The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress

by Cathy Williams

  There was Dominic in the middle, huddled in a dark coat, and on either side of him…

  Megan felt the colour surge into her face. His mother—surprisingly—and Alessandro.

  She had thought to have seen the last of him after their horrible little catch-up chat, which had been more painful for her than Chinese water torture. Seeing him again out of the blue had stirred up a hornets’ nest in her head. Now here he was, larger than life and playing happy families.

  ‘You scored a goal, Miss Reynolds! And you’re covered in mud!’ Dominic sounded delighted at this revelation.

  ‘If you’re not careful, I shall put some on you!’ She was caked in mud from head to foot, while Alessandro stood there watching her in his city suit and his beautiful coat and his very, very clean handmade Italian leather shoes. And Dominic’s mother looked even more impeccable. How on earth could anyone watch a football match in high-heeled shoes?

  ‘Dominic has had a super time. Thank you so much for asking him along to watch you, Miss Reynolds.’

  ‘No problem.’ She made sure not to look at Alessandro. ‘I…er…I actually wanted to talk to you about maybe letting Dominic have football lessons, Mrs Park…’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s quite out of the question, Miss Reynolds.’

  She hadn’t finished the sentence before Dominic was jumping up and down in a state of high excitement.

  ‘He might take you to court if you don’t agree,’ Megan said lightly, and the other woman managed to crack a smile at that. Depressingly, Megan found that it was hard to dislike her, because somewhere under that hard-edged, business-like surface she sensed a nice person.

  ‘I’ll leave you to think about it, anyway. I’m going to make my escape and get cleaned up. Have a brilliant Christmas!’

  She still hadn’t looked in Alessandro’s direction, but she could feel his eyes on her. Even more depressing than the fact that she couldn’t hate his fiancée was the fact that she was still mortifyingly aware of him. Two miserable seconds in his company and he was back in her thoughts as though it was yesterday.

  She fled towards the changing rooms—angry with him for rubbing his jolly, settled, oh-I’ve-found-the-perfect-woman life in her face, and angry with herself because he still got to her and it wasn’t fair.

  She was flinging all her dirty kit into her bag when something made her look up—to find the object of her thoughts lounging by the door to the changing room, arms folded, watching her.

  ‘What are you doing here? This is the women’s changing room, in case you hadn’t noticed!’

  ‘The only woman in here is you. I waited outside, expecting to see you emerge with the rest of them, but after fifteen minutes I thought I’d come in. Make sure you hadn’t collapsed.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t, so you can leave now.’ She had showered, washed her hair and blowdried it, and put it into two stubby plaits. She had changed into jeans and a jumper and her thick waterproof anorak, which was a fashion disaster but could withstand anything the weather could throw at it.

  ‘You played a good game out there. Football. Hmm…Wonder why I’m not surprised?’ Covered in patches of mud, she had looked like an urchin. A very cute, very willful little urchin.

  ‘What are you still doing here, Alessandro?’ She snatched up her kit bag and drew in a deep breath before walking to the door. ‘I haven’t collapsed, and your fiancée will be waiting outside for you.’

  ‘Victoria’s been swept off her feet by your coach chap, who’s taken her and Dominic to some coffee bar round the corner to discuss football lessons.’

  ‘Robbie?’ Megan paused, and then burst out laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Alessandro said with a tight smile, feeling as though he was standing on the edge of some private inner joke. Did she laugh that laugh with him, the blond, athletic football coach who had managed to persuade Victoria out of her tightly allotted timetable?

  ‘You wouldn’t get it.’ Megan brushed past him, still amused at her rogue of a coach, who had obviously charmed the very proper Mrs Park into breaking with tradition and taking time out.

  ‘I haven’t lost my sense of humour,’ Alessandro told her with irritation.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Megan apologised insincerely. ‘Is that what you thought? No, I was just thinking about Robbie, that’s all. He always manages to put a smile on my face.’

  ‘Does he, now?’

