Читать книгу Secret Heirs Collection - Кейт Хьюит, Коллектив авторов - Страница 13

SERGIO HAD SEEN the curiosity in the florist’s eyes when he had placed his order. One hundred roses in five different colours. He could almost see the question taking shape at the back of her mind… Who’s the lucky girl?

Stanley, his driver, was a lot more forthcoming than the florist.

‘Who’s the lucky girl?’

Sergio caught his driver’s eye in the rear-view mirror and thought about ignoring the question.

The roses had been carefully placed in the boot, all neatly wrapped in cellophane with straw bows, their cut stems nestling in little bags of water.

‘The “lucky girl” is the one you dropped home the week before last—not that it’s any of your business, Stanley. In case you’ve forgotten the contents of your How to Be a Good Chauffeur manual, it’s not your place to ask questions about matters that don’t concern you.’

‘Ah. You must be keen. The flowers usually only get pulled out at the end of one of your little flings, sir, and even so…never roses…and never that many!’

‘Just drive, Stanley.’

‘Nice little thing, if you don’t mind me saying.’

‘I’m about to make an important call, and as a matter of fact I do mind.’

‘You’ll need to be careful with that one, sir.’

Sergio gave up. He had employed Stanley for over ten years—rescued him from an inner city project that aimed to rehabilitate petty criminals and chronically out of work men back into the community by training them up in stable jobs.

It was one of the many charities sponsored by Sergio’s vast conglomerate of companies.

Some of the lads went into manual labour. Working in garden centres, building sites, in restaurants… Stanley, aged twenty-eight now, once an expert car thief, had come to work for him, and their relationship had prospered against all odds.

Stanley was irreverent, outspoken, unimpressed by Sergio’s trappings of wealth, and eternally grateful to have been rescued from a life of bouncing in and out of prison. He was a good lad gone bad, thanks to circumstances, and had been waiting for someone just like Sergio to get him back on the right track.

Sergio secretly enjoyed his driver’s lack of due respect. He was loyal, would have lain down in front of a train for Sergio, and he knew cars like the back of his hand.

‘I expect you’re about to tell me why…?’

‘Only if you want me to, sir. Wouldn’t want to overstep my brief.’

‘Spit it out, Stanley, and then focus on the road. I don’t want to end up in a ditch because you’re busy imparting your pearls of wisdom and not paying attention to your driving. Don’t forget that your terms of employment are to drive me and not talk incessantly.’

It was not yet five in the evening, but already dark, with a fine persistent drizzle that made the pavements look slick and shiny, as though they had been covered with a fine layer of oil.

‘She’s not like the other women you go out with, if you don’t mind me saying, sir. This one’s…different… Don’t ask me why—just a feeling I got when I was dropping her back…’

Sergio wondered whether that feeling would be diluted if Stanley knew the circumstances surrounding their meeting—if he knew that the nice little thing had shown up at his restaurant dressed to kill in a tight red dress on a supposedly mystery date with a mystery guy which may or may not have been the real reason for being there in the first place.

‘But I’ll leave you to get on with that important phone call now, sir. Wouldn’t want you kicking me out because I’m not doing my job to Your Highness’s satisfaction.’

He began to hum under his breath, leaving Sergio to get on with his thoughts.

He was being driven to Susie’s house on a mission that included a hundred roses of varying colours and he didn’t really know why—except that he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. He’d met the woman once, under dubious circumstances, was not convinced that she wasn’t a gold-digger, had not even slept with her, and yet…

Under normal circumstances women did not intrude into his working life. They didn’t show up at his office, they didn’t phone him on his office line, and they never interfered with his thought processes when they weren’t physically around. When he was with a woman he enjoyed her with every fibre of his being. When she wasn’t around she was forgotten. It was just the way he was.

Unfortunately he had spent so much time thinking about Susie that he hadn’t been able to focus. He had found himself drifting off twice during meetings, staring at his computer without really seeing the lines and columns in front of him, having to get his secretary to repeat herself on several occasions because his mind had wandered off.

He had no idea why this particular encounter had left him so distracted. It wasn’t as though she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, nor the smartest. Her intentions were open to debate, and she had, frankly, led him up the garden path by giving off all the right signals about wanting to climb into bed with him and then, when his libido was through the roof, backing away and shooting out of his apartment like a bat out of hell.

