Читать книгу Good Girl - Christy McKellen - Страница 9

IT HADN’T BEEN the best of weeks.

First I lost out on buying an old dilapidated building in Shoreditch, that my friend Jon and I had intended to turn into affordable studio space for artists, to a grubby property developer. Then the pretty redhead from Maxim’s party treated me like some brainless piece of ass. That had been especially irritating, because when I’d first realised it was her at Harry’s place in Chelsea I’d actually been pleased to see her. The evening had been a bust up till that point. I’d found myself surrounded by the same familiar faces and boring conversations, so the sight of her had lit something inside me.

I’ve always been a sucker for redheads and when I’d spotted her at Maxim’s party—an event I’d been attending in my father’s place while he was away in Rome on important family business—I’d been intrigued by her air of sweetness. I could tell by the way she held herself that she wasn’t confident and worldly like the majority of the women there and it had made me want to take her away somewhere safe to protect her. And perhaps do other things too, if she’d been willing. She’s an attractive woman, after all. I’d particularly enjoyed the way her porcelain-pale cheeks had flamed with colour when I’d smiled at her.

I love making women blush. It gives me a real kick of pleasure. In fact, any instinctive physical reaction I can tease out of them gets me hot: accelerated breathing, a damp sheen of sweat on an upper lip, dilated pupils, a coquettish eyelash flutter. I love it all. Because I love women.

All women.

They’re such fascinating, exotic creatures.

And they usually love me right back.

So when she’d made it clear she thought I was just some man whore, it had really pissed me off. It had been obvious she wasn’t interested in me as a person when she’d asked me to take her virginity. I was just a throwaway cock she’d be using to fix a problem and I hadn’t been prepared to be treated like that. Her disrespectful approach had actually made me fucking furious, though I’d tried not to show it. I never show my real feelings to a woman, not any more—not when I know how it can strip you of your power and control—which is probably why, after I’d left her in that room, I’d gone downstairs, drunk half a bottle of whisky and ended up getting into a pointless fist fight with one of Harry’s friends over some stupid fucking comment he’d made about a woman I’d been talking to. I can’t even remember what it was now.

Normally I’d laugh off any kind of provocation, putting it down to jealousy or crossing someone’s path at the wrong moment, but added to Juno’s suggestion that I wasn’t the brightest spark in the fire, it had blown something inside me and I’d lashed out.

The moment I woke up this morning with a thumping head and a horrible sense that I’d overstepped a mark, I regretted the whole thing.

I regretted it even more when my father summoned me to his Knightsbridge house later that day and showed me just how far the consequences of my actions had reached.

‘This,’ he said, gesturing angrily towards his open laptop, ‘is unacceptable.’

The screen had a gossip article from one of the popular society pages on it. There was a picture of me with an ugly sneer on my face caught right after I’d punched Harry’s friend in the face. It made the whole incident look much more brutal than it had actually been—I’d been too drunk to do more than glance my knuckles off his chin—but the look on the guy’s face told another story. He looked afraid of me.

Shame sunk through my chest to nestle heavily in my gut. That wasn’t me. I’m not a violent person—quite the opposite, in fact. I’m a lover, not a fighter. But this picture said differently.

‘Well? What have you got to say for yourself? I thought you’d stopped fighting when you were a teenager,’ my father barked. ‘Your mother is distraught and the last thing she needs right now is more stress when she’s so busy helping to organise your brother’s wedding. The press has been calling me for a comment about it. I told them in no uncertain terms that that wasn’t going to happen.’

The good reputation of the family name is everything to my father. He lives and breathes it. And he expects me and my brothers to do the same. My oldest brother took this so seriously he’s now on the path to marrying into the highest echelons of Italian nobility—of which we are currently only lowly-ranking members—and my father is adamant that none of us does anything to jeopardise it. Our inclusion in his close family circle and all that comes with it depends on it.

‘It wasn’t as bad as it looks...’ I began to argue, but my father clearly wasn’t in the mood to hear excuses.

‘I want you to go back to Italy until this blows over. And I don’t want to see anything about you in the papers there either. Unless it’s a positive article. In fact—’ He moved to his laptop and scrolled down the page until he came to another photo. This one also had me in it, but this time I was smiling and brushing hair out of the eyes of a pretty redhead who was gazing up at me as if totally entranced by the intimate moment we’re sharing.

Juno.

My heart sank.

‘This one’s suggesting you’re having a relationship with the youngest Darlington-Hume girl,’ my father said, flashing me a questioning look.

