by Annie West
‘Would you have taken my call?
He met her challenge with a smile—if the tight, humourless twist of his lips could be called a smile. ‘Probably not. But then you and I have nothing to discuss. On the phone or in person.’
An elevator pinged and opened behind him. He inclined his head in a gesture she might have construed as polite if not for the arctic chill in his eyes.
‘I am sorry you have wasted your time.’ And with that he swung away and stepped into the elevator.
Helena hesitated, then quickly rallied and dashed in after him. ‘You’ve turned up after seven years of silence and come after my father’s company. I hardly think that qualifies as nothing.’
‘Get out of the elevator, Helena.’
The soft warning made the skin across her scalp prickle. Or maybe it was hearing her name spoken in that deep, accented baritone that drove a wave of discomforting heat through her?
The elevator doors whispered closed, cocooning them in a space that felt too small and intimate despite the effect of mirrors on three walls.
She planted her feet. ‘No.’
Colour slashed his cheekbones and his dark eyes locked with hers in a staring match that quickly tested the limits of her bravado. Just as she feared that lethal gaze would reduce her to a pile of cinders, he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out an access card.
‘As you wish,’ he said, his tone mild—too mild, a voice warned. He flashed the card across a sensor and jabbed the button labelled ‘Penthouse Suite’. With a soft whir, the elevator began its stomach-dropping ascent.
Helena groped for the steel handrail behind her, the rapid rising motion—or maybe the butterflies in her belly she couldn’t quell—making her head swim.
It seemed her ex-lover could not only afford the finest digs in London...he could afford to stay in the hotel’s most exclusive suite.
The knowledge made her heart beat faster.
The Leo she’d known had been a man of understated tastes, stylish in that effortless way of most Italian men but never flashy or overt. She’d liked that about him. Liked his grit and drive and passion. Liked that he was different from the lazy, spoilt rich set her parents wanted her to run with.
And now...?
Her hand tightened on the railing. Now it didn’t matter what she felt about him. All that mattered was the havoc he’d soon unleash on her family. If he and her father went head to head in a corporate war and Douglas Shaw lost control of his precious empire the fallout for his wife and son would be dire. Her father didn’t take kindly to losing; when he did, those closest to him suffered.
‘Has your father sent you?’ The way he ground out the word father conveyed a wealth of hatred—a sentiment Helena, too, wrestled with when it came to Daddy Dearest.
She studied Leo’s face, leaner now, his features sharper, more angular than she remembered, but still incredibly handsome. Her fingers twitched with the memory of tracing those features while he slept, of familiarising herself with that long, proud nose and strong jaw, those sculpted male lips. Lips that once could have stopped her heart with a simple smile—or a kiss.
Emotion rose and swirled, unexpected, a poignant mix of regret and longing that made her chest ache and her breath hitch.
Did Leo smile much these days? Or did those lines either side of his mouth stem from harsher emotions like anger and hatred?
Instinctively Helena’s hand went to her stomach. The void inside where life had once flourished was a stark reminder that she, too, had suffered. Leo, at least, had been spared that pain, and no good would come now of sharing hers.
Some burdens, she had decided, were better borne alone. She let her hand fall back to her side.
‘I’m not my father’s puppet, Leo. Whatever your misguided opinion of me.’
A harsh sound shot from his throat. ‘The only one misguided is you, Helena. What part of “I never wish to see you again” did you not understand?’
She smothered the flash of hurt his words evoked. ‘That was a long time ago. And I only want an opportunity to talk. Is that asking too much?’
A soft ping signalled the elevator’s arrival. Before he could answer with a resounding yes, she stepped through the parting doors into a spacious vestibule. She stopped, the sensible heels of her court shoes sinking into thick carpet the colour of rich chocolate. Before her loomed an enormous set of double doors. It was private up here, she realised. Secluded. Isolated.
Her mouth went dry. ‘Perhaps we should talk in the bar downstairs?’
He brushed past her and pushed open the heavy doors, his lips twisting into a tight smile that only made her heart pound harder.
‘Afraid to be alone with me?’
Helena paused on the threshold. Should she be afraid of him? In spite of her jitters she balked at the idea. Leonardo Vincenti wasn’t thrilled to see her—that was painfully clear—but she knew this man. Had spent time with him. Been intimate with him in ways that marked her soul like no other man ever had.
Yes, she could sense the anger vibrating beneath his cloak of civility, but he would never lose control and lash out at her. He would never hurt her the way her father hurt her mother.
She smoothed her palm down the leg of her black trouser suit and assumed a lofty air. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, and strode into the room.
* * *
Leo closed the penthouse doors, strode to the wet bar and splashed a large measure of whisky into a crystal tumbler. He knocked back the potent liquid, snapped the empty glass onto the bar and looked at the woman whose presence was like a blowtorch to his veneer of calm.
‘Drink?’
‘No.’ She reinforced her refusal with a shake of her head that made her auburn curls bounce and sway. ‘But...thank you.’
