Riccardo's Secret Child

by Cathy Williams

  She would soon discover the nature of manipulation.

  ‘I’ll see you at seven-thirty.’ With that, he turned to say goodbye to Jeannette, resisting the urge to kiss Nicola, and then stalked out of the kitchen.

  He could feel excitement pulsing through his veins as he fired the engine of his car and drove back to his apartment. It took him a mere thirty-five minutes to make it there, using the back-roads of London which were fairly free of traffic. As he showered and changed he looked around his penthouse flat and pictured her there. He imagined her timidly entering, timid because she was not the sort of girl who slept around, who allowed herself to be taken to a man’s apartment unless she had spent months building up a friendship first.

  But however timid she might be, however cautious, she wouldn’t be able to help herself. She would be in the grip of the same urgent need to make love as he would be. She would be excited, apprehensive, shaking with the anticipation of being taken by him.

  He towelled himself dry and shaved quickly, with the towel wrapped around his waist. As he shaved he allowed his imagination to roam. To picture how her pale skin would look against the black leather of the sofa in his living room. He slowly stripped her of her sensible clothing, her weekend uniform of jeans and baggy jumpers, he removed her spectacles so that he could see the dark flecks in her grey eyes. He imagined her in tousled, panting disarray on his bed, tangled amid his bedclothes, tangled with him, limbs entwining with limbs, hands roving to touch and feel and explore.

  She would beg him to bring her to a shuddering orgasm and would blush furiously as she pleaded for satisfaction.

  He found that he had to drive at a more leisurely rate back to her house, in order to let his own excitement subside.

  Her face was stiff with apprehension and exasperation at being wheedled into a date when she pulled open the front door to him.

  ‘I don’t see the point,’ she grumbled as she slid into the passenger seat and primly gathered her pale grey flared skirt around her.

  ‘The point of going to a nightclub?’ Riccardo enquired, shooting out of the drive and expertly manoeuvring the car along the dark lanes away from her house. ‘Or the point of going to a nightclub with me?’

  ‘There was absolutely no need to jump at Mum’s suggestion.’

  ‘But you hardly ever get out,’ he drawled lazily. ‘I thought I would be doing you a favour. You know what they say about all work and no play…’

  Julia glared ineffectively at his averted profile. She had no idea where they were going, but she suspected that she would not be dressed correctly for the venue. Her grey skirt was smart but hardly the height of fashion, and her strappy silk vest was covered by a dark grey jacket which she had no intention of removing. It left too much of her thin body exposed for her own comfort.

  Riccardo, on the other hand, looked as magnificent as she suspected he would. His crisp white shirt emphasised the burnished gold of his skin and his suit, charcoal-grey, was impeccably and she suspected, lovingly hand-tailored. From where she was sitting, she could smell the clean masculine scent of his aftershave.

  ‘Relax,’ he said into the silence. ‘You’re here now, why not enjoy it?’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Oh, just a little club I know. Very small. Not very fancy at all, so there’s no need for you to feel self-conscious.’

  ‘I don’t feel self-conscious,’ Julia threw at him, huddling in her unfamiliar outfit and feeling like a badly dressed teenager on her way to a prom night.

  ‘Yes, you do. I can feel it.’ He reached out with one hand and curled his long fingers along the back of her neck, gently massaging. Julia gave a squeak of alarm and drew away as much as she could. ‘The tension is in your shoulders.’ His fingers slipped a little lower, dipping under the collar of her jacket to knead her collar-bone, and just when she was about to tell him to stop touching her immediately, he took his hand away and replaced it on the steering wheel.

  Julia could feel her heart hammering like a steam engine inside her. His cool fingers against her skin had sent a rush of fire through her, igniting her sensitive breasts and making her body ache.

  ‘So tell me, why is your mother so desperate to have you married off?’ Riccardo asked, his voice steady, composed and mildly interested.

  ‘Aren’t all mothers desperate to see their children married off?’ Julia had to work very hard at keeping her voice as steady as his, but she was uncomfortably aware that her body was still in a state of heady response to his passing touch.

  ‘That may very well be so,’ Riccardo agreed. ‘I know my mama was overjoyed when Caroline and I married. True, she wasn’t Italian, but she could overlook that because I had spent so much of my time in England that it was almost natural for me to marry an English girl, and what an English rose Caroline was.’

  ‘She must have been very disappointed when things…didn’t work out,’ Julia said as she found herself drawn into the conversation against her will.

  ‘Disappointed but not, she afterwards informed me, hugely surprised.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She told me that she worried that Caroline was not fiery enough for me but she had said nothing at the time because she had the notion that opposites might attract and that Caroline’s lack of spirit might be just what I needed.’

  Riccardo had never confided these personal details to anyone before. He was not a man who shared confidences or even allowed people to know how he felt about matters he deemed private. It felt right, however, to be talking to Julia about it and he decided, with the cool-headed logic which had been his byword for as long as he could remember, that he was simply getting her to relax by throwing her titbits of his personal life. Stirring her interest so that she would no longer see him as a threat. As long as she saw him as her enemy, someone to be distrusted, she would not respond to him and he was aggressively and thrillingly determined to win her response.

