Читать книгу The Italian's Blackmailed Mistress - JACQUELINE BAIRD, Jacqueline Baird - Страница 8

Seven years later

ON SATURDAY afternoon Sophie parked her ancient car on the drive and, taking her suitcase from the back she breathed a sigh of relief as she entered her old home. Timothy, her brother, ran down the hall to meet her and, dropping her suitcase, she swept him up in her arms and kissed him.

‘Hello, darling,’ she said as she carried him into the elegant living room to find his mother and their father.

Sophie looked at her stepmother, Margot, and then at her father. Immediately she sensed the tension in the atmosphere and wondered what was wrong.

‘Oh, good you have arrived,’ Margot said.

No, Hello—how are you? Sophie thought dryly, and sat down on the sofa, still holding Tim.

‘I suppose we should be honoured you can spare the time to visit your brother with your jet-setting lifestyle. Where is it this time?’

‘Venice, for a three-day international conference on global resources. But I don’t have to leave until tomorrow night, so I have more than enough time to babysit this little man.’ Sophie hugged Timothy closer on her knee and added, ‘Why don’t you and Dad make a night of it and stay at the hotel until tomorrow? I don’t mind.’ That should put a smile on Margot’s face, she thought.

Two hours later Sophie was sitting in the stainless steel kitchen of the house she had been born in, feeding Tim his favourite tea of fish fingers and mulling over how her life had changed.

Five years ago, when she had graduated from university, Sophie had taken a year off to go backpacking around the world. On her return she had discovered that her father’s new secretary was also his pregnant girlfriend. Marriage had followed, and Meg the housekeeper had departed at Margot’s request—much to Sophie’s disgust. And four months later her adorable young brother had arrived.

Sophie had been besotted with Tim ever since, and if she was honest he was the main reason she tended to go along with whatever Margot wanted. He was why she had agreed to Margot’s last-minute request for a babysitter so they could attend a glamorous charity ball at a top London hotel.

Sophie glanced around the ultra-modern kitchen. The family home in Surrey had been totally renovated by Margot, and she barely recognised the interior any more. But at least, with the help of a small legacy from her mother, Sophie had her own apartment, overlooking the sea in Hove. The commute into London was not something she would like to do every day, but then she didn’t have to. She was a brilliant linguist, and her work as a freelance translator took her all over the world. She had built up an impressive list of corporate and private clients.

She had spent the last eight weeks with a trade delegation, travelling around China, and before that six weeks working in South America. This weekend was the first time she had been home in months. It wasn’t that she disliked Margot—after all, she was only two years older than Sophie—in fact they should have had a lot in common, but unfortunately they didn’t. Margot was a social animal who loved the high life—the best restaurants and the right places to go and see and be seen. But to give her her due Margot, for all her love of society and designer clothes, was a good mother and would not leave Tim with anyone she didn’t know.

Much as she loved her brother, it was with a sense of relief that Sophie left the next afternoon to catch her flight to Venice. She wasn’t imagining it—the atmosphere between her dad and Margot really had been no better when they’d returned at lunchtime than it had when they’d left the evening before. Something was not right in their relationship. But as long as it didn’t affect Tim, she wasn’t going to worry.

She had enough to worry about going to Italy again for the first time in seven years. The very thought brought back a host of unwanted memories of her one and only love affair—and of what a complete and utter idiot she had been. She had fallen for Max Quintano like a ton of bricks, and when he had left the hotel in Sicily where she worked, she had been hurt. But when he had returned a week later she had fallen into his bed without a moment’s hesitation. After he had taken her innocence she had leapt at his proposal of marriage, and had even agreed to keep it a secret until he could meet her father.

For all of two days she had been deliriously happy—that was until she had discovered the kind of open marriage he had in mind….

A cynical smile twisted her lush lips. Still, she had learnt a valuable lesson from the experience—men were not to be trusted. That lesson had been reinforced over the years as she’d seen how a lot of them behaved as soon as they arrived at a conference well away from wife and family. Sophie had lost count of the number of times married men had hit on her, and she had developed an icy stare and a cool put-down to perfection.

The following Tuesday evening Sophie walked into the ballroom of a top Venetian hotel on the arm of Abe Asamov. Abe was a fifty-something, barrel-chested and bald-headed Russian who barely reached her shoulder. She had been delighted to see him arrive at the hotel this morning, for the second day of the conference, because his was a friendly face amongst a sea of strangers.

