‘Thanks.’ She groaned inwardly when her voice emerged as a husky whisper. Her throat felt dry and her senses were swamped by the evocative scent of the spicy aftershave that he always wore. Her common sense told her to move away from him but she seemed to have lost control of her limbs as her mind flew back to the first time he had kissed her.
He had given her a lift home from work. Sitting next to him in his sleek sports car, she had felt even more overwhelmed by him than she did at the office. Her position as an assistant to his PA meant that her conversations with him had been mainly work related, and she had assumed that he barely noticed her. His request as they drove across the city for her to tell him about herself had thrown her into a panic, but he was her boss so she had obediently related the unexciting details of her life growing up in a small Derbyshire village.
When he had finally parked outside her flat, he’d turned to her, and his smile had made her heart skip a beat. ‘You’re very sweet,’ he’d murmured.
His words had rankled. She hadn’t wanted him to think she was a sweet, silly girl; she’d wanted him to think of her as a woman. Perhaps her feelings had shown in her eyes, because he had given a faint sigh before he’d lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
Her body had come alive instantly. It was as if he had pressed a switch and awoken her sensuality that had been untested until that moment. Constantin had kissed her as she had imagined a man would kiss a woman, as she had dreamed of being kissed. She had been intoxicated by his mastery, and responded to his passionate demands with a fervency that had made him groan.
‘Very soon I will make you mine, Isabella,’ he’d warned her softly.
‘How soon?’ she’d replied, not caring that her eagerness revealed her lack of sophistication.
Now Isobel was three years older, but she was trapped by Constantin’s sexual magnetism and felt as though she had flown back in time to when she had been a shy junior secretary who had been kissed senseless by the most exciting man she had ever met. Her heart jerked against her ribs as she watched his head descend, but her stomach plummeted with disappointment when he halted with his lips centimetres from hers.
‘Why did you walk out on me?’ he said harshly. ‘You didn’t even have the decency to tell me to my face that you were clearing out. All I got was an insultingly brief note to say that you had decided we should end our marriage.’
Isobel swallowed. It was impossible to think properly when his lips were tantalisingly close, and even more impossible to believe that she had heard a note of hurt in his voice. She longed to close the gap between them, to slide her hand into the silky dark hair at his nape and urge his mouth down on hers. It took all her will power to step away from him.
‘Why did you marry me?’ She countered his question with one of her own. ‘I’ve often wondered. Was it only because I was pregnant with your child? I believed our relationship was based on more than sexual attraction, but after I had the miscarriage you were so distant. I couldn’t get close to you, and you never wanted to talk about...about what had happened. Your coldness seemed to indicate that you wished I wasn’t your wife.’
Constantin had always been able to read the emotions on Isobel’s expressive features and the pain reflected in her hazel eyes caused him a pang of guilt. He knew he had not given her the support she had needed when she’d lost the baby. He’d been unable to talk about it, and had dealt with his emotions the way he always did, by burying them deep inside and concentrating on running a global business empire. He could hardly blame her for turning to her friends, but he had felt jealous of her closeness to the other members of the band, and in particular her obvious affection for the guitarist, Ryan Fellows.
The cover of the Stone Ladies’ new album was an arty black and white picture of the two most photogenic band members—Isobel and Fellows—riding a unicorn. No doubt the romantic image would appeal to the band’s thousands of fans, but when Constantin had seen the album cover he’d felt an overwhelming desire to rearrange the guitarist’s pretty-boy features with his fist.
The idea that Isobel and Fellows might be lovers evoked a corrosive acid burn in his gut. Isobel had accused him of resenting her friends, and he acknowledged it was the truth. He had been unable to control his possessive feelings, which in turn had made him afraid that he had inherited his father’s dangerous jealousy.
He looked at her tense face. It must have taken a lot of guts for her to have come back to the house that he knew held poignant memories for her. He thought of the mural of farm animals that she had been painting on the walls of the nursery. The mural was unfinished and the room was empty. He’d sent the cot and nursery equipment back to the shop and never went into the room that had been destined for their daughter.
The miscarriage had broken Isobel, and it was a measure of her strength of will that she had recovered to be this beautiful, self-assured woman—although close scrutiny revealed faint shadows in her eyes that Constantin guessed would never completely fade. One thing was certain. She deserved his honesty.
‘Three years ago we were lovers briefly. The weekend we spent at my apartment in Rome was fun, but...’ he shrugged ‘...I had no desire for a prolonged relationship—and I thought you understood that.’ When he had ended the affair shortly after they had returned to London he had assured himself it was for the best to call a halt before things got out of hand. Isobel had needed to understand that the words long-term and commitment were not in his vocabulary.
He exhaled heavily. ‘But then fate dealt an unexpected card. When you told me you were pregnant you must have realised that I would not allow my child to be born illegitimate. Marriage was the only option. I could not neglect my duty to my child or to you.’
