Читать книгу The Revenge Collection 2018 - Кейт Хьюит, Эль Кеннеди - Страница 28
ОглавлениеRAMONES WAS A tiny restaurant in Times Square, bursting to the brim with diners. As Gabriele had promised, the paparazzi were stationed outside.
Once inside, Elena understood why.
‘Is that Gary Milwake?’ she whispered as they were led past a couple chatting happily in a booth by the window.
‘It is,’ he confirmed. ‘And that’s Serafina de Angelo with him.’
Gary Milwake was the breakthrough movie star of the year, his dining partner the star of the biggest-selling box set of the decade.
‘They’re waving at you.’ She tried not to screech.
‘That’s because Gary’s an acquaintance. He drove a Mantegna supercar in The Long Drive By. I took him for his original test drive.’
She took her seat, trying in vain not to look too excited at all the other familiar faces. While Gabriele ordered a bottle of wine for them, she couldn’t stop herself staring. There was a pop star dining with a man who she didn’t recognise but was definitely not the man she was reported to be dating, and she said as much.
‘Eating here guarantees publicity,’ Gabriele said, opening his menu. ‘Tomorrow the Internet will be abuzz with gossip about her. That’s all that matters—publicity.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘How sordid.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s business for them. Column inches matter. Now stop staring at everyone and look adoringly at me.’
‘If this is our first date then I wouldn’t look at you adoringly,’ she contradicted, speaking off the top of her head. Never mind looking at him with adoration, every time she looked at him she felt a snake uncoil itself within her and want to launch at him. ‘This is the evening we play “getting to know you”.’
‘A fair point. However, even on a first date people who are attracted to each other lean in closely together and speak intimately. They do not spend their time star spotting.’
She smiled and tried fluttering her eyelashes. ‘I’ve never met a star before.’
‘Your family has always mingled with celebrities. And you look like you have something in your eye.’
‘I’m trying to look adoring.’
‘Just lean towards me and remember, whatever you say, say it with a smile on your face.’
She rested her arms on the table and leaned closer to the face she found more handsome every time she looked. Smiling brightly, she said, ‘Is that better, you savage bastard?’
Mimicking her actions and with a full-wattage beam, he replied, ‘It’s a start, you poisonous viper.’
‘Is that the best you can do? My brothers have much better derogatory names for me than that.’
‘They’ve had many more years of practice. Look at me,’ he added when her attention was taken by another passing film star.
‘Sorry.’
‘How can you be so star struck when your family have partied with celebrities for years?’
‘My father and my brothers have. You forget, I run the European division. I have nothing to do with what happens in the US and the rest of the world.’
‘By choice?’
‘I started off working in Rome then gradually progressed to take over Italy, then the rest of Europe.’
‘Nepotism at its finest.’
‘That’s rich coming from a man who took the same route through his family firm.’
‘The difference is I’ve enhanced what we already had. When I joined Mantegna Cars we had a turnover of half a billion dollars. Within five years of me joining that figure had tripled because of the diversifications I put in to trade on our name.’
Her smile dropped a fraction as she tried to think of what she’d personally done to enhance her division and boost Ricci Components’ profits. Nothing sprang to mind.
‘Now we are one of the top car manufacturers in the world,’ he continued, ‘even with the battering we took at the hands of your father’s fraud and lies.’
She couldn’t stop the glare from forming and had to fight hard to paste another smile on her face.
Thankfully, the waiter returned with their wine. After a glass had been poured for them both and they’d given their food orders, Gabriele raised his glass to her.
‘To the start of a wonderful new relationship and to the best of nepotism.’
She chinked hers to it and smiled as she said, ‘And here’s to revenge, which everyone knows is best served cold.’
‘I prefer my revenge to be scalding hot but cold serves my needs equally well.’
With mutual antipathy, they both sipped their drinks, both smiling, both firing ice and loathing from their eyes.
As a way to toast their new relationship, Elena thought it very apt.
* * *
Gabriele surprised himself by enjoying their meal out. There had been more than a few occasions when he had laughed out loud at the barbs coming from Elena’s tongue, all of them dressed with a sweet smile.
Now they were back at his apartment and the slight relaxing of her demeanour in the restaurant might never have been. Elena was back to being as tight as a coiled spring. She’d even stopped throwing barbs at him.
As soon as they’d left the car, thanked his driver, and taken the lift to his apartment and were alone for the first time since leaving, she’d turned to him.
