Seasons of Sin: Misbehaving in summer and autumn... (Series of Sin)

by Clare Connelly

  “It’s almost autumn,” Saphire pointed out prosaically.

  “You know what I mean.” Kate shrugged her slender shoulders.

  “Yes, I think I do.” Saphire moved towards the doors. “I have to get back out there. Straighten your hair. Use any of my makeup you need. Remember, Mel’s counting on you.”

  “Isn’t this a bit excessive?” Kate called to Saphire as she was almost beyond hearing.

  Saphire clipped back and waited patiently for Kate to expand.

  “Well, I’m a secretary. I’m going to get bid on by some guy looking for help transcribing his Christmas card guest list or listening to him dictate a novel,” she smothered a laugh. “Wouldn’t it be better if I look a bit … secretarial?”

  “No.” Saphire’s voice was crisp. “Trust me, everyone on stage will look like they’re at a ball. Which you are. I’ll see you soon.”

  She scanned the room and told herself she wasn’t looking for Rocco. But when she didn’t see him, her heart fell. He was a connection to Thaddeus, and for that reason alone he was important to her.

  Rocco, however, had moved beyond the press of the elegant soiree to a more private balcony. He stared over the city and its twinkling lights with a sense of patriotism and pride that everyone felt of their own country at some time or another.

  Thaddeus answered the call on the second ring.

  “Rocco, ciao,” his voice was deep, as though he’d been sleeping.

  “Thad. How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  “You sound like I’ve woken you up.”

  “No.”

  Rocco shook his head. “Am I keeping you from something else, then?”

  Thaddeus stared at his laptop in frustration. “You could say that.”

  “This is important.”

  “Yes?” Thaddeus punched a key but the laptop was still frozen.

  “I’ve just had an unexpected encounter with your married lover.”

  Thaddeus froze. His mind swam. The unexpected pronouncement robbed him of breath. He felt as though he’d been kicked in the ribs. “Where?”

  “In Rome. She’s organized a charity event I buy tickets to. You came with me a few years back. Do you recall?”

  Thaddeus waved a hand through the air. His feelings were rioting through his body; his blood was simmering.

  “How … how did she seem?”

  “Good,” Rocco murmured. “She is still in love with you.”

  Thaddeus closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “I doubt that.” Thoughts of their last encounter were burned into his mind. Her face. Her tears. The hurt in her face as she’d stared across at Cass.

  “She certainly loved you then,” Rocco amended, and Thaddeus’s heart groaned.

  “Well, which is it? Is she over me or not?”

  “Hard to tell, and I’m not sure you care.”

  Thaddeus tapped his fingers along the top of his desk. “I care,” he conceded finally. “I was … harder on her than I needed to be, in the end.”

  “She’s living in Rome.”

  Thaddeus frowned. “Why?”

  “For work.”

  What could he say? What should he do? “She’s just someone I used to know, Rocco. Why are you telling me this?”

  Rocco shrugged. “I got the feeling it was more serious between the two of you.”

  “No,” Thaddeus intoned flatly. “It was just sex.”

  He disconnected the call angrily and stood from his desk. He needed to work, but all he could think about was Saphire. Beautiful, cheating, sexy, sweet, dangerous Saphire.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “His name is Thaddeus Konstanides and he’s drop dead gorgeous,” Melania husked, reaching for her water.

  Saphire stared at her notepad, little stars dancing in her eyes. “And?” She murmured, her skin flushed with tiny goosebumps.

  “And,” Melania coughed once more. “He wants to talk about coming on-board as a corporate travel sponsor of our events. He’d arrange flights for dignitaries, accommodation in his chain of hotels, that kind of thing.”

  The whole entire world was swimming.

  It couldn’t, surely, be a coincidence. So what did it mean?

  “Would you like me to reschedule him until you feel better?” She asked hopefully without meeting Melania’s eyes.

