The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress

by Cathy Williams

  ‘Arrogance isn’t a very nice trait.’

  ‘Who’s being arrogant? I’m being realistic. And nice isn’t a trait that gets anyone very far in the business world. What are you doing in London, anyway?’

  ‘Oh, I forgot. I was supposed to be a little country girl who was destined to stay in the country.’

  ‘You’re bitter.’

  ‘Can you blame me?’

  ‘I did what was necessary. For both of us. In life, we all do.’

  His casual dismissal of her feelings was as hurtful as if he had taken a knife and twisted it into her. ‘So…you live in London? Have you made a name for yourself? I know that was top of your list of things to do. Oh, along with making lots of money.’

  ‘Yes, to your first question—and as far as making money, let’s just say that I’m not living hand-to-mouth.’

  ‘You mean, you’re rich?’

  ‘Filthy rich,’ he agreed easily.

  ‘You must feel very pleased with yourself that your plan worked out, Alessandro.’ And the very suitable lawyer with her posh voice was obviously part two of his plan. He had dumped all handicaps and moved on, with the same relentless focus that she had seen in him years ago. ‘And how did you meet…Dominic’s mother?’ she asked, twisting the knife herself now.

  ‘Work,’ Alessandro said abruptly.

  ‘She tells me that she’s a corporate lawyer.’

  ‘The top of her field.’

  ‘Guess she ticks all the boxes, then.’ Megan thought of all the boxes she had failed to tick—but wasn’t it stupid to still be bitter after all this time? He had moved on with his life and so, really, had she. Of course, he was getting married, which rated a lot higher on the Moving On With Life scale than having had a couple of boyfriends, neither of whom had lasted more than seven months, but she wasn’t going to dwell on that.

  ‘All the boxes,’ Alessandro agreed smoothly.

  ‘You’ve even managed to land yourself a ready-made family!’

  ‘Dominic has his own father. I’m not required to play happy families with my fiancée’s offspring.’ In actual fact, Alessandro had met Dominic all of three times, even though he had now been seeing Victoria for six months. Their schedules were both ridiculously packed, and meetings had to be carefully orchestrated—usually dinner somewhere, or the theatre, or supper at his Kensington place. With his own personal chef, eating in was as convenient as dining out. Family outings, therefore, had not been on the agenda—something for which Alessandro was somewhat relieved.

  ‘Charming,’ Megan said brightly. ‘I always thought that when you married someone you hitched up to all their baggage, including any offspring from a previous marriage. Crazy old me.’

  ‘I don’t remember you being sarcastic.’

  ‘We’re both older.’ She shrugged and gave him the final directions to her house, which was only a few streets away. ‘We’ve both changed. I don’t remember you as being cold and arrogant.’ Not that that didn’t work for her. It did, because she disliked this new, rich Alessandro, with his perfect life and his ruthless face. ‘You can drop me off here. It’s been great catching up, and thanks for the lift.’

  About to open the car door, she felt his hand circle her wrist. It was like being zapped by a powerful bolt of electricity.

  ‘But we haven’t finished catching up.’ He killed the engine, but remained sitting in the dark car. ‘You still have to tell me about yourself.’

  Megan looked at him. ‘Do you mind releasing me?’

  ‘Why don’t you invite me in for a cup of coffee?’

  ‘I share a house. My housemate will be there.’

  ‘Housemate?’

  ‘Charlotte. Do you remember her, Alessandro? Or have you wiped her out of your memory bank along with the rest of your past?’

  ‘Of course I remember her,’ Alessandro said irritably. Hell, here he was, being perfectly nice, perfectly interested, and what was he getting? She’d used to be so damned compliant, always smiling, always laughing, always keen to hear what he had to say, no sharp edges. ‘And I have a very vivid recollection of my past. I just have no wish to revisit it.’

  He had released her, but her whole body was still tingling from that brief physical contact.

