He shook his head as if he could clear the overload from his brain.
Truths, half-truths, or carefully constructed lies?
Whatever the answer, there were more layers to this situation than met the eye. And if his years of dealing with wily competitors and cut-throat corporates had hammered home any lessons, they were never to accept anything at face value, never to underestimate your opponent, and never to assume he’d go down without a fight.
Turning on his heel, he retrieved his tux jacket and pulled out his mobile. He placed a call and his friend Nicolas answered within two rings. Leo skipped the pleasantries—Nico didn’t do small talk—and launched into his request.
‘I need this ASAP,’ he finished.
A short silence came down the line, then Nico’s deep voice. ‘No problem, mon ami. I will have something for you in forty-eight hours.’
Gratitude surged, even though Leo had known his friend would do him this favour, no questions asked. Nicolas César ran a global security firm with an investigative arm reputed for its reach and discretion. He was a man with the resources to uncover the secrets of the world’s most powerful and influential people. Confirming a few basic facts about an Englishwoman would amount to little more than child’s play.
Leo tossed aside his phone, stripped off his clothes and headed for the en suite bathroom. He turned on the shower and let the steaming jets of water ease the tension from his muscles.
If Nico delivered with his trademark efficiency Leo would soon know if there was any truth to Helena’s claims. And whatever his friend’s probing unearthed, whatever truths—or lies—were revealed, she would soon discover this was far from over.
Whether she had planned to or not she’d started something tonight, and Leo intended to finish it.
The next time Helena Shaw walked out of his life it would be on his terms.
* * *
On Monday morning Helena stepped out of the elevator on the forty-second floor of the bank and knew at once something wasn’t right. For a start the receptionist grinned at her, and prim, efficient, fifty-something Jill didn’t grin. She smiled. Professionally. No grinning allowed.
‘You’re late,’ Jill announced.
‘I know,’ Helena said, flustered enough without Jill stating the obvious. ‘The Underground was a nightmare this morning.’ And the last thing she’d needed on the heels of a long, sleepless weekend. All she wanted was to get to her desk and bury herself in work. ‘Any mail for David?’
‘He collected it ten minutes ago—along with your visitor.’
Helena stopped. ‘My visitor?’
‘A man.’
And there it was again. Not a smile. A grin. Helena couldn’t recall ever before seeing so many of her colleague’s teeth.
‘He said he was a friend, so once Security cleared him I had them send him up. When David arrived and I mentioned you had a visitor he took him through to your office. His name was...’ She picked up a piece of notepaper. ‘Yes, that’s right. Mr Vincenz—no, Vincenti.’
Helena blinked. She wasn’t at the office at all. She was still tucked up in bed. Dreaming about the infernal man who had single-handedly ruined her weekend.
Jill frowned. ‘Helena? Are you okay?’
No. ‘Yes,’ she said, forcing herself to rally. To think. She managed a smile. ‘Thanks.’
Before Jill could probe further, she pushed through the glass security doors and followed the executive corridor down to her workspace. With every step the tremor in her knees threatened to escalate into a full-blown quake.
At her desk, she dumped her bag, removed her blazer—the temperature in the office had soared suddenly—and glanced around. No tall, dark, brooding Italian in sight. She could, however, hear voices in David’s office, and when a burst of laughter carried through the half-open door any lingering doubts were swiftly dispelled.
She clutched the edge of her desk, her stomach clenching in response to that rich, full-bodied sound and the confirmation that Leo was not only here, at her office, in her boss’s office, he was having a nice little one-on-one with David while he waited for her to arrive.
Confusion followed by a spurt of alarm jolted her into action. Without knocking, she pushed open David’s door and two heads swung in her direction. In a matter of seconds her brain registered two things.
First, David was not behind his desk but seated out front, beside his guest—a relaxed approach he only ever adopted with her or with people he especially liked. And second, though by no means less noteworthy, was the simple fact that Leonardo Vincenti looked just as mind-blowingly sexy in a silver suit, pale blue shirt and striped tie than he did in any formal tuxedo.
