One-Click Buy: September Harlequin Presents

by Penny Jordan

  ‘Luca…’He closed his eyes. He could see his brother’s face. The face that had always been the same as his was different, and it wasn’t just the years of agony, regret and bitterness that had wreaked changes…Lazzaro’s fingers ran along the jagged line on his cheekbone—the numb knot of flesh, the scar that Luca had inflicted on his last day on earth.

  Still numb.

  Memories he’d spent more than two years quashing were bobbing to the surface now, and no matter how quickly he pushed one down, another popped up. He was locked in a shooting range—each image a target, each picture shot down, only to reappear stronger and more relentless than before.

  Two years on the pain was still just too big to deal with—but, like an anaesthetic wearing off, sensation was starting to creep in, raw wounds that weren’t ready to be exposed yet were starting to make themselves known.

  Only he didn’t want to feel—didn’t want to face it.

  But that was exactly what Caitlyn did—she made him face the impossible.

  As soon as she walked into his office, Caitlyn realised he couldn’t have heard her knock. Knew, somehow, that she was glimpsing a side to Lazzaro Ranaldi that he would prefer no one, not even his lover, to see.

  His head was in his hands, his shoulders slumped, his complexion grey beneath his fingers. She should turn, Caitlyn thought, walk out and knock again, save them both the embarrassment of explanations. But in that frozen second he looked up.

  ‘I’m sorry…’ She spilled the words out. ‘What I said to the press—I know it was indiscreet, I know I should have called you straight after. I was just so embarrassed…’

  His expression gave her nothing, no clue at all, and even though he was looking at her it was as if he was looking straight through her—as if he wasn’t even hearing her.

  ‘I was just put on the spot. I knew how important it was that it didn’t come out about Alberto, what it would do to him if there was even a hint of an affair…’

  The clap of his hands was like the crack of a whip, making her jump, making her eyes widen in confusion as it continued—as Lazzaro leant back in his chair and gave a slow hand-clap, on and on, as she stood there mute.

  ‘Bravo, Caitlyn.’ He’d stopped clapping now, but still it echoed in her head, stinging her ears as he stared at her now—stared at her as if he hated her. ‘You’re wasted as a PA. You should try your hand on the stage after I fire you.’

  ‘Because of what I said to the press—?’ she started, but her words were cut off by his.

  ‘Don’t play a player, Caitlyn. Especially not one as good as me.’

  ‘A player? I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘She’s still playing…’ Lazzaro jeered to an absent crowd. ‘Hey, why the champagne, Caitlyn? Come on—get out the glasses…’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean…’

  Tears were pricking her eyes, her head spinning, but he pulled two from the shelf and grabbed the bottle, popping the cork against the wall as a sob escaped her lips.

  ‘What are we celebrating?’ Lazzaro smiled, but his eyes were black with hatred. ‘Your little announcement about us to the press? Or the fact you’ve screwed your cousin out of her inheritance?’

  ‘How do you know about that?’ Caitlyn’s teeth were chattering now.

  ‘I make it my business to know. Come on, Caitlyn.’ He pressed a glass into her hand. ‘At least you won’t need to use plan B.’

  ‘Plan B?’

  ‘Your cousin—’ he spat the word out ‘—the one you omitted to mention, the one who just happened to be dating my brother when he died, just paid me a little visit…’

  ‘Please, you don’t know what she’s like…’ Caitlyn begged. ‘You don’t know what she’s capable of…’

  ‘Oh, but I do!’ he roared. ‘How many chances have I given you? How many times have I tried to ignore your lies?’ His voice was ominously calm now. ‘So innocent…’ He chinked his glass against hers. ‘My innocent little virgin, who just happened to be on the pill.’

  ‘They’re for my spots…’

  She shuddered. She didn’t have to justify herself to him—didn’t have to tell him anything. Her shaking hand placed her glass on the table, spilling champagne. She was trying to leave, only her legs wouldn’t move.

