Читать книгу Once A Playboy...: Resisting the Sicilian Playboy / Her Playboy's Proposal / The Playboy's Proposal - Kate Hardy, Amanda Browning - Страница 10
ОглавлениеDARA STOOD ON the lower floor of the club and made a final sweep of her surroundings. Leo’s team had been very responsive to her advice—in fact they’d seemed almost relieved to have the responsibility taken from their shoulders. None of them had seemed particularly overjoyed to be planning such a high-profile event. Maybe Leo was right: they were jaded by success and lacked any motivation to strive further.
Well, that suited her just fine. Being in close proximity to such high-profile guests was a networking dream come true. She would make a few new contacts, get her own event contract signed, and then fly straight home to set about planning the wedding of her career. Finally her strict business plan was yielding the kind of results she had dreamed of when she’d left her life in Dublin behind.
Unconsciously she chewed on her bottom lip, trying to supress the memories that her mind conjured up every time she thought of her past life. The well-meaning glances filled with pity...the hushed conversations. She would forever be known as poor Dara Devlin back home—it had been the main reason she left it all behind. It would have been impossible to forge a new life in a place filled with such painful memories.
She remembered sitting in the hospital, her dream of ever having a child having just been taken away from her. Only to find herself watching her fiancé coldly walk away from her for the last time.
No. She shook off the thoughts before they could take hold. She had done enough wallowing in the weeks before she had decided to move to Italy. Her life was good now. She should thank Daniel, really. He had set her free to focus on what she really loved. Her career gave her more satisfaction than family life ever could have. She was happy now—she truly was—and now she had the chance to really make a name for herself.
Portia Palmer was the biggest movie star Ireland had produced in the past ten years, and she had chosen Dara to plan her huge weekend wedding. She liked to think that the actress had somehow heard a glowing report from one of her happy clients. But sadly it most likely had more to do with Dara being the only Irish planner on the island. Miss Palmer was all about patriotism and her Celtic heritage.
But that was fine with Dara. Publicity was publicity, and if she hoped for her name to gain status it couldn’t hurt to have a world-famous Hollywood star in her little black book.
Now, after seeing tonight’s guest list, she felt butterflies flapping around in her stomach with nerves and anticipation. Leo hadn’t been lying when he’d said he had high-profile guests. One quick flip through the hostess’s list had revealed several notable European politicians, at least three racing drivers, a world-renowned fashion designer and the entire cast of the Luscious Lingerie catalogue. People like that could open more than doors for her in her career. They could knock down walls.
The snooty hostess from the night before suddenly appeared by her side. Dara closed the list with a snap, trying not to look guilty.
‘Signor Valente has instructed me to give you this.’ The woman sniffed, holding out a small business card. She seemed quite unimpressed to be running such lowly errands for her employer.
Dara took the card with muttered thanks. It was plain black, with the single line of an address printed on the front. Nothing to indicate what kind of business it was.
‘Am I supposed to go there?’ she asked quickly as the hostess began to walk away. ‘Did he not tell you anything else?’
The woman turned back and shrugged one shoulder, thoroughly bored with the conversation. ‘I am told to give you this and make sure you go to the address.’
The event was less than two hours away, so Dara wasted no time in grabbing her things and taking the sleek chauffeur-driven town car that Leo had provided. Whatever this errand was, she needed to get back to her hotel soon if she stood a chance of looking half decent.
The car came to a smooth stop on one of the most upmarket streets in Milan. Giants of Italian fashion stood shoulder to shoulder here, with shopfronts that screamed luxury. But the address on the black card led her down a narrow alleyway to a door of exactly the same deep, nondescript black.
Her hand was hovering uncertainly over the knocker when the door swung open to reveal a tall fair-haired man in a sleek pinstriped suit.
‘Mademoiselle, we’ve been waiting for you,’ he said, taking her by the hand and leading her inside.
‘Excuse me? I don’t even know—’
He continued to lead her along by the hand, ‘Just follow me.’
He was definitely French, she thought as they made their way up a short staircase to a large open-plan loft with carpet so white it hurt her eyes. The walls were mirrored on one side, and a few long purple drapes lined the wall on the other. Dara took a moment to look around, feeling hopelessly confused by the situation. Was she here to collect something?