  ‘I’m not sure where you’re going, but I’m heading for the bus stop. You’re more than welcome to stand in the biting cold and wait with me, but I don’t suppose you do public transport these days?’

  ‘Give me five minutes.’

  ‘Give you five minutes to do what?’

  ‘To explain to Victoria that I’m going to see you home, and to tell my driver to wait for both of them.’

  ‘No!’ Megan stood with her hands on her hips, her football kit dumped on the ground next to her. ‘This isn’t going to do, Alessandro.’

  Her heart was thumping inside her. He was so tall, so dominant, and her head was so full of memories that made her weak and vulnerable. But she was going to stand her ground—because what gave him the right to swan into her life after seven years and turn it upside down?

  ‘We’ve had our little chat. I don’t know how much clearer I can be when I tell you that I don’t want you in my life. I made a fool of myself over you seven years ago, but I’m a different person now. We have nothing in common and nothing to talk about! You’re not my friend, and quite honestly…’ she crossed her fingers behind her back ‘…I have no idea what I ever saw in you in the first place.’

  ‘Don’t you? Well, the sex was pretty good.’

  Megan flinched as though she had been struck, and Alessandro raked restless, frustrated fingers through his hair. He hadn’t intended to say that. In fact, even harking back to the sex they had had made him feel as though he had crashed through an invisible barrier that should have remained intact.

  ‘Forget I said that. Like everything else between us, that is history. I’m here because I didn’t like the way things were left between us.’

  ‘Not my problem.’

  She began walking towards the bus stop—sports bag in one hand, rucksack slung over one shoulder, and yet another bag, over the other shoulder. She felt him take the sports bag out of her hand and she spun round, glaring.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Don’t you want to go and see what your boyfriend is up to?’ He dangled the bag over his head and watched as she simmered impotently in front of him. God knew, but hearing her say that she regretted ever going out with him had touched a raw nerve—and who the hell was this Robbie character to her, anyway?

  Momentarily distracted by his misconception that Robbie was her boyfriend, Megan laughed again—that rich, warm laugh that could still find some crazy crack in his armour that he hadn’t been aware even existed.

  ‘Maybe I should…’ She trailed the words out, as if giving them a lot of thought. ‘Do you think he might need protecting from your fiancée?’

  ‘You really have changed, Megan. I remember when we used to go out you couldn’t even tolerate the thought of me looking at another woman, never mind having a cup of coffee with one.’

  ‘Yes, I remember. It was a very unhealthy place to be, had I but known it at the time.’ Why did this feel so dangerous? she wondered. How could these unpleasant, unproductive exchanges make the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end and give her the giddy sensation that she was walking a tightrope?

  ‘Maybe I will go and see what Robbie’s up to,’ she said, just in case he really did decide to get on the bus with her. ‘Although I think you should be the one to worry. Little tip here, Alessandro. Robbie could charm the birds from the trees if he put his mind to it. And, since you’re so intent on playing the gentleman that you’re not…’ she dumped all her bags at his feet ‘…you can carry the lot.’

  She eased her tired shoulders and looked at him, wondering
if he would reconsider his decision to hound her and tell her to carry her own bags. He didn’t. He effortlessly picked up all her bags, and seemed to have little concern for the welfare of his expensive clothes.

  ‘So you think I should be worried about your football coach, do you?’ Alessandro’s voice was threaded with amusement.

  ‘It’s not all about money,’ Megan snapped, walking towards the only coffee shop in the vicinity—the same one they all used after football games.

  ‘Do you really think that Victoria is interested in my money? More to the point, do you really think that I would give the time of day to any woman if I thought she was after my money?’ He laughed shortly. ‘Victoria wouldn’t look twice at a man who wasn’t as driven as she is.’

  ‘What an exciting life the two of you must lead. Do you spend hours talking about work, and how wonderful it is that neither of you has any fun?’

  ‘Whoever said that we don’t have fun, Megan?’

