Читать книгу Billionaire's Secret - Шантель Шоу, Chantelle Shaw - Страница 11

FOR THE SECOND time in the space of ten minutes Sophie found herself on the wrong side of the door to Nicolo’s study. Damn his stubbornness, she thought grimly, rubbing her shoulder where he had gripped her. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had a bruise there.

Christos had warned her that Nicolo would be no pushover and she would have to use all her powers of persuasion to get him to agree to attend the shareholders’ meeting. But so far she hadn’t even managed to talk to him. However, she had glimpsed a chink in his armour when he had mentioned his sister. He clearly believed that Lucilla should be CEO of the Chatsfield. If she could somehow assure him that Christos was prepared to listen to some of Lucilla’s suggestions for running the business, then perhaps he would agree to come to London for the all-important meeting.

The brief flare of emotion she had seen on Nicolo’s granite-like features reinforced Sophie’s determination not to give up. She just needed to try a different tack. If she went back into his study now she could guess what kind of reception she would get, but if she returned with a peace offering perhaps he would be more amenable and inclined to listen to her.

She walked back to the kitchen. It was lunchtime, and it seemed like a good idea to tempt Nicolo with some sandwiches. But she quickly discovered that the contents of the fridge consisted of a lump of out-of-date cheese and a couple of raw steaks. Investigation of the kitchen cupboards proved just as unsuccessful. Sophie was desperate for a cup of tea but she had to make do with preparing coffee in a cafetière, and from the back of a cupboard she unearthed a packet of biscuits which she placed on a tray and carried back to the study.

There was no response when she tapped on the door. Undeterred, she walked in and smiled brightly as she placed the tray on the desk in front of Nicolo.

‘I thought you might like some lunch but I couldn’t make any sandwiches because you don’t seem to have any food, apart from a couple of steaks in the fridge and half a dozen more in the freezer. I guess all that red meat is for Dorcha. What on earth do you eat for dinner?’

‘Steak,’ Nicolo growled, ‘cooked rare.’ His eyes narrowed on Sophie’s face. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Miss Ashdown? I told you to leave—not scavenge around in my kitchen.’

‘To be honest there wasn’t much to scavenge. And it would have been nice if you had offered me a cup of tea after I’d had a long drive here.’

‘It was your choice to come and not my problem that you had a wasted journey. I made my feelings about the goddamned shareholders’ meeting clear to Giatrakos.’

Sophie had drawn up a chair beside the desk, but before she sat down she reached for the cafetière. ‘I’ll pour, shall I?’ she said brightly.

‘Santa Madre!’ Nicolo exploded. ‘What part of get out of my house do you not understand, Miss Ashdown?’

‘I have no intention of leaving,’ she told him calmly.

‘In that case I am perfectly entitled to force you to leave.’ Nicolo jumped to his feet and strode around the desk, propelled by a surge of anger that surprised him with its intensity. For years he had stifled his emotions, determined that he would never again allow his temper to flare out of control. The scars covering one side of his body were a constant reminder of what he was capable of when he lost his temper, he thought grimly. Dio! But Sophie Ashdown had pushed him to his limit by barging into his home and disturbing his peace.

Sophie’s heart sank as she stared up at Nicolo’s furious face. His skin was drawn tight over his sharp cheekbones, and his eyes were no longer expressionless but were glinting with a warning that she was beginning to wish she had heeded. A purely feminine instinct noted that he had interesting eyes; the light brown irises were ringed with a distinctive band of olive-green and the unusual two-toned effect was strangely mesmerising.

She edged away from him and her spine came into sharp contact with the edge of the desk. It occurred to her that she should have told him she had his father’s permission to be at Chatsfield House, but she had kept that trump card to herself in case there was an occasion when it might be useful. The occasion was now, she realised. But before she could speak, Nicolo seized hold of her waist and, ignoring her startled cry, lifted her off her feet and hoisted her over his shoulder.

‘Hey—put me down….’ The room swung dizzily in front of Sophie’s eyes as he walked over to the door. She could feel her blood rushing to her head, but worse than the discomfort of her position was the loss of her dignity. She was outraged at being carried like a sack of potatoes.