‘I was sent here by Leo Valente...’ she began uncertainly. ‘He didn’t mention why—’
The blond man hushed her with a sudden snap of his fingers.
‘We don’t have time to chat. My team and I need to begin.’
As if on cue, a small army of women in black smocks appeared from behind one of the purple curtains. Dara caught a glimpse of row upon row of clothing racks before the curtain swung back into place, blocking her view.
‘Hold on a minute—what is all of this?’
She raised a hand to stop the pinstripe-wearing bully as he loomed near, measuring tape in hand. A tight knot of tension formed in her stomach as one of the women hung a silky red dress on a hook beside the mirror.
The Frenchman gave an impatient sigh. ‘We are here to style you, darling. Everything from hairpins to nail polish.’ He glanced down at her short practical nails and frowned.
Dara clenched her fists, a mixture of embarrassment and anger forcing her to bite her lip. How dared that arrogant Sicilian brute organise this little stunt? As though she was some sort of pauper, here to be dressed up like one of the beautiful people for the night.
Indignation bubbled in her chest and she grabbed her phone from her handbag, ready to launch into a verbal attack on a certain nightclub mogul, only to realize that she didn’t even have his phone number.
The memory of his face at lunchtime swam into her mind—that devilish smirk when she had shivered under his touch. He’d said he wasn’t playing games any more, but that had been a lie. This little manoeuvre was designed to throw her off balance, to put him back in control. He clearly didn’t like it that she was proving of practical use in tonight’s event.
Willing herself to calm down, she took a deep breath and looked back at the sultry red number mocking her from the corner of the room.
‘Did Signor Valente choose this gown for me?’ she asked in a deathly quiet whisper, watching with narrowed eyes as the blond man’s bravado faltered.
‘He picked it out himself this afternoon, mademoiselle.’ He stood up straight to emphasise his point. ‘It is one of a kind.’
Just like the man himself, she thought snidely. This was the same kind of stunt as the cocktail last night. No other man would be so obnoxious as to choose a gown for a woman he barely knew.
She walked across the room and ran her hand down the jewelled fabric. If Leo had sent her here to unsettle her...well, he had succeeded. The thought of wearing something so blatantly sexual was akin to tearing out her own fingernails. Dara did not do sexual—she didn’t even do sex any more.
For the first time in five years she felt once again as if she wasn’t good enough. As if she needed to change herself to fit the items on someone’s list. And that just wouldn’t do.
The blond man and his team of beauty assassins stood silently, watching her, hairbrushes and make-up wands like weapons in their utility belts.
She turned to face them, her eyes blazing with determination. ‘I will be choosing something for myself.’
The Frenchman shook his head. ‘Monsieur Valente has made his wishes very clear to my team.’
‘Tell me, honestly, does this dress look like something I could pull off?’ Dara gestured to the gown.
He turned his head to one side, examining her from head to toe with agonising intensity. ‘Truthfully, no. Your chest is too flat to wear such a low neckline. And the colour is far too rich for such a pale complexion. Nonetheless, I refuse to go against my client’s wishes.’
Dara ignored such blunt description of her flaws, crossing the room to stand in front of him, hands on her hips. ‘Let’s make one thing clear. I am your client. What will it do to your business if you send me out in such an ill-thought-out ensemble? It will be such a high-profile event too...’
She let her voice trail off and watched as his eyes widened with horror.
‘I’m glad we understand each other.’
She smiled with satisfaction as he turned to his team and began barking orders to bring more dresses.
* * *
Leo looked at his watch as the guests started to filter in for the champagne hour. He was beginning to think that Little Miss Proper had decided to chicken out. His limo had gone to collect her over an hour ago. Taking another sip of the whisky he’d been nursing, he passed his gaze lazily around the room that Dara and his team had spent the afternoon finalising.
His coveted glass water features now sat in each corner of the dance floor. The overall effect made the room seem wider and brought much more attention to the features themselves. Low sofas flanked the dance floor, now an ideal space for the younger celebrity scene. The open area of the club was filled with loud pumping music, and the dance floor glowed with sultry lighting, giving it an almost mystical appearance.