Isobel flinched. Duty was an ugly little word. The realisation that Constantin had proposed marriage because he had felt responsible for her evoked a bitter taste in her mouth. She had told Constantin she was pregnant with his baby because she’d believed he had the right to know. She had been stunned when he’d asked her to marry him. After all, it was the twenty-first century, and being a single mother was no longer regarded as unusual or shameful. When he had proposed, she had convinced herself that he must have some feelings for her. But the stark truth was that she had seen what she had wanted to see.
Yet her stubborn nature still refused to give up the idea that they had shared something meaningful. ‘We had some good times in the beginning,’ she reminded him.
‘I don’t deny it. We were going to be parents, and for our child’s sake it was important to build an amicable relationship with each other, additional to our sexual compatibility.’
Isobel swallowed the golf ball that had become lodged in her throat. Had Constantin simply been building an amicable relationship with her when he had filled the house with yellow roses after she had mentioned that they were her favourite flower? Had she imagined the closeness between them that had grown stronger every day of their three-week honeymoon in the Seychelles?
She stared at his chiselled features and wondered why she had ever believed she had seen warmth in his eyes that glittered as hard and bright as sapphires. What a fool she had been. Despite everything that happened, his coldness to her in the last months of their marriage, deep down she had believed there was a chance that they might one day get back together. That fragile sense of hope had now gone and she was shocked by how badly it hurt.
She turned her head towards the window. The sun streaming through the glass was so bright, and surely it was the glare that was making her eyes water? As if she were looking through a kaleidoscope, she saw the fractured images of a woman pushing a pram through the park with a tall, handsome man at her side. But when she blinked, the vision disappeared, just as her dreams had done.
Somehow she marshalled her thoughts and emotions, and even managed a cool smile when she looked back at Constantin.
‘In that case there’s
nothing more to be said. I’ll wait to receive a new divorce petition from your solicitor, which I will sign and return immediately. I understand that the legal proceedings are straightforward in an uncontested divorce.’
‘I’ve instructed my lawyer to offer you a financial settlement.’ Constantin frowned when she shook her head. ‘I don’t understand why you insisted on signing a prenuptial agreement that awarded you absolutely nothing.’
‘Because I want nothing from you,’ Isobel told him fiercely. ‘I’m lucky to be able to earn a high income, but even if the band hadn’t become successful I wouldn’t have accepted a handout from you.’
Impatience glittered in his eyes. ‘I see you’ve lost none of your prickly independence. You’re the only woman I’ve ever known who got annoyed if I bought you presents.’
She hadn’t wanted expensive gifts. What she had wanted he had been unable or unwilling to give her—love, his heart in exchange for hers, a marriage that was a true partnership. Did such a thing even exist? She’d seen little evidence of it in her parents’ marriage, Isobel thought wryly. Perhaps her father had been right during one of their many rows about her doing homework rather than writing songs, when he had accused her of wasting her time chasing rainbows. Maybe happy-ever-after only happened in fairy tales.
Of their own volition her eyes fixed on Constantin’s face as she committed his sculpted features to her memory. The faintly cynical curve of his lips evoked a visceral ache in her belly.
She had to get out of the house now, before her wafer-thin composure cracked. Never had she been more thankful for the illusion of supreme confidence that performing with the band had given her. She walked unhurriedly across the room and glanced back at Constantin from the doorway. ‘I’ll instruct my lawyer to reject any financial offer from you.’
‘Per l’amor di Dio!’ He swore beneath his breath as he crossed the room with long strides. ‘Dammit, Isobel, you are entitled to receive a settlement from me. The music industry can be fickle, and, although the band is riding high at the moment, no one can say what the future holds.’
Wasn’t that the truth? Isobel thought emotively as the image of her tiny baby daughter flashed into her mind. Coming back to the house where she had dreamed of living as a happy family with Constantin and their child, she felt as though a protective layer had been scraped away from the scar tissue surrounding her heart.
‘There’s no reason any more for you to feel responsible for me,’ she said tautly.
Her eyes clashed with his, and something in his brilliant blue gaze sent a warning signal to her brain. She sensed that he was mentally stripping her naked, and she was furious with her treacherous body as heat stole through her veins. He had always had the ability to decimate her equilibrium with one killer glance.
The sound of her phone ringing from the depths of her handbag was a welcome distraction. She retrieved the phone and glanced at the caller display before shooting an apologetic glance at Constantin. ‘Do you mind if I answer this? It’s Carly, probably calling to remind me that we’d arranged a shopping trip this afternoon.’
Her friend’s cheerful voice greeted her. ‘The photographer from Rock Style magazine wants to do the shoot tomorrow instead of midweek. Does that suit you? Okay, I’ll let him know,’ Carly said when Isobel confirmed she was free the next day. She cut the call and was about to drop her phone into her bag when it rang again. Assuming it was Carly with a second message, she lifted the phone to her ear and her heart jumped when a frighteningly familiar voice spoke.
‘Hello, Izzy. It’s David, your darling. Remember you wrote “To my darling David” when you gave me your autograph? I know you are in London and I hoped we could have dinner together.’