Helena’s mouth went dry. No wonder Jill had been grinning like a schoolgirl.
‘Ah, here she is,’ said David, and then both men were on their feet, greeting her with smiles, the megawatt force of Leo’s almost knocking her back on her heels.
He walked over, slipped his arm around her waist and dropped a featherlight kiss on her temple. Her knees nearly gave out.
‘Morning, cara.’ The firm press of his hand in her side sent a message—or was it a warning? ‘My meeting was cancelled at the last minute and, since I was nearby, I thought I’d take the opportunity to see your offices.’ He drew her into the room. ‘And to meet David, of course.’
Her gaze darted to the older man, who now wore a grin to rival Jill’s. She opened her mouth, but the dryness had crawled down her throat and no sound came out aside from a slight wheeze.
She gave herself a mental kick. ‘Sorry I’m late, David. Problems on the tube...’
He waved off the apology. ‘It’s a nice change to beat you into the office for once. And I must say it’s been an unexpected pleasure to chat with your man, here.’
Her man. The floor lurched and it was only Leo’s grip that kept her steady, despite the unsettling effect his touch had on her insides. She wanted to swat his hand away, sink into a nearby chair. She forced herself to concentrate on David’s voice.
‘I was just telling Leo how seldom you take any leave, and he mentioned how keen he is to get you to Italy.’
He paused, rocked on his heels, looking immensely chuffed with himself all of a sudden. Helena felt faint.
‘He also tells me you’re off to Rome at the weekend and it would be the perfect chance for you to stay longer.’ The men exchanged a glance. ‘I think it’s an excellent idea. Why don’t you take a week?’
Helena couldn’t help herself; she gaped at her boss. ‘A...a week?’
Leo’s fingers dug into her side but she refused to look at him. If he flashed her another of those devastating smiles she’d lose her ability to think, let alone remain upright.
She stared at David. ‘I... I couldn’t. Things are much too busy.’
‘Nonsense. The office won’t grind to a halt in your absence and neither will I. Hire me a temp who’s half as efficient as you and I’ll survive the week just fine.’
‘Perhaps you should listen to your boss, cara,’ came a silky voice in her ear, and she stifled the adolescent urge to stamp her heel onto his foot.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said to David. ‘I promise. But right now we should get back to work. I’m sure Leo’s taken enough of your time.’
A slight shift in her stance dislodged his hand from her hip. She turned, forced a smile onto her stiff lips.
‘Shall we grab a quick coffee before you go?’
CHAPTER FOUR
HELENA OPENED THE door to a vacant meeting room, stood to one side and waited for Leo to enter. He paused, gave the room a cursory once-over, then crossed to a large bank of windows overlooking the River Thames and the City of London’s eclectic skyline of spires and towers.
‘Not bad, Helena.’ He turned his back to the view. ‘You were a little stiff, but we can work on that.’
She closed the door, sucked in a deep breath and counted to twelve before the urge to shout had safely passed.
She
expelled the air from her lungs. ‘Why?’
‘Why do we need to work on it?’
She made a ticking sound in her throat. ‘Please don’t play games with me.’
One eyebrow hooked up, as did one corner of his mouth—a subtle shift of facial muscles that barely qualified as a smile, yet Helena had the distinct impression he was enjoying himself.
‘The only game I’m playing is the one you wanted to play, cara.’
‘Stop calling me that.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘And stop avoiding the question. I assume you’ve changed your mind about things since Friday? Why?’
Moving with more grace than a man of his height and size should possess, he propped his hip on the long conference table dominating the room. ‘You’re assuming my mind was made up.’
‘Wasn’t it?’
‘No.’
‘Then why did you let me leave?’
He shrugged. ‘I wanted time to consider your proposal.’
She huffed out a breath. The possibility that in the interim she might change her mind clearly hadn’t occurred to him. She changed tack. ‘Why are you here?’