In the entrance lounge a ten-foot champagne tower had been placed centre stage, and a clever little mechanism was sending glittering liquid down in an endless waterfall. The guests met at this feature and spread out easily, making the overall vibe sleek and relaxed. The upper lounge area had been transformed into a cocktail bar for the social elite crowd, its lower ceiling and distance from the dance floor making the noise less obtrusive and ideal for hushed business deals.
All in all, he was impressed.
He wasn’t entirely sure what had compelled him to offer her this little audition—probably a mixture of curiosity and a mild attraction. Okay, so maybe mild wasn’t the word for it...
He stood at the bar in the lower lounge, watching the guests arrive one by one. The night was just getting started but he was in no mood to play host.
Usually he would be the one in the middle of the crowd, with people hanging onto his every word. They would beg to hear about each of the once-in-a-lifetime adventures he’d been on. The wild parties, the daredevil stunts that the tabloids loved to cover. He had created an image for himself and his brand that drew people to him. But lately he had become steadily more jaded by the repetition in his lifestyle.
Until last night.
Dara had awoken a spark in him, and he felt the familiar hum of attraction driving him for the first time in months. Women had been far from his agenda while he dealt with the aftermath of his father’s passing. His usually insatiable sexual appetite had been non-existent as he threw himself into his work.
He thought of how she might have reacted, seeing that red dress today. He knew she would be unprepared for such a high-glamour event, but admittedly his intentions were not entirely innocent. He was on edge, waiting for the inevitable explosion when she arrived. He was even considering making a phone call to his driver when a hand touched his shoulder.
Leo turned and immediately grasped the hand of the grey-haired man standing in front of him. ‘Gianni—you got the invitation.’
‘Well, I was hardly going to refuse a chance to see what else you’ve done to my club, boy,’ he rasped.
Leo fought the urge to smile. His old friend hadn’t changed one bit. Gianni Marcello was a dragon, but he was the closest thing to a father Leo ever had.
‘The last time I checked this was still my club,’ he corrected.
The old man waved a hand. ‘A technicality. You smart-talked me into selling—just like you smart-talked your way to where you are now.’ He paused to bark an order for two glasses of grappa at a startled waiter. ‘You came to my hotel today. Since when did you start hand-delivering invitations?’
Leo smiled. ‘I thought you might appreciate the gesture.’
Gianni snorted, unaffected. ‘I was under the impression that you had forgotten where I live after all this time.’
Leo shrugged one shoulder casually, but inside he felt hot shame creep up his neck. He’d known Gianni wouldn’t make this reunion easy, but perhaps this wasn’t the best of settings to hash out their differences. Leo contemplated walking away, under the pretext of having business responsibilities, but the old man knew him better than anyone.
Looking around the lounge, Gianni scoffed loudly. ‘Do you have any damned chairs in this place, or do I have to build one myself?’
Leo laughed, leading the way up the mirrored steps to the upper lounge. He found them a quiet seat in the corner furthest from the crowd. A few business contacts from Paris sidetracked him, requiring the usual chit-chat before he could slide comfortably into the seat opposite Gianni at the low table.
Their drinks arrived promptly and Leo took a sip of the strong liquid, feeling it burn down his throat and warm his chest. Gianni remained silent for a moment, watching him over the rim of his glass. The old man had always liked an air of suspense.
‘You have made some powerful friends, I can see.’ He gestured to a group of well-known city officials, sipping champagne down on the lower floor.
‘A wise man once told me never to call a politician a friend,’ Leo corrected.
Gianni nodded his head once. ‘You always listened to me, boy.’ He downed the rest of his drink in one go, setting it down harshly on the dark tempered glass. ‘Except when it came to one thing.’
Leo sat back in his seat. He knew what was to come next. Had known the moment he’d decided to invite his old mentor. ‘Go ahead and say what you came here to say. I owe you enough to listen this time.’
‘Is that an apology for walking away from me six months ago?’
Leo averted his gaze, feeling like an unruly child being scolded for disobeying the rules. Gianni Marcello was the only man he had ever respected enough not to make jokes in a serious conversation.
‘You should have come to the funeral.’
The accusation was quiet, and yet it hit Leo like a knife to the gut. He had known the words were coming, and yet he suddenly felt betrayed.
‘I thought you above all people would understand.’
‘I understand that you acted out of anger. And I taught you better than that.’ Gianni sat forward across the table, dark eyes shrewd with accusation.
