by Lynne Graham
In the limo, Lydia studied the contract. Some of it she understood, but most of it she found impenetrable. He was determined to ensure that she depended on him for everything, from the roof over her head to the clothes on her body and the very food she ate.
She shuddered with distaste. He would own her body and soul. She would have no rights left to exercise, for he would have taken them all away. She would simply be Cristiano Andreotti’s whore. That was the price she was about to pay for trying to save face and hit back at him for breaking her heart. The lawer was a man with shrewd eyes, tapped the agreement in wry acknowledgement. ‘There’s even a seven-point confidentiality clause which prevents you from talking about the contract or your relationship with Andreotti outside this office.’
Lydia swallowed slowly. ‘What’s your opinion’?’
‘lf you don’t need the money, run,’ he advised ruefully. ‘There is no equality in this contract. While you are required to meet a strict code of conduct, Andreotti can dispense with your services at any time and without explanation. Furthermore, neither your duties nor your hours of employment are defined. Sign and you will be contractually bound to agree to whatever Andreotti demands.’
Lydia nodded heavily.
‘should you breach the contract, however, two hundred and fifty thousands will become a dept that requires repayment. That threat will put considerable pressure on you to meet all expectations, reasonable or otherwise.’‘l know,’ she muttered tautly.
Andreotti is, however, disposed to be extremely generous in other ways. He promises to ensure that you enjoy every possible luxury and advantage while you remain with him.’ His mouth quirked. tile may be offering you modern-day slavery, but at least it’s slavery with solid gold manacles.’
Having signed, she travelled to the airport. Already she was frantically trying to work out what she would tell Gwenna, for she could see no good reason to distress her cousin with the sordid truth.
Forty-eight hours later a removal firm arrived at her little terraced home to crate up her possessions. She had already given notice to the rental agency. The following day the police contacted her to say that the charges against her and her mother had been withdrawn. A tide of relief flooded Lydia, leaving her weak, and she wished that she had some way of contacting her mother to assure her that she was no longer at risk of arrest.
Virginia had believed it would be safer if her daughter did not know how to get in touch with her, and had promised that she would phone when the fuss was all over. Lydia texted Gwenna to share her good news, and, as she had expected, her cousin called in on her way home from school.
‘Why is a removal van sitting outside’?’ the brunette demanded, elevating a brow at the sight of the man engaged in packing china in the kitchen.
‘Come upstairs,’ Lydia urged.
‘Are you moving somewhere’?’
‘Gwenna I’m moving out.’ Lydia bent over the suitcase lying open on the bed to wedge a shoe in one corner. ‘You remember I told you that l’d broken up with someone before l left London last year’?’ ‘Well, you didn’t spill many beans-only that the revolting rock star was a publicity stunt that went wrong,’
Gwenna reminded her wryly. ‘You didn’t tell me who the mysterious someone was.’
‘Cristiano Andreotti…you probably haven’t heard of him-‘
‘We do live on the same planet, and l read the same magazines you do. Did you really date that mega-rich womanizer? No wonder you got burned!’
Lydia mentally crossed her fingers, because she was about to lie.
‘When Cristiano saw that story about the missing money in the paper, he came to see me. He wanted she could be interrupted. He’s paid back the money, the charges have been dropped and we’re getting together again.’
Gwenna dealt her an astounded look.
‘so that’s why you want to return to London… ‘
‘l’m moving in with him. No, don’t say anything! I know you don’t approve-‘
‘of course l don’t. What am l supposed to think? He stumps up two hundred and fifty grand and five minutes later you’re agreeing to live with him’?’
Lydia winced. She saw no point in upsetting her cousin with the truth, but it was not as easy as she had hoped to tell a convincing story. In desperation she reached for the old biscuit box by the bed, which contained keepsakes from her adolescence.
Wrenching off its lid, she lifted out the photo ‘Who is that? Gwenna questioned.
Her face uncomfortably hot, Lydia handed it over. ‘I cut it out of a newspaper when l was fourteen.’
Gwenna fixed astonished eyes on her cousin. ‘But this is him, isn’t it? Cristiano Andreotti? You had a crush on him when you were that young’?’
‘Yes. He’s the love of my life, and, to be frank, what contended tautly, accepting the return of the photo and thrusting it down on the windowsill as though the worn metal frame was red-hot. ‘l really want to be with him. Please don’t spoil it for me.’
Gwenna studied her unhappily, compressed her lips and said nothing more. Instead the cousins discussed practicalities, with Gwenna offering to receive and check Lydia’s post.
A member of Cristiano’s staff rang to inform Lydia of her travelling schedule for departure, and she wondered if Cristiano’s use of a third party to pass on his orders was a taste of what life would be like with him. It made her feel very much like an employee. It also sent a shiver of apprehension travelling through her. What would her life be like with Cristiano running the whole show?
In actuality, her first destination in London turned out to be an exclusive beauty salon, where she discovered that she had been booked in for an incredible range of treatments. She found it humiliating that Cristiano was evidently not even prepared to see her until she had been groomed to within an inch of her life. The rest of the day passed while she moved from one room to the next, her skin glowing from a spa, a massage and a facial, her nails manicured, her mane of unruly waves conditioned and styled back into shape.