So here he was. He didn’t know what he intended to say when he showed up on her doorstep. He didn’t even know if he would find her at home. Maybe she had already dry-cleaned the little red dress and was wearing it at some other rich man’s hangout, on the hunt for another billionaire—someone a little less daunting.

He didn’t care for the thought, and rather than spend the trip brooding consoled himself with the very pleasing prospect that if she was at home he would have some fun plumbing the depths of that attraction she had talked about instead of being noble and resisting what was on offer.

He’d never done that before and he’d been a fool to do it with her.

That was probably why he had found himself at the local florist and now here, in the back seat of his car. He was allergic to self-denial.

‘We’re here, sir.’ Stanley killed the engine and met Sergio’s eyes.

‘She lives here?’

Sergio peered through the drizzle to a grim little selection of shops…a newsagent, a fish and chip takeaway, a few more that were already closed for the night and barricaded so securely that it made you wonder what sort of people lived in the neighbourhood.

‘Flat above the shops, sir.’

Even grimmer. ‘Should be fun, transporting the roses up to her flat,’ he mused aloud. ‘Who lives in a place like this, Stanley?’

‘Several of my relatives, sir—and those would be the lucky ones.’

Sergio grunted. ‘Do you know her flat number, or do we have to ring all the bells and hope for the best?’

‘Flat number nine, sir. Saw her up to her front door myself.’

Susie was barely aware of her doorbell ringing until she turned down the television. The doorbell, like everything else in the tiny flat, was eccentric—sometimes working, sometimes not, and very often ringing so quietly that she had to strain her ears to hear it.

It was Friday evening and she had declined all company. Definitely no more online dating. The daring red number had been cleaned and was hanging at the back of the wardrobe as a reminder of her mistake.

Sergio Burzi.

She had looked him up on the internet—not to read what was said about him, because she wasn’t that interested, but to gaze at the pictures of him…which didn’t do him justice at all.

It amazed her that one random meeting with a perfect stranger had managed to throw her whole life out of kilter.

She daydreamed. She changed reality so that she had ended up spending the night with him. She wondered what it might have been like. She projected herself into a future that they would never have and fantasised about having a relationship with him—a proper relationship.

Then she remembered what he had said about the women he dated, what he had told her about the sort of women he was drawn to. Women like her sister, Alex. Clever, high-powered women, who knew what they wanted out of life the very second they emerged from the womb.

Another feeble ring from the doorbell and she padded across to the front door. Ten seconds was all it took. Her flat was so small that she could practically flick on the television in the poky sitting room while frying an egg in the kitchen.

She thought of Sergio’s apartment. So vast…so modern…a stunning space where everything worked and did what it was supposed to do. The lights didn’t flicker ominously, the fridge didn’t stage protests against being too well stocked, the sofas didn’t sag in the middle…and the bed… She could only think that his bed would be ten times the size of hers and wouldn’t creak every time he moved.

Susie knew that she had to snap out of her torpor because it wouldn’t get her anywhere. Her mother had telephoned the very day after her dinner with Sergio and had peppered her with questions about the new restaurant. She had been irritated when Susie had responded in monosyllables and made a great effort to try and change the conversation, having put Louise Sadler straight and told her that there had been no nice man sharing the meal with her.

Then her mother had launched into a speech about Clarissa’s wedding—about how delighted everyone was that she was getting married, that it wouldn’t be long before a grandchild was on the way for her mother…Louise Sadler’s sister.

Susie’s mother had a long-running, just below the surface competitive edge with her aunt, Kate. Two years separated them, and rumour had it that the Thornton sisters had been competing from the second her mother—the younger of the two—had uttered her first words.

Louise had married first, but Kate had had a child first. Louise had had a job with more status, but Kate’s had earned her more money.

And now Kate’s daughter Clarissa was hopping up the aisle—the first in the family to do so.

Susie shuddered to think of her mother’s reaction if Clarissa got pregnant and had a baby nine months after the wedding ring had been put on her finger.

It was bad enough that Alex was so involved in her fabulously important job as a neurosurgeon that there was no sign of any boyfriend on the horizon. At least in the case of her sister Louise had the ‘fabulous job’ to fall back on—about which she never stopped boasting.

