Watching him slide his eyes dismissively over the mediocre contents of the sitting room, she searched for something, anything, of the charismatic young Spaniard who had claimed her loving heart for his own during that long, glorious summer five years ago. And found none. Nothing in his narrowed-eyed inventory of her appearance, not a flicker on that lean, hard face to remind her of the way he had once loved her.
Had seemed to love her, she reinforced tiredly. Nothing about the younger Diego Raffacani had been as it seemed. In that bleak moment she reached her final decision.
‘Well?’
The harsh monosyllable made her stomach turn right over. Long fingers drew back his cuff as he consulted his watch in a gesture she was sure was meant to intimidate her into blurting an immediate answer. The watch he wore wasn’t the one she had given him. That had been slim and gold; the one he wore now was dark and chunky. So why did that hurt so much?
Grabbing on to the last ragged remnants of her composure, she said thinly, ‘It looks cold out. I’ll make coffee.’ Letting him know this was her home and she wasn’t about to be intimidated into anything. But really, she silently admitted with painful honesty as she walked back into the tiny kitchen, it was to put off the time when she would sell the magazine down the river, lose her colleagues their jobs. It was on her conscience but, as Ben had said, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
The underlying reason for her delaying tactics, of course, was more visceral. Once she’d told him where to put his ‘proposition’ she would never see him again. It shouldn’t hurt, shouldn’t make her feel empty and only half alive. But it did.
As the door closed behind her Diego made a determined effort to get his head straight. Seeing her this morning, pale and waif-like, bereft of the classy dress she’d been wearing the night before, her milky skin innocent of make-up, he’d experienced a near savage need to take her out of her dreary surroundings, take her to the sun, pamper her, care for her, see those huge drowning inky-blue eyes come alive, laughing and vital. Smiling for him as once they had used to, making him feel like the luckiest man in the world.
How crazy could a man get?
Despite appearances, she was as vulnerable as an armoured tank. He wouldn’t let a pang of misplaced compassion rob him of a vengeance he’d been planning ever since he’d learned that Lifestyle was sliding unstoppably downhill.
Lisa Pennington could look out for herself, could take a man’s love and throw it back in his face. He had no doubt she’d frittered her time away at university, batting those fabulous lashes at any male student who took her fickle fancy.
Gritting his teeth against the invasive spurt of anger—not jealousy, of course not—he paced the narrow room. Had she finally decided to marry that poor sucker, Clayton, because she’d seen him as a meal ticket? Probably. By the look of her surroundings she wasn’t doing well financially. Nepotism had undoubtedly been responsible for her finally ending up on the magazine.
Despite her engagement, she would ditch Clayton. Having sex without love wouldn’t be a problem for her, would it? He knew her track record. Even at just turned eighteen she’d been greedy for it and when he’d behaved honorably, out of love and respect for her, she’d turned to the nearest male who would oblige. Clayton.
Grimacing, he cursed under his breath. Memories of that last night still haunted his dreams. But he had her now; he was sure of that.
Denying the restless energy that was forcing him to pace the cheap carpet he sank down on to the armchair. He closed his eyes, savouring the victory to come, the final and definitive act of removing her from his system, leaving him free at last to find pleasure, satisfaction and contentment with a woman who would be worthy to share the rest of his life, give him children.
There was no way Lisa Pennington would turn his offer down. With Lifestyle thriving again—and he could make that happen—her doting daddy could be relied on for fat handouts and she wouldn’t have to worry about working for her living.
He liked his coffee strong, black and sugarless, she remembered as she placed a single earthenware cup and saucer beside the cafetière on the tray. Her hands were shaking. Courage, she told herself as she pulled in a sharp breath and walked out of the kitchen. Get it over with.
Maybe she was being selfish in letting Lifestyle fold but, as Ben had pointed out, no one would starve. The staff would find other work and Maggie, her main concern, would receive a pension.
