Читать книгу A Devilishly Dark Deal - Maggie Cox, Maggie Cox - Страница 8

THOSE needs Marco referred to had been deliberately and carefully suppressed ever since that horrible evening when her then boyfriend, Chris, had flown into a dangerous rage because Grace had refused to give in to his demands to have sex. After accusing her of flirting with another man at the party they’d attended, he’d pushed her up against a wall and slapped her hard across the face. Just as she’d been reeling with the shocking ending to what had been a pleasant evening at a mutual friend’s birthday party, he’d pinioned her to the floor, as if he would force her to give him what he wanted.

She had been beyond terrified. It was only when she’d made herself not give in to her fear and spoken in a quiet, reasonable tone, urging him to think about what he was doing and telling him he would bitterly regret it in the morning, when he was sober again, that he had seemed to come to his senses and let her go. She’d left him sleeping and never returned.

‘The kind of needs you’re referring to aren’t that important to me,’ she said now with a feeling that was a mixture of despair and dread settling in the pit of her stomach. ‘They’re certainly not as important as other things in my life.’

Leaning towards her across the table, Marco drove every single thought out of her head when he gently caught hold of a blonde tendril of her hair and slowly entwined it round his finger.

‘You mean like saving the orphans?’ he suggested huskily.

Even as her blood heated, and the resultant intoxicating warmth drove away all traces of despair, out of the corner of her eye Grace registered the brief flash of a digital camera going off.

Her companion had registered it too. Unravelling her hair from round his finger, he rose smoothly from his seat and strode across the polished wooden floor to the smartly dressed male perpetrator, sitting across from them with his female companion. Without saying a word he removed the camera from the surprised man’s hands, pressed what Grace was certain was the ‘delete’ button on the back, then calmly returned it.

Having obviously identified the couple as British, he declared, ‘If you ever try and do that again I will sue you,’ and only a fool would ignore the underlying fury in his tone. ‘I see that your meal hasn’t arrived yet. Take my advice: make your apologies to the maître d’ and go and dine somewhere else.’

His point made, and frighteningly succinct, he returned to sit down again opposite Grace, not sparing the man he had warned so much as a single glance to see if he and his companion had taken his advice. Only seconds after he sat down again the couple had collected their things and swiftly exited the terrace.

‘Does that sort of thing happen often?’ Grace frowned.

The broad shoulders that his white T-shirt fitted so mouthwateringly snugly and that accentuated his strong toned musculature, lifted in a shrug. ‘Often enough to be tedious,’ he replied, a thread of weariness in his tone, ‘but it will not spoil our lunch together because I will not let it.’

Even so, the intimacy that had hovered so tantalisingly between them before the man had foolishly snapped the picture had definitely disappeared. Grace told herself she should be pleased, but strangely … she wasn’t. Now Marco’s dark gaze was clouded with unease, and his shoulders looked tense despite his assertion that he wouldn’t let the incident spoil their lunch. Suddenly she had a glimpse of how the downside of fame and celebrity must so heavily encroach upon the recipient’s understandable desire for privacy. It made her partially regret her impulsive ‘accosting’ of him yesterday …

‘Marco?’ The distinct wariness in his returning glance upset her. ‘If you would rather leave we can perhaps meet up again tomorrow instead? I know I pressed you about making the donation, and as far as the children are concerned it’s definitely urgent, but I’m here for at least another week and a half.’

For the first time in longer than he could remember Marco had laid aside the demands and concerns of running a hugely successful enterprise for a while in order to give his full attention to something purely enjoyable for himself. This afternoon he had willingly surrendered his corporate persona to fully embrace the experience of being young and less careworn in Grace’s refreshingly innocent company. But that thoughtless diner had tainted his pleasure, making him only too aware that he wasn’t as carefree as he wanted to be. He’d had plans to enjoy a long, lazy lunch that could possibly extend into the evening. Now Grace had asked him if he would like to forego that and meet up tomorrow, or at a later date instead.

It wasn’t an option he wanted to entertain even brief ly. The truth was he really liked the way this woman made him feel, and he craved more … much more of the feeling.

‘I don’t wish to leave, and nor do I want to postpone our lunch for another day.’ As to if to highlight his intention, he snapped his fingers to attract the waiter hovering nearby, who had clearly been assigned to their table, ‘I believe we are ready to order,’ he announced, deliberately catching Grace’s eye and smiling. ‘Do you mind if I order for us both? If you like fish then I know the perfect dish. You will love it, I am sure.’

‘Be my guest,’ she replied quietly, her blue eyes flickering in surprise that he wished to stay after all. ‘Go ahead and order.’

To accompany their meal he ordered a bottle of the very good light red wine the region was known for. Perhaps a glass or two would relax his pretty companion, he mused, thankfully sensing his previously less tense mood return. ‘I am sorry if you were disturbed by that thoughtless idiot trying to take our picture,’ he remarked. ‘These people never seem to consider that I might need a private life as much as they do.’

‘Having transgressed your privacy myself yesterday—albeit for the charity—I must admit I don’t envy you, having to put up with that. It makes me realise that it’s a great gift to be anonymous—to come and go wherever and whenever you please and to know that the public at large don’t have a clue who you are and nor do they care.’

‘You are fortunate indeed if you never crave the recognition of others to make you feel valued.’

The pale smooth brow in front of him creased concernedly. ‘Do you?’ she asked him bluntly.

