‘Right,’ he said, standing up and staring at his watch. ‘We land in thirty minutes. You get your notes and I’ll grab a shower and get into my tux.’ He looked at her and nodded. ‘I think we’re both agreed that the sooner we get this over with the better.’
CHAPTER THREE
MATTEO ROSSINI WAS sacking off boxing and the casino to go to the ballet? Was he for real?
He could hear the boys howling down the phone as they all raised their glasses in a fake toast. At least someone found it funny, he thought as he hauled his third-best tux out of the wardrobe and laid it out on the bed.
He’d been looking forward to this night for ages. A chance to really blow off steam after the disastrous media circus he’d lived through with Faye. And learning of the juicy prospect of tucking Arturo Finance into the back pocket of the bank was going to be the icing on the cake.
He felt he was almost on the home straight already.
But all that would have to wait while he went to the ballet.
He dragged the towel across his damp shoulders and chuckled, realising he wasn’t nearly as down about it as he’d been half an hour ago. And it didn’t have anything to do with a new desire to watch people flounce about the stage. All the charm of the evening was wrapped up in one beautiful little package called Ruby.
She might well have designs on his mother, but he wasn’t getting that feeling from her—he wasn’t picking up that sycophantic thing that most people had about them when they met him for the first time.
She was refreshing, and he was in the mood to be refreshed, and since there was no choice in the matter for the next couple of hours he might as well enjoy what he could.
He stepped into his trousers just as there was a knock on the door. He listened. It came again. Two tiny little raps—one-two. Quiet, but determined. Business not pleasure, he thought, registering with interest a slight sense of disappointment.
He fastened his flies and lifted his shirt, then opened the door and there she was. All eyes, lips and lily-white slender limbs.
‘Hello, there,’ he said, stretching his arms inside his shirt. ‘Everything OK?’
By the look on her face everything was not OK. Her eyes had widened to coal-black circles and her mouth was in a shocked red ‘O’ as she gawped at his chest. He stifled a smile as he turned to spare her blushes and started to button his shirt.
‘I’m so sorry to bother you,’ she said, tucking her eyes down, ‘but I was meant to give you this to wear.’ She held out a little parcel, kept her head turned away. ‘From your mum.’
He continued to fasten his buttons and stared at the little parcel.
‘Want to open it for me?’ he said, now walking to the table for his cufflinks.
Her eyes flicked up, then down, but not before she took a good long look. He couldn’t help but smile broadly. Game on.
She pulled open the package and held out a red bow tie and pocket square.
‘Is everything OK?’
‘What?’ she said. ‘Yes, of course everything is OK. I was just wondering why you bother with those things.’
He paused, his collar up, considering her carefully. That was not what he’d expected to hear.
‘Pardon?’
‘Cufflinks. What are they even for? Why not just use buttons? I don’t get it.’
‘Has anyone ever told you you’re quite forward?’ he said, clicking the cufflinks together.
‘I say what’s on my mind. I’m not trying to cause offence, but I’ve never seen anyone use them.’
He finished and tugged at his cuffs, checking that his sleeves were perfectly straight, watching her watching him carefully. He was warming to her more by the minute.
‘They make my cuffs sit nicely. I like the look. A beautiful shirt deserves beautiful cuffs. And, since you’re looking unconvinced by that answer, I’ll also add that these were a gift from an ex-girlfriend. After we split up.’
He turned them in the light and smiled.
‘I’m not all Mr Bad Guy, despite what you might have read in the press.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Right...’ with a tone that was flat and disbelieving.
He raised an eyebrow and tied the bowtie in place.
Well, what did he expect? he thought, turning away to get his jacket while his mind ran to the stupid pictures his friends had texted him and those quotes about being emotionally stunted.
He hadn’t bothered to read them properly. Anyone who knew him well knew the truth. And anyone who knew him well knew that all his stunted emotions sat with Sophie. The only thing he was sure of in his life was that there would never be another Sophie...
They had been the Golden Couple all through university—she with her long blonde hair and he a rising star of the rugby scene. He’d never been happier. The whole world had been spread out before him. His degree in sports science, his imminent career as a rugby player, playing for his country... Would it be Italy or England? When would he ask Sophie to marry him? Where would they live?
Those were the kinds of decisions he’d faced. Until the night he’d got the news that his father had died. Like a great oak being ripped up from the roots, his strength, his confidence had been sapped. He’d felt the world crumble under his feet, felt himself spinning in space. He’d thought his father sure and solid and strong. He’d had all the answers. He’d been wise and clever and honourable and he’d loved his mother—and Claudio had been his best friend.
They had been almost inseparable—closer than brothers. The only thing that had ever came between his parents had been Claudio’s suffocating presence in their lives—until something had happened and everything had changed.
Matteo had once suspected that Claudio had made a move on his mother and his father had found out. It had to be something like that for the schism between them to have been so deep. How wrong he had been.