My whole world started to tumble past my ears. She was one of Maxim’s daughters. I hadn’t realised. She’d looked so different from her sisters and she certainly hadn’t acted like a Darlington-Hume—a family my father holds in very high regard indeed. In his estimation, they’re the fucking essence of English high society.

And I’d basically told her to take a running jump when she’d asked me for help.

‘I wouldn’t call it a relationship,’ I replied carefully. I wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this so I was treading carefully. I really didn’t want to be banished to Italy for long. I have important plans here in England and I need to be around to put them in motion. Plus, this is where all my friends live now. Italy will be a social desert.

‘You could do a lot worse than having a Darlington-Hume in your bed. The family has an excellent if mercenary reputation, but you can’t get more inner-circle than Maxim.’ He nodded, seeming to make up his mind about something, and my gut knotted as I predicted what he was about to demand of me.

‘Take her to Florence. Stay in Maria’s apartment. She’s going to be in Sweden for the next few weeks, and she’s worried it might be broken into again, so it would be good to have you there looking after the place. Let the press know you’re there and make sure you’re seen out and about in the right places. Get your reputation publicly back on even ground. Then you can come back.’

‘I’m not sure she’ll want to go to Florence with me.’

‘I don’t give a shit what she wants. Just make it happen. Prove to me, for once, that you’re worthy of the Ricci family name, like your brothers.’

There was no point in arguing with him. I knew from experience that, when my father demands something, there’s no way of getting out of it. He’s hard-hearted enough to cut me out of the family if I don’t play ball, and won’t hesitate to stop me from seeing my nephews and my mother. That’s the last thing I want. It would devastate her. I’ve disappointed her enough for a lifetime.

So a trip to Florence it was.

With Juno Darlington-Hume.

Assuming I could convince her I’ve changed my mind about helping her out after the contemptuous rejection I threw down at her feet the night before. I suspected it was going to take a monumental amount of charm and a shit-ton of good fucking grace to talk her round. Luckily, those are qualities I have in abundance.

So when I got home I swallowed my pride, sourced her number from a friend of a friend and called her, leaving a message on her voicemail, inviting her out for a drink.

* * *

‘So in your message you said you had something you wanted to talk to me about,’ Juno says warily, once we’re seated in a booth in a chi-chi little cocktail bar in a backstreet of Soho that I’d chosen for its seclusion from the bustle of central London, and hopefully prying eyes. I don’t want word going round about us until Juno’s agreed to the proposal I’m about to lay out for her.

She’s pointedly ordered a virgin cocktail and I’ve had to bite my lip so as not to make a joke about the car-crash conversation we had last night in case it upsets her.

This whole situation needs to be handled very carefully.

I give her my secret-weapon smile and lean forward, spreading my hands on the table and locking my gaze with hers. ‘I want to apologise for the way I spoke to you last night. Your request took me by surprise and I didn’t handle it well.’

She stares back at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language and I panic for a second that I’ve slipped into Italian.

Seeming to snap out of her trance, she shakes her head. ‘You really don’t need to apologise. I’m the one that should be apologising. I don’t know what I was thinking, demanding...what I did...like that.’ She looks down at the table as if she can’t bear to maintain eye contact with me. ‘You were right. I was drunk and totally out of line.’

Her shame-faced confession sends a wave of relief through me and I sit back against the red velvet banquette, feeling a little more in control of things now. I can’t help but forgive her. It’s pretty clear the Juno of last night wasn’t the real her. It was just a glitch. A drunken mistake.

‘How old are you, Juno?’ I ask her gently, hoping to draw her out of her shell and gain her trust. Her shoulders are rigid and her chin dipped as if she’s pulled herself inward for protection. It makes me want to smooth my fingers down her spine to help her relax. She doesn’t seem to be able to look at me. Instead she’s playing with the cocktail menu, lining it up with the edge of the table.

‘Twenty-two.’

‘Why are you so eager to lose your virginity? Twenty-two isn’t old to still be a virgin.’

She takes a stuttering breath and finally looks up at me. ‘Because it seems to me that in order to be sexy you need to have had sex. At least, all the women I know that attract men’s attention are the ones that are really comfortable in their own skin. They ooze sex appeal. And none of them are virgins.’

‘How can you be sure?’ I ask, picking up the whisky sour I’ve ordered and taking a sip.

‘I’ve asked them.’

The drink gets caught in the back of my throat, making me cough.

‘Wow. So, what, you’ve just gone up to them and asked the question?’

‘Yes. For research purposes.’ She shrugs. ‘I like to investigate my subject thoroughly. It’s important to have all the information to be able to make an informed hypothesis.’