Leo felt his body tense until he was sure he would smash the glass in his hand. Willing himself to calm down, he took a deep breath and met the familiar eyes of the man he trusted with his deepest secrets. ‘I assure you, Gianni, anger was the furthest thing from my mind. I made a decision not to pay empty respects to a man I hadn’t seen or spoken to in years. I stopped losing my temper over my father a long time ago.’
‘Is that why you sold off every share he left you?’ Gianni spoke with deadly calm. ‘Don’t lie to me, boy. It was an act of cold-blooded revenge and we both know it.’
‘He left me those shares hoping I’d be tempted to take my place as his rightful heir. He knew I’d never accept it.’
Gianni knew nothing of what his father was truly capable of. No one knew.
Gianni shook his head. ‘I’m not telling you that you made the wrong decision. I’m saying that your motivation was out of character.’
Leo waited a moment before speaking. ‘Did it disappoint you to find I am exactly like him after all?’
‘If you were like him you wouldn’t have walked away from an inheritance worth billions twelve years ago and then have the nerve to do it all again the first chance you got. Vittorio Valente would turn in his grave, knowing his entire corporation is in pieces.’
‘My father made his choices and died with the consequences.’
Beautiful green eyes flashed into Leo’s mind, along with a face filled with youth and vitality—his mother’s face...a face he hadn’t thought of in twelve years. He brushed it away, refusing to let the memory surface.
Gianni frowned. ‘Don’t let the memory of a ghost haunt you for ever. You are a good man, Leo, but you’re heading down a lonely path.’
‘Have you been reading those gossip magazines?’ He chuckled. ‘I’m perfectly content to work hard and play harder for the time being.’ He leaned back in his seat, stretching his neck muscles in an effort to relieve the painful ache in his temples.
‘I was married for thirty-five years. And look at me now. A lonely widower, living in my own hotel suites like a damned salesman.’ Gianni took another slug of grappa, his eyes twinkling suspiciously. ‘But my wife gave me three sons. A man should always have his own sons to carry on his legacy.’
‘Some day, maybe.’ Leo shrugged.
The thought of settling down wasn’t unappealing. He just wasn’t cut out for that kind of lifestyle. He could be needed anywhere around the world from one day to the next. He never stayed in one place long enough to set down roots. And besides, roots held you down, trapped you in one place. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand it was feeling trapped.
He shook off the unwelcome thought, watching as Gianni visibly ogled a passing brunette.
‘Maybe I should follow your lead and find myself some of those supermodels.’ Gianni chuckled under his breath.
‘Ah, they don’t eat enough,’ Leo jibed, and the sudden memory of Dara and her delicious lips as she ate stormed his thoughts.
‘You never drank like a true Sicilian. Whisky is for Westerners.’
‘You’re still as politically incorrect as I remember.’ Leo smiled.
The old man looked away for a moment. His expression was filled with sadness. ‘You should have come to me, Leonardo. You always came to me.’
He looked confused, making him look every inch his seventy years. For the very first time Leo realised that the great dragon wasn’t going to live for ever. The thought left an uncomfortable knot in his stomach.
He glanced across the lounge, wanting to end this conversation. Raking up the past did nothing for his temper.
A flurry of movement drew his eyes towards the edge of the lounge just as the loudest politician stopped speaking mid-sentence and pointed towards the tall blonde gracefully ascending the stairs.
She wasn’t wearing the red dress. He almost wished she was. The dress he had chosen for her was deliberately risqué and playful—an attempt to take her out of her comfort zone. What she wore in its place was temptation personified.
A second skin of shimmering jewelled gold.
It fitted each curve so tightly it might as well have been painted on. He felt heat rush through his veins as he stood slowly, and their eyes met as she came to a stop by the bar. Raising one eyebrow, she made it clear he was going to have to come to her.
Gianni followed his gaze with interest. ‘That one could freeze hell with those eyes. Finally you’ve found a real woman, eh?’
Leo heard Gianni chuckle loudly behind him, but he was already across the lounge in a few long strides.
She smiled sweetly as he came to a stop in front of her. ‘My apologies for being late. It seemed to take quite a long time to make me look presentable.’
‘You changed the dress.’