‘How dare you!’ She curled her hand into a fist and thumped his back, but he took no notice and continued walking out of the study and across the hall to the kitchen.

Her handbag was on the worktop where she had left it. He picked it up. ‘Are your car keys in here?’

‘Yes. Put me down. I promise I’ll leave.’

‘You had your chance, Miss Ashdown.’ His tone was uncompromising.

It was difficult to breathe properly with her stomach squashed against Nicolo’s hard shoulder and Sophie could hear herself panting in time with his footsteps. She could not believe he was treating her like this. She kicked her legs wildly, hoping to force him to put her down, but he simply tightened his hold on her. His hand was splayed across her bottom to anchor her in place and she could feel the heat of his palm through her skirt.

To her shock, she felt a melting sensation between her thighs. She stiffened, horrified by the idea that she found Nicolo’s caveman tactics exciting. She was a well-educated professional with a business degree and an executive secretary’s diploma from the London Chamber of Commerce, she wanted to yell at him. He had no right to manhandle her!

He pulled open the front door and strode down the steps. The storm had broken and raindrops the size of coins pelted Sophie, quickly soaking through her blouse. She belatedly remembered that she had left her jacket in the kitchen, but even if Nicolo allowed her to run back for it, she could not contemplate going back into the house.

When he set her down on the driveway she was almost speechless with anger. Almost—but not quite.

‘You—you Neanderthal! I’ve a good mind to report you for assault.’ She clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering as a combination of shock at Nicolo’s actions and the sensation of being lashed by the increasingly heavy rain set in.

He folded his arms across his massive chest. ‘You are trespassing on my property and I am entitled to use reasonable means to eject you,’ he said coldly.

Sophie stared at his chiselled features and felt a dragging sensation deep in her pelvis. God, he was sexy! In his long black coat and boots he reminded her of a Regency rake from the historical romance novels she secretly enjoyed reading. She would never admit to the other members of the online book club she belonged to that she was a fan of so-called ‘bodice-rippers,’ or that she fantasized about being swept off her feet by a devilishly gorgeous hero.

She watched Nicolo sweep his long dark hair back from his brow and thought ruefully that a couple of centuries ago he was more likely to have been a highwayman. He certainly had a total disregard for rules and social niceties.

Christos would have to think of another way of persuading Nicolo to attend the shareholders’ meeting because she refused to remain at Chatsfield House a minute longer. Her hand shook as she scrambled in her handbag for her keys and unlocked the car. She was drenched and her skirt clung to her legs, making it awkward for her to slide behind the wheel.

‘Drive carefully,’ Nicolo advised. ‘Some of the sharp bends along the lane can be treacherous in the wet.’

She longed to slap the arrogant expression from his face, but there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes and her common sense prevailed.

‘Go to hell,’ she snapped as she slammed the door and started the engine. Seconds later the tyres spun on the wet gravel as she pressed the accelerator pedal and shot down the driveway. She glanced in the rear-view mirror, expecting to see Nicolo watching to make sure she left, but he was walking back into the house and did not look round.

Sophie drove as fast as the torrential rain and the terrible potholes in the lane allowed while she called Nicolo Chatsfield every rude word she could think of. She was still seething when she arrived in the village and pulled into the pub car park. But her anger was mixed with another emotion as she acknowledged the reality of the situation.

She had given up! Sophie Ashdown—who, as a teenager, had clung on to life with sheer determination, had been defeated.

She bit down on her lip. She hadn’t cried since she was sixteen and had caught sight of her bald head in the mirror. At the time, she had lost her hair because of the chemotherapy and had usually worn a woolly hat that her grandmother had knitted her—partly to hide her baldness and partly because the cancer made her feel cold all the time. Seeing her shiny scalp that day, instead of a mane of long blonde hair, had forced her to confront the seriousness of her condition and the frightening possibility that she might die.

She had cried for hours, alone in the isolation room where she was receiving treatment. It had seemed so unfair; she had so much to live for, so many plans. At the end of the crying jag, she’d had a puffy face and red eyes to go with her lack of hair. To her mind she was the ugliest person on the planet, no longer the pretty teenager she had once been. Sophie Ashdown did not exist anymore.

