Читать книгу Rumours: The Ruthless Ravensdales - Melanie Milburne - Страница 14

CHAPTER FIVE

JULIUS STRODE OUT of the villa in search of fresh air. Of common sense. Control. Where the hell was his control? He was furious with himself for allowing that toffee-eyed little temptress to trigger his hormones. Why hadn’t he kept to his plan? He owed her nothing. What did he care if she went to prison? It was where she belonged. Why had he allowed her to manipulate his conscience?

Or maybe it wasn’t his conscience she’d manipulated...

He was disgusted with himself for wanting her like he had wanted no other woman. He was annoyed he had allowed her to needle him to the point where he was as close to breaking as never before. How could he have allowed that to happen? He wasn’t the sort of man who put sex before sense. This was nothing but a game to her.

She could tease and taunt him all she liked. She could walk around his villa scantily clad. She could flash her delectable cleavage at him. She could wiggle her hips and pert bottom. She could pout her sexy little mouth at him all day long. She could swim in his pool stark naked for all he cared.

He would not let her win this.

He had been tricked by her chameleon-like behaviour. The way she’d fooled him by her charitable act of taking over the cooking while Sophia had rested, after she’d been so adamant she wasn’t going to take orders from him or anyone.

What was true about her and what were lies?

She was a smart-mouthed, streetwise siren. Flirting with him, teasing him, daring him, goading him until his blood ran so hot and fast through his veins it scorched him. He was burning for her. Throbbing with the ache to have her. He had never felt desire like it. It was like a storm in his body. A powerful combustion of energy that built each time he was near her. It was brooding inside him even now. The pressure of high arousal. The ache of unreleased desire was a burning ache he couldn’t tame or dismiss. It consumed his thoughts as well as his flesh. Wicked, damning thoughts of what he would like to do to her—craved to do to her.

His brain was racing with a constant loop of hot images of them having sex like jungle animals. No ‘finesse’ sex. Hard and fast sex. ‘Any position’ sex.

Holly Perez was the most dangerous woman he had ever met. With her bedroom eyes and wily ways, she threatened everything he stood for. She made him feel things he had trained himself not to feel. Emotions were things he controlled. Desires were something he properly channelled. He did not rush into mad flings and one-nighters with strangers, especially ones with a criminal past.

He had standards. Principles. He was a good citizen who paid his taxes on time. He never coloured outside the lines. Damn it, he didn’t even park outside of them. Call him conservative, or even obsessive, but rules were things he respected because for most of his life his parents had disregarded them. Rules provided structure in a disordered world. He liked order. He liked predictability. Planning was his forte. He didn’t do things on the fly. He wasn’t spontaneous. He wasn’t a risk taker. He left that sort of thing to his brother, Jake, who loved to live life in the fast lane. Julius was only happy in the fast lane if he knew exactly how fast it was, how long, how wide and how long he would have to be in it.

He did the calculations and then he acted.

And right now his calculations told him in big neon flashing letters: Holly Perez was danger personified.

But for all that something about her got to him...not just physically, but on an entirely different level. He felt something for her. Something he hadn’t expected to feel. He was drawn to her. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. He couldn’t forget her touch. The way she moved. Even the sound of her laughter—the tinkling-bell sound that made his spine shiver. She was blatant, brazen and in-your-face, yet beguiling. He’d seen a glimpse of vulnerability down at the lake. And when he’d asked her about the scar on her arm. For just a moment he had seen a flicker of something behind the mask she wore. He couldn’t help feeling there was more to her than met the eye. Yes, she made him uncomfortable. Yes, she was a flirt. But he had some sort of responsibility towards her, didn’t he?

It was only for a month. He would be away for part of that with work. He would hardly have to have contact with her if he chose not to.

And right now the less contact he had with her the better.

Julius was back in his office trying to work when his phone rang. He was in two minds to ignore it when he saw it was his brother calling. ‘Jake,’ he said heavily.

‘Whoa, bro, you sound a little tense there, man,’ Jake said. ‘So I take it you’ve already heard the news?’

Julius sat upright in his chair. ‘Heard what news?’

A list of possibilities went through his head in the nanosecond that followed. His father had had another heart scare. His parents were splitting up. Again. His sister was finally going on a date after losing her childhood sweetheart to cancer when she was sixteen. No, he thought; Miranda was too intent on martyrdom. Jake was getting married... No. That would never happen.

‘A skeleton has come out of Dad’s closet,’ Jake said.

