A short nap before she started on dinner would hopefully prepare her for another verbal fight with Alessandro. She didn’t like admitting it but she was almost looking forward to it.
After her rest Rachel changed back into her linen trousers and top. She had no jewellery other than a tiny diamond pendant that had been her mother’s. She never went anywhere without it. She had no make-up to put on. Her cosmetics bag was inside her luggage, which had still not been located. She had a tube of lip gloss in her handbag, which made her feel marginally less unsophisticated. She pulled her hair back into an elegant chignon at the back of her head. It was her power hairdo; no stray hairs to make her look like a child that had just come in from playing in the back garden.
She walked down the staircase, her hand sliding down the cool marble as she went. She had to find her way to the kitchen on her own, but then she hadn’t been given a tour. Alessandro had been adamant about the two-day limit on her stay, but now with Lucia’s family crisis working in her favour she had a window of opportunity to change his mind about backing her. How to get him to change his mind was something that was certainly going to be a challenge. The money he had given her would not last the week given the state of the company’s finances. Would she go as far as to beg for his help? Was that what he wanted her to do? He was such an intriguing man: mysterious, aloof and so disturbingly, tantalisingly male. Living with him as his housekeeper for a day or two would test her in ways she had not expected to be tested. She hadn’t expected to still feel that strange flutter of nerves every time he looked at her. His gaze was like a physical touch. She felt it following her every move. She felt the stirring of her blood, the heating of her flesh as if his gaze were a brand sealing the invisible connection she felt each time she was in his presence.
She decided she would have to be careful.
Very careful.
The kitchen was a cook’s dream and there was no shortage of fresh and store-cupboard ingredients to whip up a gourmet meal. Rachel dived into the task, determined to show Alessandro how capable she was. Long gone were the days of hiring cooks and cleaners to do the work for her. She had learned a lot over the last few years and took pride in being able to cook for a couple or a crowd.
Rachel hadn’t heard Alessandro enter the dining room. She came in to put the finishing touches to the table to find him already seated at the head of the table next to the bottle of champagne and white wine she had placed in an ice bucket earlier.
‘Dinner won’t be long,’ she said. ‘I just have to check the chicken casserole.’
‘I said dinner was to be at eight-thirty,’ he said, challenging her with his dark blue eyes.
Rachel felt her back come up. ‘My watch says it’s only eight-twenty.’
‘Then your watch must be wrong,’ he returned.
‘Are you usually so pedantic about mealtimes or is this just for my benefit?’ she asked.
‘You are now under my employ, Rachel,’ he said. ‘I will not tolerate sloppiness or unpunctuality in any form.’
She tried to stare him down but in the end she had to look away. Resentment burned inside her like hot coals as she flounced back to the kitchen to bring in the meal.
He was still sitting at the head of the table when she came in with their starter. She placed it before him and went to stand by her place opposite. It annoyed her again how he just sat there like a king waiting for his subjects to appear before him. He must be doing it on purpose, to make her feel she was not worth the effort of acknowledging her or by rising when she came into the room. The very least he could have done was to stand up and pull out her chair for her. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t started on your food before I’ve even sat down,’ she said.
‘It is the height of rudeness to begin eating one’s meal until every guest is seated at the table and has each been served their meal,’ Alessandro said.
‘It is also rude for a man not to rise when a lady enters the room,’ Rachel quickly shot back.
He looked past her as if looking for some other guest to appear. ‘I had not noticed any ladies enter the room,’ he said with a cool stretch of his lips that kept his teeth concealed. ‘Perhaps you will inform me if and when one does.’
Rachel clenched her hands on the back of the chair in case she was tempted to slap him for his insulting slight. ‘You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘You’re getting a sick sense of enjoyment out of this turn of the tables. Your lord-of-the-manor routine is pathetic. No amount of wealth is going to be able to change your background. You can whitewash it all you like with your wealthy surroundings and priceless possessions but underneath it all you are still a rough kid from the suburbs who got lucky.’
‘Sit,’ he said, his eyes locked on hers, fire meeting ice.
She gripped the chair even harder, defiance pushing her chin forward. ‘I will sit when you stand.’
‘You will be waiting a long time, Rachel,’ he said. ‘Now sit before I lose my temper.’
The air began to crackle as if charged with thousands of volts of electricity as his dark sapphire eyes held hers in a powerful lockdown.
A feather of unease danced up Rachel’s spine. There was no visible sign of anger on his face, but she felt it all the same. It was invisible but very, very real. It moved around her, closing in on her like invisible coils that were tightening her chest with every beat of her heart.
The silence throbbed and throbbed but then he broke it by saying, ‘I have the papers here for you to sign.’ He passed them to her.
Rachel hesitated, but then she took them with an unsteady hand. It annoyed her how the slight rattle of the pages betrayed her state of being while he remained so cool and untouched. It seemed so unfair for her to be feeling like a chastised child while he acted the role of the reprimanding authority figure.
‘You should read them carefully before you sign them,’ he added.
