keep his appointment with me!’

‘Mr Rossi can do as he likes,’ his secretary had said gently. ‘He’s a law unto himself.’

Horror had kicked in fast and the remainder of the drive had been spent in a state of nervous tension because, ever since her unconventional meeting with the man who was a law unto himself, Ellie had had to fight giving in to the insidious temptation to waste time thinking about him. He had quizzed her, and questioned her, and challenged her, and since when was all that part of the job? He was rich and good-looking, so felt that he could do as he pleased even though he had known well enough that she had been unsettled by the way he had overstepped her boundaries.