The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress

by Cathy Williams

  ‘Don’t you think so?’ As he’d expected, she bristled angrily at his glib agreement with her statement. ‘Now, having met you again, I worry that you haven’t actually moved on as much you keep telling me you have.’

  Megan’s mouth dropped open at the sheer audacity of that remark, and she did the first thing that came to her head. She picked up a half-full cup of wine that was on the table next to her and flung its contents over his smug face.

  He was upon her before she could blink, his hand curled mercilessly around her wrist, his breath warm on her face, sending shivers of apprehension and horrible, sickening, unwanted, forbidden excitement racing through her.

  ‘I’m not about to apologise,’ she said breathlessly, fixated by his mesmerising eyes.

  ‘Why should you?’ Alessandro grated. ‘You’re angry, and the reason that you’re angry is because you know that I speak the truth. You’re going out with a guy who’s no good for you. He’s a flirt, and who knows what he does behind your back?’

  ‘How dare you?’

  ‘I dare because once we were lovers.’

  ‘That’s no excuse for you to think you have the right to have an opinion on my life!’ Her body, she knew, with anger and frustration, was betraying every sensible protest she was making. Her breasts felt tender, her nipples aching and sensitive in the lacy low-cut bra she was wearing, and there was a heat inside her that was shameful. ‘And just because Robbie laughs easily and flirts it doesn’t mean that he’s running around behind my back, having affairs!’ Why was she still pretending that she and Robbie were an item? ‘He’s a great guy….’

  ‘Is he the only man you’ve had since we broke up?’

  ‘Is Victoria the only woman you’ve had since we broke up?’

  She matched his burning gaze with one of her own. This was dangerous territory they were treading. For him it was just a heated exchange, one he felt he had the right to indulge. For her this was a release of passion that threatened to tip over into something else—something for which she would never forgive herself.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! I’m not going out with Robbie,’ she confessed unsteadily. ‘Okay? I’m not going out with him and never was. We’ve only ever been good friends.’

  ‘Then why the pretence?’ Alessandro released her and stepped back, shaken by what he had felt just then. ‘Did you feel that you had to prove something to me?’

  Megan was rubbing her wrist, glad of the small distance he had put between them. At least now her breathing stood a chance of returning to normal.

  ‘Of course I didn’t feel that I had to prove anything to you!’ She drew in a shaky breath. ‘Okay, maybe there was a bit of that. Can you blame me? You suddenly show up and you’ve got the perfect life—the life you always wanted. You’ve made your money, and I’m guessing you have a fan club of admirers and people who would bend over backwards to do whatever you want them to do…The past is just some horrible, dusty old memory you’ve stuck away in a box somewhere…And to top it off you’ve found the woman of your dreams and you’re marrying her…When, by the way? I never asked…When is the wedding set for?’

  ‘We haven’t set a date yet.’ Alessandro wondered how it was that his perfect life was beginning to feel so damned complicated and imperfect. Hadn’t he achieved everything he had ever wanted?

  ‘So…’ Megan shrugged, and then grinned ruefully—because what was the point getting all worked up when there were people out there having fun?

  Perhaps the punch had lowered her defences, making her think that if, now and again, she still had that old familiar pull towards him, then it wasn’t that surprising, was it? Everyone carried a certain weakness for their first love.

  ‘Can you blame me if it suited me for you to think that I had a boyfriend? Truth is, I have had boyfriends—but not Robbie.’ And just in case he took that small confession as a sign that she was somehow still hankering for him, she added, ‘But as far as not moving on with my life, you couldn’t be further from the truth—and it’s not just that I’ve done what I always wanted to do career wise. I learnt a big lesson from you. I really learnt what sort of man I should be attracted to…The guys I’ve gone out with have been kind, funny, smart, caring…’

  ‘Kind, funny, smart, caring…Hmm…Yet the relationships haven’t lasted, I take it? Or else one of these wonder men would still be somewhere on the scene…helping little old ladies across roads…making you laugh as he whipped up a soufflé for dinner…having a serious, in-depth conversation about the joys of being broke…’

  Megan didn’t like where she thought that innocuous remark was heading—and she liked his sarcastic tone of voice even less. ‘Sometimes things don’t work out. It’s no big deal. I mean, I’d rather kiss a thousand frogs on the way to finding my prince.’