His father’s fight to save the family bank had been epic. He had worked tirelessly for weeks, but so much of it had gone. People with lots of money wanted lots more. Loyalty was too expensive. Especially when Claudio had offered a fast dividend and people had been too greedy to care how it was made.
But it had been his father’s death more than the losses to the company that had devastated Matteo’s life. His mother had been inconsolable—the thought of her anguish still made him wince with pain. He had gone to her side, nursed her and taken charge as he knew his father would have wanted. A stream of people from the banking world had arrived—all firm handshakes, sober suits and quiet conversations.
All of that he had lived through, knowing that it couldn’t get any worse. Knowing that Sophie was there for him.
And the knowledge of her warm, loving body had driven him one night to take a flight north to university, then a two-hour taxi ride from the airport to the cold, stormy coast of St Andrew’s, where he’d known she would be just about to wake up. Maybe he’d slip into bed beside her, feel the love in her arms and bury himself and his pain...
How many times must he relive those moments? The crunch of the gravel, the lightening shadows of the morning and the frosted cloud of his breath. The cold, metallic slide of his key in the lock, lamps still burning in the hallway, the TV on, glasses on the table.
Like an automaton he had turned to the sound of the shower.
And then had come the sight he wished he could burn from his eyes.
His beautiful Sophie, naked and wet, her legs wrapped around another man. And the other man had been the national rugby coach, come all the way to Scotland to ask him to play for his country.
Was he emotionally stunted? All day long. And for the rest of his life.
‘Most people don’t believe what they read. I never do, if it’s any consolation.’
His eyes tracked round, following the voice that had split through the sick daydream. Angel-faced Ruby, with those huge brown
eyes and wide red lips was looking up at him with something that might be described as concern. How sweet. But if it was concern, it was wasted.
‘Please don’t worry about me,’ he said, fastening the last button on his jacket. ‘I’m a big boy. I can take what they dish up and swallow it whole.’
He winked. He smiled. He put one hand on her shoulder. Her delicate, silken-skinned shoulder. He stepped a little closer and watched as her eyes did that widening thing that women always did—usually just before he leaned in for his first kiss...
And wouldn’t a kiss be the perfect way to start his evening with Ruby? Those gorgeous lips, that ivory skin, her lustrous hair... Hadn’t he been tempted from the moment he’d seen her? Hadn’t she shown that she was tempted too?
This could turn into the perfect night after all.
Oh, yes, he thought, and the stirring and hardening in his groin were now very obviously happening. There was only one thing left to do.
‘But it must hurt your mother—reading that,’ she said, turning her head.
He paused in mid-air, correcting himself and exiting the move swiftly. He’d been rebuffed. Well, well, well...
‘What my mother feels is no concern of yours or anyone else’s,’ he heard himself say. ‘I wish people would leave well alone.’
Colour rose like a scarlet tide over her cheeks and he instantly regretted his sharp tone.
Damn, that had been too harsh. Ruby didn’t seem like the gossipy type. And she was only being kind. And, worst of all, she was right. He knew his mother had been hurt by the press, and he knew he had no one to blame for that but himself.
But why couldn’t people worry about their own lives instead of raking all over his?
He reached out a hand—an involuntary gesture—but she muttered an apology under her breath and was already making her way back through the cabin. He watched her walk carefully, the red satin billowing out above her calves, swishing gently with each step, until he was almost hypnotised by the sight.
And then the plane bumped and dropped. And she stumbled. She reached out to grab at the nearest chair and held on to it for two long seconds. He could tell she was holding herself in pain. She didn’t utter a sound.
He rushed to her.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Perfectly, thanks,’ she said, keeping her eyes ahead and fixing that smile in place as she started to walk again.
‘I saw you stumble there. Is it your injury? I know that’s why you’re not dancing at the moment. Is everything OK?’
She raised her eyebrows and flicked him an as if you care glance. He deserved that.
‘I’m fine, thanks. I’m going to sit down now, if that’s OK.’
‘Ruby—hold up.’
She sat carefully in the seat, straightening her spine, and her bright smile popped back into place. He recognised that—smiling through pain. Everybody had a mask.
He sat in the seat opposite her. She tucked her knees to the left and pressed them together, sitting even straighter—a clearer Keep Back message he’d never seen.
‘What is it? Hip? Knee?’
‘It’s no big deal. It’s nearly healed.’
‘What happened?’
‘A fall. That’s all.’
‘Must have been some fall to have taken almost six months to heal.’
The bright smile was fixed in place. At least it looked like a smile, but it felt more as if she was pushing him back with a deadly weapon.
‘You know, I’ve had my fair share of injuries too,’ he said, when she didn’t reply. ‘I played rugby for years. I know that you might never have guessed, thanks to my boyish good looks, but I was a blindside flanker at St Andrew’s—when I was at university.’
He tilted his head and showed her the mashed ear that had formed after too many injuries. Luckily that and his broken nose were his only obvious disfigurements, but he’d lost count of the fractures and tears tucked beneath his clothes.
‘Blindside flanker...’ She looked away, sounding totally, politely uninterested. ‘Sounds like rhyming slang.’