Abe was witty, and took great delight in fostering a ruthless reputation. Only Sophie knew he was devoted to his wife and family. In her last year at university she had spent her summer vacation in Russia, teaching his four grandchildren English.

When Abe had asked her to be his partner at this gala dinner-dance, she had agreed. The company she was temporarily contracted to had been overjoyed, because Abe Asamov was a billionaire oilman and owned a great deal of Russia’s resources. Sophie wasn’t sure she believed Abe’s claim that he spoke only Russian, but she didn’t care because she was glad of his company.

‘You realise, Sophie, that they will all think you are my lady-friend.’ Abe said in his native Russian, grinning up at her as the waiter showed them to their table. ‘No ordinary man could look at a beautiful blonde like you and imagine you have a brain.’ He chuckled. ‘I think I will enjoy fooling people tonight.’

‘Watch it, Abe.’ She grinned, knowing he was no threat to her. ‘Remember you are a married man—and if that was meant to be a compliment it was a bit of a backhanded one.’

‘You sound just like my wife.’ Abe grinned back, and they both laughed as they took their seats.

Seated comfortably and with a glass of champagne in her hand, Sophie glanced around the room, taking in the other guests there that evening. Many she knew through her work. There was the ambassador, Peter, and his wife Helen, and next to them a couple who worked for the Italian government—Aldo and his wife Tina. There were also two Spanish men—Felipe and Cesare—whom Sophie was seated next to. Very pleasant company, she decided, and, taking a sip of her drink, she began to relax and look at her surroundings.

The dinner tables were set around a small dance floor, and at one end on a raised dais a jazz band played background music. The evening was a glittering showcase of the powerful elite of Europe. The men looked immaculate in dinner suits, and the women were dressed in designer gowns and jewels worth millions. But Sophie did not feel intimidated. Over the years she had worked and mingled with some of the richest people from all around the world—even crowned heads of countries. As a result, she had acquired the social skills and sophistication needed in such company.

At home, jeans and a sweater were her favoured form of dress, but she had amassed what she called her ‘business wardrobe’. The black satin Dior gown she wore tonight was one of her favourites, as were the crystal necklace and earrings. She knew she looked good and could hold her own in any crowd.

Feeling relaxed, Sophie glanced across the dance floor as a group of late arrivals took their seats and her green eyes widened in appalled recognition…Max Quintano and his stepsister Gina. Her shocked gaze skimmed over his hard, handsome profile and moved swiftly away. She was almost sure he hadn’t seen her.

With her heart pounding, Sophie manoeuvred her chair so she could turn her back slightly towards his table and hopefully remain unnoticed.

She turned to Cesare, seated on her left, and asked in Spanish, ‘So, what do you do?’ On hearing his response she focused all her attention on him. ‘An earth scientist? How interesting.’

Fool that she was, Sophie could not believe she hadn’t made the connection between global resources and Max Quintano before now.

Across the other side of the room Max Quintano smiled at something Gina said, not having registered a word. He had recognised Sophie Rutherford the minute he had entered the room. Her blond head was unmistakable, with the fabulous hair swept up in an elegant pleat, revealing her long neck and the perfect set of her bare shoulders. The cut of her gown displayed the silken smoothness of her back and the slight indentation of her spine. A spine he had once trailed kisses down. His body tightened at the memory.

He saw the exact moment when she recognised him, and watched as the cold-hearted bitch turned away in fright. He had despised her with a depth of passion he had not known he was capable off when they had parted, and the way he had dealt with it had been to ruthlessly blot her out of his mind for many years. Then, on the death of his father four months ago, due to a massive heart attack, the name of Rutherford had reared its ugly head again in the shape of Nigel Rutherford. Surprisingly, two months later on a brief trip to South America, Sophie Rutherford had been the object of much speculation. Twice in as many months he had been confronted with the very name he had tried to forget.

As executor of his father’s estate, and with his stepmother distraught at her husband’s death and in no fit state to concentrate on the running of Quintano Hotels, naturally Max had stepped in to help. An audit of the family’s business had disclosed that it was running at a very healthy profit, but there were one or two bad debts outstanding. The largest one was the Elite Agency, London—Nigel Rutherford’s firm. Max had soon discovered that they were not just slow at paying their clients’ accommodation bills, they had not paid at all for almost a year.

How it had been overlooked Max could only surmise. Maybe his father had been in failing health for some time without believing it. He could relate to that feeling, because he had done the same thing seven years ago. When Max had been told he might have cancer he hadn’t wanted to believe it, and a couple of nights in the lovely Sophie’s bed had fed his illusion of invincibility. How wrong he had been…. So he could not blame his father for doing the same.