She pulled out her chair and sat down before she realised what she had done. She’d had no intention of taking her seat while he was still sitting but somehow he had got his way. ‘Nice one, Vallini,’ she said, giving him a narrow-eyed glance. ‘Read the document, Rachel,’ he said expressionlessly. She read through the document carefully. It stated that she was to be temporarily employed as his housekeeper and in doing so was required to sign a confidentiality agreement. If she spoke to the press during the time of her employment or for up to six months afterwards she would have to repay all monies paid to her, including the ten thousand euros he had already given her.
‘Is there a problem?’ Alessandro asked. She looked across at him, wondering why he was being so calculated about this. It seemed a bit extreme for a two-day stay. But then he had good reason to think she would do anything to get the money she so desperately needed. A quick spill to the press had the potential to earn her thousands but there was no way she would dream of doing that to someone, not after knowing firsthand how it felt to have your private life splashed across every headline. ‘No, not really,’ she said. ‘It seems pretty straightforward. You’re paying me to keep my mouth shut.’
‘A day or two at the most is all I want from you,’ he said. ‘Once that time is up you are free to go. You will not owe me a penny unless you act with indiscretion.’
Rachel took the pen, her fingers feeling the warmth of where his had been. He hadn’t touched her, not even a brush of his fingers as he handed her the pen, but her hand felt as if it were on fire. She signed her name before handing the pen and the document back to him. ‘Do you get all your mistresses to sign confidentiality agreements before you sleep with them?’ she asked.
His eyes glinted darkly as they held hers. ‘You are not technically being employed as my mistress, Rachel.’
Rachel felt her colour rise. ‘How do I know you won’t add it to my list of duties?’
He took a long time to answer. A very long time. ‘I don’t like mixing business with pleasure,’ he said. ‘It is a dangerous combination that can leave on
e open to exploitation.’
Rachel knew he was having a dig at her for the way she had led him on in the past. From his point of view she had acted like a trashy little tart, offering herself to him at every opportunity. She had flirted with him and teased him and had enjoyed every moment of it. He had made her feel so feminine and gorgeous and so irresistible that it had gone completely to her head. But looking back now she wished she had been a little more mature and a little more sensible about how she had conducted herself.
Alessandro put the papers to one side and reached for the bottle of champagne. ‘Shall we celebrate our temporary arrangement?’ he said.
‘Why not?’ Rachel said, affecting a carefree tone when she felt anything but.
He handed her a glass of sparkling bubbles and then, taking his own, held it against hers in a toast. ‘To standing up for oneself,’ he said and drank a hefty mouthful.
She took a small sip and then frowned as she traced the rim of her glass with her fingertip. ‘I’m a lot better at it now than I was.’
Alessandro put his glass down. ‘I don’t know about that. I think you’ve always been good at fighting from your corner.’ There was a little silence.
‘When did you decide to end your relationship with Hughson?’ he asked.
She looked at the contents of her glass rather than meet his eyes. ‘I could see things were not working out between us,’ she said. ‘We had very little in common apart from our backgrounds. I think I always knew that but I was under pressure from my father to do the right thing.’
‘Meaning he wanted you to marry money.’
His statement sounded like a criticism. ‘Yes, but then that was the way I was brought up,’ Rachel said. ‘I was taught to mix with the right people.’
‘But you amused yourself by the occasional fraternisation with the lower classes,’ he said.
Rachel met the glacial glitter of his unwavering gaze. ‘I can’t really explain my behaviour,’ she said, looking away again. ‘I didn’t intend to hurt you. I think I just got carried away. I had spent years insulting you and then I was suddenly fighting an attraction that was beyond anything I had experienced before.’
‘So you ended your engagement,’ Alessandro said after a pause.
‘Yes. I would have broken things off a lot earlier but … but it was hard to … well, to admit I had got it so wrong about him.’
‘Pride.’
She looked up at him, her white teeth snagging at her bottom lip in that bewildered-child manner that never failed to stir something deep and primal in him. ‘Yes, pride and the fact that my father thought Craig was everything a future son-in-law should be. I called off the wedding twenty-four hours before it was scheduled to go ahead, and my father has never let me forget how it contributed to his bankruptcy. I knew Craig had poured a bit of money into the business but I hadn’t realised how much. Of course he subsequently pulled out everything once I called off the wedding. And then there was all that food, all those flowers, the dress, the cake—you can probably imagine how it went.’
‘I can.’
She bit her lip again, deeper this time, so deep Alessandro wanted to reach out and brush her soft lip with the pad of his thumb to restore its soft plumpness.
He picked up his glass instead and took another mouthful of the champagne. He didn’t want to think about her with her ex-fiancé. He hated thinking about her with that creep. Every day of that liaison had been like a lighted poker to his flesh. It had tortured him to think of her with that brute’s hands and mouth and body on hers. But it was what she had chosen. She had chosen Hughson’s money over his love. He had been totally gutted by her shallowness and greed. He had fought for years to put it behind him, to keep his emotions in check, to live life without feeling anything for anyone. But now his hatred for what she had done returned with a vengeance. For so long he had ignored it, but now it was back like a filthy choking tide clogging his blood. He hated her with the same passion as with which he had once loved her.