  ‘You lie to the bank, lie on your résumé. It comes so naturally I’m sure you don’t even know when you’re doing it. Hey, Caitlyn—when you told Roxanne you’d get me, did you really believe it? When you cut out my photo from a magazine…?’

  Her cheeks were burning, humiliation seeping into her bone marrow. It was like being stuck in a nightmare, her mouth opening to speak but the words not coming out.

  ‘When you set your little cap at the big prize, did you honestly think you’d win? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t see through you? Did you really think that by announcing things to the press you could push me into marrying you? Didn’t you realise that I’d only ever marry a woman I love—and that was never, could never, be you.’

  ‘I’m going.’ Her voice was a mere croak, her legs like jelly, but at least they were moving.

  ‘Good!’ Lazzaro snarled, and he was already ahead of her, brushing past her as he stormed out. ‘Get your things and then get the hell out. You’ve got five minutes—I don’t want a single thing of yours left behind. You make me sick.’

  ‘I hate you!’ she screamed out at him. Her voice was back now, and there was agony, truth, in every word. ‘And I wish to God I’d never fallen in love with you!’

  She watched his shoulders stiffen, could see his knuckles white on the handle of the door for just a second—and then he slammed it closed behind him.

  There would be time for tears later—but right now, after her outburst, she was numb, frozen, mute. She shook as she stood in the office, trembling at the task in hand, then moved, heart pounding, on a strange kind of autopilot—picking up her things, her books, her pens, her overnight bag that was permanently packed in case they jetted off at a second’s notice…There were things to leave too. She pulled out her purse, put down the credit card, wondered what to do with the phone. But it was too much to think about, too hard to stand and delete messages. Somebody else would have to deal with those.

  ‘You’ve served your purpose, then?’ Malvolio stood in the doorway, and she was too numb to be shocked at the sight of him. ‘The great Ranaldi’s tossing you out?’

  ‘Your brother-in-law’s a bastard!’ Caitlyn retorted. Her mind was just not there. Her brain was hypothermic, frozen by Lazzaro’s brutal words, all her responses slower, her thought processes functioning at basic survival level.

  ‘I could have told you that and saved you the trouble.’ Malvolio came over, smiled down at her sympathetically. ‘The Ranaldis are all bastards—or bitches,’ he added. ‘We’re not good enough for any of them…’

  Her defences were utterly down. She wasn’t seeing the red flags that were waving, wasn’t hearing the frantic urgent alert as her brain struggled to hit her warning bell. And then she did. Like a fog horn screaming in the darkness, suddenly she heard it, and panic, fear, was gripping her. Only it was just a little bit too late. She could taste the whisky on the mouth that crushed hers, the putridness of his breath, the blood on her lips. There was hate and anger in him as he wedged his body against her—and she knew, knew what was going to happen. Knew that even though she was kicking and screaming, his hate was stronger. And as he slammed her to the ground all she could hope was that it would be quick.

  That this hell would soon be over.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WHAT the hell had he done?

  Lazzaro paced the lobby, his hand clamped over his mouth, his breath hyperventilating into his hand, as his staff watched on bemused. Glynn the only one with the nerve to approach him.

  ‘Is everything okay, sir?’

  He didn’t answer—didn’t even hear him. His mind was with Caitlyn, hating what he’d done to her. He could see her in his mind’s eye, standing froz
en as he’d shamed her, humiliated her—and for what?

  Because once she’d wanted him?

  Because all this time she’d loved him?

  It was like an axe splitting his skull open—and he hated himself more as he remembered that night they’d first met. Hell, if he’d had a photo of her, if she’d been in a magazine…

  Roxanne was poison—she twisted things, blurred the truth—and she wasn’t Caitlyn.

  Just as he wasn’t Luca, so Roxanne wasn’t Caitlyn.

  Sweet, trusting Caitlyn—which she was.

  She was!

  He trusted her. For the first time in the longest time he trusted someone—actually believed in someone—and it truly terrified him.