The other way, selling her body for Diego to use until he tired of the game, would do her irreparable damage. And she knew it wouldn’t do Diego much good either. Oh, right now he thought revenge would taste sweet, she understood that. But somewhere behind the coldly handsome mask he wore there had to be vestiges of decency. He would end up hating himself for what he had done.
Or would he?
He hadn’t behaved decently five years ago, had he? Thinking of the woman he’d been with turned her stomach. And yet he blamed her for what had happened and was hell-bent on punishing her!
She paused in the act of pushing the kitchen door open with her foot, her brow wrinkling. Was his conceit so great that he couldn’t bear the idea of a mere woman—any woman—giving him the brush-off, even if he’d already found her replacement?
Or could there possibly be an innocent explanation for the way he and the glorious creature he’d been with had been behaving?
Unconsciously, she shook her head. She’d seen what she’d seen, hadn’t she? Of course, with hindsight, knowing who he really was altered the scenario. He’d had no need to prey on wealthy women for what he hoped to get out of them financially.
It was a mess. Her head was a mess. She couldn’t think straight!
A nudge of the door and she was through. Her breath caught in her throat and stuck there. He was sprawled out on the chair with the broken springs, his eyes closed. He looked so beautiful and strangely, heart-stoppingly vulnerable. In that moment it all came flooding back. All the depth of love she’d once felt for him. Still felt for him?
The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled as her heart swelled inside her breast, a bitter-sweet pain that took her breath away. And then, as if her involuntary gasp had alerted him, his eyes snapped open. In that unguarded moment, as their eyes met, soul to soul, she stopped fighting the inevitable and said, a shake in her voice, ‘I’ll do what you want me to do,’ because she finally knew she couldn’t bear to turn her back on him, lose him, not again.
His eyes on the sudden flush of colour on her face, Diego snapped to his feet. A shock of something hot and insistent raced through his taut body. He had her! Had he ever doubted it? Hadn’t he known that the lazy, avaricious minx would always take what she would see as the easy option?
The only acknowledgement he dared allow himself was a brief dip of his dark head. Reaching in an inner pocket, he produced a card and wrote rapidly on the back. ‘My mobile number. The address of my hotel. Be there tomorrow evening at eight. We will discuss our itinerary over dinner.’
Insouciantly, he dropped the oblong of pasteboard down on the coffee tray she’d prepared and turned away, reminding himself fiercely that he was no longer the eager besotted fool he’d once been, firmly battening down the primal instinct to take her in his arms and claim some of what he was owed. Feel the sweetness of her lips beneath his own, feel the heated response of her beautiful body. That could wait. No need to display the eagerness that would give her power over him.
Watching him walk to the door, Lisa’s eyes were pinned on his wide shoulders and the back of his gleaming dark, proudly held head. She wanted to call him back, tell him she loved him—she’d believed she’d stopped, but she now knew she hadn’t—and explain exactly why she’d acted as she had all those years ago.
But his arrogance, his hardness, his curt, almost disdainful acceptance of her submission stopped her. As far as he was concerned this was his due, a hard man’s revenge. He would view any protestations of love with cynical distaste.
As the door clos
ed behind him she stuffed her fist between her teeth and felt the tears course hotly down her face.
Leaving the normal Monday morning editorial meeting, Lisa was waylaid by her father’s secretary. ‘He wants you in his office. Now. And don’t worry.’ She grinned, seeing the younger woman’s distraught expression. ‘He’s actually in a really good mood today!’
It wasn’t her father’s mood that was worrying her, Lisa thought distractedly as she walked to his office. It was everything else!
Telling Sophie yesterday of the broken engagement had been a nightmare. Sure, she’d dressed it up as best she could, explaining that having seen Diego again she’d realised she still had feelings for him and marrying Ben wouldn’t be fair or right. She’d skipped the blackmail bit simply because since talking to Ben she’d understood that saving the magazine was not what this was about; it was irrelevant.