‘I’m not sharing a bed with you tonight. The contract stated we share a bed and...’ her cheeks turned scarlet but she carried on regardless ‘...and, do what needs to be done when we’re married. We’re not married yet. Your housekeepers have the weekend off so there is no one for us to convince of our blossoming romance.’
‘They will know if a guest bed has been slept in.’
‘I don’t care. Not everyone jumps into bed on a first date. They’ll assume one of us has some morals.’
He arched a brow. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning they work for you so it’s doubtful they associate morals with you or the people you call friends. You’re a convicted criminal, remember?’
‘Are you deliberately trying to anger me?’ he asked slowly, holding onto his temper by a whisker.
‘What, by speaking the truth? Oh, sorry, I forgot, you believe my father to be the criminal.’
Gabriele silently counted to ten, breathing heavily as he did so, staring at this woman who dared speak to him of morals when she came from a family of conscienceless snakes.
She didn’t drop her stare, holding her ground with a raised chin and a pursed mouth.
Only her eyes showed vulnerability. It was there, ringing out from them, mingled with the defiance and it tempered the fury that had shot through him.
There was no room in this relationship for pity but as much as he didn’t want to put himself in her shoes he could understand why she would feel vulnerable.
‘Tonight you can sleep in a guest room,’ he agreed, rolling his neck to loosen the knots that had formed in it. ‘It’s been a long day for both of us. But from tomorrow you sleep with me.’
‘There will be no sex...’ she spat the word as if it were an oath ‘...until we’re married.’
He gave a slow, deliberate smile. ‘Which is only three days away. Three days until you’re Mrs Mantegna and welcome me into the warmth of your delightful body with open arms.’
‘Welcoming? I think not.’
‘You expect me to believe that when I’ve seen the way you undress me with your eyes? Admit it, there’s an attraction between us. Inexplicable, I admit, but there all the same.’
Her cheeks flamed with colour, letting him know he’d scored a direct hit.
When he’d made the demand that she have his baby it had been a logical progression to his thoughts on marrying her. He wanted a child but he didn’t want the commitment to a woman that went with it. To his mind, Elena having his child was the perfect solution. It would make his revenge on her father almost complete—until he found the evidence to clear his name it would never be complete—and give him the heir he so wanted.
She was dressed in the most hideous outfit he’d ever seen on a woman, even with the improvements he’d made to it. But still his imagination ran amok wondering what lay beneath; the image of her naked bottom never far from his thoughts. All that, and the way she fought fire with fire...it all conspired to make his loins tighten in a way he’d almost forgotten.
Elena Ricci was the complete reverse of what he usually found attractive in a woman but there was something about her his senses responded to.
She stared at him, her eyes flashing, but then gave a slow, deliberate smile of her own. ‘The only thing I will welcome is the blow to your ego every time you remember that you could only have me by blackmail.’
‘Then I will be sure to take extra special enjoyment every time I make you come.’
Colour heightened not only her face but her neck too.
‘You’re crude and you are not a gentleman.’ Turning on her heel, she marched from the living room, saying over her shoulder, ‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight. Hope the bedbugs bite.’
‘Elena,’ he called after her.
‘What?’
‘Next time you try and rouse my anger to keep me out of your bed, know your efforts will be wasted. Any more excuses and I rip our contract up and throw your entire family to the wolves.’
She left the living room without looking back.
* * *
Elena awoke early after a night of fitful sleep, rising shortly after the sun.
With nothing but a pair of pyjamas on, she padded to the kitchen in search of coffee only to find Gabriele had beaten her to it, already showered, shaved and dressed. He’d even been out and bought bagels for them both.
‘Bagels, for breakfast?’ she mumbled, shuffling onto a chair at the kitchen table, feeling awkward with her sleep-crumpled face and mussed hair.
‘You don’t visit New York often?’
She shook her head and opened the box hers was in. ‘This is only my second time here.’
He stared at her, making her feel even more self-conscious. When he looked at her like that it felt as if he were trying to pry open her thoughts.
No one had ever looked at her like that before.
After a long bout of silence broken only by her nibbling as quietly as she could at the bacon and cream cheese bagel, which turned out to be delicious, she excused herself to take a shower.
‘We’ll make a move when you’re ready,’ he said to her retreating figure. ‘We’re going to get you a new wardrobe and have you made over. I’ve booked you in with a stylist.’