  ‘Sir?’ Glynn’s face blurred out of focus. ‘Is there anything I can get you?’ He could see the worry on his manager’s face. ‘Malvolio was just looking for you—I said you were in your office. Maybe I could call him for you…?’

  ‘Malvolio!’

  He was running now, pounding the button for the lift with his hand. Caitlyn had been telling the truth. All along she had been telling the truth—and that meant right now he’d left her alone with him.

  Never had a lift taken so long. Every second as it sped him upwards felt like an hour. Vainly he parted the sliding doors with his hands in frustration in his haste to get to her, racing through the gap and into the hell he’d created—just in time to see her pushed to the floor.

  Ripping him off her, slamming him across the room, he knew someone was looking after him—someone up there was looking after him. Because with every fibre of his being he wanted to slam into Malvolio, to hit him, to rip him a new face. But if he did, he knew he’d kill him.

  He’d kill him.

  His fingers were somehow pressing the security alert button, and that tiny pause was long enough to regroup, to see her sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, to acknowledge that he’d got there in time. And then he faced the bastard—only Lazzaro wasn’t the only one filled with hate. Malvolio had his share too.

  Screaming like a demented woman, his eyes bulged in fury. ‘You think you’re so good. Your whole family thinks it’s better—you’re users—’

  ‘Shut it.’ Lazzaro was in his face, but Malvolio wasn’t to be contained.

  ‘You swan around like God on the day of reckoning—judging us, shaming us, humiliating us. No wonder Luca hated you!’

  Security was there then, already alerted by Glynn. And Lazzaro’s office was a ball of chaos for a while—but only a little while. Lazzaro cleared them all out quickly, for which Caitlyn was grateful—because she didn’t want to see Malvolio ever again. She would make statements and all that later. Just not right now.

  Sitting on the edge of the plump sofa, holding a tissue to her lip, Caitlyn watched as he closed the door, stared at him as he came over to comfort her—stopped him with her eyes as she delivered her words.

  ‘He’s right.’

  ‘Caitlyn—’

  ‘Everything Malvolio said is right.’

  ‘Don’t—’

  ‘All I ever did wrong was fall in love with you, and you took something nice, something pure, then turned around and shamed me with it.’

  ‘Don’t talk about that now.’ His usually strong voice was a croak. ‘I need to know that you’re okay. Did he hurt you anywhere else, apart from your lip?’

  ‘He didn’t hurt me!’ Caitlyn shouted. ‘At least nowhere near as much as you did. You made me feel cheaper and dirtier and more ashamed than Malvolio just did…’

  ‘I’m sorry…’ He tried to take her hand but she pulled it away. ‘I was coming back to say I was sorry.’

  ‘Well, you were already too late.’ On surprisingly steady legs she stood up. ‘I’ve forgiven you so many times, Lazzaro—and I swear I never will again. I swear that I’ll hate you for ever.’

  Friends were golden.

  Real friends. Because, even if he’d started as a colleague, Glynn was actually a friend. He came without question when she buzzed him, put his arm around her and led her out as Lazzaro stood there. He drove her home and poured her some wine and called in the troops—an army of friends who swarmed like butterflies, who held her hand every step of the horrible way and told her over and over, till she almost believed it, that none of this was her fault—that she was absolutely better off without him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ASKyour cousin.

  During the grim post-mortem that came at the end of any romance—where you bargained with yourself and beat yourself up over the mistakes that actually weren’t mistakes, were just you—in the sleepless nights when you rang your voicemail just to hear his voice, replaying every conversation in a futile search for the clue that’s going to unlock the mystery of what went wrong, Caitlyn actually found one. She heard for the first time not just the agony but the loathing in his voice as he’d said it—felt again his hand pushing hers away as she touched his pain and he shut her out.

  ‘Ask your cousin.’

  So she did.

  She reacquainted herself with her wardrobe and her make-up bag, and stepped out like a foal on wobbly legs, into a world that seemed just a little too bright and loud, and bravely asked the question she had to.

  She’d sworn she’d never go back to him.