‘You never liked him, did you?’ she said, looking at him again.
Alessandro put his glass down. ‘Are we talking about your father or your fiancé?’ he asked.
Twin flags of colour rose in her cheeks. ‘Both really …’
‘I realise it is never comfortable hearing someone criticise someone you love,’ he said. ‘But then that is what is so endearing about young children. They only see the good in their parents.’
‘I was hardly an infant when you came to work for my father,’ she said. ‘I was eighteen years old, legally an adult.’
Alessandro pictured her back then, all rich-kid attitude with no idea how the real world worked—the world he had been dragged through for as long as he could remember. Her silver-spoon lifestyle made her feel superior. She had looked down that up-tilted nose of hers and sneered at anyone who wasn’t dressed in the latest designer wear or driving the fastest sports car. He had taken it on the chin for the first couple of years, putting up with her catty remarks about his background or his clothes or the second-hand car he drove. But then she had started flirting with him. He had ignored it at first but after a time she had been impossible to resist. The first time he had kissed her his senses had imploded. His body had throbbed and ached for her but he had never pushed her to sleep with him. He hadn’t felt comfortable concealing their relationship. He had wanted to go public with it but she had always insisted no one must know. Little had he realised it had all been a game to her; leading him on for weeks on end, only to reject him like a stray mongrel dog that had the audacity to have turned up at a pedigree show. For the last few years he had felt glad she had got her comeuppance. He had watched from a distance as she had lost her modelling contract, and then how the slurs on her reputation were played out in the press, which left her with no one willing to take her on, and he had felt nothing but satisfaction.
She deserved it for how she had treated him. He had been blinded by lust. He felt foolish for having thought he had ever loved her. But then he had loved a fantasy, not a real person. He had fooled himself she was not the selfish, pouting little spitfire she presented to the world, but instead a soft and caring young woman who hadn’t felt safe enough in her relationships to reveal her vulnerabilities. But he had got it wrong. She was every bit as selfish and spiteful on the inside as she was on the outside. The fact that she had sought him out for money after all this time and in spite of their history was proof of it.
She had no shame.
Looking at her now, with her beautiful face without its armour of make-up and those incredible eyes shadowed and downcast, he knew he would have to guard against her wiles. She hadn’t suddenly morphed into a demure little lady and he wasn’t going to treat her like one until she learned how to behave.
Her beautifully manicured hand was toying with the stem of her champagne flute. Alessandro felt a stirring in his groin as he thought of how it would feel to have those soft fingers trace over him, to encircle him, to milk him of his essence. He forced the image out of his head. The doctors kept assuring him it would just take a little more time, but how much time? It had been close to two months now. Two months of doing everything he could to regain what he had lost, to allow his body to heal. But no one had given him any guarantees. No one had said for certain he would regain full mobility and function. Yes, there were positive signs of improvement but what if that was as far as his body would ever go? He was luckier than most. He knew that and was grateful for it but he wanted his life back.
He wanted it more than anything.
Rachel put her fork down when she was finished and noticed Alessandro watching her. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
His expression was unfathomable. ‘No, I was just checking to see if you used the right cutlery.’
Hot colour flooded her cheeks. ‘You’re never going to forgive me for those little digs about your background, are you?’ she said, glaring at him.
He picked up his champagne glass and drained it. The
sound of it coming back to the table’s starched linen surface was like a thump in the silence. ‘You are very prickly, aren’t you, card?’
Rachel’s heart gave a little squeeze at his casually delivered endearment. Even the way he said her name had a similar effect on her. His accent had deepened over the time he had spent in Italy. His voice was smooth and mellifluous. It was another devastatingly attractive feature of him that unsettled her deeply. How could a man’s voice make a woman’s spine soften like warmed honey? The deep timbre of Alessandro’s voice was like a sensual stroke of a lover’s hand. If that was just what his voice could do to her what would happen if he decided to change the rules of their arrangement? ‘Why did you call me that?’ she asked.
He gave her a brief flash of a smile that didn’t involve his eyes. ‘Are you still worried I might try and seduce you now I have you within my clutches?’
Rachel had difficulty disguising her reaction to his unnerving mind-reading ability. She quickly got her shocked expression under control, however, and resorted to sarcasm. ‘You can try but whether or not you will succeed is another matter entirely.’
This time his smile lasted longer and made the whole distance to his dark blue eyes, the teasing glint making her toes curl inside her shoes. ‘Are you laying down a challenge for me, tesoro mio?’ he asked.
Her fingers fumbled on her glass, almost knocking it over. ‘No, of course not,’ she said. ‘I-I’m not interested in anything like that.’
‘You have been single now for how long?’ he asked as he refilled her glass.
She hesitated before she answered. She was twenty-six years old and had only had a couple of lovers. Her first experience had been a teenage fumble that had seriously dented her confidence, but sex with Craig had confirmed every fear she’d held about herself. In hindsight she could see she had been too young and inexperienced and too stubborn to accept she had made a mistake in becoming engaged to him. Instead of extricating herself from the relationship she had clung to it all the harder, pretending it was something it was not and never could be.
His Poor Little Rich Girl Page 5