  ‘You can come in for a cup of coffee,’ she told him. ‘But I don’t want you hanging around. You might think that it’s all jolly good fun, taking a trip down memory lane, but—speaking as the person you dumped—I have zero interest in reliving old times.’

  She opened the car door and walked towards the house, leaving him to decide what he wanted to do. She felt his presence behind her as she rustled in her bag for her keys, but she pointedly didn’t look round at him as she slotted the key into the lock.

  ‘The kitchen’s through there,’ she said, nodding towards the back of the house. ‘I’m going to change.’

  She took the stairs two at a time, her heart beating like a hammer. She couldn’t believe that this was happening, that some quirk of fate had brought her past catapulting into her present. She also couldn’t believe that seeing him could have such a huge impact on her. She had sometimes imagined what it would be like to see him again, never believing in a million years that it would actually happen. In her head she had been cool, contained, mildly interested in what he had to say, but with one eye on her watch—a busy young thing with a hectic life to lead, which didn’t involve some guy who had dumped her because she didn’t match up to the high standards he had wanted. In other words, a woman of twenty-six who was totally over the creep.

  Now look at her! A nervous wreck.

  She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and saw a flushed face and over-bright eyes. Charlotte, who would have given her a stiff pep talk on bastards and how they should be treated, was, of course, conspicuous by her absence. Where were friends when you needed them? Living it up with work colleagues somewhere in central London, instead of staying put just in case an urgent pep talk was required.

  She was only marginally calmer when she headed downstairs fifteen minutes later, in a pair of faded jeans, an old sweatshirt, and her fluffy rabbit bedroom slippers—because, hey, why should she put herself out to dress up for a man whose taste now ran to sophisticated brunette lawyer-types with cut-glass accents?

  He was waiting obediently in the kitchen, a graceful, powerful panther who seemed to dwarf the small confines of the room. He had removed his black coat, which lay over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and was sitting at the table, his long legs extended to one side and elegantly crossed at the ankles.

  ‘So…tell me what you’ve been up to these past few years,’ he said, watching her as she turned her back on him to fill the kettle.

  This, more than the woman in the black skirt and neat burgundy shirt, was the Megan he remembered. Casual in jeans and an oversized jumper and, as always when pottering inside her flat, wearing the most ridiculous bedroom slippers. Aside from kids, he’d always figured her to be the only person in the country who wore gimmicky bedroom slippers. His eyes drifted up her body, along her legs to her breasts, and he felt as though the room had suddenly become airless.

  ‘I got my teacher training qualifications,’ she said, stirring coffee into the boiling water and finally turning round to hand him a mug. ‘Then I taught at St Nicks for three years. I moved down to London because Charlotte was working here and I thought it would make a change. I spent a year or so at St Margaret’s, and I started working at Dominic’s school in September.’

  ‘That’s a very dry, factual account. Why London? The last time I looked there were remarkably few open fields or running brooks, or little cottages with white picket fences.’

  ‘I decided that I fancied a change from open fields, Alessandro. Maybe you were a little too quick to shove me into the role of the country bumpkin.’ She wasn’t going to tell him how claustrophobic her life had suddenly seemed the second he had walked out of it, how the excitement of teaching in a rural school had been tarnished with t
he uncomfortable feeling that outside her tiny world lay excitement and adventure. He didn’t deserve to know anything about her.

  ‘Look, I could embellish it with all the fun things I’ve done in between, Alessandro, but they would mean nothing to you.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘I’d rather not. I’m tired, and I don’t have the energy.’ Acutely conscious of those dark, fabulous, watchful eyes on her face, Megan took a sip of coffee and stared down at the table.

  ‘I see you’re still buying those ridiculous bedroom slippers.’

  ‘Christmas present last year from one of my pupils,’ she said crisply, tucking her feet beneath the table. ‘It’s one of the perks of the job. Lots of bath stuff, candles, picture frames and, in this case, gimmicky slippers.’

