Angela Bissell – Surrendering To The Vengeful Italian (страница 8)
His mouth brushed her ear as he rose. ‘Don’t run away.’
And then he was striding to the podium, a tall, compelling figure that drew the attention of every person—male and female—in the room. On stage, he delivered a short but pertinent speech before presenting a gold envelope to the evening’s highest bidder. People clapped again, finished their desserts, then got up to mingle while coffee was served.
Twenty minutes later Helena still sat alone.
Irritation sent a wave of prickly heat down her spine.
Don’t run away.
Ha! The man had a nerve.
She dumped sugar into her tea. Gave it a vigorous stir. Was he playing some kind of cat-and-mouse game? Or had he cut his losses and gone in search of a more agreeable companion for the evening?
Another ten minutes and finally he deigned to show. He dropped into his chair but she refused to look at him, concentrating instead on topping up her tea.
‘You have no boyfriend to spend your Friday nights with, Helena?’
Her pulse skipped a beat. No apology, then. No excuse for his absence. Had his desertion been some kind of test? An experiment to see if she’d slink away the minute his back was turned? The idea did nothing to lessen her pique.
She piled more sugar in her tea. ‘He’s busy tonight.’
‘Really?’ His tone said he knew damn well she was lying. He lifted his hand and trailed a fingertip over the exposed curve of her shoulder. ‘If you were mine I would not let you spend an evening with another man.’ He paused a beat. ‘Especially not in that dress.’
Carefully, she stirred her tea and laid the spoon in the saucer. He was trying to unsettle her, nothing more. She steeled herself not to flinch from his touch or, worse, tremble beneath it.
His hand dropped and she forced herself to meet his eye. ‘You said my dress was fine.’
His gaze raked her. ‘Oh, it’s fine. Very fine, indeed. And I am sure not a man here tonight would disagree.’
Did she detect a note of censure in his voice? She stopped herself glancing down. She’d been conscious of her plunging neckline all evening, but there were dozens of cleavages here more exposed than her own. And, though the dress was more suited to a cocktail party or a private dinner than a glittering gala affair—cause at first for discomfort—there was nothing cheap or trashy about it.
She crossed her legs, allowing her hem to ride up, until another inch of pale thigh defiantly showed. ‘And you?’ She watched his gaze flicker down. ‘I wouldn’t have thought a man like you would need a last-minute dinner date. Where’s your regular plus-one tonight?’
His lips, far too sensual for a man’s, twitched into a smile. ‘A man like me?’
‘Successful,’ she said, inwardly cursing her choice of words. ‘Money attracts, does it not? The world is full of women who find wealth and status powerful aphrodisiacs.’
One eyebrow quirked. ‘When did you become a cynic?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Maybe around the time you were getting rich.’
He lounged back in his chair, the glint in his eye unmissable. ‘In answer to your question, I’m between mistresses.’
‘Oh...’ She fiddled with the handle on her teacup.
Not girlfriends or partners. Mistresses. Why did that word make her heart shrink? So he enjoyed casual relationships. So what? His sex life was no business of hers.
She sat back, forced herself to focus. She couldn’t afford to waste time. The evening was slipping away. If she didn’t speak soon her chance would be lost. ‘Leo, my father and I are estranged.’
In a flash, the teasing light was gone from his eyes. Her stomach pitched. Should she have blurted the words so abruptly? Too bad. They were out there now.
A vein pulsed in his right temple. ‘Define “estranged”.’
She hitched a shoulder, let it drop. ‘We don’t talk. We don’t see each other. We’re estranged in every sense of the word, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Why?’
She hesitated. How much to tell? The bitter memory of that final violent confrontation with her father was too disturbing to recount even now.
‘We fell out,’ she said, her tongue dry despite the gallon of tea she’d consumed. ‘Over you and what he did after we—after I broke things off. I walked out seven years ago and we haven’t spoken since.’ She paused and glanced down. Her hands were shaking. She lifted her gaze back to his. ‘I dropped out of university and went to live in a rented flat. Father cut off my allowance, froze my trust, so I work at a full-time job. As a...a secretary. In a bank.’