  ‘Opposites do often attract,’ Julia agreed slowly.

  ‘Or else they repel. In our case, the latter.’ He swung his car into a small forecourt jammed with expensive-looking cars, and when Julia looked at the clock on the dashboard she realised with a start that they had been driving for longer than she expected. Driving right out of London from the looks of it, because the street was broader and far less congested with houses and buildings than the streets in central London.

  The nightclub itself was brightly illuminated on the outside and resembled someone’s house, albeit a commanding, ivy-clad red-bricked house with a doorman incongruously standing to attention outside.

  It took several minutes to locate a parking space, and Julia felt another rush of nerves as they walked towards the club, clutching her jacket around her with her little bag hanging from one hand.

  The sudden pressure of his hand on the crook of her elbow was surprisingly comforting. As was the ease and assurance with which he led them inside, his hand still cupping her elbow. The room, staggered on two levels with a galleried landing forming a semicircle around the ground floor, was crowded, with people on the dance floor swaying about to the strains of slow jazz music. Waitresses buzzed between tables, carrying enormous trays above their shoulders on the flat of their hands and paying not the slightest bit of attention to the band performing on the podium.

  They worked here and were familiar with the atmosphere. Julia, though, was not. As a teenager she had been to one or two nightclubs, noisy, dark places with too many people, no seating to speak of and beer being spilled over shoes and clothes. But this was a new experience for her.

  She looked bewildered, Riccardo thought, his dark eyes taking in her open mouth. He felt an irrational swell of pleasure at being the one to introduce her to an experience she had obviously never had before. And she lived in London! What had she done with herself for all her adult life? She was no longer even aware of his hand on her and he took the opportunity to circle her waist with his arm, guiding her towards the table to which the waitress was
leading them.

  ‘I take it you have not been to this nightclub before,’ he said, swinging his chair closer to hers so that they could speak comfortably above the music. His arm brushed against hers.

  ‘I haven’t been to any nightclub for years,’ Julia confessed, turning to look at him, taken aback because he was so close to her.

  ‘Not something that responsible teachers do?’

  ‘Are you saying that one has to be irresponsible to come to a place like this?’ She hadn’t noticed that he had given the waitress an order for drinks but he must have because the young, leggy girl in her small black dress approached them now with a silver bucket in which rested a bottle of chilled white wine, and she expertly placed two wine goblets in front of them and, on a nod from Riccardo, poured them each a glass. Julia dived on hers with the abandon of someone suffering from fluid deprivation.

  He laughed and his eyes dipped to the peach-smooth skin visible beneath her cropped jacket. He would be eating that peach later, he resolved, and conquest would taste as sweet as nectar.

  ‘I would not dream of bringing a responsible woman like yourself to a den of iniquity. As a matter of fact, this is a very popular haunt with businessmen entertaining clients. It is more exciting than a restaurant and there is more scope for deals to be discussed than in the bowels of a theatre or an opera house.’ Her eyes behind the spectacles were tentative and interested. She was putting aside her natural wariness of him and that in itself gave him a spurt of pleasure. Her face was soft, her mouth parted on a question.

  ‘You come here often, I take it.’

  ‘I have been here several times.’ He removed his jacket, transferring his small black leather wallet to his trouser pocket. ‘It’s a good place to de-stress.’

  Julia took another sip of her wine, her eyes drifting to his fingers loosely entwined on the table top. Riccardo, from above the rim of his wine glass tilted to his lips, saw everything, even noticed her slight tremor as she gathered herself and began to stare at the jazz band instead of his hands. Hands that were itching to touch her, and he wryly admitted to himself that evening the score was only part of the deal.

  ‘Where do you go when you want to wind down?’ he prompted, placing his glass on the table and circling the rim with one long finger. ‘Has Nicola severely curtailed your social life?’

  Julia shrugged.

  ‘What does that gesture mean?’ He mimicked her shrug. ‘That she has or that she hasn’t?’

  ‘It’s a little harder going out now in the evenings than it used to be. It means I have to make arrangements with Mum in advance. But don’t think for a minute that I find it a hardship. I’ve always adored my niece and she’s a joy to have around, even though it’s a joy gained through circumstances I would never have wished and could never have foreseen.’ Her eyes slipped to his finger trailing the glass and she hurriedly looked away, drowning her confusion by gulping down the remainder of her wine, only to find her glass refilled instantly.

  ‘And where do you go when you make these arrangements?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Cinema. Wine bar. Sometimes to the theatre with friends, although on a teacher’s salary I’ve always had to watch where my money went.’

  ‘And now?’

  Julia frowned. ‘And now what?’

  ‘Do you still have to watch your money? Or did my ex-wife and her husband make sure that you were provided for?’ When she had first come to him he had instantly assumed that money must be at the root of her searching him out. Now he realised that she belonged to one of those rare species of women who were not impressed by how much money he had. He sat back in his chair and proceeded to look at her with a closed expression, trying to work her out.