  ‘How long have you lived here?’

  ‘Since I moved to London.’

  ‘Is this going to be a question and answer session?’ Alessandro drawled. ‘I ask the questions and you use as few words as humanly possible to answer?’

  ‘You wanted to find out what I’d been up to and I’m telling you. My life is probably not nearly as fascinating as yours has been, but I love what I do and I’m very happy.’ She drained her cup, then looked at him. ‘How long have you known…Dominic’s mum?’

  ‘Roughly six months.’

  Roughly six months! Less time than he’d been with her. It hurt to think that he must have been bowled over to have moved from dating to engagement in such a brief period of time.

  ‘Not long. A whirlwind romance?’ She forced a smile. ‘It must be the icing on the cake, Alessandro. I’m very happy for you.’

  Alessandro hadn’t thought about it as a whirlwind romance. He had met Victoria when she had been working with her firm of lawyers on one of his deals. He’d liked her, admired her intelligence, and appreciated her ability to respect his ferocious working agenda. Was that romance? It had certainly been enough for him to take the next step forward, but he had to admit that it was at least partly fuelled by the fact that he wasn’t getting any younger.

  Unlike a lot of his city colleagues—men in their thirties, climbing the ladder to success—Alessandro had no intention of remaining a bachelor because of a preference for playing the field. Nor was he going to hang around until he was too old to enjoy playing with his kids. Sure, he had had women, but some restless, dissatisfied urge had always held him back from commitment.

  Victoria, he recognised, was undemanding. She had her own high-powered job, and therefore did not look to him for constant companionship. Nor did she nag for assurances about love or any such thing. She worked for him and he, he suspected, worked for her. It was a mutually gratifying situation.

  ‘Icing on the cake?’ he mused. ‘Yes, I suppose it is….’

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT HAD not been a satisfying meeting with Megan.

  Alessandro stared out of his floor-to-ceiling office window at the busy, grey London streets five storeys below. Wet pavements were illuminated by lights, and everyone seemed to be laden down with shopping. The usual splurge of money-spending on presents—at least half of which would inevitably be returned to the shops on the first working day after Christmas because they didn’t fit the bill. He had already bought something for Victoria—a diamond necklace which had cost the earth and which he had dispatched his personal assistant to source with the guiding words that it should be classy and very expensive. His personal assistant was extremely efficient.

  Thinking about Christmas presents made him think about the one and only Christmas present he had ever bought for Megan. A pair of tickets for a concert by a band she had been crazy about. A dark, intimate venue where the noise had made the walls vibrate. They hadn’t been able to stop grinning.

  The memory surfaced seemingly from nowhere, and Alessandro frowned and thought back to his unsatisfactory meeting with Megan. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but the conversation had been awkward, forced, and the more awkward and forced it had become, the keener he had been to go beyond her polite responses and get the real flavour of the person sitting so stiffly opposite him.

  He had left the house forty-five minutes after he had arrived, with the very clear impression that he had only been invited for a cup of coffee because she had found herself between a rock and a hard place, and that, having invited him in, she had been utterly uninterested in talking to him. Every word had been squeezed out of her, and each word had been less informative than the one before.

  The woman hated him and couldn’t be bothered to hide the fact.

  Having enemies was part and parcel of Alessandro’s life. Every successful man had his fair share. But his enemies would never have dared show their faces—and he had never known any woman to be less than madly in love with him! He knew that Megan had good reason. Just as he knew that breaking up with her at the time had been for her own good, whether she accepted that fact or not. There had been an innocence about her approach to life that would have been damaged had he dragged her along in his wake. He had made an attempt to tell her that, but she had listened to him politely, head cocked to one side, and then had said in a cool little voice, ‘Whatever.’

  Nor had he been able to get her to talk about her private life. Was she seeing someone? He couldn’t imagine Megan making such a long-haul transfer, leaving behind her family, unless a man was involved. But when he had asked—out of genuine interest—all he had got was the same polite smile and, ‘That’s really none of your business, is it, Alessandro?’