‘You’re not going to police my purchases?’
‘No. Your stylist will guide you in selecting clothes you feel comfortable in. I’m going to the office.’
‘It’s Sunday.’ Even she, a self-admitted workaholic, didn’t go to the office on a Sunday. That didn’t mean she didn’t work on the supposed day of rest, only that she didn’t expect anyone else to.
‘We’ve a busy time coming up,’ he answered with a shrug. ‘There’s some stuff I need to get done before we head off to Florence and I won’t have many opportunities after today.’
Two hours later, they entered an exclusive store on Fifth Avenue.
Having had such a rubbish night’s sleep, Elena was well aware of how drained she looked. Even her hair, thin as it was at the best of times, was lank.
When the stylist, a tall, immaculately dressed woman in her forties, strode towards her with an outstretched hand, she felt even more conspicuous.
Gabriele greeted her as if she were an old friend, kissing her on each cheek.
‘I will leave you in Liana’s capable hands, tesoro,’ he said to Elena, his tone affectionate.
Had he brought other women here?
The strange pang that twisted her stomach was smothered when he caught her off guard, wrapping his arms around her and placing a brief kiss to her lips.
The briefest of kisses. Tiny. Insubstantial. And yet enough to set her heart fluttering.
He pulled away, rubbing her arms for good measure. ‘My phone will be on if you need me, otherwise, if I don’t hear from you I’ll pick you up at four.’
Too shell-shocked by the unexpected heat of his mouth on hers and his fruity, masculine scent playing in her senses to respond with anything but a weak, ‘Okay,’ she watched him stroll out, her eyes drifting to the tight buttocks wrapped in a pair of snug-fitting black jeans, which also emphasised the length and muscularity of his thighs.
She dug the nail of her middle finger into the flesh of her thumb.
That was what happened when you didn’t get a good night’s sleep. Your body reacted in unpredictable ways when the monster you were being forced to marry kissed you.
It was only because she hadn’t been prepared for it. Next time she would be, and would bite his lip for good measure.
Liana bore her off to an elevator, asking questions about her taste in music and books and films that sounded innocuous but which Elena was certain had meaning. The stylist was trying to figure her out.
Before they’d reached the floor they were heading to, she could hold it back no longer. ‘Have you dressed many of Gabriele’s lady friends?’
‘He brought his mother here at Christmas.’ Liana used such a sympathetic tone that a ripple of unease ran through her, making Elena wonder what it was about Gabriele’s mother that elicited such a tone.
When they reached the intended floor, Liana knew exactly where she wanted to take her.
Following in her wake, she passed two women, one of whom was holding a small baby.
She turned back for a second look, her heart thundering.
She was going to have one. She was going to have a baby.
The one thing she had never allowed herself to dream of having.
But to get one she would have to have sex with Gabriele.
God help her.
And God help her that a thrill of heat pooled in her abdomen every time she imagined it.
Liana whisked her into a private dressing room and brought armfuls of clothes in a steady stream, from elegant business outfits to cocktail dresses, to everything in between.
Although reluctant to try them on, feeling that to do so would in itself be a victory for Gabriele, to her surprise Elena soon found she was enjoying herself. Even more surprisingly, the clothes Liana selected were items she would have chosen for herself if she’d ever given it more than a few seconds’ thought. Nothing too girly, which she would have rejected on the spot, yet definitely feminine.
The only time she truly wanted to put her foot down was when Liana measured her bra size and brought in sexy little items of lingerie. She could hardly say, ‘No thank you, it would be a waste as I couldn’t care less what Gabriele thinks of my underwear,’ because that hardly fitted the image of a woman newly in love. Elena did manage to dissuade the stylist from checking the fit of them for herself, which she considered to be a personal victory.
Left alone with a pile of bras, she gazed at her reflection in the three full-length mirrors. And gazed again.
She looked different. And all she’d done was try on some clothes.
Peering closer, she studied her face, certain something had changed.
Her skin appeared to glow. Her eyes seemed brighter, the green more vivid. Her lips looked fuller.
It had to be the lighting, she told herself, slipping one of the bras on. The owners must have done it to enhance their customers’ reflections.
But even her breasts looked fuller, the lacy bra pushing them up and giving her an actual cleavage. Giving her shape.