‘I was about to be capped for England,’ he said, grinning through her cheeky little retort.
‘Really?’
At least that merited a second glance. He smiled, nodded, raised his eyebrows. Got you this time, he thought.
‘About to be? So what happened?’
‘Long story. Doesn’t matter. So, what exactly is wrong with you, may I ask?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be able to follow. I’ve been heavily involved in most sports, one way or another, and I know the pounding bodies take. Ballet is tough—I know that. It might not be my cup of tea, but I respect what you guys do.’
He could see her pausing for a moment, hovering between cutting him off again and continuing the conversation. The smile had dropped and she was watching him carefully, but her body was still coiled tight as a little spring.
‘I’ve not always been a boring old banker. I wasn’t born wearing a pinstripe suit,’ he said softly. ‘Give me a rugby ball any day of the week.’
‘So what happened?’ she asked. ‘Why didn’t you follow your dream?’
‘Tell me about your injury first,’ he countered.
‘Cruciate ligament,’ she said after a moment.
‘Anterior? Posterior? Don’t tell me it was one of the collaterals?’
‘It was the anterior. I had to have surgery. Twice.’
‘Painful,’ he said, sucking his teeth. ‘You’d better be careful. That can be the end of a beautiful career.’
‘I’m well aware of that.’
‘I imagine you are. Must be on your mind all the time. One of the players in my uni squad had a terrible time. Had to jack it in eventually. Pity. He had a great future ahead but the injury put paid to all that. I’ve no idea what he’s doing now—he was a bit of a one-trick pony. I don’t think he had a Plan B...’
And then suddenly the mask slid down and her brilliant smile slipped and wobbled. Her delicate collarbones bunched and the fine muscles of her throat constricted and closed. She was visibly holding herself in check.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That’s not what you want to hear right now. Dance is your whole life, isn’t it? I totally get it.’
‘How can you until it happens to you?’
She shook her head and twisted away from him, staring out over the twinkling yellow lights of London.
‘I really do understand,’ he said, cringing at his thoughtlessness. ‘Rugby was my whole life. As far as I was concerned banking was what my father did. And then—whoosh—he died and the carpet got pulled from under my feet. And here I am.’
He looked round at the jet, at the cream leather, the crystal glasses, the plasma screen flashing, the numbers and money, wealth and success. For all the Arturo deal would be the icing on the cake, he still had a pretty rich cake.
Her face told him she was thinking exactly the same thing and he couldn’t blame her for that.
‘It’s not exactly the same, though, is it?’ she said, with a note of wistfulness that rang like a bell in his consciousness. ‘You had a Plan B. I’ve got nothing else. Only this. My whole life has been preparing to be a principal dancer. I’m not good at anything except dancing—I barely got myself together to do this.’
She held out the skirts of her dress and looked right into his eyes with such an imploring look that he thought how easy it would be to fall for a woman like her. She was strong, yet vulnerable too—but all he had to do was dive right in and before he knew it he’d be scrabbling for the banks of some fast-flowing river or, worse, being dragged under and losing his mind along the way.
He would not be diving into anything. Arm’s length was the only safe distance with any woman—especially one that looked like this—because even when he
was crystal-clear it always ended up the same way, with her wanting more than he could give.
Relationships: the rock he was not prepared to perish on again. No way. The skill came in avoiding crashing into that rock by keeping it light, keeping it moving along, keeping it all about the ‘now’. Worrying about the future...that wasn’t such a great idea.
He turned to Ruby, lifted her chin with his finger, the lightest little touch.
‘You’re doing a fine job. You’ve nothing at all to worry about,’ he said, hearing himself use his father’s gentle but firm pull yourself together tone.
But she shook her head and lifted those doe eyes.
‘I’m not. I’m useless. I’ve left the notes I wrote out at home on the table. And I spent hours writing them—in case I forgot something. I can’t hold things in my head, other than dance steps, and it’s been months since I’ve danced. I’m terrified that I’ll have even forgotten how to do that.’
‘Well, one thing at a time, yeah? You’ve been brilliant so far. I had no idea I was going to see a ballet based on a poem by Rumi, who I used to think was an amazing poet—back when my head was full of mush. Maybe I’ll see the error of my ways. Who knows?’
‘You really don’t mind that I’ve been a bit of a disaster so far? I don’t want to spoil your evening.’
‘It’s certainly different.’
‘You’re really going to love the ballet. I promise you.’
She smiled. Wide and fresh and beautiful. He wondered if she knew it was her deadliest weapon. She had to. She might say that she was no good at anything except dancing, but he would wager she could wrap pretty much anyone, male or female, around her little finger with just a flash of that smile or a glance from those eyes.
The plane touched down and rolled along the runway. This was shaping up to be quite an evening—the last before he turned all his attention towards netting Arturo. So he might as well enjoy it.
The game was definitely on.
CHAPTER FOUR
SO, THE LOVE RAT wasn’t so much of a rat after all.
The Tycoon's Shock Heir Page 3