‘Another one?’ Julius asked, thinking of the veritable cast of mistresses and hook-ups his father had dallied with over the years in spite of ‘working at his marriage’. Not that his mother, Elisabetta, could stand in judgement. She’d had a fling or two herself. ‘How old is she this time?’

‘Twenty-three.’

‘God, the same age as Miranda,’ Julius said.

‘It gets worse,’ Jake said.

‘Go on, ruin my day,’ Julius said.

‘She’s not his mistress.’

Julius’s heart stopped as if a horse had kicked him in the chest. ‘He’s not a bigamist? Tell me he’s not got a secret wife?’ Please, God, spare us all that shame.

‘She’s his daughter.’

‘His daughter?’

‘Yep,’ Jake said in a grim tone. ‘He’s sired himself a love child. Katherine Winwood.’

‘Dear God, what does Elisabetta think of this?’ Julius said. ‘How’s she taking it?’

‘How do you think?’ Jake said wryly. ‘Hysterically.’

Julius groaned at the thought of the temper tantrums, door slamming and object throwing that would be going on in his parents’ hotel suite in New York. He couldn’t face another divorce. The last one had been bad enough. The press. The publicity. All of their private lives exposed. ‘Is it in the papers?’

‘Papers, internet, every social media platform you can poke a finger at,’ Jake said. ‘It’s gone viral. And that’s not all.’

Julius’s stomach pitched. ‘It gets worse?’

‘Way worse,’ Jake said. ‘Kat Winwood was born two months after Miranda.’

Julius did the maths. ‘So that means Dad was still seeing this woman’s mother when he reconciled with Mum?’

‘Got it in one.’

Julius let out a colourful curse. ‘What’s Dad got to say for himself? Or is he denying it?’

‘You can’t deny the results of a paternity test.’

‘How did this Kat girl get one done?’ Julius said. ‘Who is she? Where did she come from? Why’s she revealed herself now? Why didn’t her mother tell Dad she was pregnant, or has he always known?’

‘He knew all right,’ Jake said. ‘He paid the woman to have an abortion. Handsomely, too.’

Julius swallowed a mouthful of bile. Just when he thought his father couldn’t shock him any more, he raised it to a whole new level of indecency. ‘But she didn’t go through with it,’ he said unnecessarily.

‘Nope,’ Jake said. ‘She had the kid and kept the father’s identity a secret. Even the birth certificate says “father unknown”.’

‘So why come forward now?’ Julius asked.

‘She died recently of a terminal illness,’ Jake said. ‘She told Kat on her death bed who her father was.’

‘So this girl Kat is after money.’

‘What else?’

Julius scored a hand through his hair. ‘How many more like her could there be out there? Why can’t Dad keep it in his trousers? He’s nudging seventy, for God’s sake.’

‘I just thought I’d give you the heads up on it in case the press come sniffing around you for an exclusive,’ Jake said. ‘They’ve been parked outside my place since the first Tweet went out.’

His brother’s words sent an army of invisible ants across Julius’s scalp. A drumbeat of panic started up in his chest. His blood ran hot and cold. He felt beads of sweat break out across his brow. If the press came here they would find Holly—living with him. A girl not much older than his father’s love child. In fact, Holly looked younger than twenty-five. What would the press make of her holed up here with him? Especially if they caught a glimpse of her flaunting her flesh at every available opportunity. They wouldn’t wait for the truth. They would jump to sensational conclusions to razz up a storm of scandal.

He had to keep her away from the press. God knew what she would say to them to stir up trouble for him. One look at her and they would assume he was indulging in a lust fest and was no different from his Lothario father. With her sexy little body and her cheeky personality, why wouldn’t they assume he was making the most of the situation? Why, oh, why, had he agreed to have her here? It was a disaster of monumental proportions.

‘You okay, bro?’ Jake cut through Julius’s racing thoughts. ‘I know it’s a shock but think how Miranda’s taking it.’

That was enough to snap Julius back into protective big-brother mode. ‘How is she taking it?’

‘I haven’t spoken to her yet,’ Jake said. ‘She wasn’t answering her phone. Probably switched it off to keep the press off her back. But think about it. She’s always been the baby of the family. How’s it going to feel to know there’s a new half-sister who’s now the youngest?’

‘I’ll call her as soon as I finish with you,’ Julius said, expelling a long ragged breath. ‘Poor kid. You know how embarrassed she gets by Mum and Dad’s behaviour. This will be hardest on her. We’ve already been through one divorce with them so we know what we’re in for. She has no idea of how ugly this could get.’

‘Yeah, tell me about it,’ Jake said. ‘But it might not come to that.’