  ‘Kiss a thousand frogs? Find a prince? What planet are you living on, Megan? That’s the sort of cliché an adolescent with starry eyes might come out with! Not that unfailing optimism isn’t a heart-warming trait, but haven’t you realised by now that life isn’t about finding the ideal—it’s about learning how to compromise?’

  ‘Is that what you’re doing with Victoria, Alessandro? Compromising?’

  ‘I’m using my head, Megan. In life, it’s what people do if they are to succeed.’

  ‘Does she know that you’re just compromising?’ Megan found that she preferred the word compromise to the phrase using his head. Compromise, in her eyes, meant that she could remove him from that pedestal of total achievement which he had been so smugly pleased to show her that he occupied. Compromise was all about making do. No one compromised because they wanted to; they compromised because they couldn’t work out another option.

  ‘Well…’ for the first time since she had seen him again after all this time, Megan decided that she could safely occupy the high ground. ‘I may be an eternal optimist, but I refuse to compromise my emotional life because it makes sense. And if I were going out with a man, I’d hate to think that he was only marrying me because it was the practical thing to do. As if,’ she continued, getting into the swing of things, ‘your personal life, the way you feel, can be worked out on a piece of paper like…like a budget!’

  Her eyes gleamed with triumph. She was hardly aware that there was a party happening outside—that her party was happening outside. She had been vaguely aware of a couple of people entering and leaving the kitchen, but they hadn’t interrupted them. An earthquake couldn’t have interrupted them.

  It was just like when she was young—when sharing the same space as him could hold every fibre of her being captive. She was fixated by the dark, dangerous charisma in his glittering eyes.

  It was strange to think that she could just reach out and touch his chest. Accordingly, she had her arms resolutely folded, and her knuckles were white from the pressure of her fingers biting into the soft flesh of her upper arms.

  ‘Well…maybe you’re right,’ Alessandro drawled softly. ‘Maybe the wise thing is to hold out until the search for the perfect mate is successful. Of course, there’s always the chance that a person could grow old waiting….’

  ‘It’s a risk,’ Megan told him airily.

  ‘A risk you’re willing to take?’

  Megan had a moment of discomfort as she pictured herself getting older and older in the pursuit of Mr Right, until she was a shrivelled up old woman, living on her own, with only a cat for company. She came from a close family unit and had never doubted that she would marry, be happy, have kids—just like her sisters and her parents.

  ‘If it means never settling for second best…’

  ‘And what went wrong with those guys, Megan? The witty, thoughtful ones? Why did they fail to measure up? Maybe your standards were a little too high. Do you think that was it?’ He smiled slowly. ‘Or maybe I set an impossible benchmark….’

  ‘You…you are the most conceited, arrogant…’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes—but you still haven’t answered me….’

  Victo
ria was probably looking at her watch, her eyes darting round in search of him as she tried to avoid the ministrations of the pushy football coach. But Alessandro was hostage to this intense, disquieting conversation. Megan’s eyes were blazingly angry, but that didn’t faze him. In fact, he wondered how he could have forgotten how passionate and vibrant she was by nature.

  ‘What’s there to say? Your benchmark was an upwardly mobile, soon-to-be-a-multi-millionaire guy without a conscience. Fair to say that it’s a definite plus if I meet a man who doesn’t live up to that sterling example.’

  ‘Upwardly mobile?’

  ‘What would you prefer, Alessandro? Ambitious to the point of ruthless?’

  ‘Better.’

  ‘You really mean that, don’t you?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with ambition, Megan, and you knew that about me when we were going out. Don’t tell me that you saw me sitting in front of books, chasing a Masters degree for the sheer hell of it?’

  ‘No, but at least you were more fun then. Did you get your Masters in the end?’

