by Penny Jordan
Fenella had made her life a misery when they were growing up together, and her death from a drugs overdose had not been the shock to her that it had been to her parents—how could it, in view of the number of times Fenella had turned up at her flat either to beg or harangue her into giving her money to fund her habit? And of course when they were growing up Fenella had been the loved and valued one, whilst she…Automatically she clamped down on her thoughts. She was an adult now, not a child.
It took her several minutes to find out what was wrong. Her adoptive parents had run up a bill of several thousand pounds for which they were past the stage of final demands and warnings and which they could not now repay. How could they have spent so much? Carly felt slightly sick. She did some mental arithmetic and heaved a small sigh of relief. She had just about enough in her own accounts to cover it.
‘Don’t worry—I’ll sort everything out,’ she promised, fighting not to feel upset at the thought of such a large sum of money—to her—being wasted. Ending the call, she turned towards her case, her eyes widening as she stared in disbelief at the empty space where it should have been.
Carly was trying desperately not to give in to her panic as she saw Ricardo striding imperiously towards her.
‘The car’s this way.’
Somehow or other he had relieved her of both her laptop and her hand luggage.
‘Where’s your case?’
Her mouth went dry with panic.
‘I…er…It’s gone,’ she told him uncomfortably, well aware that she probably only had herself to blame, and that her act of charity had badly backfired on her.
‘Gone?’
‘Yes. I think someone must have stolen it.’
Ricardo absorbed her none too subtle message cynically. Managing to ‘lose’ her luggage was certainly a dramatic start to setting him up to replenish her wardrobe. What had she done with it? Put it in a left luggage locker?
‘So now you don’t have any clothes to wear?’ he offered helpfully. He would play along with her for now, if only to see her modus operandi in action.
Carly exhaled shakily, relieved that he was taking it so well.
‘No—nothing apart from what I’m wearing.’ And, thanks to that desperate phone call she had just received, she wouldn’t be able to afford to replace what she had lost either, she realised with growing dismay.
‘Annoying, I know. But at least you’ll be able to claim on your insurance policy later,’ he told her dispassionately, and then watched her. He had to admit that she was very good—that small indrawn breath, that tiny betraying flicker of her eyelashes, which demanded a response. ‘You are insured, I trust?’
‘I do have insurance,’ Carly agreed.
But it was not the kind of insurance that would enable her to replace her carefully chosen designer wardrobe, she realised dispiritedly.
‘So there isn’t any problem, is there?’ Ricardo offered smoothly. ‘After all, you are in one of the best places in the world for female retail therapy, aren’t you?’
‘I’m sure it’s certainly one of the most expensive,’ Carly agreed wryly.
‘I’d better find a police station and report it, I suppose.’
Ricardo listened appreciatively. She was very good.
‘I doubt that would do any good. You can report it by phone later from the villa, if you wish.’
He was impatient to leave and she was holding him up, Carly realised at his crisp words. And he was a potential client.
So what did she do now? She couldn’t keep her promise to her adoptive parents, to whom she needed to transfer the money quickly, and replenish her wardrobe. None of her small ‘for her old age’ investments could be realised quickly, and she was loath to put a further charge on the business by asking Lucy for money to replace clothes she was responsible for losing—especially since they had emptied the budget and cash flow was problematic.
This was not a good time to remember the lecture she had delivered to both Jules and Lucy about how they should follow her example and refuse to possess any credit cards.
She had a few hundred euros in cash—petty cash and personal spending money—probably about enough to buy herself some new knickers, she acknowledged derisively.
Which meant…
What? It was a Saturday; her bank would be closed. Attempting to arrange a temporary bank loan here, with her limited French? Not a good idea. Ringing Jules, explaining what had happened and asking her for a temporary loan? Better—if Jules was even there. But Jules would probably tell Lucy, and then Lucy would insist on sending her money from the business. Asking someone else if they could help her out? Like who? One of their contractors? Or…She looked uncertainly at Ricardo as she followed him to the car.
There was nothing she hated more than being beholden to someone, accepting a benefit she could neither repay nor return. It went against everything she believed in to ask anyone to even lend her money—and were the money for her own personal spending she would have starved rather than consider it. But it wasn’t. It would just be temporary. And she had a duty to the business that surely overrode her own pride?
As they reached the car Ricardo looked at Carly. It was obvious to him that she was expecting him to do the gentlemanly thing and offer to replace her lost clothing. Poor girl—how on earth could she be expected to manage with just the contents of her hand luggage and the clothes she stood up in? She couldn’t—and, since effectively she was here at least in part for his benefit, naturally he, as a very wealthy man should offer to provide her with a suitable new wardrobe.
And when he didn’t respond as she obviously wanted him to, what, he mused, would be her next move?
Did St Tropez have second-hand clothes shops? Charity shops? Carly wondered worriedly as she thanked Ricardo when he politely held open the passenger door of the car for her. Surely it must. French women were known to be shrewd in such matters.