Leo stared at her, his face so blank she wondered if he’d heard a single word she said. Her insides churned as if the tea had suddenly curdled in her belly. She wished she could read him better. Wished she could interpret the emotion in those dark, fathomless eyes.
And still the silence stretched.
God, why didn’t he say something?
‘You gave up your design studies?’
She blinked. That was his first question? ‘Yes,’ she said, frowning. ‘I couldn’t study full-time and support myself. The materials I needed were too expensive.’
Other students on her textile design course had juggled part-time jobs along with their studies, but they’d had only themselves to think about. They hadn’t been facing the same dilemmas, the same fears. They hadn’t been in Helena’s position. Alone and pregnant.
Careful.
She shrugged. ‘I might go back one day. But that’s not important. Leo, what I’m trying to tell you is that I’m not here for my father.’
‘Then why are you here?’
She leaned forward. ‘Because what you’re doing will hurt the people I do love. And before you remind me that my father—and thus his family—stands to gain financially from having his company torn apart, it’s not about the money.’
Helena hesitated. She had to choose her words with care. Miriam Shaw might be too proud to admit to herself, let alone the world, that she was a victim, but she was none the less entitled to her privacy. Her dignity. She wouldn’t want the painful truth about her marriage shared with a stranger. Who knew what Leo might do with such sensitive information?
‘My father can be...difficult to live with,’ she said. ‘At the best of times.’
Leo sat so still he barely blinked. Seemed barely to breathe. ‘So what exactly do you want?’
‘I want you to reconsider your plans for ShawCorp.’ The words tumbled out so fast her tongue almost tripped on them. ‘At the very least give my father more time to come to the table. Offer him a chance to have a say in the company’s future. Maybe keep his position on the board.’
He gave her a long, hard look. ‘That’s a lot of want, Helena. You do realise my company is overseen by a board of directors? I am not the sole decision-maker.’
‘But you have influence, surely?’
‘Of course. But I need good reason. Your concern for your family is admirable, but this is business. I cannot let a little family dysfunction dictate corporate strategy.’
‘Can’t you at least delay Tuesday’s deadline by a few weeks?’
His eyebrows slammed down and he muttered something under his breath. Something not especially nice.
He rose. ‘We will finish this talk later.’
Warmth leached from her face. Her hands. Had she pushed too hard? Said too much? ‘Why can’t we finish it now?’
He moved behind her chair, lowered his head to hers. The subtle scent of spice twined around her senses. ‘Because we’re about to have company.’ His hot breath fanned her cheek. ‘Important company. And if you want me to consider your request you will be very, very well behaved.’
LEO STRAIGHTENED AND quelled the urge to mutter another oath.
Of all the damnable luck. This night was going from bad to worse. First a call on his mobile from a board member whose angst over a minor matter had required twenty minutes of placation, followed by his relief at finding Helena hadn’t done a runner in his absence turning into stunned disbelief over her staggering revelations—revelations his reeling brain had yet to fully process.
And now Carlos Santino. Here in London. At this hotel. At this function.
Tension coiled in his gut as the older Italian approached. Santino stood a full head shorter than Leo, but the man’s stocky build and confident gait more than made up for his lack of stature. Add to that hard, intelligent eyes above a beaked nose and a straight mouth, and you had the impression of a man who tolerated weakness in neither himself nor others.
Leo liked him. Respected him. Santino Shipping dominated the world’s waterways, and in the last three years its cyber security needs had generated sizable revenue for Leo’s company. The two men shared a business relationship based on mutual trust and respect.
But Leo had not seen Carlos Santino for several months.
Not since he’d rejected the man’s daughter.
‘Carlos.’ He gripped Santino’s hand. ‘This is unexpected. What brings you to London? I thought few things could prise you away from Rome.’
His client grunted. ‘Shopping. Shows. Anything my wife and daughter can spend my money on.’ A chunky gold watch and a heavy signet ring flashed in the air. ‘Nothing they cannot get in Rome, or Milan, but you know women—’ he shrugged expressively ‘—they are easily bored.’