And since Diego had walked out she’d been having second thoughts. Throughout the day she’d stared at his mobile number until the figures had danced and blurred in front of her eyes, trying to decide whether to phone him and tell him she’d changed her mind.
If he’d shown some emotion, smiled at her even, then she might be feeling differently. Had he taken her hands as he always had done in the past when they’d met, brushing his warm lips slowly over her knuckles before turning them over and placing a lingering kiss in each palm, she would have been ecstatic.
When she’d changed her mind and agreed to what he’d asked she’d felt that they’d only need to touch each other for all the old magic to swamp them both again. But he hadn’t touched her and she’d been a real fool to think they could go back to the way it had been because none of it had been real.
So, as it was, she felt insulted. And stupid.
His mobile number was printed indelibly on her mind. She would phone the moment she returned to her office and, hopefully, disguise the hurt in her voice when she told him she’d changed her mind.
Her father was staring at the view from his window. He turned when she entered, a rare smile on his craggy face as he announced, ‘You might as well clear your desk today. Under the circumstances there’s no need for you to work out your notice. Raffacani has everything in hand.’
Already! ‘You’ve spoken to him?’ Lisa felt for the back of one of the chairs that fronted his massive desk.
‘He’s only just left. He demanded an emergency executive meeting first thing this morning.’ His tone was admiring. ‘Not one to let the grass grow under his feet. I like that; it augurs well.’
For whom? Lisa asked herself sinkingly as she sat and watched her father take his seat behind the desk, his cold eyes scanning her pale features as if seeing her, really seeing her, for the first time. ‘I had no idea you knew each other. Raffacani explained everything. How the two of you met in Spain, how he lost sight of you, and your agreement to spend some time with him in Andalusia.’
He permitted himself another slight smile. ‘Play your cards right, convince him you’d make the perfect wife, and you’ll be set for life. Mind you, Arthur was cut up. Ben’s had his nose knocked out of place—yours was probably the shortest engagement on record. But, as Raffacani’s package includes heavy investment, restaffing at the higher editorial levels, he soon came round.’ He gave her a judicious look. ‘I imagine his rescue package is down to you. I don’t want to know the ins and outs of it but I can tell you this—you’ve actually made up for not being the son I always wanted. Good girl!’
So she had finally won his approval! Lisa swallowed the threatened tears. But at what price? No use telling herself it didn’t matter, that she had learned to live with his indifference. All her life she’d wanted his warmth, his approval, his recognition that, despite not being a son, she was flesh of his flesh, his child. It was a need she couldn’t shake off in the time it took to take a breath. And to give him his due, she rationalised, he didn’t know the true story.
The phone call to Diego wouldn’t be made. Couldn’t be made, not now. He’d withdraw his rescue package. Her father would blame her. He would hate her!
The little black dress was earning its keep again tonight, was Lisa’s self-admittedly ridiculous thought as she paid the taxi off and entered the foyer of one of London’s most exclusive hotels.
Anything to stop herself thinking of the humiliation that lay ahead.
She’d showered and dressed like an automaton, coiling her hair up on the back of her head and fixing seed pearl ear studs into her lobes. Sparing with her make-up, she surveyed the finished result with the bleak satisfaction of knowing she looked cool, remote and untouchable. Her Ice Maiden Look, Sophie would have joked if she hadn’t still been too miffed with her to speak to her at all.
‘I’ve always thought of you as my kid sister!’ Sophie had muttered at her yesterday. ‘And my best friend—and it was going to be lovely having you really in the family. And don’t forget, it was me who brought Ben up to scratch. I told him to propose to you to keep us all a nice cosy family!’
Lisa hadn’t known that. But it made sense. Ben would have thought long and hard about what his twin had suggested and come down on the side of expediency.
He hadn’t a romantic or adventurous bone in his body and if he wanted to marry at some stage, start a family, it might as well be with his father’s partner’s daughter. They were very fond of each other, always had been, knew each other inside out. And after the regrettable interlude with the Spanish waiter she had never put a foot wrong, never even dated. What could be better?
