Bound By Their Christmas Baby. Clare ConnellyЧитать онлайн книгу.
of having his security remove her from his office had been immense. She’d come to Rome to see him and he’d made it painstakingly obvious that he’d never see her again.
So? What was he doing now? Hovering outside a restaurant kitchen because he thought he’d caught a glimpse of her? And how could he possibly have recognised her in the brief moment the blonde had walked past the doors? It wasn’t physically possible, he told himself, all the while knowing he had recognised something about the woman. The lithe grace of her walk. The elegance of her neck as she turned her head, hair that was like clouds at sunset, glowing with the evening’s rays.
Great.
Now he was becoming poetic about a woman who’d seduced him with the sole intention of ruining him.
He tightened his shoulders and pushed into the kitchen. It wasn’t so busy as he’d thought earlier. The dinner rush was over, and now there were chefs prepping for the next day’s service, some cleaning, some standing around talking. His eyes skimmed the kitchen and his stomach dropped unexpectedly.
She wasn’t here. This was a men-only zone at present—something he’d never allow in any of his hotels or restaurants. Within his and Noah’s company, Bright Spark Inc, they demanded equal gender representation across the board. They invested heavily in STEM projects for schools—they were both passionate about playing fields being levelled as much as possible, having been on the dodgy end of their own playing fields for a long time.
‘Rémy,’ he said smoothly, striding across the kitchen.
‘Ah! Arantini!’ The chef grinned. ‘You like your dinner?’
‘Exceptional.’ Gabe nodded, annoyingly put out by having come into the kitchens and not found the woman he’d seen.
‘You had the lobster?’
‘Of course.’
‘Always your favourite,’ Rémy chuckled.
Gabe nodded, just as the cold room door opened and the woman stepped out. Her head was bent, but he’d have known her body anywhere, any time and in any clothes.
True, the night they’d met she’d been dripping in the latest couture, but now? She wore simple jeans, a black T-shirt and a black and white apron tied twice around her slender waist. Her hair was pulled into a ballerina bun and her face, he saw as she lifted it, was bare of make-up.
His gut twisted and a strong possessive instinct hammered through him.
She’d been his in bed. That hadn’t been just about Calypso. She’d wanted him. She’d given him her virginity, she’d begged him to take her, and he’d thought it a gift. A special, beautiful moment. He’d never been anyone’s ‘first’ before.
She placed the containers she was carrying onto the bench and then lifted her eyes to the clock above the doors. She hadn’t seen him, and he was glad for that. Glad to have a moment to observe her, to remember all the reasons he had for hating this woman, to regain his composure before showing her how little he thought of her.
When he’d had her evicted from his office in Rome, he’d told himself it was for the best. He never wanted to see her again, and nothing could change that. But here, in this six-star Manhattan hotspot, looking nothing like his usual romantic quarry, Gabe knew he’d been lying to himself.
He’d wanted to see her again and again. He drank in the sight of her, knowing it could only ever be this minute, this weakness, this moment of indulgence, before he would be forced to remember that she’d planned to ruin him.
Bright Spark Inc wasn’t just a business to him. It was his and Noah’s life. It had saved them when their own futures had been bleak and they’d been desperate for a fresh start.
And she’d wanted to destroy it. She’d come to him specifically to steal Calypso’s secrets. It was a crime for which there could never be sufficient repentance.
‘Rémy.’ He spoke deliberately, slowly, and loud enough that she heard. He had the satisfaction of seeing her head jerk towards him the moment the word was uttered, saw shock flood her huge, expressive green eyes, saw the colour drain from her face and the telling way she pressed her palms into the counter. ‘You have a traitor in your midst.’
Rémy frowned, following Gabe’s gaze across the restaurant. ‘A...traitor?’
‘Sì.’ Gabe moved across the room, closer to where she stood. She was trembling slightly now, her expression unmistakably terrified. His own expression remained cool and dismissive, the aloofness he was famed for evident in every line of his hard, muscular frame. No one in that kitchen could have known that beneath his autocratic face and strong body was a pulse that was rushing like a stormy sea.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘This woman,’ Gabe said with quiet determination, ‘isn’t who you think.’ He flicked his gaze from her head to her stomach—which was all he could see of her, owing to the large bench she stood behind. ‘She’s a liar and a cheat. She’s no doubt working here to pick up whatever secrets she can from your customers. If you care at all about your reputation, you’ll fire her.’
Rémy moved to stand beside Gabe, his face showing confusion. ‘Abby’s worked here for over a month.’
‘Abby...’ Gabe lifted a brow, his expression laced with mockery. It was the name she’d given him too. Far more endearing than Abigail Howard—billion-dollar heiress. ‘I think Abby is having a laugh at your expense.’
The woman swallowed, the slender column of her throat moving overtime as she sought to moisten her mouth. Gabe caught the betraying gesture with a cynical tilt of his lips.
‘That’s not true, I swear,’ she said, her fingers trembling when she lifted them to her temple and rubbed. Gabe’s eyes narrowed. She looked tired. As though she’d been run off her feet all day.
‘Oh, you swear?’ he drawled, moving closer, pressing his palms against the bench. ‘You mean we have your word that you’re telling the truth?’
The words were dripping with sarcasm.
‘Please don’t do this,’ she said softly, with such an appearance of anguish that Gabe could almost have believed her. If he hadn’t personally seen what she was capable of.
‘Did you know this woman is worth a billion dollars, Rémy? And you’ve got her, what? Ferrying things from the cold rooms?’
Rémy’s surprise was obvious. ‘I think you’ve got the wrong idea about Abby,’ he said with a shake of his head, dislodging the pen he kept hooked over one ear.
Gabe’s laugh was a short sound of derision. ‘I know, better than most, what she’s capable of. And, I can tell you, you don’t want her anywhere near your patrons.’
‘Abby?’ Rémy spread his hands wide. ‘What’s going on?’
She opened her mouth to say something and then shut it again.
Rémy pushed, ‘Have you met Mr Arantini before?’
Her eyes flew to Gabe’s and, damn it, memories of her straddling him, staring into his eyes as she took him deep within her, spread like wildfire through his blood, burning him from the inside out. He didn’t want to remember what she’d been like in his bed. He needed to recall only the way it had ended—with her taking photographs of top secret Calypso documents when she’d believed him to be showering.
His jaw hardened and he leaned forward.
‘Tell him how we met, Abigail,’ he suggested, and a cold smile iced his lips, almost as though he was enjoying this. He wasn’t.
She blinked her eyes closed. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘It’s ancient history.’
‘If only it were,’ he said softly. ‘But here you are in my friend’s kitchen and knowing you, as