On further investigation into the bad debt he had discovered that Quintano Hotels was not the only firm owed massive amounts of money by Nigel Rutherford. Max had joined with the rest in calling for a creditors’ meeting, which was to be held next Monday in London. However, Max had no intention of going—he was leaving it to the lawyers and accountants to take care of. He could not care less if the Elite Agency went under, along with its owner, as long as Quintano Hotels got paid.

But now, with the beautiful but shallow daughter only thirty feet away, sipping a glass of champagne and smiling as if she hadn’t a care in the world, a different scenario sprang to mind. If he attended the meeting in London he knew he would have no trouble convincing the other creditors to bankrupt her father’s firm; he was a very persuasive man.

Sophie was occupied at the moment, but next week he would make it plain to Nigel Rutherford that he wanted to meet his daughter again! He had already waited years, so a week or two longer wouldn’t matter. With ruthless cynicism Max decided it would be interesting to watch Sophie squirm when she realised who was responsible for her father’s downfall, and very satisfying to see how far she would go to save him.

Sophie Rutherford was the only woman who had ever walked out on him, and it had taken him a long time to get over the insult. Now fate had once again put her back in his life—and in his power, if he wanted to use it. With his body hardening at the mere sight of her he knew he did, and the iniquitous plan took root in his mind.

It had been an appalling trick of fate that had sent Max dashing back to Sicily and Sophie seven years ago. He had returned from five days in Russia to his apartment in Rome still celibate, and still resolved to stay away from Sophie. He had called an old girlfriend and arranged to have dinner that night, and also arranged to have lunch with Gina the following day—Friday.

His date had not been a success, and he had gone to his office early the next morning and finally caught up with the personal items of mail his PA had not opened. A casual glance at the report from the medical he had taken a couple of weeks earlier had told him there was a query about one of his results and that he would need to contact a Dr Foscari.

Two hours later Max had been sitting numb with shock as Dr Foscari informed him that his urine test had revealed irregularities in his testosterone levels—a sign of testicular cancer. The doctor had gone on to explain that it was the most prevalent form of cancer in males between the ages of twenty and forty-four, but was easily treated. He’d told Max not to worry, because the test wasn’t certain, but as a precaution he had made an appointment with a top consultant at the best hospital in Rome for the following week.

Max had walked out of the clinic with fear clawing at his gut. But he had been furious at the mere suggestion he could be ill, and had determined to seek a second opinion. Gina was an oncologist; she would know the leading specialist in the field. He would talk to her over lunch, tell her his fears, knowing she would keep his confidence.

By the time lunch had been over Max had known more than he’d ever wanted to know about his suspected illness. Gina, in her forthright manner, had immediately called Dr Foscari, and after speaking to him had told Max not to panic. She had explained that there might be other causes for the irregular testosterone levels, and that anyway there was now a ninety-five per cent success rate in the treatment of testicular cancer. At Max’s insistence she had gone on to outline the worst-case scenario if it was cancer. She had asked him if he had noticed any little lumps, if he was feeling unusually tired or suffering any loss of libido—all of which he had vehemently denied.

When she had then begun to explain in detail the treatment and the side effects—the possible loss of virility, the freezing of sperm as a precaution against infertility—Max had actually felt sick. To reassure him, Gina had offered to contact a colleague at a clinic in America who was a renowned specialist in the field, in case a second opinion was needed.

He had suggested flying straight to America, but she had told him not to be so impulsive and added that as nothing was going to happen in the next few days he should try to have a relaxing weekend.

Max hadn’t been able to ignore Gina’s opinion because he trusted her completely. He had done since their parents had married, when he was four and she was five, and they had instantly become as close as biological siblings, with a genuine liking for each other that had lasted into adulthood. She had supported him in his ambition to be a geologist, and he had done the same for her in her medical ambition and in her personal life.

‘Max? Max!’

The sound of his name intruded on unpleasant memories of the past. He looked across the table at Gina, and the other two people in their party—Rosa and her husband Ted.

Gina and Rosa were lovers, and had been for years. Ted had his own reasons for keeping the secret—Rosa was the mother of his two children, and Max knew he had a long-term mistress. As for Max, he kept the secret because Gina wanted him to. She was convinced that their parents would be horrified if they knew the truth, and that the potential scandal of the relationship might harm her career prospects.