It had been the lowest moment of her illness. But it had also been a turning point. As Sophie had stared at her reflection in the mirror she had vowed that she would not let cancer steal everything she loved. It had taken her hair and her eyelashes and her pride; it had taken two of the friends she had made at the cancer unit. But she had vowed that she would not give up her life without a fight. Having cancer had made her develop a steely determination never to let anything beat her. And ten years on, that trait was an intrinsic part of her nature.

Why had she let Nicolo Chatsfield get the better of her? Sophie now asked herself as she stared at the faded sign of the King’s Head hanging over the entrance to the pub. She had played right into Nicolo’s hands. His outrageous behaviour had resulted in her swift departure from Chatsfield House exactly as he had intended. Now she was faced with returning to Christos and admitting that she had failed the task he had set for her—or she could turn the car around and drive back along the lane full of potholes.

The prospect of facing Nicolo again made her heart lurch. The sensible thing to do would be to head back to London and let Christos deal with Nicolo. But her pride rejected the idea. Nicolo had won the first skirmish, but the battle was far from over! Determination surged through her. Somehow, she was going to make him listen to her. However, before she returned to Chatsfield House she would need to shop for groceries. She could handle Nicolo’s bad temper, but the thought of eating the bloodied lumps of steak she had found in his fridge made her shudder.

Nicolo emerged from the copse at the edge of the Chatsfield estate and looked round for Dorcha, who was pawing at a rabbit hole.

‘Come on, dog,’ he called as he opened the garden gate and strode across the wet lawn. After spending hours sitting in front of his computer it felt good to get outside and expend some energy. The storm had passed, leaving an overcast sky in its wake that belied the fact that it was midsummer, but the dank atmosphere suited Nicolo’s grim mood.

Dorcha bounded ahead of him up the path to the kitchen door. The hound had been acting strangely all afternoon, pacing around the study and whining. Perhaps he had been unsettled by the presence of another person in the house. Nicolo frowned. Sophie Ashdown’s visit had been an annoying distraction, and even after he had got rid of her he had found it difficult to concentrate, which had proved disastrous when he had needed to be completely focused on the financial trading markets. The result was that he had lost several hundred thousand pounds. The money was not a problem; it represented only a tiny fraction of his wealth, but he rarely made bad decisions and he hated losing a deal.

It was all the fault of Christos Giatrakos’s goddamned PA, he thought irritably. The scent of Sophie’s perfume still lingered in his study, which was another reason why he had decided to go out and get some fresh air. He could not understand why her image lingered in his mind. She was attractive, admittedly, but he was no longer the crass idiot of his youth who had been at the mercy of his hormones and had lost count of the number of women he had bedded. He did not want to be reminded of the person he had once been, whose stupid exploits had frequently made the headlines and whose love life had provided fodder for the paparazzi.

Dorcha was barking madly and jumping up against the kitchen window. Maybe the dog had seen a mouse. Nicolo pushed open the kitchen door and stopped dead.

‘You, again!’ he said harshly. ‘For God’s sake, Miss Ashdown, can’t you take a hint? You’re not welcome here.’

‘Your dog is pleased to see me—aren’t you, boy?’ Sophie crooned as she made a fuss of Dorcha. ‘Can you smell your dinner?’ she asked the wolfhound. She glanced at Nicolo. ‘I’m cooking a steak for him and stuffed baked trout for us. You really shouldn’t eat too much red meat—it’s bad for your digestive system and is probably the reason you’re so grouchy.’

Nicolo’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that so?’ No way was he going to admit that the aroma of warm trout was tantalising his taste buds. Truthfully, he was sick of eating steak every night, but he had not realised it until now.

‘I bought lots of fresh vegetables as well as store cupboard essentials,’ Sophie continued brightly. ‘The lady in the village shop said that you used to employ a cook, but since Mrs Pearson retired a couple of months ago you live here alone.’

‘I like being on my own,’ Nicolo said pointedly.

Sophie apparently did not hear him and prattled on. ‘Although the shop lady said you have a cleaner come in twice a week. I knew that anyway. Your cleaner is the farmer’s wife’s sister, isn’t she?’