  “No!” She shook her head. “Lord, no. I need you to meet him. I can’t possibly. Not like this.” As if to prove her point she coughed again, this time having to pause midway through to blow her nose. “And we don’t want him to get away.”

  “No,” Saphire agreed, her fingers fidgeting with her notebook. I used to love him. The words hovered on her tongue but there was no way she’d confess to the fact. After all, Mel was trusting her with an important opportunity for the organization and Saphire didn’t want to stuff it up.

  “I’ll call him,” she said, her heart dropping. “I’ll arrange everything.”

  “Remember,” Mel said, leaning forward, “they can always be squeezed for more. Don’t let him go without getting everything you possibly can from him.”

  Saphire lifted her fingers to her forehead in a mock salute. Her smile was grim. Everything she wanted from Thaddeus? Not blooming likely.

  “Friday night went well,” Melania said as an afterthought. “That’s our biggest amount ever.”

  “Yeah.” Saphire’s eyes widened as she recalled what she’d been meaning to mention to her boss. “Kate did great. Someone bid a huge amount on her.”

  “Oh?”

  Saphire scanned the figures on her page. “Two hundred thousand euro. It caused quite a stir on the night.”

  Melania let out a low whistle. “For Kate?” She laughed. “Well, the girl can type like the wind, I suppose,” she coughed again. “Who bid on her?”

  Saphire scanned the page again. “A Benedetto Arnaud. Do you know him?”

  Melania was very still for a moment and then she nodded slowly. “Well, well. That is … interesting.” With a blink to clear her thoughts, she brought her focus back onto the situation at hand. “Make this happen, Saff. I’m counting on you.”

  “Of course.”

  “And when I’m back at my desk we’ll talk about your role going forward. I want you signed up formally as something more than a temporary administrator.”

  “Okay,” Saphire’s heart swelled with pride and pleasure despite the turmoil she was feeling.

  She let herself out of Melania’s apartment with a small smile on her lips. It lasted just as long as it took to walk back onto the street and cross over to the temporary offices that had been set up in Rome. There were only four of them manning the space; something more permanent would be arranged in time, but for now, it was as unimpressive as it was cramped.

  “Hey guys,” she said without looking at anyone in particular. She bypassed her own little cubicle and stepped into Mel’s office, clicking the door closed behind her.

  His email was crumpled in her hand. She unfolded it and scanned it slowly now that she was at liberty to dwell.

  Attention: Ms Melania Brompton.

  RE: CORPORATE SPONSORSHIP

  I have a sizeable amount earmarked for charitable donations. I am willing to discuss becoming a named sponsor of your events. Call me to discuss.

  Thaddeus Konstanides.

  It was so like him.

  No ‘please’. No small talk. Just pure fact. Business.

  And yet he’d made the offer.

  And it was her charity.

  Rocco must have told him.

  So what did it mean?

  With fingers that shook slightly, she dialed the number he’d included at the bottom of his email.

  It rang five times.

  And then: “Konstanides.”

  Her heart squeezed. Her brain hurt. Her heart ached. His voice sent arrows of remembered pleasure darting through her body. Sadness swept over her for that voice would never again whisper for her.

  “Hello?” He was impatient
. Gruff.

  “Hello.” Her word vibrated with the tension that was now a part of her. “It’s me. It’s Saphire. Arana.”

  “Mrs Arana,” he murmured, and it was impossible to tell from his words if he was surprised or even affected personally by her call. “What can I do for you?”

  She frowned. Her nerves were quivering. “I’m calling on behalf of Melania Brompton. You emailed her.”

  “So I did,” he drawled. “And?”

  Sapphire winced. “She asked me to respond as she’s not well.”

  “Did she indeed?” He stared out of his window, enjoying the view almost as much as Saphire’s sound of discomfort.

  “Unfortunately, her illness means she won’t be available to discuss the details with you. However, she’s asked me to manage things on her behalf.”