She sighed deeply. She knew the way his mind worked and could furnish the internal conversation he would have had with himself.
And now she had lost Sophie, her best friend, and Ben too. The three of them would never be as close again. And when Diego had finished with her, tossed her aside like a used tea bag, she would have nothing and no one.
No pride, no self-respect. No job. And all because she had suffered a moment of sheer madness, thinking she and Diego could recapture what they had once had. His attitude as he’d acknowledged her submission had brought her back to sanity.
His room number in her possession, she took one of the lifts. Stiffening her spine, she drew in a deep breath as it stopped at the floor she wanted. She would match his mood, beat for beat. If he could be hard and disdainful, then so could she, curt to the point of rudeness, too, if that was the way he was going to play it. Keeping emotional distance was her only self-defence. Second time around a broken heart would be impossible to mend.
His great wealth had bought him the power to wreak vengeance but that didn’t mean he had to gain any kind of satisfaction from it. If he wanted her to have sex with him—making love didn’t come near to describing what this sordid bargain was all about—then she would keep her side of the hellish agreement. But he wouldn’t enjoy having sex with a lump of wooden indifference.
That would be her revenge!
CHAPTER FIVE
LISA was oblivious of the sheer opulence of Diego’s hotel suite; she didn’t move more than a foot inside the door he’d opened to her hesitant rap. She didn’t smile and she certainly couldn’t speak.
She didn’t look at him and kept her eyes on the patch of the soft cream carpet directly in front of her feet. But she was so stingingly aware of him her head was swimming, her heart banging wildly against her breastbone. She kept her teeth clamped tightly together. If she relaxed the iron grip they would start chattering with nervous tension.
Was he expecting her to go to bed with him tonight? That would be her side of the bargain, wouldn’t it? Her stomach jaunted off on a roller coaster ride of its own at that thought and she emitted a low driven groan.
‘Don’t slouch.’ The lightly accented drawled injunction dragged her back to her senses. She was supposed to be giving him the same cold treatment he’d given her, wasn’t she? Not acting like a cringing victim waiting for the axe to fall.
She raised her head slowly, injecting ice into her inky-blue eyes. It was a real s
truggle to maintain a haughty, indifferent expression when looking into that lean, darkly handsome face and admitted to herself that he would only have to say one kind word to have her melting like a snowflake on hot coals.
Inching her chin higher as the cool narrowed assessment of his beautiful eyes made her pulses jump, she ignored the butterflies in her stomach and drawled as flatly as she could manage, ‘Father tells me you’ve already got your side of the bargain moving.’ A slight, resigned shrug. Could she come across as sophisticated and blasé? She had no idea. But she’d give it a try.
‘We may as well get my side of it over, too.’
That less than enthusiastic statement should let him know she’d put their arrangement firmly into the boring business category, emotions totally absent.
‘If that’s an invitation I’m not overwhelmed with joy.’ His handsome mouth hardened. Por Dios, but she was as hard as nails! But he had expected that, hadn’t he? She didn’t turn a hair at the idea of using sex as a bargaining tool. Five years ago he’d fallen fathoms deep in love with a sweetly generous, innocent angel. What an act she’d put on!
She was still as lovely, though. Perhaps even more so. Her eyes could still make his soul shake, his body sting with desire. And he would have her, but on his terms, not hers. He would make her beg…
Taking a pace back, he made a small gesture to a table set in front of an enormous window that gave a glittering view of the vibrant, brilliantly lit city. ‘I would prefer our relationship to be civilised, so we start as we mean to go on,’ he imparted levelly. ‘To that end, dinner is already ordered and while we eat we will discuss our future arrangements.’
Ending that cool statement of intent, Diego placed a hand lightly on the small of her back and encouraged her in the direction of the elegantly laid table as the trolley from Room Service arrived, dexterously handled by an impassive-faced waiter.
Spanish Vengeance Page 5