‘Something wrong?’ Ricardo asked her smoothly.
She was very tempted to admit just how much was wrong—although she doubted he would share her dismay at the thought of a £4,000 bill, she thought ruefully. She opted for discretion instead, and told him lightly, ‘I didn’t realise you’d be driving yourself. I was expecting a chauffeur-driven car.’
Of course she was. Women like her did.
‘Even billionaires sometimes like to economise,’ he told her dryly, before adding, more truthfully, ‘I like driving, and I grew up in Naples. If you can drive there and live, you can drive anywhere.’
The car was plain and solidly built, but—blissfully—the air-conditioning was wonderfully effective.
They were stationary in a queue of traffic, and at the side of the road a young man was offering a stunningly pretty girl a peach. As Carly looked on, the girl, oblivious to everything and everyone other than the young man, leaned forward and cupped her hand round his. Then, without taking her gaze from his, she took a bite out of the ripe fruit whilst its juice ran from it onto their interlocked hands.
The small tableau was so intensely sensual and intimate that Carly immediately looked away—and found she was looking right into Ricardo’s eyes.
Could he see in hers that she had watched the young couple, wondering how it would feel if he had been the one offering the peach to her? If its juice had run on her bare skin, would he have bent his head to savour its path with his tongue? Would he have…?
She started to tremble violently, small beads of sweat breaking out on her skin, and her body was suddenly thrown forward against her seatbelt as Ricardo depressed the accelerator savagely, causing the car to shoot forward.
What the hell was the matter with him? Ricardo berated himself silently. No way was he dumb enough to fall for something so obvious as the tired old come-on Carly had just tried out on him. Look at my lips, watch my tongue, imagine…
It was those damned eyes of hers that did it! How the hell did she manage to get them to turn so smoky and lustrous with desire on demand like that?
CHAPTER FOUR
‘WHERE exactly are we staying?’ Carly asked Ricardo, hoping that it would be within easy walking distance of the town and the harbour. She would need easy access to both from early tomorrow morning, so that she could liaise properly with their contractors and get to the bank, as she had promised her parents, plus somehow find time to replenish her wardrobe.
‘Villa Mimosa,’ Ricardo answered her. ‘It’s outside St Tropez itself, up in the hills overlooking the sea. I’m not a particular fan of over-hyped, supposedly in places. Invariably, every minor celebrity that TV and magazines have ever created flock to them for maximum publicity exposure, destroying whatever charm the place may once have had. I like my privacy, and personally I prefer quality to quantity every time.’
‘Oh, yes. Me too,’ Carly agreed immediately. ‘But I do need to be able to get into St Tropez quickly and easily.’
‘Ah, you’re thinking about replacing your missing clothes,’ Ricardo said affably.
Carly couldn’t help laughing. ‘That, yes—but I was thinking more of liaising with our contractors.’
‘Mmm. I thought the purpose of this trip was for you to liaise with me,’ Ricardo told her softly.
Damn and double damn. He cursed himself mentally as he saw Carly absorbing the subtle flirtatiousness of his remark. Why the hell had he done that? Why hadn’t he waited and let her come on to him? Now she knew he was receptive to her!
Ricardo had just flirted with her! A heady mixture of pleasure and excitement danced along her veins. Careful, she warned herself. Remember you don’t want to get into a situation you can’t afford. On the other hand, there was such a thing as being too cautious. After all, her common sense told her that a man like Ricardo would not be interested in anything more than the very briefest kind of relationship—a ‘no commitment of any kind’ type of relationship. The perfect kind of relationship, surely, for a woman like her, who did not want to fall in love but who secretly—even if this was the first time she had admitted it to herself—wondered what it would be like to have sex with a man all her instincts told her would be a once-in-a-lifetime lover. Why shouldn’t she live a little recklessly for once?
‘Well, I certainly want to do my best to please you.’
Carly could scarcely believe such words had come from her own lips. Words that, no matter how demurely she had spoken them, could surely only convey to Ricardo a very provocative message.
Ricardo turned his head to look at her. That was more like it!
The look in those dark eyes was quite unmistakable, Carly recognised, as her heart missed a beat and sweet, hot, sensual arousal poured through her body like warm honey.
‘We’re here.’
‘What? Oh. Yes.’
She had actually blushed, Ricardo marvelled as he stopped the car. And her nipples were standing out beneath the fabric of her tee shirt in flagrant sexual arousal.
Ridiculously, suddenly he was as hot for her as though he were a mere youth and this was his first time.
She might as well ask for his help and get it out of the way now, Carly decided. Because once they got inside…
Once they got inside what? Once they got inside she hoped he would take her to bed?
Her thoughts were leaving her torn between shock and delight. And urgency! Suddenly she wanted very much to get the matter of her need for a short-term loan and her discomfort about mentioning it to him out of the way.
So that she could be free to encourage him to flirt with her and ultimately—maybe—take her to bed without it hanging over her?