‘Sorry, Gina.’ He smiled. Personally, he thought Gina was wrong, and believed that not many people were bothered about a person’s sexual preference in the twenty-first century, but it wasn’t his secret to reveal.

‘You have seen her? Sophie Rutherford?’ Gina prompted. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, fine.’ He saw the concern in her eyes and added, ‘I can’t say I am impressed by her choice of partner.’ He cast a glance at the blond-headed Venus in question, his mouth curling in a cynical smile. ‘But I’m not surprised.’

Always a man of action, Max was not given to moods of reflection. But now, as he ate the food put before him, he found it hard to concentrate on the present when the woman responsible for so many painful memories of his past was seated just a few yards away. Seeing Sophie again had brought to mind in every vivid detail perhaps the worst episode in his life all those years ago….

Max had left Gina outside the restaurant, his mind in flux, and slowly walked back in the direction of his office. For a self-confident man who prided himself on always being in control, a man who made business decisions involving millions on a daily basis and never doubted his course of action, it had been sobering to realise he was just as susceptible as the next man to the unfamiliar emotions of doubt and fear. He enjoyed his work, was very successful and very wealthy, and he had gone his own way for years with very little thought to the future. But now he’d been forced to face the fact he might not have one, and suddenly everything he had achieved didn’t amount to much.

If he dropped dead tomorrow his family and a couple of friends might grieve for a while, but eventually it would be as though he’d never existed.

A few days before Max had thought he had all the time in the world, that marriage and children were something he wouldn’t have to consider for years. He had thought in his arrogance that the timing had not been right for an affair with Sophie—that he didn’t need her. But with the threat of serious illness hanging over him time had suddenly become vitally important.

Impulsively he had called his pilot, and an hour later had been flying back to Sicily—and Sophie. Alex be damned! He needed Sophie’s uncomplicated company, her open adoration, her stunning body, and he wasn’t going to wait. He was going to have her—and she might just be the last woman he had in this life.

Max had glanced around the familiar view of the hotel gardens. His dark eyes had narrowed on a group of three young boys in the swimming pool, playing water polo with a girl. The girl had been Sophie, and as he’d watched she had hauled herself out of the water and flopped down on a sunbed, the young boys sprawling on the ground around her.

The mere sight of her in the familiar pink bikini had knocked any lingering doubt from his brain and he’d felt his body stir and strode towards her.

‘Hello, Sophie. Still playing around, I see,’ he drawled mockingly, and tugged lightly on the long wet braid of her hair falling down her back.

Her head turned and her green eyes widened to their fullest extent. ‘Max—you’re back! I didn’t know.’ And the rush of colour and the welcoming smile on her face were all Max could have hoped for and more.

‘Dare I ask if you are free for the evening?’ Of course her answer would be yes. He never doubted it for a moment. And the events of the morning in Rome were pushed to the back of his mind as his dark gaze lingered over her scantily clad form. ‘I thought a drive along the coast, and a picnic, perhaps?’ He wondered why he had denied his own desire the day he met her, three weeks ago.

‘I’d love it,’ she said, a smile curving her luscious mouth, and he couldn’t resist pulling her into his arms and kissing her.

Lifting his head, his brown eyes dark with need, he searched her lovely face. Dio! How he wanted this woman. There was certainly nothing wrong with his testosterone levels. In fact, if he didn’t get away fast the rest of the guests around the pool would be well aware of that, too.

He sucked in a deep, steadying breath and gently pulled her away from him. ‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’ And he turned and walked away.

Sophie watched Max’s departure, her eyes drifting lovingly over him, the misery and doubt of the last week forgotten in her euphoria at seeing Max again.

Later that evening Max helped her out of the car and, lifting a hamper from the back, he took her hand firmly in his.

‘Where are we?’ Sophie asked. He had stopped the car at the harbour of a small town, and she glanced around her with pleasure. Coloured lights danced in the darkness, following the curve of the harbour that had a dozen yachts bobbing in gently lapping water.

‘La Porto Piccolo,’ he said, looking down at her with a reminiscent smile on his starkly handsome face. ‘It was a favourite haunt of my friend Franco and I when we were younger. We bought our first yacht together when we were nineteen and hoping to impress the girls. We have always kept it here, away from our families’ prying eyes. It is small, but we had some great times.’ Taking her hand, he helped her on board.