She tilted her head to one side. ‘Is there something wrong with this one?’
He resisted the urge to run his gaze down her wicked curves again. The dress wasn’t indecent, by any means, in fact by some standards it was almost modest. Small delicate sleeves stopped just at the shoulder and the neckline swooped gracefully along her collarbone. It was just that it hugged every delicious curve of her body—a body he was trying very hard to ignore at this moment.
‘I decided your choice wasn’t appropriate for this evening.’
She turned slightly and his throat went dry. The dress was sinfully low-cut at the back, leaving the graceful curve of her spine completely bare for everyone to see.
He coughed, clearing his throat. ‘It wasn’t a request, Dara. I thought you would understand that.’
Dara stepped closer, her voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. ‘I’m confused. At any point during our meeting this afternoon did I indicate that I have difficulty in choosing my own clothing?’ She raised one sleek blonde brow.
‘You were unprepared for the formal dress code tonight. I was ensuring that you’d fit the part of my event planner.’
‘Temporary consultant,’ she corrected. ‘Out of interest, do you ensure that all of your potential business partners have the opportunity to bare their cleavage?’
Leo floundered at that question. This was not going to plan at all.
Just then a familiar voice came from behind his left shoulder.
‘Leonardo, are you going to introduce me to this beautiful creature?’
He turned to see Gianni, his watery brown eyes twinkling with amusement.
Leo closed his mouth and turned to the man, a playful glint in his eye. ‘I was planning to keep her away from you as a matter of fact.’
‘She looks like she’s planning to keep away from you too.’ He chuckled, extending a hand. ‘Gianni Marcello. I don’t think we’ve met.’
Dara stepped forward and politely introduced herself, all trace of hostility gone from her face.
‘Dara is my event planner,’ Leo explained casually.
‘Actually, I’m just here for tonight,’ she corrected, with a swift glance in his direction. ‘Leo is in the process of negotiating with my company.’
‘A businesswoman!’ Gianni exclaimed, clapping his hands together with glee. ‘Thank goodness he’s found someone who can actually hold a conversation in company.’
Dara had opened her mouth to correct him when they were suddenly interrupted by the club manager.
After a low murmured conversation with the man Leo turned back to them apologetically. ‘It seems that it is time for the host to officiate,’ he explained. ‘Try not to bore her with your business talk.’
* * *
‘He is quite the charmer, isn’t he?’
Dara stopped watching Leo making his way across the floor below and turned to find the older man, Gianni, watching her with interest.
‘I gave him his first job, you know. Tending bar in my flagship hotel in Paris. Now look at him—drinking champagne with supermodels.’ He chuckled.
‘You own the Marcello Hotel chain?’
‘I do.’ He smiled. ‘But as far as work goes, my children do that now. I’m just enjoying my golden years in the town that made me.’
‘Were you born here in Milan?’ she asked.
‘I was born and raised in Bella Sicilia.’ He smiled again, eyes twinkling. ‘Business brought me to the industrial north. I opened my first hotel here forty-five years ago.’
‘The Grand Marcello Milan was your first?’
‘She was my crowning glory. Hence the reason my apartment is on the top floor there.’
She smiled back. ‘I love the branding of your chain. “New city, old friends”.’
‘That tagline is probably the only part of my original work that still lives on.’ He tutted. ‘Young people want to make everything modern.’
Dara nodded in agreement. The old man was nice. He had a cantankerous warmth about him that made her feel instantly comfortable.
The champagne hour was going well, she thought as she looked down across the crowd of Milan’s glittering elite. All here to be photographed for the society pages, no doubt. Soon the lights would dim and the official event would fade into the background, allowing them to use the club for its true purpose. Privacy, anonymity and sin.
The music was lowered and a tinkling sound resonated through the air. Dara looked down to see that Leo had moved up to the small stage erected in the middle of the dance floor. Gianni took her elbow and they made their way down to the lower floor as Leo began speaking.
He began to outline the concept of the club’s renovation, explaining the fluid lines and mirrored backdrops. Gianni made a few more tutting noises beside her, commenting that it had been fine just the way it was.
Leo smiled brightly, ever the charismatic host, and he finished by thanking his team of staff in detail for their support.
‘Finally, I have the greatest pleasure to introduce you all to a rising star in the industry—Miss Dara Devlin.’
