The Italian's Virgin Bride. Trish MoreyЧитать онлайн книгу.
kissed her.
And she hadn’t even attempted to stop him. From the moment she’d sensed his lips descending, she’d forgotten entirely why she was there. Even more damning, she’d forgotten what he was. He was a playboy. The lowest kind of man.
Sure he might end up investing in the hotel. For the sake of Clemengers, she’d have to look past the man’s personal life. But she herself must never forget what he was. She should only think of her mother’s sad and empty life to remind her what that would cost.
Absently she stirred a half-teaspoon of sugar into her tea. It was quiet in the restaurant. People spoke in hushed tones. The waiting staff were efficient and non-invasive, with no clatter or rattle of flatware and cutlery, and it was as if the traffic outside in the busy Rocks area didn’t exist. But that didn’t stop the prickle of awareness steadily creeping up her neck, then needling down her arms.
She was imagining it. All this thinking of the episode in the lift—she was not thinking rationally, and she was in danger of making a fool of herself. Obviously Domenic would have forgotten about it already. No doubt such incidents meant absolutely nothing to a man who had trouble committing to just one woman. She took a deep breath and focused on placing the spoon on the saucer, gently tinkling silver against porcelain.
She shivered, the creepy feeling persisting in spite of all her logical explanations. On pure impulse she looked across to her right and instantly her eyes snagged at the sight of him, Domenic, standing stock still and…and watching her.
For a second the space in the room evaporated in the arc between their eyes. Nothing happened, yet something happened between them in that infinitesimal moment that Opal could only wonder at. She felt hot, cold, shivering and flushed, all in the same amazing second his unreadable gaze washed over her. And then, just when she thought she couldn’t look at him for a moment longer, he smiled and warmth filled her senses. Instinctively she knew the smile was for her and in spite of all her reservations, in spite of all the reasons why it shouldn’t, the warmth inside her bloomed to a slow burn.
Annoyed at her burning cheeks, she battled to drag her eyes away as he moved between the tables towards her, slipping his mobile telephone into the top pocket of his fine cotton shirt as he did so.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, resuming his seat. ‘My father would not be denied any longer. I’m afraid that no matter how important any business, family must come first.’
‘You don’t need to apologise,’ she said. ‘The twins—my two sisters—and I are very close, although I don’t see them now as often as I’d like.’
He took a sip of his long black and nodded approvingly. Even Clemengers’ own special blend of coffee seemed to find favour with him. ‘Tell me about them,’ he said.
She put down her cup, thankful for the opportunity to talk about her sisters, to think about someone else. ‘Well, they’re twenty-two. Sapphy—that’s Sapphire—is the eldest by ten minutes. She’s working in fashion design in Milan right now. She’s making quite a name for herself by all accounts while she works with one of the big fashion houses. One day she wants to have her own label. And the way she’s going, I believe she’ll get it.
‘Ruby lives in Broome while she gets first-hand knowledge of the pearl industry. Jewellery design is her first love. She’s done some fabulous pieces.’
‘And all of you are named after precious stones.’
She gave a small laugh. ‘That was my mother’s idea. She was the original Pearl. This restaurant,’ she made a sweeping gesture with her hand, ‘is named for her. She said we were all uniquely beautiful and inherently precious, and she wanted to give us names to reflect that.’
She paused, memories of her mother flooding back on a bitter-sweet tide. Her tender, sad-eyed mother, who had died alone when Opal was just nine, her spirit broken and her will to live erased. Her beautiful, gentle mother, whose only crime had been to love too much.
And everyone had thought she led the perfect life. A wealthy lifestyle, three beautiful little girls and even a plush restaurant named after her. No one else had seen the empty bed, the shame of her husband’s constant infidelities and the broken-down shell of her marriage.
No one but Opal. Old enough to feel her mother’s pain but far too young to be able to do anything about it, except swear that one day, some day, she would do something to help women who were trapped in marriages they couldn’t escape.
‘I approve of her philosophy.’
His words permeated her consciousness, dragging her from her reflections of her mother’s wasted life. ‘Do you?’ She gave a brief laugh. ‘I don’t know if Dad would have though, if she’d given him a son. Somehow I can’t imagine him tolerating a son called “Garnet”.’
His lips pulled into a grimace. ‘Perhaps not. How long ago did your father die?’
‘Two years.’ She frowned—that couldn’t be right. ‘No, more like two and a half now. A massive heart attack, apparently.’
‘That’s unfortunate,’ he said. ‘The stress of running hotels can be enormous, and I’ve found is often underrated by those outside the business.’
Opal looked out the window, feigning interest in the passing foot traffic, tourists visiting the various galleries and shops, red-faced businessmen returning to their offices after long liquid lunches.
Certainly people outside the industry had little or no idea of the stresses and strains of the business. Especially when coupled with the stresses and strains of trying to impress a nineteen-year-old pole dancer who was eager to prove herself very worthy of the position of the next Mrs Clemenger. Just maybe, if he’d spent more time stressing about their tax position, he would still be alive and the business wouldn’t be in this mess now.
‘And that left you in charge. Without even your sisters to help?’
It was her turn to shrug. There was no point in thinking about maybes. She couldn’t change what had happened; though at times that knowledge didn’t make the truth any easier to deal with. For if it hadn’t been that particular girl his father had died in the arms of, it could have easily been any of a raft of others, lining up to be taken care of by a rich man old enough to be their grandfather. It was a miracle he’d never taken that final step of marrying one of them. Obviously he was a man who liked to pick and choose, and at least it had saved the business that complication.
‘That’s just the way things turn out. And both Sapphy and Ruby have such artistic flair—it would be unfair to make them work in the hotel business when they have a calling in another field. Whereas I’ve had a passion for Clemengers ever since I can remember, always wanting to help, always wanting to be involved. I can’t imagine doing anything else.’
His eyebrows peaked. ‘Which is where I come in, I take it. It would be understandably hard to let go.’
His words bristled. For want of something to do she pushed aside her now empty teacup and saucer.
‘There’s more to saving Clemengers than what I want. For a start, there are more than two hundred staff who depend on this hotel chain continuing to operate for their own and for their families’ livelihoods.
‘And,’ she continued, ‘there’s a tradition. No one else provides the type and scale and class of accommodation as Clemengers. That has to be worth saving.’
He held up a hand. ‘And you say this McQuade is likely to win the tender? How can you know that in advance?’
Her lips tightened as she nodded, the name sticking into her as effectively as a knife. ‘I was due for an appointment with the broker and I was just paying the taxi driver when I overheard two office juniors discussing the bids over a cigarette outside the building.’
‘But you’re sure?’
‘No doubt at all. I was so shocked I confronted the broker and he eventually confirmed it. I can be pretty persuasive when