Читать книгу Modern Romance Collection: November 2017 Books 1 - 4 - Эбби Грин, Julia James - Страница 14

CHAPTER FOUR

A PALE LIGHT woke her and for a moment Keira lay completely still, her head resting against a lumpy pillow as her eyes flickered open and she tried to work out exactly where she was. And then she remembered. She was in a strange bedroom on the edge of a snowy Dartmoor—and she’d just lost her virginity to the powerful billionaire she’d been driving around the country!

She registered the sweet aching between her legs and the delicious sting of her nipples as slowly she turned her head to see that the other half of the bed was empty. Her pulse speeded up. He must be in the bathroom. Quickly, she sat up, raking her fingers through her mussed hair and giving herself a chance to compose herself before Matteo returned.

The blindingly pale crack of light shining through the gap in the curtains showed that the snow was still very much in evidence and a smile of anticipation curved her lips. Maybe they’d be stuck here today too—and they could have sex all over again. She certainly hoped so. Crossing her arms over her naked breasts, she hugged herself tightly as endorphins flooded through her warm body. Obviously, she’d need to reassure him that although she was relatively inexperienced, she certainly wasn’t naïve. She knew the score—she’d heard the men in the workshop talking about women often enough to know what they did and didn’t like. She would be very grown up about what had happened. She’d make it clear that she wasn’t coming at this with any expectations—although, of course, if he wanted to see her again when the snow had been cleared she would be more than happy with that.

And that was when she noticed the nightstand—or rather, what was lying on top of it. Keira blinked her eyes in disbelief but as her vision cleared she realised this was no illusion as she stared in growing horror at the enormous wad of banknotes. She felt as if she were taking part in some secretly filmed reality show. As if the money might suddenly disintegrate if she touched it, or as if Matteo would suddenly appear from out of hiding. She looked around, realising there was nowhere to hide in this tiny room.

‘Matteo?’ she questioned uncertainly.

Nobody came. Of course they didn’t. She stared at the money and then noticed the piece of paper which was lying underneath it. It took several seconds before she could bring herself to pick it up and as she began to read it she was scarcely able to believe what she was seeing.

Keira, he had written—and in the absence of any affectation like Dear or Darling, she supposed she ought to be grateful that he’d got her name right, because Irish names were notoriously difficult to spell.

I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed last night and I hope you did, too. You looked so peaceful sleeping this morning that I didn’t want to wake you—but I need to be back in Italy as soon as possible.

You told me your dream was to spend Christmas in a luxury hotel and I’d like to make this possible, which is why I hope you’ll accept this small gift in the spirit with which it was intended.

And if we’d been playing poker for money, you would certainly have walked away with a lot more than this!

I wish you every good thing for your future.

Buon Natale.

Matteo.

Keira’s fingers closed tightly around the note and her feeling of confusion intensified as she stared at the money—more money than she’d ever seen. She allowed herself a moment of fury before getting up out of bed, acutely aware that for once she wasn’t wearing her usual nightshirt, and the sight of her naked body in the small mirror taunted her with memories of just what she and the Italian had done last night. And once the fury had passed she was left with hurt, and disappointment. Had she really been lying there, naïvely thinking that Matteo was going to emerge from the bathroom and take her in his arms when the reality was that he couldn’t even bear to face her? What a stupid fool she’d been.

She washed and dressed and went downstairs, politely refusing breakfast but accepting a mug of strong tea from Mary, who seemed delighted to relay everything which had been happening while Keira had been asleep.

‘First thing I know, there’s a knock on the door and it’s a man in one of those big four-wheel drives,’ she announced.

‘Which managed to get through the snow?’ questioned Keira automatically.

‘Oh, yes. Because Mr Valenti ordered a car with a snow plough. Apparently he got on the phone late last night while everyone was asleep and organised it. Must have been very quiet because nobody heard him.’

Very quiet, thought Keira grimly. He must have been terrified that she would wake up and demand he take her with him.

‘And he’s ordered some men to dig your car out of the snow. Said there was no way you must be stranded here,’ said Mary, with a dreamy look on her careworn face. ‘They arrived about an hour ago—they should be finished soon.’