  Victoria’s call interrupted his frowning contemplation telling him that she and Dominic were in Reception.

  Family outing number one—and Alessandro hadn’t objected because the outing in question was to the promised football game, which Dominic had followed up on with unexpected tenacity for a six-year-old kid. Football games didn’t usually feature high on Dominic’s agenda. His father lived in New York and only assumed a parental role once a year, for a fortnight when he came to London. And Alessandro certainly couldn’t see Victoria slashing her work commitments to take him to a football match, or even for that matter, arranging football lessons for him. She wouldn’t be able to commit to picking him up from them.

  The vague feeling of dissatisfaction that had sat on his shoulders ever since he had bumped into Megan three days previously was dispelled slightly by a mental tallying of all the things he had in common with his fiancée—first and foremost their overriding work ethic.

  It was all well and good for Megan to sit there with icy hostility stamped all over her face, as though he had single-handedly been responsible for coining the word bastard. What she didn’t realise was that long-term relationships were built on more than just fun and romance. In fact, when it came to marriage, it was far more likely to succeed as a business proposition.

  It frustrated him that he hadn’t been able to convey that message to her three days ago. He might not now be scowling as he slung on his coat and headed for the elevator had he done so.

  No one enjoyed being vilified for a crime they hadn’t committed, and Alessandro was no exception.

  In fact, he decided, as the elevator doors pinged open and he spotted Victoria and her son sitting on the low olive-green and chrome sofa in the reception area, it was almost a good thing that he would be seeing Megan again. If he had a chance to have a word with her—he certainly wouldn’t be engineering any such thing, but if the situation arose—then he would tell her, politely but firmly, that they had both been kids when they had broken up. That it had been for the best. That it was ridiculous for her to be carrying a grudge after seven years.

  He was barely aware of Dominic fidgeting next to him in the back seat of his Bentley, which his chauffeur was driving, and he only vaguely tuned in and out of Victoria’s conversation—which he would have to get back to later, because it involved an offshore deal he was working on at the moment.

  In fact, he was finding that he was actively anticipating seeing Megan’s face when she realised t
hat he had shown up to her football game. Trust Megan to have a hobby most normal women would steer clear of. He tried to picture Victoria in a football kit, running around on a field somewhere, but his imagination couldn’t stretch to it. She was impeccably well bred, impeccably dressed and utterly uninterested in sport—both playing and watching.

  He reached behind Dominic and absent-mindedly caressed her neck, just as the car pulled up to the school grounds.

  Caught up in a tackle, Megan briefly registered Dominic’s arrival before refocusing on the game.

  She had known he would be coming because his mother had got her secretary to call her. She assumed the unfortunate nanny had been manoeuvred into this particular duty, and then forgot all about it for the remainder of the game—which was a very muddy, very physical, very invigorating one.

  An hour later she walked across to three people barely visible because it was now so dark. She would have a two-minute chat with Dominic and maybe try and interest him in some football lessons—a plan which she had already mentioned to Robbie, the guy who coached at the school. In fact, coached at various schools.

  ‘You tell me his mother’s a hard-nosed lawyer?’ Robbie had slung his arm around her shoulder. ‘Just my type. Sure I’ll take the kid on.’

  ‘A hard-nosed engaged lawyer.’ Megan had laughed. ‘Who won’t be at the match anyway. Just try and get Dominic interested in some lessons. I think it would do him good.’

  An absentee father who lived in New York, as she had discovered from Jessica at school, and a soon-to-be stepfather who didn’t see parenting someone else’s child as part of his job description. It was a lose-lose situation for the poor kid, and a little outdoor fun wouldn’t hurt him.

  She was trying to untangle her hair from the elastic band which had started off the evening in place but seemed to have travelled in the wrong direction during the game, when she looked at bit more carefully at the three figures taking shape in front of her.