  Alessandro’s face was taut with displeasure. It had been a long time since anyone had dared be so outspoken with him. In fact, he thought grimly, he couldn’t think of anyone else who had ever dared be so outspoken with him—even before he had made his millions and attained his position of invincibility.

  ‘Well?’ Megan recklessly flirted with danger, every pore of her being alive to his presence and the heady effect of those glittering dark eyes. ‘Are you still in there? Don’t tell me that magnificent brain of yours has suddenly decided to hibernate…’

  There was a part of her that was very much aware of the quicksand on which she was leaping up and down, but it was a very small part compared to the part that was relishing the feeling of subjecting him to a little criticism on his life choices, considering he had been so blasé about criticising hers.

  He’d hate to be thought a bore. It had always been his most incisive put-down—the one word by which he would casually dismiss someone, out of his sphere. In the past, any lecturer referred to by him as a bore had stood the uncomfortable risk of being subjected to Alessandro’s verbal wordplay—and Alessandro had never lost even then, even as a young man in his twenties. And now any colleague he considered a bore simply became invisible.

  ‘You are getting out of your depth with this conversation, Megan,’ Alessandro gritted. His eyes flickered to her, to the cup she was still holding. ‘Maybe it’s time you called it a day.’

  ‘I’ve had two cups of punch! I don’t think I’ll be keeling over any time soon.’

  ‘Two cups too many, judging from your wild antics with the football coach who may not be your lover but might be within your sights. Is he?’ Alessandro gripped her arm and jerked her towards him.

  ‘Is he what?’

  ‘In waiting for the role of Prince Charming?’

  ‘Of course not! And you’re hurting me!’

  Alessandro let her go immediately and stepped back, suddenly aware of the build-up of emotion that was flowing between them like a live charge of electricity.

  ‘This isn’t what it’s about, you know,’ he told her, unerringly going for the soft spot in her defences. ‘Relationships. Men don’t want a woman who screams and provokes attack.’

  ‘I get the message,’ Megan said, her face burning as she saw herself through his eyes. Punch-drunk, or so he might think. She knew that she wasn’t even close to being out of control. Even though he’d seen her being kissed in front of an audience by a man she claimed she had no interest in, aside from a platonic one.

  ‘You might believe in the value of melodrama, but has it occurred to you that for every one man who enjoys that sort of stuff there are a hundred who don’t?’

  ‘I wasn’t being melodramatic. I was just having a bit of fun.’ But the fight had gone out of her. She felt like a Cinderella who hadn’t quite managed to make it to midnight at the ball.

  ‘I think it’s time Victoria and I left now.’ Alessandro turned away and headed for the door.

  He couldn’t believe that he had been totally unaware of the steady thump of music outside, the shouts of laughter emanating from the sitting room and out in the small hallway.

  It was a small house, but he still had to hunt down his fiancée, who seemed to be having great fun playing some sort of drinking game with a group of people—including, naturally, the football coach, towards whom Alessandro was beginning to nurture some fairly healthy feelings of hostility.

  A regular one-man cabaret show, he thought, grabbing his coat and slinging it on. When he wasn’t slobbering over women, he was holding court with a can of beer in one hand and a cup of punch in the other.

  He didn’t know whether Megan was still in the kitchen or not. He hadn’t looked over his shoulder when he had walked out. He would get back to the sanity of Victoria’s Chelsea house, enjoy what would be a predictably superb lunch, and then head back to his own place, where he would usefully be able to catch up with some correspondence.

  He would not spend the night at Victoria’s. He never did. She had made noises about Dominic not being old enough to understand the situation until it was more formalised, and Alessandro was fine with that decision. She occasionally stayed the night at his place, though rarely, and that, too, suited him.

  He was congratulating himself on the sanity of his life, on the easy preordained lines along which it ran, when the flicker of red caught his eye.

  Even at a distance, and amongst a crowd of colourful people, Megan still managed to stand out. She always had. He shook his head, resigned to polite goodbyes, and walked towards her, his hand resting lightly on the back of Victoria’s neck.