The unfamiliar recklessness of her own thoughts took some getting used to. But she wasn’t tempted to abandon them, was she?
So first things first, and then…
She cleared her throat and took a deep breath.
‘Ricardo…I…er…’
The husky little catch in her voice was very effective, Ricardo thought, as he waited for her to continue.
‘I feel very uncomfortable about this, but…’
‘Yes?’ he encouraged when she pretended to falter. After all, he reasoned cynically, the sooner he could get this farce over with, the sooner he could satisfy the itch to possess her that had now become an almighty, savage, unignorable ache.
Carly took heart from the kindness in Ricardo’s patient encouragement.
‘I need to replace some of the things that were in my suitcase. I don’t want to worry Lucy—it’s my job to deal with the accounts, after all—and…And I know this is…’ Her face had started to burn. ‘I was wondering if I could ask you to lend me some money—just temporarily, of course.’
Why had she ever thought this was a good idea? Carly wondered, feeling acutely embarrassed. Just listening to herself as she stumbled over her words made her go cold with horror at what she was doing. And if she found her request unacceptable, then what on earth must Ricardo be thinking?
‘I feel dreadful about this,’ she admitted honestly, ‘but I can’t think of what else I can do.’
Really? Didn’t she possess a bank account of her own? A credit card? A debit card? The ability to walk into a bank?
‘It would just be a loan. I would pay you back, of course…’
Indeed she would—and with interest.
Several different potential responses presented themselves to him, but in the end he decided that, since Carly was so patently thick-skinned, he might as well go for the oldest and least believable of all of them.
So he smiled at her, and then he took hold of her hand and patted it. And then he told her smoothly, ‘I shall be delighted to help you. How much do you think you will need?’
She was gazing at him starry-eyed, her face slightly flushed, her lips slightly parted, as though she could hardly believe her good fortune.
Such a heroic effort deserved a generous reward, Ricardo decided cynically.
‘Wait! I’ve had a better idea.’ But she, of course, had no doubt already had the same idea before him. ‘Why don’t we go into St Tropez together tomorrow and you can choose whatever you think you may need?’
For some reason she didn’t look as delighted as Ricardo had expected.
Ricardo had made her a wonderful offer, but she was not sure it was one she felt comfortable with, Carly reflected, as she thanked him.
‘That’s very generous of you.’
‘I’m delighted to be able to help,’ Ricardo assured her, before adding, ‘Come on, let’s go inside.’
Carly was used to staying in beautiful and magnificent properties, but the Villa Mimosa was truly breathtaking. Its setting alone—tucked into a hillside, overlooking the Mediterranean—provided a view that must surely always catch at the heart.
From the balcony of her bedroom she could look out over immaculate gardens and across a miraculous infinity pool to the horizon, and although it was a couple of hours now since they had arrived at the villa she still kept going to the balcony and gazing at the view.
The middle-aged Frenchwoman who had welcomed them had explained that she was the maid but that she did not live in. Cathy must have looked rather surprised at that, she realised, because after she had left them Ricardo had explained to her that he preferred to have his own personal staff on hand or do without.
‘My own people know how I like things done, and they know too that I like my privacy. It’s mid-afternoon now, and I have some business matters to attend to,’ he had told her, ‘so why don’t we agree to meet up on the terrace at, say, six? My choice would be for us to eat in,’ he had added suavely. ‘I can arrange to have something delivered.’
Carly had felt her heart miss a couple of beats at the potential implications of dining alone with him.
‘That sounds perfect,’ she had ans
wered, and then worried when she had seen the gleam in his eyes that she had sounded naïvely over-enthusiastic.
Six o’clock, he had said. And it was five now. She might not have anything to change in to, but she certainly intended to shower and tidy herself up.
Half an hour later, showered and still wearing the thick towelling robe she had found hanging up in the bathroom, she was just brushing her hair when she heard a soft tap on her bedroom door. It opened and Ricardo walked in, carrying two well filled champagne glasses.
‘I’ve mixed you a Bellini. I hope you like them.’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, I do,’ she agreed.
Unlike her, he was fully dressed, in dark linen trousers and a white linen shirt, his bare brown feet thrust into soft plain leather sandals.
He came over to where she was sitting and put one glass down on the glass-topped dressing table, then held the other out to her.
‘Try it first,’ he urged her.
Sipping from a glass whilst he held it surely shouldn’t be such a sensually intimate experience, should it? And why couldn’t she stop looking at the long brown fingers curled round the stem of the glass? She tried to focus on something else, but discovered that the only other thing to focus on was his body, and that the place where the line of his trousers was broken by a telltale bulge was exactly on her eye line. And, what was worse, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from gazing appreciatively at it.
‘It’s lovely,’ she assured him hurriedly, taking a sip and then turning away. ‘I hadn’t realised that was the time. I’d better hurry up and get dressed.’
He gave a small shrug.
‘You might as well stay as you are. I hope you like lobster by the way.’
‘I love it,’ she told him truthfully.