To her horror he pointed her out in the crowd and she suddenly became the focus of three hundred curious stares.
What was he thinking? She was a nobody here. These people were looking at her as though expecting her to burst into song.
Leo smiled, oblivious to her horror. ‘Miss Devlin is a recent discovery of mine, she is a rare creative talent in the industry. Such is her dedication to detail, she even gave the Platinum uniform a facelift to fit with our new theme.’
The crowd gave subdued applause, curious eyes glancing from the scarlet-faced event planner to the now very sleek waiters walking around all in black. Dara prayed for him to move on to another topic, breathing a sigh of relief when he began to wrap up the speech.
Gianni raised his brows beside her, seemingly quite entertained by the proceedings. ‘He seems quite taken with you, carina.’ He smiled.
Dara straightened her shoulders, trying in vain to dispel the heat from her cheeks. ‘Mr Valente is a very successful man. I’m grateful to be working with him.’ She took a sip from her cool soda water, feeling it hit her painfully dry throat.
‘You are quite naive if you think he’s just thinking about work.’ His eyes twinkled.
Dara ignored the uncomfortable sensation in her stomach at his words. Leo was taking her seriously, now that she had proved her talent. There was a playful tension between them, of course, but she had no plans to act on it. Not at all.
She decided to ignore Gianni’s comment, straightening her shoulders and saying, ‘Actually, I’m negotiating an event contract for Castello Bellamo.’
The old man stilled, clearly taken by surprise with that information. Dara waited for him to speak, but he remained silent. Thinking it best to give him a moment, she looked out across the dance floor. Leo had just stepped down from the podium and began conversing with a group of men in sleek suits.
She looked down and saw that his eyes were trained on her even as he spoke. He was watching her intently, his green gaze seeming to reach across the dance floor to her. She should look away. She should restart her conversation with Gianni—something.
She turned back to see Gianni watching Leo with the most ferocious expression she had ever seen. ‘Mr Marcello, is everything okay?’ she asked tentatively.
‘He’s playing dangerous games. Excuse me for a moment.’ His eyes darkened to furious points, and without another word the man began weaving forward through the crowd with a look of intent.
Dara followed suit, her heels forcing her to tread more carefully. ‘I’m not sure what I said to bother you, but this is hardly the place to cause a scene.’
Gianni turned his head, still walking. ‘You don’t need to witness this.’
Leo saw them approach and instantly shooed away the group of people surrounding him. ‘Gianni, you’re looking a bit more colourful.’ He smiled.
The old man jabbed a finger into Leo’s chest, standing so close they were almost nose to nose. ‘You say you’re not playing games, boy? Then explain what kind of agreement you have with this young lady? Do you plan to sell off the only link you have left to your family?’
Leo looked genuinely shocked for a moment. ‘Will you keep your voice down?’
Gianni shook his head, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. ‘Always worried about your precious image, Leo. I thought you were hurting when you did what you did to Valente Enterprises, but this—’ His voice cracked.
‘I’m not selling the damned castle,’ Leo spat harshly.
‘He’s not. I’m a wedding planner. We’re discussing an event contract.’
‘Stay out of this, Dara,’ Leo warned.
‘And I thought you were just entertaining the lady to charm her into bed,’ said Gianni. ‘It would be better if you sold it. Rather than make plans to exploit it like a cheap hotel.’
‘Nothing is going to be planned in that damned castle—you hear me? It’s staying there to rot.’
Dara felt the breath whoosh out of her lungs as she absorbed the reality of that statement. Neither man looked her way as they continued in their stand-off. Thankfully no one had noticed the little drama playing out in this quiet corner of the club.
‘Then why is she here?’ asked Gianni, voicing Dara’s own question.
Leo was silent for a moment, his eyes moving to look at her as if he had just remembered she was there. ‘This is none of your business, Gianni.’
Dara watched as the old man’s temper faded, to be replaced by a look of genuine hurt. Leo’s eyes were so dark they looked almost black in the dim lighting.
Dara spoke up, straightening her shoulders. ‘Well, it seems it’s none of my business either.’
Refusing to meet Leo’s eyes, she looked down.
‘Thank you for shedding some light on the situation, Mr Marcello.’
With that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the club.