His brow furrowed. ‘Did we not just establish that?’
‘No, I mean why are you here? At my office. Talking to my boss.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘How did you know where I work?’
‘You gave me the address yourself.’
She thought about that, then bit her lip. He was right. She’d jotted down the address so he could send a car to collect her on Friday. A simple enquiry at the downstairs security desk would have filled in the rest. Still, it didn’t excuse his turning up here with no warning. He had her mobile number. He could have phoned.
Like you could have phoned him before turning up at the hotel?
She slammed a lid on that voice. ‘And your little tête-à-tête with David? What was that all about?’
His mouth quirked again. ‘He invited me into his office. Refusing would have been rude, no?’ The quirk lingered a few seconds more. ‘Your boss seems a pleasant man—he speaks very highly of you, by the way. But tell me...’ He paused, all trace of levity leaving his face. ‘Why are you wasting your time in a job like this?’
His question stung. It shouldn’t have, but it did. It reminded her of her father and all the hurtful criticisms she’d endured as a child. The small, painful barbs that pierced the protective wall her mother tried to erect between father and daughter. Her list of faults was exhaustive. And while being born a girl surely drove the first of many nails into her coffin, opting for design school over a law degree and dating a man not of her father’s choosing certainly hammered in the last.
She lifted her chin. ‘You’re belittling my job now?’
‘Not at all. I appreciate the value of a skilled assistant. I have an excellent one myself, and she is an asset to my office. But this—’ he lifted a hand to indicate their surroundings ‘—is not the career you were planning seven years ago.’
Not the answer she’d expected. Still, she didn’t need to justify her choices. Her job was not the dream career in design she’d once envisaged, but hopes and dreams, just like people—just like tiny, innocent, unborn babies—could unexpectedly die.
She dismissed his censure with a shrug. She worked hard, made an honest independent living, and no one—not her father and certainly not this man—had any right to judge her. ‘Plans change. People change. And how I make a living is no business of yours.’
His black-lashed eyes treated her to a long, intense regard that made her tummy muscles tighten. ‘You are right—it’s not my business,’ he said at last, though his tone wasn’t in the least contrite. ‘What you do in the coming weeks, however, is. Assuming you want to proceed with this little plan of yours?’
She stared at him, a prickle of unease tiptoeing down her spine. Weeks? Her arms fell to her sides. ‘You’re not serious about me spending a whole week in Italy?’ Her stunned gaze met his cool, unwavering stare. She shook her head. ‘Oh, no. That...that wasn’t the agreement.’
His brows snapped together. ‘We had no agreement, as I recall. You chose instead to put me in a difficult position with my client and then used it as a means of blackmail.’
Blackmail? ‘I did no such thing!’ Her face flamed. With indignation, she told herself. Not with guilt. Definitely not guilt. ‘You chose not to correct Carlos’s assumption about us. I simply played along and then suggested we might come to some...some mutually beneficial arrangement.’
‘Ah. Yes. The “mutually beneficial arrangement” in which I grant your father a grace period of four weeks, and in return you give me the pleasure of your company for—’ his eyebrows rose ‘—one night?’
She smoothed her palms down the front of her black knee-length skirt. ‘One evening,’ she corrected, keeping her chin elevated. ‘And, yes, that would be the arrangement to which I’m referring.’
He laughed—a deep, mellifluous sound that seemed to reach out and brush her skin like the rub of raw silk.
Her anger spiked. ‘Is something amusing?’
‘Only your ability to play naive when it suits you.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘It means you are well aware those terms are weighted in your favour and not mine.’ He took his time adjusting a silver cufflink on his left sleeve. When he looked up, his expression had hardened. ‘Did you think I would simply roll over for you, Helena?’
The undercurrent of menace in his voice made her knees quiver again. ‘But why?’ she blurted. ‘What could you possibly want with me for a week?’