  Would never set foot in the hotel again, would never be in the same room with Lazzaro Ranaldi as long as there was a breath left in her.

  She’d sat and drunk and cried with friends, had read the self-help books and grudgingly accepted that he just ‘wasn’t that into her’—she had done all the things a girl had to do when she’d had her heart ripped out and stomped on: rung friends instead of him, deleted his mobile number so she wasn’t tempted to text him in the middle of the night, removed him from her inbox. And she’d waited.

  Waited to feel better.

  To believe that time healed.

  That one guy didn’t fit all.

  That of course there were others.

  Millions and millions of others, walking the globe at this very minute…

  But there was only one him.

  Only one man who could literally stop her heart as she walked into the hotel bar and saw him sitting there. Only one man she’d actually have done this for—whether it made her brave or stupid that when he’d called her and asked that they might meet she’d agreed.

  For closure.

  Closure for him as much as for her.

  ‘Thank you.’ It was impossible to look him in the eye when he greeted her—impossible, because if she did she’d start crying. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ She’d insisted they meet in the bar, unable to face his office. ‘I’m sorry it’s so public. I just couldn’t face the…’

  She couldn’t even say it—couldn’t stand to go back to the office where it had all happened.

  Lazzaro understood. ‘I know how you feel.’

  ‘I know you do.’ She gave a tight smile, because he must—because she didn’t actually know how he did it, how he sat in the same office not just where Malvolio had been so vile, but where he’d fought so bitterly with Luca.

  Why he put himself through it.

  Even if Caitlyn couldn’t look him in the eye, still she could see the pain etched on his face. The scar that was gouged on his cheek was red and livid today—as if the hell, the cesspit of demons inside, were all clamouring surface-wards now. She wasn’t conceited enough to consider it had anything to do with her—she knew his rivers of pain went far deeper than that.

  ‘How’s Antonia?’ That wasn’t why she was here, they both knew that, but she wanted to know. She cared for the other woman whose life had been upended.

  ‘She’s doing very well.’ Lazzaro managed a small smile at Caitlyn’s surprised expression at his upbeat response. ‘She really is. The marriage wasn’t good—well, we knew that. But it turned out she knew it too. Not about the affairs, of course…’

  ‘Affairs?’

  Lazzaro nodded.
‘It would seem that when you stumble on the truth you find a lot of untruths.’

  ‘Who said that?’ Caitlyn frowned as she tried to recall.

  ‘I did.’ Lazzaro gave a tight smile. ‘Very Zen of me.’

  God, why did he—how could he—still make her laugh? How, on this, the blackest of days, in the midst of an impossible conversation, when nothing about this was easy or right, could he, even if for just a second, manage to eke out a laugh?

  ‘She really is okay,’ Lazzaro continued. ‘It turns out that she had wanted to end it for a long time—only she didn’t know how, didn’t feel she had enough reason to walk out on her marriage.’

  ‘Now she has.’

  ‘She is sorry for what happened, and concerned for you too.’

  ‘She doesn’t blame me?’ Tears that had been held firmly in check couldn’t be contained now. A big fat one was rolling down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away—but it was a pointless exercise, because when he answered her, when this usually distant, emotionally absent man spoke, the softness, the tenderness in his voice, was so unexpected, so laced with the right words, it lacerated her.

  Not just what he said, but the fact that it was him saying it. ‘You have nothing to feel guilty for. You did nothing wrong, Caitlyn. Antonia knows that, and so must you.’

  ‘I do know that.’ She nodded, because now—hearing him say it, knowing Antonia had said it—finally she did.

  ‘I should have taken your first complaint more seriously…’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head, because that really was pointless. ‘It’s done now. I’m just glad that Antonia’s okay.’

  ‘She is. She said…’ His voice trailed off and Caitlyn frowned.

  ‘Said what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Oh, but it did to Caitlyn. But he shook his head, that part of the conversation clearly over. Which brought them to the next, and Lazzaro swallowed hard before he spoke again. ‘I owe you an explanation.’