Hot Christmas Nights: Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding / His for Revenge / Mistletoe Not Required. Anne OliverЧитать онлайн книгу.
a faint shudder.
‘They obviously had some sort of party here!’ she said brightly.
‘Obviously,’ he echoed sardonically.
‘Why don’t you wait here while I go and get changed? I won’t be long.’
‘Don’t be.’
He watched as she pulled open a bedroom door—glimpsing a room the size of a shoe-box before she closed the door behind her. He thought back to his own days of living frugally—but he had never lived like this. His brilliant law degree had guaranteed that he walked straight into a good job and the power of his personality had meant that he was able to negotiate a good rate on a rented flat where he had lived, while charting his rapid route to success.
The door opened and she emerged. Giancarlo blinked—realising that it was her sheer youth and natural beauty which ensured that in a few moments she had pulled off the kind of look which older, richer women spent all morning in the salon trying to achieve.
She’d put on a simple grey jersey dress and a pair of slouchy black leather boots. She must have quickly washed her face for the smudgy eyes and blotchiness had disappeared—but had added nothing more than a lick of lipstick. Her long pale hair was clipped back at each ear—and the rest fell in a silken tumble around her shoulders. She looked, he thought—utterly delectable.
‘Shall we go?’ Cassie questioned.
He thought that if she’d been a little more experienced, she might have tried to seduce him here—in an attempt to broker further closeness between them—and the fact that she hadn’t tried made him want her. Really want her. He felt the aching at his groin and thought about taking her to bed. Weighed up the novelty and attraction of the idea against the reality of a small and uncomfortable room and the horror of having to be introduced to her flatmates if any of them returned.
‘Yes. Let’s go,’ he answered briskly. ‘You must be starving.’
Cassie nodded. At least he hadn’t changed his mind about lunch—because hadn’t there been a terrible, insecure part of her which had worried that he might have gone by the time she emerged? Simply disappeared, as if he’d thought better of it? She didn’t know what she was going to do—but at least this meal could provide a little distraction, which meant she didn’t have to think about the future for an hour or so. Her dream of a glorious break in London had now turned into a nightmare. Not only had she been sacked—but she had hitched a star to a thoroughly unsuitable man.
But you haven’t hitched your star to him, Cassie, she reminded herself sharply. He’s simply taking you for a fancy lunch because you lost your job this morning, and afterwards—he’s going to send you on your merry way.
She picked up her handbag. Well, if this was her first and last experience of being Giancarlo’s lover, then she was going to enjoy her lunch and not ruin it by moping. She would make the most of it—try to turn the memory into something to be cherished—otherwise, wouldn’t it all have been a terrible waste? ‘Yes, I’m starving.’
The car drove them to the west of the city, to a restaurant overlooking the river—a big, busy place—so heaven only knew how he managed to get a window table at such short notice. But then Cassie noticed the almost unconscious deference of the waiter—to whom Giancarlo said something smilingly in Italian—and realised that she was in the company of a man who would always get anything he wanted.
She forced herself to concentrate on the green-grey water of the river as it slid past the window and the way the intense light reflected back from its rippling surface—until she was handed a globe of red wine, the colour of rubies.
‘And please don’t tell me you never drink at lunchtime,’ said Giancarlo.
‘I don’t.’
‘Well, today you do. You need a drink.’ He took a mouthful of his own, black eyes capturing hers across the table as he lifted his glass and gave an acid smile. ‘Actually, so do I.’
Following his lead, Cassie took a sip and made no objection when Giancarlo took over the food ordering. She felt numb—the way your mouth felt when the dentist gave you an injection. She sat perfectly still as olives and water and a basket of rosemary-sprinkled bread began to appear.
‘So what will you do?’ he questioned, watching her frozen pose from between narrowed eyes.
‘I’ll have to go back to Cornwall, I guess.’
‘You don’t sound keen.’
‘I’m not. My mother will want to know why the sudden, rather dramatic change of plan. And so will my boss.’
‘And you won’t tell them the truth?’
Cassie gave a hollow laugh. ‘What, that I’ve been sacked and only just managed to avoid being charged for theft?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I suppose when you put it like that…’
She felt like saying that was the more acceptable of two explanations—because even worse was the truth behind her arrest. About not keeping her mind on the job—swayed by the seasoned charms of an Italian billionaire and then losing her innocence to him. Well, her mother was never going to hear about that, either. ‘There is no other way to put it.’
‘You could stay and get another job,’ he suggested.
Cassie shook her head. He just didn’t understand. But then, why should he—when these sort of commonplace problems were completely outside his experience? ‘Three weeks before Christmas?’ she questioned. ‘I don’t think so. Most stores already have their full quota of staff to cope with the holiday rush—and I’m hardly going to be able to dazzle them with a glowing reference.’
Steak and chips were placed in front of them—but Giancarlo scarcely registered one of his favourite dishes. He looked into her eyes, resenting the renewed striking of his conscience provoked by her pale face and troubled expression.
‘You could stay anyway—without working,’ he suggested.
‘I can’t stay at the flat without paying rent—it’s not fair to the others—and if I’m not working then I can’t pay rent. What do they call it—a catch-22 situation?’
He took another mouthful of wine—only now the clarion call of his conscience began to wane as her words took them effortlessly on to more familiar territory. One of funds and finance and supply and demand. Because when he stopped to think about it—didn’t they each have something the other wanted? He had the money to cushion her fall from grace—and she had…His eyes drifted over her face.
She had plenty. Violet eyes and soft petal lips and a tight, young body which had caused him to act with such uncharacteristic impulse. He felt the familiar arrowing of desire. Because if he was being honest—he hadn’t had enough of Cassandra Summers. And she certainly hadn’t had enough of him.
He leaned across the table and took her cold and unresisting hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the pulse, which instantly began to skitter beneath the delicate skin. ‘I have a much better idea, cara,’ he murmured. ‘Something which I think could be mutually beneficial to us both.’
Cassie stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘What sort of idea?’ she whispered, her senses befuddled just by the way he was touching her.
‘Why don’t you come and live with me?’
Cassie’s heart missed a beat. ‘Live with you?’ she repeated dazedly.
‘Mmm.’ He saw the flare of hope in her eyes and hurried to make sure she didn’t read too much into his suggestion. ‘I don’t much like the holiday season—but you could provide a very welcome distraction. And in the meantime, you need somewhere to stay.’ Giancarlo’s lips curved into a sensual smile as he lifted her fingertips and warmed them with the brush of his lips. ‘So why don’t you come and stay until Christmas?’