But Susie…

No fabulous job and no boyfriend either. In fact not even any friends who were boys who could give her mother anything to brag about.

Was it any wonder that she had toyed with the idea of finding Mr Perfect via the internet? Was it any wonder that she had fallen for all those cosy pictures of loving couples and actually believed that rubbish about perfect endings?

Fighting down another wave of self-pity, she pulled open the door—to a barrage of flowers. Bunches and bunches and bunches of roses—so many roses that it had taken two people to cart them up to her flat, although she couldn’t see who they were because they were shielded by the flowers.

‘Sorry, you’ve got the wrong place.’

She moved to shut the door. Somewhere in the building some lucky girl was being bombarded with flowers, and she didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that the lucky girl wasn’t her.

‘I would have gone more easy on the quantity if I had known that your flat was so small…’

Susie’s mouth fell open. Her heart started beating so hard that she felt giddy. The palms of her hands began to perspire. Her whole body began to perspire.

She watched as Sergio emerged from the garden centre on her doorstep.

He was as sexy as she remembered. As tall, as dark, as striking. Dark jeans clung to his lean hips and he was wearing a striped rugby jumper and loafers. It was cold outside, and she wondered how he could find a trench coat adequate cover. It was hooked over his shoulder with one finger.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘That will be all, Stanley.’ He addressed the man next to him without taking his eyes from Susie’s face.

‘Why are you here?’ she repeated in a dazed voice, barely aware of so many flowers being put inside her flat that she probably wouldn’t be able to turn a full circle when she shut the door.

But through the daze pleasure was zinging through her—because this was one of her fantasies…the one that involved him seeking her out.

Excitement gripped her, twisting her insides and turning her legs to jelly. He was giving orders to Stanley, the really great guy who had driven her back to her flat and seen her up to her front door the previous week, in true gentleman style.

And then there were just the two of them, staring at one another, until she was knocked for six by his slow, curling smile.

He’d done the right thing.

Sergio knew that the very second the door was pulled open and he saw her again. No red dress this time. No dress at all. Baggy jogging bottoms and a grey jumper and fluffy bright pink bedroom slippers.

The sex kitten was nowhere in evidence. In her place was a small, cute, freckle-faced, vanilla-haired girl who was gaping at him as though he had materialised out of nowhere.

And she was even sexier than he remembered.

‘Are you going to ask me in?’ He lounged against the door frame and continued to look at her.

‘How did you find me? No, I know. Stanley knows where I live. I’m surprised he remembered the route.’

‘He’s talented when it comes to remembering places.’

‘And maybe you’d like to tell me what the heck you’re doing here?’

For a few seconds Sergio was completely thrown by that question. Automatic entry had been his expectation. Explanations to follow—not that he had really anticipated many of those. He had shown up, hadn’t he? This was the first time he had ever done anything like this before, and it hadn’t crossed his mind that she wouldn’t be delighted with the gesture.

‘Come again?’

‘The last time I saw you, you told me that I was either a gold-digger or a simpleton and you weren’t interested in having anything to do with me.’

‘I don’t believe I used the word simpleton.’

‘As good as,’ Susie retorted, her body as stiff as a plank of wood. She might have daydreamed about this, but now that he was here she couldn’t just shove aside the fact that he had turned her away. ‘I’m not your type…remember…?’

‘I’ve come bearing flowers,’ Sergio said incredulously, raking his fingers through his hair and wondering how such a generous gesture could garner a cross-examination.

‘That still doesn’t excuse what you said to me.’

But she yearned to fling open the door and let him in. Her whole body throbbed, remembering the way his lips had felt against hers, wanting more…much more.

‘We can talk about this inside. Let me in. Please, Susie?’

Susie hesitated and then grudgingly stepped aside so that he could enter. As soon as he entered he seemed to fill the entire place. She busied herself gathering the flowers. She had two vases, into which she crammed as many as she could, and then she rested the remainder by the window to be sorted out later.

For the moment…

She retreated to the sofa and sat down, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

‘I admit I questioned your motives,’ Sergio said heavily. He perched uncomfortably on the far end of the sofa. ‘Can you blame me?’

‘And what’s made you change your mind.’