She couldn’t help her mind from flitting, as it had done seemingly every minute since they’d made their agreement, to being in bed with Gabriele.
The thought terrified her.
It should repulse her too. After everything he was doing, everything he was demanding, the thought of sharing a bed with him should have her crammed full of revulsion.
The butterflies in her belly shouldn’t feel like the flutters of excitement.
An image drifted into her mind of Gabriele peeling the bra from her body...
She shouldn’t have these thoughts. Not of him.
When she gave him her body it would be with the minimum of interaction on her part. She would do what she had to do and nothing more. She would not enjoy it.
Her phone went off, a distraction she welcomed until she clicked on the link Gabriele had emailed to her.
A picture of them outside Ramones had been published online. Elena had been dubbed ‘The Convicted Italian Stallion’s Mystery Date’.
The first seeds of them as a couple had been planted.
Her identity would be revealed sooner rather than later. Her profile in America was non-existent but all it would take was one Italian to read the article and the world would know who she was.
She’d have to phone her dad as soon as they got back to Gabriele’s apartment, a thought that made her already tender stomach lurch some more.
There was no time to worry about it though, as it was time for her makeover. Liana gently persuaded her to change into one of her new outfits rather than slip back into her boyish shorts and T-shirt.
In the beauty department she was taken into a private room. There, a flamboyant man named Adrian, who had the most perfectly plucked eyebrows, sat her onto a high stool and studied her face.
‘Your eyes!’ he exclaimed. ‘They are to die for. And your lips...are they natural?’
At her puzzled expression he said, ‘No fillers?’
‘No.’
‘No work at all?’
‘No.’
He sighed. ‘A natural beauty. Your face is a blank canvas for me to enhance. But first...’ He lifted the lank strands of her hair. ‘First we do something to this.’
For the next hour her hair was washed, snipped and dried by yet another stylist, all the while Adrian and Liana chatted to her and plied her with coffee. They refused to let her see the end result, Adrian explaining that they ‘wanted her to see the whole effect in one go’.
As he got to work on her face, he gently gave details of what he was doing so she could replicate it for herself.
When he was done, he took her hand and helped her down, then led her to a floor-length mirror so she could see the final results.
‘What do you think?’ he asked, smiling widely.
As she gazed at her reflection, a lump formed in her throat.
It was her but...not.
Her hair had never looked so voluminous. The severe fringe she chopped herself when it got too long had been feathered. Layers had been cut into the length, which still fell across her shoulders, but instead of just hanging there now became a frame for a face that belonged to her but one she had never seen before.
Far from making her look like a clown as she had feared, Adrian’s makeover was surprisingly understated.
Her eyes, darkened around the rims, gleamed, the black mascara making them appear rounder. Her cheeks had a subtle hint of blush on them, defining her bone structure. Peach lipstick had been applied that made her naturally full lips look even plumper.
It was hard to believe...
‘Is that really me?’ she whispered, her eyes filling. She’d never imagined she could look so feminine. She’d never imagined she could feel so feminine. Not her, the little tomboy.
Adrian put an arm around her and hugged her to him. ‘Don’t cry. If you don’t like it we can take it off and try another—’
‘No,’ she cut him off with a choked laugh. ‘I do like it. I love it. You’re a miracle worker. All of you.’
He shook his head. ‘Elena, you are exquisite. Now promise me one thing.’
‘If I can.’
‘Always use blush.’
Laughing, she threw her arms around him. ‘Thank you.’
Bags of cosmetics and face creams had been packaged for her, along with her new wardrobe of clothes. Her shopping trip was over and it was time to pay the bill.
Elena got her credit card out.
Liana shook her head. ‘Mr Mantegna has made arrangements to pay.’
About to protest—after all, she was an independent woman, no matter what charge of nepotism Gabriele laid at her door—she had a nice vision of Gabriele receiving the bill. He was the one who insisted she get remodelled. He could foot it.
And speaking of he...
Now it was time to face him.
The heels of the ankle boots she wore gave her a lift in more sense than one. Never mind being two inches taller, she found she held herself taller too as she strode through the main beauty floor with Liana at her side. She didn’t know if she was imagining it but she could feel eyes upon her and had to force herself not to stare at the floor in embarrassment. People never looked twice at her.
‘One more thing,’ Liana said suddenly, coming to a halt by the sunglasses section. She considered them for a while before going behind the counter and handing Elena a Cartier box. ‘For when you have to deal with the paparazzi,’ she said with a knowing smile.