‘How did you get my mobile number?’ The instant Isobel blurted out the question she cursed herself. The police had advised her to stay calm and not reveal any emotion or engage in conversation with the man who had been stalking her for the past two months, but hearing David’s voice filled her with panic. Her eyes jerked to the window and she scanned the pavement outside. Did he know her exact location in London? Her common sense told her it was unlikely that he had followed her here. But how on earth had he got hold of her mobile-phone number?
Without saying another word she cut the call and then checked the number of the last caller. The number had been withheld. She switched off her phone and dropped it into her handbag as if she feared it were an explosive device.
‘What was that about?’
She met Constantin’s curious gaze, unaware of the unease reflected in her eyes.
‘Nothing.’ Her response was automatic. There was no reason to involve Constantin. She would make a note of the call and file it with the other nuisance calls she had received from David as the police had advised her to do. More importantly, she would contact her network provider and change her mobile-phone number.
Constantin frowned. ‘Your reaction suggested it was more than nothing. When you answered the call, you looked worried.’ He placed his hand on Isobel’s arm to prevent her from sidling out of the door. ‘Do you have a problem with whoever called you?’
‘No—it was just someone playing a joke.’ She quickly thought up the excuse. Her problem right now was the way her body was reacting to Constantin’s nearness. Her heart was racing and she could feel the pulse at the base of her throat beating erratically. She fought a crazy temptation to tell him about David—a fan who had developed an unhealthy obsession with her. The police were aware of the situation and everything was under control, she reassured herself. There was no point in involving her soon-to-be ex-husband.
In a matter of weeks she and Constantin would be divorced and it was likely that she would never see him again. The knowledge felt like a knife-blade through her heart. She pulled her arm free and stumbled into the hall. Her stiletto heels sounded like staccato gunfire on the marble floor as she half ran towards the front door.
‘Goodbye, Constantin.’ She could not resist one final glance over her shoulder at him. ‘I hope one day you’ll meet someone who can give you whatever it is you’re looking for.’
* * *
‘The role of Chairman of DSE has historically always passed to the eldest son of the next generation of the family. It is my birthright, dammit!’
Constantin paced around his uncle’s office at the Rome headquarters of DSE, his body taut with suppressed fury like a caged tiger enraged by its captivity. His eyes glittered as he stared at Alonso sitting calmly behind his desk. ‘If I had been a year older when my father died I would have become Chairman a decade ago, but because I was seventeen, company rules dictated that the chairmanship must go to the next De Severino male who was of age—in this case, you, my father’s brother. But now you wish to retire, and the chairmanship should revert to me. I intend to combine the role of Chairman with that of CEO, as my father did.’
Alonso cleared his throat. ‘It is the belief among many members of the board that the two roles should be separated. An independent board chairman can better protect shareholder interests, leaving the CEO free to concentrate on running the business—which you do extremely well, Constantin.’
‘Profits have risen year on year since I became CEO, but many times I have felt that I am working against the board rather than with their backing.’ Constantin could barely contain his frustration. ‘It is crucial for our continuing success that DSE takes advantage of emerging markets in Asia and South America. The board are slow to embrace change, but we must move fast to keep ahead of our competitors.’
‘There is a concern that in your rush to take the company forwards, you have forgotten the standards and moral ethics of DSE that have been the backbone of the company since it was established by your great-grandfather nearly a century ago.’
Constantin slammed his hands down on his uncle’s desk. ‘I have forgotten nothing. I have lived and breathed DSE
since I was a small boy, in the expectation that I would one day be fully responsible for the company. In what way have I forgotten the company’s moral ethics?’
Instead of replying, Alonso looked pointedly at a copy of a popular gossip magazine lying on his desk. The front cover carried a photo of his nephew and an Italian glamour model, Lia Gerodi, emerging from a casino. From the amount of naked flesh on display, Miss Gerodi appeared to be experiencing a wardrobe malfunction, Alonso noted cynically.
Constantin shrugged as he glanced at the picture that had been taken a week ago. The only reason he remembered that particular evening was because it had been the night he had returned to Rome from London after his unexpected visit from Isobel. He had been in a foul mood, he recalled. The image of her walking out of the house in Grosvenor Square and climbing into a taxi, without once looking back, had been stuck in his mind. He’d felt churned up inside and, unusually for him, unable to rationalise his thoughts.
Lia had been phoning him for weeks, ever since they had met at a social event the details of which he did not remember. When he’d received a call from her as his jet had landed in Rome he had agreed to have dinner with her purely to take his mind off Isobel. The trip to the casino had been Lia’s idea, and he suspected that she had tipped off the paparazzi, knowing that a picture of her with one of Italy’s wealthiest businessmen would give her valuable media exposure that might boost her modelling career.
‘This is not the image of the company that the board wishes to see advertised around the world,’ Alonso said, tapping the photo with his forefinger. ‘The public’s perception of DSE must be of a company that delivers excellence, reliability and honesty. But how can the public trust that the company believes in those values, when the CEO, despite being married, leads a playboy lifestyle?’
‘My private life has no bearing on my ability to run DSE,’ Constantin growled. ‘Shareholders are only interested in profits, not in my personal affairs.’
To Wear His Ring Again Page 3