Sergio wasn’t sure he actually had changed his mind, but he figured that complete honesty in this instance would be a mistake. The main thing was that she had managed to get to him in a way other women hadn’t, for reasons he couldn’t define, and if indeed she did turn out to be a gold-digger then she wouldn’t get very far—especially as he knew what to look out for.

‘I turned you away because…’ He stood up and restlessly prowled through the room, subliminally clocking the fact that in between the dusty furnishings and tired decor there were one or two items of spectacular worth.

What did that say? What would she say if he pointed them out to her? How was it that she couldn’t afford somewhere better to live when hanging on the wall was a tiny but extremely valuable abstract painting by an up-and-coming artist? And nestled amongst the bric-a-brac on the mantelpiece was what appeared to be an original Tiffany lamp?

His jaw tightened. Even recognising those anomalies, he still found that he was driven to stay put.

‘Because…’ he resumed his seat on the sagging sofa ‘…if you’re a gold-digger then nothing’s going to come of your efforts, and if you’re just hopelessly naive then I was doing you a favour, because you’ll end up getting hurt by me.’

Susie frowned. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘I don’t do long-term relationships.’

‘And what makes you think that I do? No, I take that back… What makes you think that I would cast you in the role of someone I want to have a long-term relationship with?’

‘Women have a habit of becoming over-involved…’

‘You’re…an attractive man,’ she said carefully, ‘but there’s no chance that I would ever become “over-involved” with someone like you…’

‘Someone like me?’

‘I’m a creative person…’

She thought of her parents’ response to the creative types she had introduced to them in the past. Perhaps some of her friends had been a little too creative.

‘It’s not as though I would necessarily want to get involved with someone exactly like me…but I would want to get involved with someone funny, thoughtful, considerate, kind, sensitive… A guy like that would never accuse me of being a gold-digger, and he would never tell me that I’m so naive that I can’t take care of myself—and he would definitely never be so downright arrogant as to assume that I would fall head over heels in love with him, given half a chance! I mean…who do you think you are, anyway…?’

Sergio was frankly lost for words. He wondered whether he should mention that there wasn’t another woman on the planet who would react to his appearance at her front door, carrying half a shop’s worth of expensive roses, by digging her heels in and giving him a furious lecture on all his failings.

‘I came here because I felt there was unfinished business between us,’ was all he could find to say.

Susie raised her eyebrows.

‘Didn’t you?’ he asked softly. ‘Feel like there was unfinished business between us?’

She hesitated.

Was that what she had been feeling?

Torn between wanting to assert her independence and show him that he couldn’t just turn up at her door with a bunch of flowers and expect her to swoon and just give in to whatever it was that had taken her over like a virus, she was stuck for words.

‘Well?’ Sergio inserted smoothly, firing on all cylinders and interpreting her hesitation correctly for what it was. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you…’

He didn’t make a move towards her, but he seemed able to sense every little thought running through her head with his finely tuned antennae. She had an expressive face. So much of him was tempted to give her the benefit of the doubt, to believe that she was as straightforward as she claimed to be, and yet…

Her appearance at the restaurant, the startling red dress, the ease with which she had accompanied him back to his place despite protesting that she wasn’t that sort of girl…those random hugely expensive trinkets dotted around her flat…

‘I’m not your type…’ She looked at him narrowly, licked her lips. He was…formidable—lounging back there on her sofa in all his dark, dangerous, sexy glory.

‘I’m willing to break the mould…’

But she didn’t go in for short-lived affairs—never had. She might have broken up with her last boyfriend but it had been a relationship born from optimism that it would stay the course. Quite different from indulging in something that didn’t stand a chance…

To even think about…anything at all with the man now looking at her with those midnight-blue eyes would be downright reckless.

‘You told me that I wasn’t your type either,’ he reminded her in the same soft, speculative voice that felt like a caress. ‘Maybe it’s just a case of opposites attracting…’

He’d never had to work so hard with any woman before, and he wondered whether it was the irresistible lure of a challenge.

‘You’re not my type.’

‘So why the hesitation? We can both go into this with our eyes wide open and enjoy one another or I can walk out through that door—and I promise you that there won’t be a next time as far as I am concerned. This is the most I’ve ever had to do when it comes to chasing a woman. I’ve exhausted my interest in active pursuit.’