Keira nodded. ‘Can I pay you?’

Mary beamed. ‘No need. Your Mr Valenti was more than generous.’

Keira’s heart pounded; she wanted to scream that he wasn’t ‘her’ anything. So the cash wasn’t there to pay for the B&B or help her make her own journey home, because he’d already sorted all that out. Which left only one reason for leaving it. Of course. How could she have been so dense when the bland words of the accompanying letter had made it perfectly clear? The comment about the poker and the disingenuous suggestion she take herself off to a luxury hotel were just a polite way of disguising the very obvious. A wave of sickness washed over her.

Matteo Valenti had paid her for sex.

Operating on a dazed kind of autopilot, Keira made her way back to her newly liberated car, from where she slowly drove back to London. After dropping the car off at Luxury Limos, she made her way to Brixton, acutely aware of the huge wad of cash she was carrying. She’d thought of leaving it behind at Mary’s, but wouldn’t the kindly landlady have tried to return it and just made matters a whole lot worse? And how on earth would she have managed to explain what it was doing there? Yet it felt as if it were burning a massive hole in her pocket—haunting her with the bitter reminder of just what the Italian really thought of her.

The area of Brixton where she rented a tiny apartment had once been considered unfashionable but now, like much of London, the place was on the up. Two days before Christmas and the streets had a festive air which was bordering on the hysterical, despite the fact that the heavy snows hadn’t reached the capital. Bright lights glittered and she could see Christmas trees and scarlet-suited Santas everywhere she looked. On the corner, a Salvation Army band was playing ‘Silent Night’ and the poignancy of the familiar tune made her heart want to break. And stupidly, she found herself missing her mother like never before as she thought about all the Christmases they’d never got to share. Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes as she hugged her anorak around her shivering body, and never had she felt so completely alone.

But self-pity would get her nowhere. She was a survivor, wasn’t she? She would get through this as she had got through so much else. Dodging the crowds, she started to walk home, her journey taking her past one of the area’s many charity shops and as an idea came to her she impulsively pushed open the door of one. Inside, the place was full of people trying on clothes for Christmas parties and New Year—raiding feather boas and old-fashioned shimmery dresses from the crowded rails. The atmosphere was chaotic and happy but Keira was grim-faced as she made her way to the cash desk. Fumbling around in her pocket, she withdrew the wad of cash and slapped it down on the counter in front of the startled cashier.

‘Take this,’ Keira croaked. ‘And Happy Christmas.’

The woman held up a hand. ‘Whoa! Wait a minute! Where did you—?’

But Keira was already pushing her way out of the shop, the cold air hitting the tears which had begun streaming down her cheeks. Her vision blurred and she stumbled a little and might have fallen if a steady arm hadn’t caught her elbow.

‘Are you okay?’ a female voice was saying.

Was she okay? No, she most definitely was not. Keira nodded, looking up at a woman with platinum hair who was wearing a leopard-skin-print coat. ‘I’m fine. I just need to get home,’ she husked.

‘Not like that, you’re not. You’re not fit to go anywhere,’ said the woman firmly. ‘Let me buy you a drink. You look like you could use one.’

Still shaken, Keira allowed herself to be led into the bright interior of the Dog and Duck where music was playing and the smell of mulled wine filled her nostrils. The woman went up to the bar and returned minutes later with a glass of a brown mixture resembling medicine, which was pushed across the scratched surface of the table towards her.

‘What’s this?’ Keira mumbled, lifting the glass and recoiling from the fumes.

‘Brandy.’

‘I don’t like brandy.’

‘Drink it. You look like you’re in shock.’

That much was true. Keira took a large and fiery swallow and the weird thing was that she did feel better afterwards. Disorientated, yes—but better.

‘So where did you get the money from?’ the blonde was asking. ‘Did you rob a bank or something? I was in the charity shop when you came in and handed it over. Pretty dramatic gesture, but a lovely thing to do, I must say—especially at this time of the year.’