Shorter, he noted. Her hair was shorter, the dark silky ribbons that had once tumbled to her waist now cropped into a sophisticated cut above her shoulders. Her face, too, had changed—thinner like her body and more striking somehow, her cheekbones strong and elegant, her jaw line firm. Bluish crescents underscored her eyes, but the rest of her skin was toned and smooth and free of imperfections. It was a face no man, unless blind, would pass by without stopping for a second appreciative look.
Helena Shaw, he reluctantly acknowledged, was no longer a pretty girl. Helena Shaw was a stunningly attractive woman.
Scowling, he reminded himself he had no interest in this woman’s attributes, physical or otherwise. He’d been blindsided by her beauty and guise of innocence once before—a grave error that had cost him infinitely more than his injured pride—and he’d vowed his mistake would not be repeated.
Not with any woman.
And especially not this one.
‘So, you want to talk.’ The last thing he wanted to do with this woman. Dio. He should have bodily removed her from the elevator downstairs and to hell with causing a scene. He banked the flare of anger in his gut and gestured towards a duo of deep leather sofas. ‘Sit,’ he instructed, then glanced at his watch. ‘You have ten minutes.’
She frowned—a delicate pinch of that smooth brow—then put her bag on the glass coffee table and perched on the edge of a sofa. She drew an audible breath.
‘The papers say you’ve launched a hostile takeover bid for my father’s company.’
He dropped onto the opposite sofa. ‘An accurate summary.’ He paused. ‘And...?’
She puffed out a sigh. ‘You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?’
Easy? That simple four-letter word made him grind his molars. This girl’s entire life had been easy. Her family’s excessive wealth, her father’s connections, had ensured she wanted for nothing. Unlike Leo and his sister who, after their mother’s death, had survived childhood in a murky world of poverty and neglect. For them, nothing c
ame easy.
‘You want me to make this easy for you?’
Like hell he would.
She shook her head. ‘I want to understand why you’re doing this.’
So she could talk him out of it? Not a chance. He’d waited too many years to settle this score with her father. He returned her gaze for an extended beat. ‘It’s business.’
She laughed then: a short brittle sound, not the soft, sexy laughter that resided in his memory. ‘Please—this isn’t business. It’s...payback.’
Her voice conveniently wobbled on that last word, but her ploy for sympathy, if that was her angle, failed to move him.
‘And if I said this is payback, what would you say?’
‘I’d say two wrongs don’t make a right.’
He barked out a laugh. ‘A quaint sentiment. Personally, I think “an eye for an eye” has a more appealing ring.’
She dropped her gaze to where her fingers fidgeted in her lap. Her voice was husky when she spoke again. ‘People aren’t perfect, Leo. Sometimes they make mistakes.’
His gut twisted. Was she talking about her father? Or herself? ‘So you’re here to apologise for your mistakes?’
She glanced up. ‘I tried that once. You didn’t want to listen. Would it make any difference now?’
‘No.’
‘I was trying to protect you.’
He bit back another laugh. By driving a blade through his heart? Leaving him no choice but to watch her walk away? A bitter lump rose in his throat and he swallowed back the acrid taste.
Seven years ago he’d come to London to collaborate with a young software whiz on a project that, if successful, would have guaranteed his business unprecedented success.
As always, he was focused, dedicated, disciplined.
And then he met a girl.
A girl so beautiful, so captivating, she might have been one of the sculptures on display at the art gallery opening they were both attending in the West End.
He tried to resist, of course. She was too young for him, too inexperienced. Too distracting when he should be focused on work.
But he was weak and temptation won out. And he fell—faster than he’d ever thought possible—for a girl who, five weeks later, tossed him aside as if he were a tiresome toy she no longer wanted or needed.
He curled his lip. ‘Remind me not to come looking for you if I ever need protection.’
She had the good grace to squirm. ‘I had no choice. You don’t understand—’
‘Then explain it to me.’ Anger snapped in his gut, making him fight to stay calm. ‘Explain why you walked away from our relationship instead of telling me the truth. Explain why you never bothered to mention that your father disapproved of us. Explain why, if ditching me was your idea of protection, I spent the next forty-eight hours watching every investor I’d painstakingly courted pull their backing from my project.’
He curled his fingers into his palms, tension arcing through his muscles. Douglas Shaw had dealt Leo’s business a significant blow, yet his own losses had barely registered in comparison to the impact on his younger sister. Marietta’s life, his hopes and dreams for her future, had suffered a setback the likes of which Helena could never appreciate.
Sorry didn’t cut it.
‘Perhaps you wanted an easy out all along—’
‘No.’
‘And Daddy simply gave you the perfect excuse.’
‘No!’
There was more vehemence behind that second denial than he’d expected. She threw him a wounded look and he shifted slightly, an unexpected stab of remorse lancing through him. Hell. This was precisely why he’d had no desire to see her. Business demanded a cool head, a razor-sharp mind at all times. Distractions like the beautiful long-legged one sitting opposite him he could do without.
A lightning flash snapped his gaze towards the private terrace overlooking Hyde Park and the exclusive properties of Knightsbridge beyond. His right leg twitched with an urge to rise and test the French doors, check they were secure. He didn’t fear nature’s storms—on occasion could appreciate their power—but he didn’t like them either.