Sophie wasn’t sure she liked the implication in his words. Was this some kind of love boat? And just how many girls had Max entertained on board? But then she spotted a table and two chairs set out on the polished wood deck. ‘We are eating here?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ He placed the hamper on the table and drew her gently into his arms. ‘It is a beautiful night, and I thought you would appreciate dining on the deck.’ He brushed his lips against her hair. ‘You have no idea how much I want to please you, in every way.’ His lips lowered to brush gently against her mouth and she was stunned by the gentleness in his gaze.

Max cared, he really cared for her, and involuntarily Sophie raised her hand to rest on his broad chest. ‘You already do,’ she said with blunt honesty. ‘I missed you so much when you were away. I missed your unruly black hair, your teasing smile…’ She flicked a silken lock from his brow. ‘I’m glad you are back.’

‘You can show me how much later.’ Max covered her hand on his chest with his own and bent his dark head so that his mouth lightly nuzzled her neck. Sophie shuddered when she felt the flick of his tongue against her sensitive skin. ‘But first a tour of the yacht, and then food,’ he prompted.

With his arm around her waist, his fingers splayed across the soft skin of her midriff, Sophie was too aware of the magic of his touch to notice the boat. She had a fleeting view of one small cabin, and heard Max’s comment about ‘two berths’, and then he was opening a door into the only other cabin.

‘Duck your head,’ he instructed, ushering her inside and closing the door behind them. The cabin was tiny, and lit only by the lights of the harbour, which were casting flickering shadows on the double bunk that almost filled the space. ‘It is only for sleeping,’ he murmured, his breath warm against her brow.

Sophie had never felt less like sleeping. And when Max’s hand tightened on her waist and turned her to face him all she felt was breathless. She looked up, every nerve-ending tingling at the close proximity of his great body, and stared as if mesmerised by his glittering dark eyes, any thought of caution vanished.

Then his mouth found hers, his tongue moving within it with a deeply erotic passion, and Sophie was lost to everything but the incredible sensations shooting through her body.

He lifted his head and looked searchingly down at her. ‘You want this?’ he prompted huskily, his voice barely audible as he gently brushed a strand of silken hair from her cheek.

‘Yes,’ she gasped, and in moments they were naked on the bed.

A long time later Sophie lay collapsed on top of him, breathless and shaking—she had never known such pleasure existed. Max gently lifted her chin with his index finger. ‘You should have told me I was your first.’

‘And my only,’ she sighed. ‘I love you so much.’

‘Oh, Sophie, I adore you. You are truly priceless—don’t ever change,’ he drawled softly.

‘I am changed now, thanks to you,’ she whispered.

‘I know.’ Max kissed her swollen lips again—he couldn’t help himself. ‘But it is I who should be thanking you. You have given me something precious and worth much more than you can ever imagine.’

Never before had he made love to a virgin, and never before had he met with such a wild reciprocal passion. He had lost touch with everything but the incredible agonising pleasure he had felt as he came inside her.

But that was the problem. He had done just that—forgotten protection. He looked into her happy love-lit eyes, about to tell her, but couldn’t bring himself to spoil the moment. Instead he heard himself say, ‘Marry me.’ And realised he meant it…. Whatever the future held, Sophie was to be his and his alone….

With anger simmering just below the surface, Max cast a hard, cold glance at the catalyst of his trip down memory lane. With the benefit of hindsight he realised his proposal had probably been a simple gut reaction to the massive blow his male ego had suffered at the thought of testicular cancer. But at the time, after having sex with her, he had deluded himself into believing it was something more and asked her to marry him.

Max glanced across at Sophie again, and this time his gaze lingered, his dark eyes narrowing as he saw her smiling and charming the men either side of her. He saw Abe Asamov stroke her cheek with one finger, and his mouth curled in a bitter, cynical smile—a smile that was strained to the limit as she got up to dance with the man. The easy familiarity between Sophie and Abe was unmistakable.

Dio! Sophie was certainly sleeping with him, and it could only be for one reason—money. Disgust churned his gut. When he saw them leave the dance floor, and watched her kiss the fat Russian on the cheek, he dismissed any notion of waiting a week or two to speak to her. In fact another minute was too long, and he changed his plan accordingly.

It was said that revenge was best taken cold, and Max told himself he felt nothing but ice-cold anger for the beautiful Sophie and what she had become. He rose to his feet and excused himself. He had once thought the timing wasn’t right for an affair with Sophie, and then changed his mind. Two days later he had been dumped unceremoniously by the heartless witch. Now he had changed it back again, and this time he would be the one to walk away. But not until he had sated himself in her gorgeous body….