‘You make it sound so…so cold…so businesslike…’

‘I could wrap it up in pretty paper if you’d prefer,’ Sergio said drily. ‘But would that change anything? We’re attracted to one another. I can feel it between us like something alive… And if you come a bit closer and touch me you’ll certainly feel just how attracted to you I am and just how much I want to make love to you right now…’

Her heart skipped a beat. She remained where she was. He was right. There was a spark of electricity between them that crackled and there was no point denying that. And so what if he was…practical about whatever this was…? So what if he was blunt when it came to doing something about it?

The romantic in her might want to hear all the flowery stuff that came at the start of a relationship—but that flowery stuff didn’t amount to very much most of the time, did it? He was giving her his own unvarnished view of what they had.

Mutual, physical attraction—take it or leave it.

‘Are you so…so cold and detached with other women?’ she asked. Or was he like this only with her because he’d known from the get-go that she wasn’t the sort of woman who would ever be able to hold his interest for very long?

‘You talk a lot…’

But he grinned and a little more of her melted. He had the most amazing grin. It altered the harsh contours of his beautiful face and made him seem suddenly, wildly accessible and even more mind-blowingly sexy. Did he have a turn-on switch for that smile? Was he even aware of how powerful it was?

She blushed, chin resting on her knees, her brown eyes unwavering.

‘Okay!’ Sergio flung his arms wide in a gesture that was a mixture of frustration and amused resignation. ‘So I’m realistic in my approach to relationships? I never make promises I’m in danger of not keeping. I don’t encourage slumber parties. At this stage in my life I’m not interested in playing for keeps…’

‘And you’re always on the lookout for anyone who wants to get too close just because you’re rich…?’

‘That’s right.’ His expression cooled.

‘Because you’ve had a bad experience?’ Susie mused.

‘You could say that,’ he drawled, relaxing. ‘And now is the question-and-answer session over?’

Susie didn’t answer. She was staring into space. He’d been hurt—badly hurt—by someone he’d trusted who had turned out to be after his money. She wondered what this mysterious woman looked like, had been like… It didn’t matter in the big picture, because she wasn’t going to get involved with him, but she was curious nevertheless.

Had he been madly in love with her?

Her stomach gave a little flip, because she couldn’t imagine him being madly in love with anyone. Even after only her brief contact with him he struck her as a man in total control of every aspect of his life.

What woman had had the power to bring this big, powerful man to his knees? She must have been quite something. Hence his learning curve…

‘Stop trying to work me out.’

‘Huh?’ Susie blinked and focused on him.

‘You’re trying to piece me together,’ Sergio said wryly. ‘Don’t. We can enjoy one another without too much in-depth analysis. Come and sit closer to me. It’s driving me crazy, seeing you and not being able to touch.’

Susie stood up, flexed her muscles, which had stiffened. and glanced at the roses taking up half her flat.

‘You’re going to have to take most of these back to your apartment,’ she said, buying time—because there was still a stubborn part of her that didn’t want to fall into his arms at the snap of his fingers. She felt like someone with one foot hanging off the edge of a cliff, even though she didn’t know why because, as he’d said, mutual lust didn’t involve the depth charge of a proper relationship…

This was going to be an adventure that would take her right out of her comfort zone.

She had tried the online dating in search of a soul mate and had found three losers and a would-be loser. She had been out with guys who had been the last word in fun, who had been laid-back and full of creative spark, and she had only been tempted to get close to one of them—and that one had ended up being just a little too much fun for her liking.

Sergio Burzi occupied a place of his own. He had laid his cards on the table. He wanted sex and nothing more. She wasn’t even really sure what he thought of her. Did he still think that she was after what he could give her?

It sounded so weirdly clinical—even though sex was the least clinical thing on the face of the earth.

She didn’t do clinical—not when it came to emotions—but…

What he aroused in her was so overwhelming. She just had to look at his cool, handsome face, just had to hear the deep timbre of his voice, and all her reservations flew out of her head.

She felt his eyes follow her as she strolled towards the window and then turned to look at him.

‘When you do, I’ll help you put them in vases. Or something…’

Sergio relaxed. He hadn’t even known how much he wanted this. ‘It’ll have to be the something…my apartment lacks vases. It’s the first time I will have had flowers returned to me…’

But there was a first time for everything.

Admittedly he had never factored that into his life before, but he was willing to go along for the ride…until, of course, the ride became boring and it was time to get off…