  His laugh sent shivers down her spine. “I see. How awkward.”

  Saphire didn’t bother to deny it. “I can fly to meet you in Athens. Would you prefer me to arrange the logistics with your assistant?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m in Rome.”

  “Oh.” Her heart began to hammer hard against her ribcage. He was? Where?

  “I can do tonight.”

  “Tonight?” She shook her head and her legs shook beneath the desk. “I’d prefer to meet in business hours.”

  “You must know there is no such thing for me.”

  Chastised, as he’d intended, she nodded awkwardly. “Fine. Where?”

  “I have a villa …”

  “No.” She shook her head forcefully. “Somewhere else. Somewhere … public.”

  “In case I cannot resist an urge to take you into my arms?” He drawled with apparent cynicism.

  “Something like that,” she clipped back, her pride suffering almost as much as it had that night a month earlier. “There’s a restaurant called CasaGrande, on the Via Dottore.”

  He frowned. “I have not heard of it.”

  “I’m not surprised,” she murmured. “I doubt it’s your usual sort of place.”

  “Fine. Eight o’clock.”

  She nodded and then realized belatedly that he couldn’t see her. “That’s good, yes.”

  He disconnected the call without a further attempt at niceties.

  Saphire couldn’t have said how she got through the day. By eight fifteen, sitting and still waiting for him, her nerves were shot to pieces. The restaurant was buzzing; if he didn’t hurry she’d lose the table. A couple was eyeing it off rather obviously from the queue that started at the door and stretched around the corner.

  Her phone trembled suddenly, an unknown number displaying on the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “What is this place?” His voice instantly shot lava firing through her veins. “I cannot see the door for the line of people.”

  “Just come to the front,” she intoned breathlessly. “Tell the hostess you’re meeting me.”

  Again, he disconnected the call, but only a moment later he appeared at the entrance to the restaurant.

  It was not a romantic venue, but it was charming and intimate. It also happened to make the best pasta in town. At least, so Saphire had been told by locals and her experience had not disappointed.

  Her eyes were completely magnetized to his frame the instant he appeared. Standing just inside the door, he looked impossibly good. She stared at him, incapable of standing or even moving.

  He was dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. His arms looked perfect. His tan was deep, like he’d been out in the sun a lot lately. His hair was cropped close to his head as it had been the night they’d met on the flight to Athens.

  She stifled a moan.

  His eyes met hers and an invisible electric force barbed between them. It seemed to arc and splutter; how did no one else hear it?

  Belatedly, she stood. Saphire had taken extra care with her appearance that night. It might have been business but she still had her pride. The dress was black, cut in a sweetheart neckline and fitted to her waist, where it flared into a small A to her knees. At her neck she wore a simple gold chain.

  “Saphire,” the word seemed to form a bubble around her and she could have delighted in the sound alone.

  She refused to weaken in the face of her body’s needs. “Hello.” The word was dismissive. A rebuke to any thoughts he might have had that she still wanted him.

  It had been a month.

  A long, cold month.

  “Have a seat,” she gestured across from her after several silent, sizzling beats. He didn’t, but she sat back in her own chair with apparent unconcern. Her eyes locked on a point to the side of his hip.

  “This place is … a little more casual than I had expected.”

  She surveyed the room with a tight smile. “It’s charming, isn’t it?”

  He settled himself finally, his knees brushing hers beneath the small table. She jerked away without caring that it was such an obvious gesture. He sent her an answering look of derision.

  His hand curled around hers and lifted it into the air. “No wedding ring.”

  “I told you. I’m divorcing him.”

  “Yes, you did tell me.”

  Her eyes were different to how he remembered. They didn’t sparkle. They were flat. He studied her carefully. There was a reservation and anxiety in her that he hadn’t seen before. Had he done that?

  “How are you?” He asked, something shifting inside of him as he looked at her properly.

  “Fine,” she sipped her water, dipping her head forward. Her fingers slid a folder towards him. “This is some information on the organization.”