Didn’t like the ghosts they stirred from his childhood.
A burst of heavy rain lashed the glass, drowning out the city sounds far below. Distorting his view of the night. He waited for the rumble of thunder to pass, then turned his attention from the storm. ‘How much has your father told you about the takeover?’
‘Nothing. I only know what I’ve read in the papers.’
Another lie, probably. He let it slide. ‘Then you are missing one important detail.’
Her fidgeting stilled. ‘Which is...?’
‘The word “successful”. In fact...’ He hooked back his shirt-cuff and consulted his watch. ‘As of two hours and forty-five minutes ago my company is the official registered owner of seventy-five percent of ShawCorp.’ He offered her a bland smile. ‘Which means I am now the controlling shareholder of your father’s company.’
He watched dispassionately as the colour receded from her cheeks, leaving her flawless skin as white as the thick-pile rug at her feet. She pressed her palm to her forehead, her upper body swaying slightly, and closed her eyes.
A little theatrical, he thought, the muscles around his mouth twitching. He shifted forward, planted his elbows on his knees. ‘You look a touch pale, Helena. Would you like that drink now? A glass of water, perhaps. Some aspirin?’
Her lids snapped up and a spark of something—anger?—leapt in her eyes, causing them to shimmer at him like a pair of brilliant sapphires.
Leo sucked in his breath. The years might have wrought subtle differences in her face and figure, but those eyes...those eyes had not changed. They were still beautiful. Still captivating.
Still dangerous.
Eyes, he reminded himself, that could strip a man of his senses.
They glittered at him as she raised her chin.
‘Water, please.’ She gave him a tight smile. ‘You can hold the aspirin.’
* * *
Helena reached for the glass Leo had placed on the table in front of her and sipped, focusing on the cold tickle of the carbonated water on her tongue and throat and nothing else. She would not faint. Not in front of this man. Shock on top of an empty stomach had left her woozy, that was all. She simply needed a moment to compose herself.
After a third careful sip she put the glass down and folded her hands in her lap. She mustn’t reveal her turmoil. Mustn’t show any hint of anxiety as her mind darted from one nauseating scenario to the next. Had her father hit the bottle in the wake of this news? Was her mother playing the devoted wife, trying to console him? And how long before the lethal combination of rage and drink turned him from man to monster? To a vile bully who could lavish his wife with expensive trinkets and luxuries one minute and victimise her the next?
Helena’s insides trembled, but it wasn’t only worry for her mother making her belly quiver. Making her pulse-rate kick up a notch. It was an acute awareness of the man sitting opposite. An unsettling realisation that, no matter how many days, weeks or years came between them, she would never be immune to this tall, breathtaking Italian. She would never look at him and not feel her blood surge. Her lungs seize. Her belly tighten.
No. Time had not rendered her immune to his particular potent brand of masculinity. But she would not let her body betray her awareness of him. If her father’s endless criticisms and lack of compassion had taught her anything as a child it was never to appear weak.
She laced her fingers to keep them from fidgeting. ‘What are your plans for my father’s company?’
A muscle in his jaw bunched and released. Bunched again. He lounged back, stretched out his long legs, draped one arm across the top of the sofa. ‘I haven’t yet decided.’
/> She fought the urge to scowl. ‘But you must have some idea.’
‘Of course. Many, in fact. All of which I’ll discuss with your father, once he overcomes his aversion to meeting with me.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps he’s hoping his daughter will offer his new shareholder some...incentive to play nice?’
Heat rushed her cheeks, much to her annoyance. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, come now. There’s no need to play the innocent for me.’
Leo’s hand moved absently over the back of the sofa, his fingers stroking the soft black leather in slow, rhythmic patterns. Helena stared, transfixed, then hastily averted her eyes. Those long, tanned fingers had once stroked her flesh in a strikingly similar fashion, unleashing in her a passion no man had unleashed before or since.
She pulled in a breath, tried to focus on his voice.
‘You needn’t look so worried, Helena. You won’t have to dirty your hands with the likes of me again.’ His fingers stilled. ‘I have no interest in anything you could offer.’
As though emphasising his point, his gaze travelled her length, from the summit of her blushing hairline to the tips of her inexpensive shoes. ‘As for the company,’ he went on, before she could muster an indignant response, ‘if your father continues to decline my invitations to meet, my board will vote to sell off the company’s subsidiaries and amalgamate the core business with my own. A merger will mean layoffs, of course, but your father’s people will find I’m not an unreasonable man. Those without jobs can expect a fair severance settlement.’
Her jaw slackened. ‘Dismantle the company?’ The one thing guaranteed to bring her father to his knees. ‘You would tear down everything my father has worked his entire life to build?’
He shrugged. ‘As a minority shareholder he’ll benefit financially from any asset sales. He’ll lose his position at the head of the company, of course, but then your father’s no longer a man in his prime. Perhaps he’ll welcome the opportunity to retire?’
She shook her head. For Douglas Shaw it wasn’t about the money. Or retirement. It was about pride and respect and status. About winning. Control.