I frown, then flip it into a reassuring smile. ‘I don’t think you have to have had sex to be sexy. At least, not in my experience.’

‘Yes, well, unfortunately not everyone shares your viewpoint.’ She looks down at the table again.

‘Ah. So there’s another guy involved in this?’ I hazard a guess.

She visibly bristles. ‘Actually, I don’t think that’s any of your business.’ Her cheeks are bright pink and the expression in her eyes is defensive.

I hold up my hand. ‘Wait—you want me to take your virginity but you won’t tell me why?’

Her throat moves as she swallows. ‘That’s correct.’

I shake my head and frown, concerned about what I might be stepping into the middle of here.

‘I’m really not comfortable with saying yes to this unless I know why you want it. We need to be able to be open and honest with each other. It’s important we trust each other if we’re going to get that close and intimate,’ I say slowly, trying to sound as if I’m looking out for both our interests here.

She stares at me for a moment, then nods, and I can tell from the pained expression on her face that she’s been struggling with what she’s about to tell me. My gut clenches and I stretch back in the seat to ease it. It’s a troubling feeling and not something I’ve experienced much. I usually only get it when I come across a woman I really like but can’t have. Or one that I’m not supposed to have, at least.

‘Okay, fine. I suppose it is better if you know the whole story.’ She takes a shaky breath and splays her hands on the table, staring down at her fingers as she begins to talk. ‘There’s this man—Adam Cormack—he’s a lecturer at St George’s University where I’m doing my PhD.’ I see her swallow and a small pinch appears between her brows. ‘And I...er... I like him...a lot.’

‘But he’s not into you?’

She shuffles a little in her seat. ‘Well, he likes me, I think. We’ve been on a few dates, but I think he’s concerned about how...er...inexperienced I am. He’s a bit older than me and I think he’s looking for someone more like him. Well, not a man like him, but someone with the same sort of life experience as him.’

I smile. ‘You mean he doesn’t want to fuck you because you’re a virgin?’

The frankness of my words seems to shock her and her face flames, bright splashes of red highlighting her pale cheeks.

‘Yes,’ she mutters. ‘But in a much more gentlemanly way than you make it sound.’ She’s having trouble meeting my eye again and picks up her cocktail, taking a big gulp, then pushes her shoulders back in an obvious attempt to appear more confident, but it just looks stiff and awkward. My heart goes out to her. Her shyness is actually a real turn-on, if I’m honest.

‘He’s the only man I’ve ever felt this strongly about,’ she murmurs. ‘And I’ve decided it’s time to stop hiding under a rock, get out there and go for what I really want. And if that means showing him I’m worldly and mature enough to handle a relationship with him, then that’s what I’m going to do.’

I have a moment of unease where I worry that I’m about to take advantage of her heartache, but I push it firmly away. She came to me first, after all.

Clearly she’s sensed my concern, though, because she says, ‘Look, do you think you can help me or not? Because if you’re not interested I’m going to go and find someone who is.’ As if to prove her point, she stands up and reaches for her bag.

Panic ripples through me. I can’t let her walk away. I need this to work out.

‘Perhaps I could help,’ I say quickly, holding up a hand to halt her. ‘If we can agree on a couple of conditions.’

Her eyes widen with hope and she sits back down in her seat. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Okay.’ I nod. ‘I want you to come to Florence with me for a week, go out on some dates with me there, so we can get to know each other first. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me but it’s not my style to just jump into bed with a woman without getting to know her a little first. And honestly...’ I lean forward, giving her a friendly smile ‘... I think you’ll be more comfortable with the whole situation if we handle it that way. With a little class.’

‘Classy sounds good.’

‘You know, that way you could put some photos of the two of us looking happy together on social media. You never know, Adam might see them, assume you’re dating me and realise what a fool he’s been passing you up. Believe me, there’s nothing like jealousy to motivate a guy to action,’ I add as a further incentive.

She shakes her head, wrinkling her nose in disdain. ‘I despise the whole social media circus and avoid it as much as possible. I loathe the idea of everyone knowing exactly where I am and what I’m doing all the time. And I really hate having my photo taken. I had a horrible experience with the press in my teens.’ She shudders. ‘Death by public scrutiny.’

‘Right,’ I say, feeling my heart sink. ‘Okay, then, no photos.’ At least, none she’ll be aware of. I’ll have to make sure that the photographers I call will be discreet. I try not to feel bad about not telling her we’re basically going to be courting the Italian press while we’re there. It sounds as if it’ll be better if she assumes they’re following us off their own bat. It’ll be less complicated that way. And it’ll seem more natural if she looks genuinely surprised to be photographed with me. Anyway, they’ll be positive pictures. They’ll make her look good. I’ll make sure the photographers agree to that when I call to tip them off about where we’ll be.