  “I know about the organization,” he said quietly. “How are you?”

  “I told you. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  Her eyes flashed to his. She spoke more firmly. “I’m fine.”

  “No. What’s happened?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t do this,” she said firmly.

  “Don’t be polite?”

  “You’re not polite,” she said simply. “What amount were you thinking of contributing toward our cause?”

  “Let’s do business later,” he said, leaning back in his chair and lifting a finger to attract the attention of the waiter.

  Tony, the same handsome young man who’d been in the restaurant every time Saphire had visited, appeared almost instantly. His eyes landed on Saphire with pleasure. “This is your fourth night this week. You must really love our lasagna, eh?”

  And when she looked at the waiter, she relaxed completely. Her smile was breath taking. Thaddeus stared at her with a feeling of complete loss; it was how she had looked at him at one time. The ache in his gut was compounded when the waiter’s eyes dropped appreciatively to her cleavage.

  The reaction was swift and immediate. Jealousy, envy, anger and hot possession all flared inside of him.

  “Do you have a wine list?” He spoke a little louder than he’d intended in an attempt to draw the waiter’s attention.

  Instead, Saphire shot him a sharp look. “Tony’s uncle is the family wine maker. They serve only his bottles.”

  “I see. Why don’t you order, seeing as you know the family so intimately?”

  She understood his censure but it was unwarranted. She fixed Tony with a calm smile. “Prosecco,” she said simply.

  He nodded. “Your favorite.” It was accompanied with a wink.

  Thaddeus could have snapped something in two. “That will be all for now.”

  Tony was surprised by the sharp admonition but he smothered it quickly. “Prosecco is coming right away.” He hummed as he disappeared towards the candlelit bar.

  Saphire might have cautioned Thaddeus at another time. But that was in the past. Their easy relationship had long since died.

  “Melania has several projects in the pipeline,” Saphire began her rehearsed speech a little haltingly, but with an a
ir of determination Thaddeus had to admire. He settled back in his chair, resigned to listening, if only for the opportunity to study her further.

  “Our benefit on Friday night was the biggest of its kind. The funds raised will be immediately channeled so that pediatric oncology nurses are able to visit children in remote areas of the country. The next event is a ski weekend in the Alps and she’s planning to co-host a Christmas gala in London. We’re just waiting to confirm the celebrity host before publicizing it.”

  His eyes bore into hers. Saphire took it as tacit approval to continue, though he was confusing her with his unwavering attention. “As you no doubt know, Melania’s events attract a high-profile rota of A-list guests. Her marketing and business nous has seen Hope Renewed grow from a small, local charity to a hugely important international fundraiser. We have established statistics on the positive impact sponsorship and participation has for our corporate funders.”

  She paused here and he sensed she was waiting for something, so he murmured, “Such as?”

  She nodded, relief beading across her brow. “Such as advertising that flows directly from our website. We post corporate sponsorship banners across the site and we track the flow of traffic; there’s an increased buy-rate, too. Not to mention the PR that comes with our events. Melania’s mission is to get as much free coverage as possible. We are, after all, a charity, and can’t really afford a massive advertising budget. Fortunately, over the years, she’s built an incredible contact sheet of industry people, and anything she touches garners huge press.”

  “I see,” he nodded when the waiter arrived with the prosecco and began to pour it in two glasses.

  “Leave it,” Thaddeus insisted, waving his hand toward the young man.

  “Yes, sir. Would you like to order?”

  “I will have whatever my date recommends,” Thaddeus inserted silkily, his eyes holding warning for Tony.

  “Lasagne,” she muttered stiffly.

  “Salad? Bread?”

  “Both,” Thaddeus muttered, summarily dispensing with any more interruptions.

  “This isn’t a date,” she hissed just as soon as Tony had disappeared from the table.

  “Did I ruin a budding relationship for you?” He cooed with a total lack of concern.