  ‘All of the money from the sale of your house went immediately into a trust fund for Nicola,’ she replied coolly, ‘and I was left enough to make sure that she doesn’t seriously want for anything. So you can rest assured that I won’t be knocking on your door, asking for handouts.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t be considered a handout, would it?’ he told her in a hard voice. ‘I’ve been willing to go along with your game plan, putting my feelings on hold for the moment, but I intend to assume full financial responsibility for my child.’

  Julia had known that this would arise. In fact, she was surprised that it hadn’t arisen sooner. She had a glimpse of a man biding his time and she shivered at the thought of it.

  ‘I understand,’ she began quietly, ‘but I think you ought to concentrate on the most important thing, which is building a strong relationship with her so that it will be almost natural for her to accept you as her father when the time comes…’

  ‘Don’t preach to me on what I should and shouldn’t do.’ He leaned forward and placed his hands squarely on the table. ‘For the moment, I am content to bring presents and then fade obligingly into the background, but rest assured that within the next few weeks I shall want you to produce a complete breakdown of Nicola’s expenses, including a financial statement of the money that has been put in trust for her.’

  ‘Because money is so important, isn’t it?’ Julia said tightly, gripping the stem of her wine glass.

  Riccardo sighed heavily. ‘It is simply a factor that I intend to take into consideration. Now, instead of sitting here and pointlessly sniping at one another, why don’t we go and dance? Enjoy the evening.’ He read the hesitation on her face and wanted to yank her out of her indecision by pulling her to the dance floor, but he waited in silence for her answer.

  What was it about this woman? he wondered. One minute he was intrigued by her, intrigued enough to almost forget the part she had played in the situation that now existed. The next minute she was firing him up in a way he could recall no one doing in his life before, not even during his long climb to towering success, during which he had had to wage war with his adversaries and establish boundaries beyond which no one would be permitted to cross.

  Even in his personal life, the women he had gone out with had respected his boundaries, had known their limits and had never crossed them. This woman boldly ignored every boundary he had laid down without raising her voice and then sat back and watched him rage in stubborn silence.

  Dammit, did he want to seduce her to even a score or did he want to seduce her to prove to himself that he was still a man who could control his life, private and public?

  ‘I’m not a brilliant dancer,’ Julia was forced to admit awkwardly. And she would probably be even less adequate with this man’s arms around her. Just the thought of it was enough to make her feel sick.

  ‘Nor am I.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Then why don’t I prove it to you? We can step on one another’s feet and decide who is the worse.’ He held out his hand and Julia reluctantly slipped her hand into his, feeling his fingers link through hers with a sudden, blinding panic.

  ‘And you have to take your jacket off,’ he murmured.

  Julia blushed furiously, but obeyed, slipping the short jacket off her shoulders and then instantly feeling exposed in her small, silky top with the spaghetti straps.

  She had hardly been listening to the band and was now aware that they were playing a slow number. It seemed that the atmosphere in the club aimed to be mellow, and as such the musicians complied, playing a selection of sexy, down-beat tunes, most of which were vaguely recognisable.

  He led her onto the dance floor, which was darkly intimate and pulled her into his arms. His head lowered so that she could feel his mouth brushing her hair and her breasts pushed against his broad, hard chest.

  He had been lying, as she had known he was, about his dancing. He was a superb dancer, his movements easy and fluid, and her body gradually picked up the sway of his, moving in time to his rhythm. As they danced he gently ran his finger along her exposed back and it was all Julia could do to keep her feet steady.

  ‘See. I told you I was an abysmal dancer,’ he laughed softly into her ear and for one terrifying moment she wish
ed that she could feel his tongue flick there, then move to her lips, explore the soft insides of her mouth, which were trembling in a combination of horror and, she had to admit the truth, sheer, overwhelming craving.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RICCARDO, feeling that small shiver of awareness, pressed home his advantage. He coiled his fingers through her hair, enjoying the sensation of it falling silkily over his hand. Most if not all of the women he had dated in the past had been staggeringly beautiful, sophisticated creatures with perfectly styled hair, hair that was secured in place with expensive lotions and hairsprays and was not destined to be threaded through a man’s fingers.

  Everything about this woman, however, was completely natural. Her thick shoulder-length hair felt smooth and clean. Her perfectly oval face was virtually free of make-up, aside from a pale shade of lipstick and a hint of blusher.

  He pulled her fractionally closer to him so that she could feel his body against hers. He wanted her to read the signals he was giving her. He wished, in fact, that he could crawl inside her head and have a bull’s-eye view of what was going on in her mind. But he would move slowly. Any direct moves would send her running in the opposite direction.

  ‘Whoever told you that you weren’t a good dancer was lying,’ he murmured and, just for the sheer hell of it and because he wanted to see how she would react, he nibbled the tender flesh of her ear lobe. ‘Now, how hungry are you? The fish here is excellent and not too heavy. We can keep dancing or we can have something to eat and then carry on.’