‘Why do we need to go all the way to Florence?’ she asks, apparently confused by that particular detail, which I guess is understandable.

I play it cool and give a nonchalant shrug. ‘I’ve promised to house-sit an apartment there for a couple of weeks and after that I’ll be too busy to help you.’

‘So if I go out with you on a few dates first, you’ll help me out with my...issue?’

‘I’ll teach you anything you want to know about how to please a guy in bed. When I’m done, believe me, this guy Adam won’t be able to resist you.’

I see her throat work as she swallows hard and a spike of disquiet pierces my chest.

‘My only caveat is no full sex,’ I add, to try and exonerate my guilt. ‘I’ll let him have that honour. You’ll be grateful to me later when you realise what a big emotional deal it is to lose your virginity to someone you care about.’

She frowns, thinks about it, then asks, ‘Did you lose yours to someone you cared about?’

‘No,’ I grunt, unwilling to go any further with that line of conversation. ‘So I know what I’m talking about. There’s plenty of other stuff we can do, though,’ I murmur, giving her a teasing smile and moving my leg gently to press against hers. I’m rewarded with another full-face blush and, predictably, my cock springs to attention.

‘Why are you doing this for me?’ she asks, her voice sounding a little husky now. ‘Especially after the horrendous way I acted last night.’

‘Charity begins at home, right?’ I take another sip of my whisky then smile at her over the rim of the glass, feeling guilt gnaw at my insides. ‘And because I can’t resist a challenge like this, especially when it involves someone as pretty as you.’ I lean forward in my chair, ignoring the uncomfortable tension building in my chest. ‘It’ll be my absolute pleasure to help you out, Juno.’

This, at least, is the God’s honest truth. I pause and take another sip of my drink to give myself a moment to refocus my thoughts on the issue at hand and stop them from wandering towards all the physical delights I’m going to take great satisfaction in introducing her to.

‘Just so we’re clear, it’ll just be for the time we’re in Florence. After that we’ll go our separate ways. You towards your lecturer guy and me back to the uncomplicated lifestyle I love.’

From the look on her face, I can tell she’s seriously thinking it over.

‘I have a lot of work to do for my PhD, though. I can’t be away for too long,’ she says slowly, almost to herself.

‘Bring your laptop with you. You can work during the day and hang out with me in the evenings.’

‘Would that work? I need quiet to be able to concentrate.’

‘Sure. I can entertain myself when you’re busy,’ I say, trying not to think about how bored I’ll be sloping around the city on my own. I guess I should consider it karmic payback for losing my cool and punching that guy in the face.

‘My father’s mistress’s apartment, where we’ll be staying, is right in the centre of Florence and it has a study where you can work in the daytime without being distracted,’ I reassure her.

She blinks at me, her eyes wide with astonishment. ‘You know about your father’s mistress? And you’re prepared to stay in her flat?’

I shrug. ‘Of course. She’s a lovely woman. I get on really well with her. They’ve been together for years.’

She shakes her head, looking utterly scandalised now.

‘Doesn’t your mother mind?’

Again, I shrug. ‘I don’t think so. Their marriage was arranged for convenience so I don’t think they’ve ever really loved each other. They’re very fond of each other, though, and they work well together as a team, so I don’t think they’ll ever split up. Not when the family’s reputation is at stake. Reputation is everything to my father.’

Her expression tells me she’s still completely baffled by the idea of that but I guess you have to live it to understand it.

‘So are you up for it, Juno?’ I press, wanting it absolutely confirmed.

She nods, confidently this time. ‘Yes. I accept your conditions.’ She leaves a small pause before adding, ‘I’ve not had a holiday in ages because I’ve been so focussed on my work—which isn’t particularly healthy, I know—so I suppose it’ll be good for me to take a break away from London.’

‘Great. Then we’ll fly out tomorrow.’

‘Okay. Tomorrow.’

I raise my glass, and when she does too I clink mine against it. ‘A nuove esperienze.’

‘To new experiences,’ she repeats.

‘You speak Italian?’ I ask, impressed.

‘Yes, some. Enough to avoid any embarrassing misunderstandings, I hope,’ she replies, grinning shyly for the first time since she arrived. She has a killer smile and the sight of it warms my chest.

I don’t quite know how it’s happened, but I seem to have landed on my feet here. I now get to spend the next week in bed with this enigmatic woman and all in the name of doing the right thing.

Yeah. This could actually turn out to be a lot of fun.