  That low, silky voice sent a nervous tremor rippling through her—made her think about all the things he and his fiancée might do for fun. She thought about him sharing his nights with the other woman, waking up to her, congratulating himself on the perfect match they made.

  ‘I can’t say that I’m interested one way or the other, actually.’

  ‘No, you made that perfectly clear the last time I tried to engage you in conversation.’

  ‘Which reminds me—have you told Dominic’s mother that we know one another?’

  ‘Naturally.’ Alessandro shrugged. As he had predicted, Victoria had been surprised, but not alarmed.

  ‘And she didn’t mind?’

  ‘That I dropped you home? Why should she? It’s hardly as though there’s anything between us now.’

  He thought of her in her jeans and jumper, wearing her ridiculous slippers which he imagined had been some kind of protest vote at him being under her roof. She hadn’t been wearing a bra, and he didn’t know how he had known that. Maybe the swing of her full breasts under the cloth as she had reached over to hand him his mug of coffee, or maybe he just knew, because her body had once been his and the familiarity of a woman you possessed never quite left you.

  ‘She has her own ex-boyfriends,’ Alessandro commented neutrally. ‘In fact, she regularly sees one of them—an investment banker who works in the city. It’s no big deal.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re so…civilised…about your fiancée having a relationship with an ex, Alessandro. My, my, my…what’s happened to all that Italian possessiveness? I may have been jealous, but let’s not forget that you blew a fuse every time you saw me talking to one of my male friends from university.’

  ‘Like you said, Megan, an unhealthy place. How long have you known this football-coach character, anyway? Was he the reason you decided to move down to London? I suspected that a man must have been involved.’

  ‘I would never let a man influence any of my decisions,’ Megan told him scornfully. If he wanted to think that she and Robbie were involved, then why not let him? ‘I met Robbie after I came to London and he’s a great guy.’

  ‘A football coach?’

  ‘He’s more than just a football coach, Alessandro, and there’s no need to play the snob card. You weren’t always rich—in case you had forgotten!’

  ‘Ah, but I always knew I would be. There’s a difference between a man with ambition and a man who enjoys doing nothing with his life. Here’s a piece of advice for you, Megan—your football coach will age into an overweight ex-athlete; ask yourself whether you’ll find his lack of drive such a bundle of laughs then. Are you going to be happy serving him up his food on a tray in front of the television in the two-bedroom house you’ve stretched yourselves to buy? With a couple of kids squawking in the background?’

  Alessandro didn’t know why he felt compelled to pour cold water on her relationship. He supposed that it sprang from the remnants of the feelings he’d once had for her, and a certain amount of guilty awareness that he had been, just maybe, a little harsh when he had dispatched her.

  She didn’t answer, and her lack of response was like a red rag to a bull.

  Couldn’t the woman see that he was being kind in pointing out the obvious?

  ‘What I choose to do with my life isn’t your concern, Alessandro. There’s the café. I can’t believe Robbie managed to persuade your fiancée to have a coffee in a place that serves bacon and eggs all day to lorry drivers and cabbies.’

  Ahead of them, the café was bursting at the rafters. Once upon a time this would have been the kind of crowd he regularly mingled with, sitting in some half-baked café, ploughing into a bargain fry-up. Outside, a group of youths were larking around, wearing hoodies. It was like looking through a glass window at his past, and for a few mad seconds Alessandro felt the kick of nostalgia. He reached out and yanked Megan back.

  ‘The guy’s a loser,’ he said abruptly. ‘And I’m telling you this for your own good, Megan.’

  ‘You’ve never done anything for my own good, Alessandro!’

  ‘You wouldn’t last a minute with the kind of people I mix with.’

  ‘Would that be because I’m a loser as well?’

  ‘Dammit!’ He released her and raked frustrated fingers through his hair. He would have to stop doing this—touching her. ‘You know what I’m saying!’

  ‘Yes. I know you’re insulting me.’

  They looked at each other, their eyes tangling in the darkness, and Alessandro drew his breath in sharply. Those lips—he wanted to crush their softness under his, wanted to sweep his hands under her jumper and lose himself in her glorious body. He pulled back, breathing thickly.