One side of his mouth kicked up. ‘What, indeed?’ he murmured, his gaze sweeping her length in an unhurried appraisal that set her teeth on edge—more so because she knew her clumsy question had invited it. ‘Let’s call it a balancing of the odds.’ His eyes flicked back to hers. ‘It would be a crime, would it not, if one of us were to feel...cheated?’
An enigmatic response at best. A deflection of her question as skilful as it was irritating.
She crossed to a window, leaned her hip against the metal sill and attempted nonchalance. ‘So our pretence of being a couple—you’re suggesting we keep that up for the entire week?’
‘Si.’
‘Why?’
‘People will want to see us.’
‘What people?’
‘The people who have heard about you.’ He tilted his head and smiled. ‘Do not look so puzzled, Helena. You know how it is among the rich and privileged—the gossip mill is a voracious beast. And Rome is no different from London. Worse, in fact. We Italians love our drama.’
Her temples started to throb. ‘But I met Carlos only three nights ago.’
He gave another of his maddening shrugs. ‘Carlos tells his wife. His wife tells their daughter. Anna tells a friend...or twenty. News travels. You know how it works.’
Yes. She knew how it worked—that brittle, superficial world of the social elite. It had been her world once and she rarely missed it. Scratch the surface of gloss and glamour and every time you’d find a bitter core of hypocrisy and backstabbing.
She massaged the growing pressure in her temples. What madness had she started? ‘What if we don’t convince them?’
‘That we are lovers?’
‘Yes.’ The word came out slightly strangled.
He straightened from the table. ‘You assured me you could handle it. Are you getting cold feet already, Helena?’
She almost laughed at his choice of expression. Cold? Oh, no. No part of her felt cold right now. Not even close. Not when the prospect of their playing lovers for an entire week had her blood racing so hot and crazy she feared her veins might explode.
He stepped towards her. ‘There is one way to ensure we’re convincing.’
‘Oh?’ She tamped down the urge to scurry to the other side of the room. ‘How?’
‘Drop the pretence.’
Her brain took several seconds to register his meaning. She blinked, a bubble
of incredulous laughter climbing her throat. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘You find the prospect of sex with me abhorrent?’
The question—so explicit and yet so casually delivered—triggered a fresh wave of heat that burned from her hairline all the way down to the valley between her breasts. Abhorrent? No. Dangerous? Yes. Terrifying? Utterly. Though not for any reason she was fool enough to admit.
Her brain scrambled for a foothold. ‘I don’t understand.’ That sounded lame. ‘You said you didn’t—that you weren’t—that you no longer...’ Wanted me. Were those the words he’d used? She squeezed her eyes shut. No. His exact words had been, I’m not interested in anything you could offer.
A shard of pain in the vicinity of her heart made her wince.
‘What is there to understand?’
She opened her eyes to find him standing in front of her. Startled, she stepped back, the windowsill’s sharp edge biting into her thighs.
‘We know we’re compatible in bed,’ he said, his voice so calm, so matter-of-fact she wanted to scream. ‘Why not make the most of our arrangement—throw some pleasure into the mix?’
Lightheaded suddenly, she gripped the ledge behind her, its hard metal surface cool and reassuringly solid beneath her palms. She breathed in. Out again. Summoned calm. He was toying with her...having fun at her expense. Needling for a reaction he wasn’t going to get.
She tightened her fingers on the sill. ‘I still don’t believe you’re serious.’
‘And you still haven’t answered my question.’
‘What question?’
‘Do you find the prospect of sleeping with me abhorrent?’
She looked him in the eye. She wouldn’t lie.
‘Of course not.’
But neither would she pander to his ego.
‘But that doesn’t mean I have any great desire to jump into your bed.’
He shifted closer and she shrank back—away from the wall of masculine heat threatening to envelop her. A telltale pulse galloped at the base of her throat and she cursed her body’s irrepressible responses. Why, oh, why could she not control her reactions to him?
Surrendering to the Vengeful Italian Page 6