  ‘Water!’ Megan said, pointedly lifting the paper cup she held. She had had time to gather herself, and wasn’t about to let her confrontation with Alessandro wreck her day. People only got under your skin if you allowed them to. She looked at Victoria and laughed. ‘I’m afraid your fiancé thinks I’m a disreputable woman, because I’ve had two cups of punch today.’

  This surely wasn’t the same uptight, rigid, painfully polite woman she had met at the Nativity Play at school. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkling. Maybe she had been a little over-indulgent on the punch as well, Megan thought. Poor thing. She’d be in for a stiff lecture on the demon drink.

  ‘I never realised you disapproved of alcohol.’ Victoria looked at Alessandro with surprise.

  ‘I don’t,’ Alessandro said through gritted teeth, ‘disapprove of alcohol.’

  ‘Only the effects of it.’ Megan smiled sweetly at him and piously sipped some of her water.

  ‘Well…’ Victoria laughed—a proper, warm laugh. ‘Everyone needs to let their hair down now and again. Now, darling, shall we leave?’ She turned to Alessandro, brushing aside his hand in the process and smoothing her hair. ‘It was so good of you both to invite us here for a drink. Super party! But my mother will be tearing her hair out if we stay much longer, and I can’t imagine what havoc Dominic’s been wreaking in my absence! He begged Santa for a football,’ she confided.

  ‘And let me guess…Santa obliged…?’

  ‘More than that! Santa managed to get one signed by the captain of the Chelsea team—and of course, Robbie…Mr Chance…’ She pinkened. ‘His new hero, it would appear….’

  ‘Robbie can have that effect on people.’ Megan broke with tradition and gave the other woman a quick, warm hug. ‘Have a wonderful Christmas lunch…’ She sneaked a look at Alessandro, following the movement of his hand as he rested it lightly on Victoria’s shoulder, and felt a stab of pure, unattractive, inappropriate jealousy. She pulled back as though she had been stung, her face hot. ‘Tell Dominic happy Christmas from me. It’s been nice…’ she smiled stiffly at Alessandro ‘…catching up. In case I don’t see you again, take care!’

  And there was no chance then to prolong the farewells, as food was calling. In the sudden confusion of people heading to the kitchen, she was only aw
are of Alessandro, as he disappeared behind Victoria through the front door and off to his perfect, refined Christmas lunch.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FOR Megan and Charlotte, Christmas lunch was not so much refined as chaotic, noisy and lively. The last guest reluctantly left at a little after seven, and by eight-thirty most of the detritus had been cleared away—or at least channelled into the kitchen to await further action. At which point Charlotte announced that she would be spending the night at her boyfriend’s.

  Megan was relieved. She was tired, and she wasn’t in the mood for a post mortem of the day which would inevitably include lots of questions about Alessandro which Charlotte had been itching to ask ever since he had walked through their front door with Victoria hanging on his arm. She had managed to ask quite a few during the clear-up but Megan knew her friend better than most, and knew that given a few minutes’ peace over a cup of coffee in their sitting room, she would move in for the kill.

  She had picked up the pieces seven years ago, and had a lot to say on the subject of Alessandro the rat. Hence why Megan had decided to tactfully omit mentioning their initial meeting. The only wonder was that Charlotte had managed to be reasonably polite to him earlier, and that was probably because she had been too busy rushing around.

  By nine, then, Megan had the house to herself, and the full weight of her thoughts settled on her shoulders like a burden of lead.

  It shouldn’t hurt, but seeing Alessandro with Victoria did. It had been one thing to contemplate over the years the sort of life he might have been having, the sort of women he might have been seeing, but to have the reality of his happiness thrust upon her was a bitter pill to swallow.

  Worse than that was the fact that he felt sorry for her. And even worse than that was the sickening suspicion that she still had feelings for him—that she was still attracted to him even though he had derailed her life once before and ticked none of the boxes in what she considered her mental file of suitable men. He was arrogant, egotistical and driven. She liked shy, genuine and easygoing. But just thinking about him made her feel hot under the collar, and her nervous system seemed to go haywire the minute she was within spitting distance of him.