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but Robbie only does football coaching on the side! He’s studying for a law degree.’

  Alessandro found that he preferred to think of the man as a loser. ‘Bit old for that, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Not everyone knows what they want to be from the age of ten! Robbie knows what he wants to be now, and he’s working bloody hard to get there! He’s going to get his law qualifications and work to help the little people. Those people who don’t have a voice, because they don’t have loads of money to employ lawyers who charge the earth.’

  ‘A do-gooder, in other words…’ His voice was laced with disdain, but he was sickeningly aware that that was just the sort of guy Megan would lose her head over.

  ‘Call it what you like.’

  ‘Are you in love with him?’

  Megan didn’t answer that. Telling an outright lie was beyond her. She was deeply fond of Robbie, and admired his drive and his idealism, but they had never had that kind of relationship. And who the hell was Alessandro to even ask her that question? Did he think that he had a right to feel sorry for her? Because he had moved on? Found everything that he had been looking for? The right life with the right woman?

  ‘I really hope Robbie’s managed to convince your fiancée that Dominic should do some football out of school. Don’t you?’ Her voice was cool and tight. ‘It must be hard for him. I think that boys need a father figure—a role model they can look up to.’

  ‘Is that some kind of veiled criticism?’

  Because he had moved beyond criticism. That had been a lifetime ago, if it had ever existed at all. Now he occupied that sacred realm of men who were surrounded by sycophants, telling them everything they wanted to hear. He had buried the demons of his past and created a life of unsurpassed ease—a life he controlled. He had become untouchable. If only his parents could see him now—could see what riches could be born out of hardship.

  ‘No, it’s not. Dominic is a superbright boy, but being superbright can be as much a curse as a blessing. He’s prone to boredom, and boredom makes him destructive. Football would enable him to expend all his energy.’

  ‘And your boyfriend’s just the guy to help him do that?’

  ‘Stop calling him my boyfriend!’

  ‘Okay, then. What about lover?’


  ‘To answer your question—yes, Robbie would be just the guy to take Dominic in hand. He’s great with kids.’

  As far as answers went, that wasn’t what Alessandro had been looking for, but they were already entering the café, and continuing the conversation was impossible.

  There was a smile on Megan’s face as she spotted the three of them sitting at the far end—two in front of mugs of coffee and Dominic with his chin cupped in his hand, staring in fascination at the blond-haired, blue-eyed do-gooder, who was smiling and talking with a lot of hand gestures and body language.

  Just her type, Alessandro thought dismissively. She had said that he could charm the birds from the trees, and Victoria certainly seemed to be in a good mood, cutting an elegant figure among the crowd in the café like a…like a…

  He couldn’t help it. His eyes were drawn to the small blonde with her back to him as she strolled across to her boyfriend, who was now grinning at her.

  Like a rose among thorns, he thought, hastily refocusing on Victoria.

  ‘Have you been sold on the football lessons?’ he asked, breaking up the trio at the table as he walked across.

  ‘All sorted.’

  Mother and son smiled at one another. Alessandro hadn’t been around the two of them together much, but he was sensing that this was something of a rare occurrence, and he forced himself to smile at the man who was now standing up, reaching out with an open, good-natured expression, asking him if he wanted anything to eat and then joking about the quality of the coffee while telling him that the egg and chips were second to none.

  He was ruffling Megan’s pigtails, yanking them playfully, abstractedly, as though the gesture was a familiar one.

  And Dominic was still staring at him, his mouth half open and his eyes wide.

  From ruffling Megan’s hair, he moved to ruffle Dominic’s.

  ‘So,’ he said, still grinning, ‘it’s a date, then, is it? You? Me? The next Chelsea football match?’ He turned to Victoria, now rising to her feet too, after, it would seem, eating egg and chips. ‘You’ll have to come too, of course. All of us should go together—have a bit of an evening out!’