Afterwards Keira thought that if she hadn’t had the brandy then she might not have told the sympathetic blonde the whole story, but the words just started tumbling out of her mouth and they wouldn’t seem to stop. Just like the tears which had preceded them. It was only when the woman’s eyes widened when she came out with the punchline about how Matteo had left her a stack of money and done a runner that she became aware that something in the atmosphere had changed.

‘So he just disappeared? Without a word?’

‘Well, he left a note.’

‘May I see it?’

Keira put the brandy glass down with a thud. ‘No.’

There was a pause. ‘He must be very rich,’ observed the blonde. ‘To be able to be carrying around that kind of money.’

Keira shrugged. ‘Very.’

‘And good-looking, I suppose?’

Keira swallowed. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

The blonde’s heavily made-up eyes narrowed. ‘Hunky Italian billionaires don’t usually have to pay women for sex.’

It was hearing someone else say it out loud which made it feel a million times worse—something Keira hadn’t actually thought possible. She rose unsteadily to her feet, terrified she was going to start gagging. ‘I... I’m going home now,’ she whispered. ‘Please forget I said anything. And...thanks for the drink.’

Somehow she managed to get home unscathed, where her cold, bare bedsit showed no signs of the impending holiday. She’d been so busy that she hadn’t even bought herself a little tree, but that now seemed like the least of her worries. She realised she hadn’t checked her phone messages since she’d got back and found a terse communication from her aunt, asking her what time she was planning on turning up on Christmas Day and hoping she hadn’t forgotten to buy the pudding.

The pudding! Now she would have to brave the wretched shops again. Keira closed her eyes as she pictured the grim holiday which lay ahead of her. How was she going to get through a whole Christmas, nursing the shameful secret of what she’d done?

Her phone began to ring, the small screen flashing an unknown number; in an effort to distract herself with the inevitable sales call, Keira accepted the call with a tentative hello. There was an infinitesimal pause before a male voice spoke.

‘Keira?’

It was a voice she hadn’t known until very recently but she thought that rich, Italian accent would be branded on her memory until the end of time. Dark and velvety, it whispered over her skin just as his fingers had done. Matteo! And despite everything—the wad of money and the blandly worded note and the fact that he’d left without even saying goodbye—wasn’t there a great lurch of hope inside her foolish heart? She pictured his ruffled hair and the dark eyes which had gleamed with passion when they’d looked at her. The way he’d crushed his lips hungrily down on hers, and that helpless moment of bliss when he’d first entered her.

‘Matteo?’

Another pause—and if a silence could ever be considered ominous, this one was. ‘So how much did she pay you?’ he questioned.

‘Pay me?’ Keira blinked in confusion, thinking that bringing up money wasn’t the best way to start a conversation, especially in view of what had happened. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’ve just had a phone call from a...a journalist.’ He spat out the word as if it were poison. ‘Asking me whether I make a habit of paying women for sex.’

Keira’s feeling of confusion intensified. ‘I don’t...’ And then she realised and hot colour flooded into her cheeks. ‘Was her name Hester?’

‘So you did speak to her?’ He sucked in an unsteady breath. ‘What was it, Keira—a quickly arranged interview to see what else you could squeeze out of me?’

‘I didn’t plan on talking to her—it just happened.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes, really. I was angry about the money you left me!’ she retorted.

‘Why? Didn’t you think it was enough?’ he shot back. ‘Did you imagine you might be able to get even more?’

Keira sank onto the nearest chair, terrified that her wobbly legs were going to give way beneath her. ‘You bastard,’ she whispered.

‘Your anger means nothing to me,’ he said coldly. ‘For you are nothing to me. I wasn’t thinking straight. I couldn’t have been thinking straight. I should never have had sex with you because I don’t make a habit of having one-night stands with strangers. But what’s done can’t be undone and I have only myself to blame.’

There was a pause before he resumed and now his voice had taken on a flat and implacable note, which somehow managed to sound even more ominous than his anger.

‘I’ve told your journalist friend that if she prints one word about me, I’ll go after her and bring her damned publication down,’ he continued. ‘Because I’m not someone you can blackmail—I’m just a man who allowed himself to be swayed by lust and it’s taught me a lesson I’m never going to forget.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘So, goodbye, Keira. Have a good life.’