‘I haven’t a goddamned clue who my cleaner is related to. How the hell do you know?’ Nicolo strode across the kitchen. ‘Dio, do you ever stop talking, Miss Ashdown?’ He swore beneath his breath. ‘What do you want?’

‘You know what I want. Christos asked me to talk to you—’

‘Perhaps he hoped you would bore me to death.’

‘—about the shareholders’ meeting.’ Sophie ignored his jibe. She turned her head and gave him a direct look that for some peculiar reason made Nicolo feel uncomfortable. ‘I’m simply trying to do my job,’ she said quietly.

Sophie stiffened as Nicolo strode towards her. ‘If you’re planning to use brute force to throw me out of the house again, I’d better warn you that I am perfectly capable of defending myself. It was just that you took me by surprise earlier.’

Nicolo skimmed his gaze over her petite frame. ‘I’m a foot taller than you. What do you intend to do—bite my ankles?’ he asked sardonically.

Sophie’s hazel eyes flashed dangerously and she folded her arms across her chest. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m a black belt in—in tae kwon do.’

It was true that she had never sparred with an opponent as physically imposing as Nicolo, but she wasn’t going to admit that to him. ‘I’ll make a deal with you, Mr Chatsfield.’

‘You’re hardly in a position to make a deal, Miss Ashdown.’

Despite himself, Nicolo was intrigued by Sophie. When he’d walked into the kitchen he had been shocked to find that she had returned to the house after their previous encounter. She had guts, he acknowledged grudgingly.

Irritatingly, he was also forced to admit that attractive did not adequately describe her classical beauty. She had changed into jeans and a plain white T-shirt. There was nothing remarkable about her clothes but he could not help noticing how the denim moulded her pert bottom and the clingy cotton shirt revealed the upwards tilt of her breasts. Her long hair was caught up in a ponytail, with a few feathery strands framing her face, and the transformation from sophisticated secretary to a look that was both wholesome and yet sexy stirred a purely masculine response in Nicolo.

‘What deal?’ he growled.

Sophie felt a surge of triumph that she seemed to be getting somewhere with Nicolo but she was careful not to reveal her satisfaction in her voice. ‘If you will allow me to stay and try to persuade you to attend the shareholders’ meeting, I’ll cook for you.’ She smiled. ‘Without wanting to boast, I’m a very good cook.’

Nicolo shrugged. ‘I have to warn you that you’ll be wasting your time, Miss Ashdown. I have no intention of being Christos Giatrakos’s puppet.’

‘All I’m asking is that you listen to me. Also, Christos wants me to stay for a few days and sort through some of the files that your father kept here.’

Sophie took Nicolo’s silence as agreement. ‘Which bedroom should I sleep in?’ she asked breezily. ‘As we are going to be housemates, maybe you could drop the Miss Ashdown and call me Sophie?’

‘Housemates!’ Nicolo’s eyes glinted. ‘Don’t push your luck—Sophie.’

Dio, he had never met a woman so determined to have her own way! For some inexplicable reason Nicolo’s eyes were drawn to Sophie Ashdown’s mouth. Her lips were soft and moist and temptingly kissable and he found himself imagining crushing her mouth beneath his own and kissing her until she was in no doubt that he was master of Chatsfield House.

Madonna, that was not a path he wanted to go down, he reminded himself. He had no interest in Christos Giatrakos’s ultra-confident, ultra-irritating personal assistant. He could physically evict her from the house again, but she would probably find a way of getting back in. She had proved herself to be surprisingly resourceful. His jaw tightened with irritation as he acknowledged that he would have to put up with her presence for a couple of days. Once she’d got the message that he would not change his mind about the shareholders’ meeting she would presumably take herself back to London.

‘You can use the room at the far end of the second-floor landing,’ he told her abruptly. ‘It has a good view of the Chiltern Hills from the window.’

‘Thank you,’ Sophie murmured. To her annoyance her voice sounded faintly breathless. She had noticed how Nicolo’s gaze had lingered on her breasts, and she prayed he could not tell that her nipples had hardened beneath her bra. She was supremely aware of his potent masculinity and dismayed by the subtle undercurrent of sexual tension that she sensed between them. The last thing she wanted was to be attracted to Nicolo Chatsfield!