‘You seriously think Mum won’t want a divorce after Dad produces a secret love child out of the woodwork?’ Julius said. ‘Come on, Jake. This is our mother we’re talking about. Any chance for a scene and she’s right there in full costume and make-up.’

‘I know, but Flynn’s trying to smooth things over,’ Jake said. ‘Another divorce will be costly to both of them, and not just financially. Their popularity could rise or fall according to how they handle this scandal. You know how fickle the fans are. Flynn’s hoping he can silence the girl with a one-off payment. Something big enough to keep her mouth shut and go away. Preferably both.’

Julius was relieved to hear it was all in good hands. Flynn Carlyon was the family lawyer; he’d been a year ahead of them at school. He handled Julius’s parents’ legal affairs as well as run offices in London. Flynn wasn’t just a solicitor to the stars. He had won several high-profile property settlement cases that had given him the tagline around the courts: Flynn equals win. He had a sharp mind, an even sharper tongue and a cutting wit.

‘Have you met this girl?’ Julius asked.

‘Not yet,’ Jake said. ‘You might want to drop by next time you’re in town and say hello. After all, she’s your new baby sister.’

How could I possibly forget? Julius thought with a despairing groan.

* * *

Holly put the finishing touches to dinner before she went up to her room on the second floor to have a shower. The room she had chosen was four doors down from Julius’s suite but on the opposite side of the wide corridor. It didn’t have a balcony—thank God—but it did have a nice view over the front gardens and the tree-lined driveway. It had its own en suite, which was decorated in a Parisian style with lovely ceramic-and-brass tap handles and a claw-footed bath that was centred in the middle of the floor, with a telephone-handle fitting as well as taps. There was a separate shower stall big enough for a football team and lots of gorgeous, fluffy white towels, fragrant French soaps and expensive hair products. A gilt-framed oval mirror hung over the pedestal washbasin and there was another full-length one in the bedroom.

The only issue Holly had was with her clothes. They didn’t feel right for her surroundings. All this high-end luxury made the clothes she’d brought with her look even dowdier than usual. She had never been financially stable enough to follow fashion. Fashion was something other people followed. Shopping was a pastime other people indulged in. Rich people, people who had money, security and the safety net of family. Holly had taught herself not to want things she could never afford. She had deadened her desire for nice feminine things. It was pointless to wish she could dress like the women she saw about town. Smart women; educated, sophisticated, polished and poised, with hair, make-up and nails done like models and movie stars. She could never compete with that. It was so far out of her reach, she didn’t bother trying.

But right now she would have loved a nice dress to put on and some high heels to go with it. Some classy underwear—not cheap, faded cotton but some slinky, cobwebby lace. She would have liked some make-up—not much, just enough to highlight her features, to put some colour on her eyelids and some tinted gloss on her lips. She would have liked to get a decent haircut, perhaps get some professional foils done to cover the pink streaks she’d done with a home kit that hadn’t turned out quite the way she’d planned. Maybe a bit of jewellery—pearls, perhaps—to give her a touch of elegance.

But what was the point of wishing she could dress like a glamour girl when all her life she had been the girl with the charity shop clothes? The girl with the bad haircut, the bitten nails and the cheap shoes with the soles worn through? She had always felt like a donkey showing up at a posh dressage event.

Why should now be any different?

After her shower Holly slipped off her towel in front of the mirror. At least she had a good figure. It was her only asset. Good bones; long, slim limbs; a neat waist; nicely shaped breasts; mostly clear skin, apart from that ridiculously childish patch of freckles over the bridge of her nose.

Her gaze went to a pattern of damson-coloured marks around the tops of her arms. She reached up and touched them, her stomach doing a funny little dip and dive when she realised what they were. Julius’s fingerprints had branded her flesh with light but unmistakable bruises.

She bit her lip, looking at the grey cotton tank top she had been planning to wear with another pair of jeans—her only pair without holes in them, although they did have a frayed hem. She put on the tank top and picked up a green cardigan, even though the evening was warm, and slipped it on. It wasn’t the nicest weave—the acrylic in it always made her skin feel itchy. But it was either that or a denim jacket or a pilled woollen sweater that would have her sweating within seconds. Finally, she bunched up her hair and secured it with an elastic tie in a makeshift knot at the back of her head.

Holly drew in a breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh. Why she was trying to look half-decent for Julius Ravensdale wasn’t something she wanted to examine too closely. It wouldn’t matter if she’d been dressed in the finest designer wear; he would still look down his imperious nose at her.

Just like everyone else.