Though no one would ever know it, Marco privately owned that sometimes he did. But he wasn’t about to admit that to a woman he’d only just met. In fact, he wasn’t going to admit it to anyone. It was a painful aspect of his ego that frustrated and irked him. But also perhaps inevitable that a man whose father had abandoned him to an orphanage as a baby because he couldn’t take care of him on his own after Marco’s mother died was fated to crave the recognition of others in a bid to help him feel worthwhile …

‘Do I strike you as a man who courts the approval of others?’ he answered, his tone a little more clipped than he’d meant it to be.

‘I don’t know. I’ve only just met you.’

Once again, Grace’s luminous sky-blue gaze unsettled him, suggesting as it did that she intuited far more than was comfortable for him.

‘But I imagine it’s not easy to be in business in this world … especially if you have a high profile. It must be a lot like being an actor—you’re always playing a role, and you can’t really be yourself, can you? Especially when people believe that it’s your success and reputation that defines you as a person. It must make it difficult to foster good relationships at work, and even in your private life.’

‘So what have you personally heard about my reputation? I’m interested to know.’

The smooth space between her slim elegant brows crumpled a little, almost as though it grieved her that he should ask such a question. ‘I don’t read the newspapers very often, and when do I’m apt not to believe what they write about the lives of people in the public eye.’

‘But nevertheless you have heard things about me somewhere along the line yes?’

‘I’ve heard it said that nobody can be as successful as you are unless they’re a little ruthless … But then they say that about a lot of successful businessmen, don’t they?’

‘Do you believe it? That I am ruthless I mean?’

‘I trust that I’m intelligent enough to make up my own mind about a person. I certainly don’t go blindly along with what the papers or the media says. And as far as thinking that you might be ruthless sometimes goes, I hardly know you well enough to form an opinion. But I do believe that the press has its own agenda, and I don’t think it’s got a lot to do with telling the truth. See what I mean? Everyone is playing a role … even journalists. Why isn’t it enough to simply just be who you naturally are in this world? People are too afraid to let down their guard, that’s the trouble. If they did, then they would be communicating authentically … but it’s not something that’s promoted in our culture.’

The waiter brought their wine and offered Marco a taste first. He took an experimental sip, pronounced it ‘perfect’ and waited for the man to pour some for Grace then leave again before commenting on her statement—a statement that had both shocked and surprised him with its insight.

‘In business, to let down one’s guard in front of the competition would be deemed corporate suicide,’ he declared, at the same time wondering what she would have to say about that.

Lifting her hair briefly off the back of her neck, unwittingly drawing his attention to the graceful and seductive shape of her long, slim arms, she gifted him with a smile so charming that it made his stomach flip.

‘Not if someone has faith in their own ability to make things work, no matter what the competition is doing. It seems to me that if you’re not towed round by the nose by what your competitors think of you, then you’re onto a winner … you’re free to do whatever you like.’

The burst of laughter that left Marco’s throat was genuinely joyous—so much so that the other diners on the terrace couldn’t stop themselves from smiling at the sound.

‘I don’t think I meant that remark to be funny.’

His lunch guest’s pretty lips pursed a little, and she looked so adorable just then that Marco wanted to kiss her … wanted to obliterate every bit of her softly shaded pink lipstick and explore her mouth until time stood still. And even then he guessed that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy his craving.

‘I’m not mocking you, namorado … the exact opposite, to tell you the truth. You have no idea how refreshing it is to have someone genuinely tell you what they think. Sometimes it is hard to know who to trust because of the lack of that kind of honesty in my working life … even amongst my closest colleagues. Perhaps you ought to go into business yourself, Grace? You could spearhead a new trend for fostering good relationships and authenticity in the corporate world.’

‘Now you are mocking me.’ But even as she uttered the words the corners of her mouth were wrestling with a smile. ‘I’m afraid I’m the last person in the world who should go into business. I’m neither clever nor ambitious. All I’ve ever wanted to do was to help people.’

‘I don’t believe you are not clever. You went to university and presumably got a degree, didn’t you?’

‘What if I did? Anyone can learn a bunch of facts and explain them in the way the system wants you to. That might be regarded as “clever” by some, but it doesn’t mean that you’re intelligent … at least not in the way that I understand the word.’

The waiters arrived with their meal right then, and Marco reflected that their arrival was most opportune—because the break in his and Grace’s conversation allowed him some time to assess his feelings. The fact was, the more time he spent in this unusual and refreshing woman’s company, the more her unsophisticated beauty and intelligence enthralled him, and his desire to take her to bed, to get to know her even better, intensified.

As the waiters once more left them alone, he raised his glass in a toast. ‘Saúde.’ He smiled. ‘Which means, to your health.’

‘Cheers,’ she answered shyly, touching her wine glass carefully to his …

He’d left her in the drawing room to go and talk to Inês about preparing dinner for them later on that evening. The feeling that she’d somehow stumbled into somebody else’s dream continued to dog Grace. She’d eaten the most sublime lunch, been wined and dined at a beautiful restaurant overlooking the sea by a man whose photograph had probably appeared in every newspaper and style magazine worldwide, and even if she pinched herself she’d hardly believe it. Marco Aguilar was so charismatic and good-looking that she guessed a lot of women would even pay for the privilege to sit and admire him, just listen to him talk, simply because he was so mesmerising.