Feeling flustered, she swung away from him and walked over to the range cooker. ‘If you need to carry on working in your study, I’ll call you when dinner is ready.’

He muttered something beneath his breath that to Sophie’s sharp sense of hearing sounded like ‘bossy madam.’ She could not tear her eyes from him as he shrugged off his leather coat, revealing a black silk shirt that moulded his muscular torso. He pulled the glove from his left hand and she gasped when she saw his discoloured skin. The scarring had the distinctive mottled appearance of a burn injury, covering his fingers and the back of his hand and disappearing beneath his shirtsleeve. Sophie wondered how far up his arm the scar went.

Her eyes flew to his face. Nicolo had stiffened at her reaction and his expression was shuttered so that she had no idea what he was thinking.

‘I couldn’t help noticing your hand,’ she said shakily. ‘Christos told me that you were badly hurt in a fire years ago at the Chatsfield.’

When he made no response she continued, ‘You saved someone’s life. The papers said you were a hero.’

Nicolo gave a harsh laugh and his mouth twisted in an expression of bleak bitterness that shocked Sophie.

‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in newspapers,’ he said savagely. Spinning round, he strode out of the kitchen and across the hall to his study, closing the door behind him with a resounding slam that made Sophie wonder how the leaded-light windows had any glass panes left in them.

* * *

Hero! The word echoed inside Nicolo’s head, mocking him, taunting him. He sank down onto a chair and thumped his fist on the desk. Sophie did not know the truth. No one did, apart from his family. The newspaper reports about the fire in his father’s penthouse suite had only told half the story. They had said that the teenage Nicolo Chatsfield had saved the life of a chambermaid trapped in the fire—but he was no goddamned hero, Nicolo thought heavily. He had been a stupid, scared little boy. It had been he who had caused the fire. His father had managed to keep the facts from the media, but the terrible secret had hung like a weight around Nicolo’s neck for all of his adult life.

For many years he had buried the truth deep inside him and enjoyed the media spotlight, playing up to his reputation as the playboy hero. His life had been one long round of parties, champagne and a constant supply of beautiful women in his bed. He had not cared about anything other than his own selfish gratification. It was as if, after the months of suffering he had endured as his burns had slowly healed, it was somehow his right to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh that had experienced agonising pain.

For how long would he have continued to live a shallow, unprincipled life? Nicolo wondered. If the chambermaid Marissa Bisek hadn’t come to him eight years ago to beg him for financial help it was likely that he would still be a degenerate womaniser. The memory of the man he had been then filled him with shame. Dio, he had looked at the poor chambermaid, who had been horrifically scarred in the fire and yet was pathetically grateful to him for saving her, and his world had crumbled.

Faced with the evidence of his culpability, he had been forced to acknowledge he was not the hero that everyone, including Marissa, believed. The ugly scars covering his body were his punishment for his childhood crime. After meeting Marissa he had wanted to crawl away and hide beneath a stone like the worthless creature he was. But the chambermaid’s lack of self-pity shamed him further. He had realised that he had a choice. He could sit around feeling sorry for himself, or he could turn his life around and do something worthwhile.

And so he had set up a charity to help other burn victims, and for the past eight years he had devoted himself to raising funds for the charity. He wasn’t a hero, Nicolo thought bleakly, but he was doing his best to atone for the sins of his past.

For a moment he tried to imagine Sophie Ashdown’s reaction if he told her the truth about himself. No doubt she would be disgusted. She might even rush back to London to tell her boss that Nicolo Chatsfield had no moral right to be involved in the family’s hotel business.

Nicolo was impatient for Sophie to leave Chatsfield House, yet he could not bring himself to admit the truth to her. He did not want to risk seeing the same horrified expression in her eyes that he had witnessed when she had noticed the scars on his hand. He could only imagine her reaction if she ever saw the grotesque scars that covered one side of his chest. Beneath his clothes he had the body of a beast, and he was sure Beauty would recoil from him if he ever revealed his true self to her.