Elena thanked her and put the box in one of the bags containing the cosmetics she was already looking forward to experimenting with.
As much as she told herself that she couldn’t care less what Gabriele thought of her makeover, her heart galloped when Liana opened the door to the private waiting room and Gabriele looked up from the laptop he was working on.
His brown-black eyes widened, and he half rose, the laptop almost falling onto the floor in the process.
After six hours in the department store, Gabriele had been prepared for Elena to come out looking better than she had before. After all, she could hardly present herself any worse. He would have had to be blind not to see her innate prettiness, even though she clearly couldn’t be bothered to do anything with it, but nothing could have prepared him for the beauty that walked into the room.
Dio, it was like one of those before and after television programmes his mother had liked to watch.
A pair of tight pale blue jeans that came halfway up her calves was topped with a long shimmering silver off-the-shoulder top under which were the straps of a purple bra. The clothes themselves were nothing to shout about but put together with clever plum costume jewellery, black ankle boots and a haircut that screamed just got out of bed without having actually just got out of bed...
It was still Elena the tomboy, but with a very sexy, feminine difference.
The pretty shell had been burst open and the intrinsic beauty had emerged.
This was the sexy, beautiful woman he would be marrying in two days.
Aware of Elena and Liana both waiting expectantly for his reaction, he closed his laptop and got to his feet.
‘Tesoro, you look wonderful,’ he said. ‘Did you have a good day?’
‘Lovely thank you,’ she replied with a sweet smile that didn’t fool him for a second.
‘You deserve it, you work so hard.’
After satisfying himself that all her purchases were being sent to his apartment, Gabriele led Elena out of the store and to his waiting car at the back.
Once they were settled and the driver was making his way through the heavy Manhattan traffic, Gabriele twisted round to look again at Elena.
The unexpected but very welcome news he’d received that afternoon that a senior member of Ignazio’s closest team could possibly be bought now took second place to the woman beside him.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright and there was an air about her he couldn’t put his finger on.
‘You did enjoy it,’ he stated shrewdly. Now they were alone they could go back to being honest with each other.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I hadn’t realised shopping could be fun.’
‘How do you normally buy clothes?’
‘I dive in and out of the shop and hope whatever I’ve chosen fits.’
‘You’re the only daughter from a family with three sons. Why weren’t you dressed as a princess?’
She shrugged. ‘I always wanted to be a boy like my brothers. I hated that being a girl made me different.’
‘Why did it make you different?’
She pulled a face that conveyed she thought he was an idiot for asking.
‘I don’t have siblings,’ he reminded her. ‘All my cousins are boys. Those kind of family dynamics are not something I’ve experienced.’
‘Girls are considered more delicate than boys. Weaker. More prone to tears.’
He considered this. ‘I think the tears thing is true...’
She sucked in an outraged breath.
‘But as for being more delicate, that’s bull,’ he finished. ‘Women are different from men, that’s a biological fact but the kind of delicacy you’re talking about doesn’t exist.’
‘I know that. I’ve spent my entire life proving it.’
‘How? By acting like a man?’
‘How else could I be taken seriously?’ she demanded. ‘The only way I was able to gain my brothers’ respect was by being one of the boys.’
‘So it wasn’t through choice?’
‘I wanted to be like them. I didn’t know how to be a girl and had no interest in learning.’
‘Do you think it would have made any difference if your mother had lived and been there to guide you?’
Her eyes met his. ‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t remember her.’
‘That’s a real shame,’ he eventually replied, remembering the Swedish woman who’d always had a ready smile on her face and a batch of meatballs on the go. Elena could only have been two when she died. ‘She was a nice woman.’
Her brows drew together. ‘You knew her?’
‘Of course. Our families were friends. Our mothers were very close.’
‘I didn’t know that.’ A burst of fire sparked in her eyes and she leaned towards him fiercely. ‘If they were such good friends I would imagine your mother will be very disappointed with you when she learns that you’re forcing me to marry you.’
‘We will never know. She has dementia. My father’s death accelerated the process. There are days she doesn’t even know who I am.’ Something else he absolutely blamed her father for and, by extension, Elena herself.
Her latent beauty might now have pushed to the surface but that was all it was: surface.
Beneath the skin she was a Ricci to her core and he would never allow himself to forget it.