Cristiano phoned only when she was back in the limo that had come to collect her.
‘Did you enjoy being pampered again’?’ His honeyed dark drawl skimmed down her spinal cord and she tensed and sat up, clutching the phone between taut fingers. His voice made her think about sex, and ensured that she was suddenly contemplating the shocking reality that she would be sharing a bed with him that night.
‘Yes…yes, of course,’ she fibbed, reasoning that there was no point in sharing her true feelings with him.
‘l can’t join you for dinner. Make yourself comfortable at the apartment,’ he advised, breaking off momentarily to speak to someone and then returning to conclude the brief dialogue in a tone of preoccupation. ‘l’ll meet you at a club later’
His apartment proved to be even vaster than she had appreciated on her only previous visit. A manservant, clearly following orders, showed her round a very long procession of cool, contemporary rooms hung with breathtaking art, before finally ushering her into a bedroom which mercifully bore no sign of male occupation. Lydia breathed again and walked across the floor to examine the sleek silver dress which awaited her there. A creation of the season’s hottest designer, it was fashioned of fabric that shimmered when the light hit it. It would, however, be very short on her, Lydia acknowledged ruefully, because she had extremely long legs.
But what right did she have to protest? Hadn’t she signed a contract in which she’d agreed to be treated more as an object than a person? Her body was Cristiano’s sole source of interest, and, as such, was to be maintained and presented in a manner that pleased him. It was horribly humiliating.
That feeling of having lost control of her own life was heightened by the arrival of a make-up artist and a stylist, both of whom had been engaged to add the final polish to her appearance. It also meant that she had no time whatsoever in which to eat the evening meal she was offered.
A big bulky man climbed out of the limo and introduced himself
as her security guard, Arnaldo. When the car drew up at an ultra-chic nightclub in Mayfair, it was Arnaldo who dealt with the bouncers barring entry to all but the chosen few.
She was ushered past the long queue waiting hopefully and escorted to a private room. On the threshold, she was greeted by a familiar and unwelcome face.
‘This is some comeback you’re making, darling,’ the stocky, powerfully built banker Philip Hazlett gibed, with a look that made her feel naked. ‘You’re looking very fit. l don’t think I can blame Cristiano for succumbing to a rerun with you.’
Colouring, she said nothing. She had never liked Philip, but he was a childhood friend of Cristiano’s, who had attended the same public school. Cristiano, surrounded by men wielding notebook computers and wearing anxious expressions, was talking on the phone. His arrogant dark head lifted as she came in. In a dark suit, striped shirt and blue silk tie, he was drop-dead gorgeous. She met glittering dark golden eyes, fringed by black lashes and semi-screened from her vision.
Simultaneously all the oxygen in the atmotsphere seemed to vanish, and she jerked to a sudden halt.
Cristiano allowed himself to stare. It was a given that all his male executives would gape at Lydia like schoolboys, he conceded, for she was dazzling. Her pale blonde hair tumbled in shining waves round her spectacularly beautiful face. A glistening swirl of silver fabric graced her delicate curves and skimmed her slender thighs. Desire took a rare back seat for Cristiano as he appreciated how revealing the dress was. Just as swiftly he noticed that he was not alone in relishing that view of her bare shoulders and back and her never-ending legs.
He cursed his own lack of judgement, and the sensual line of his handsome mouth hardened when he noticed that Philip was guilty of ogling too. What had happened to respect for another man’s woman?
Aggressive antennae bristling, he shot a knife-sharp glance of censure at the offending male and the guy paled.
Strolling forward, Cristiano curved an arm round Lydia and swept her straight back out of the room, his security men falling in behind him. She could sit by the dance floor and drink vintage champagne. That would keep her occupied and pretty much out of sight, for his table was in a private booth. He let his fingers dance down her spinal cord. Her skin felt like the softest silk.
‘You look and feel sublime…’
The caressing brush of his hand sent a spasm of almost painful awareness reverberating through her slim length. Her breasts tingled, their delicate peaks tightening.
The dark, hungry note in his accented drawl made her knees feel as bendy as twigs.
‘lf l wasn’t in the middle of a deal that’s hotting up, l’d take you home right now, bambola poca, ‘ Cristiano breathed in husky addition. All of a sudden Lydia’s knees felt a little sturdier. It seemed that nothing had changed.
Rich beyond avarice though he was, Cristiano still devoted his time and attention to getting richer, and the woman capable of distracting him from business and profit had yet to be born. He was a workaholic in denial.
‘What did you call me’?’ she asked, seeking a translation as he settled her behind a table.
Her knees now felt like concrete, unassailably steady and dependable supports. ‘Little doll’
Cristiano skated a confident forefinger gently along the exposed expanse of her slim thigh and made her jump and shiver in startled response. ‘That’s what you remind me of in that dress. it’s very, very sexy-but really not that appropriate in public.’
‘You picked it’ Lydia pointed out between gritted teeth only he didn’t hear her.
As a brimming glass of champagne was poured for her Cristiano vaulted back upright again.
‘Where are you going’?’ she exclaimed before she could think better of it.
‘l can’t make calls here… ‘ Cristiano laughed shrugging with the innate grace that accompanied all his movements and indicating the music.
‘Enjoy yourself. l won’t be long.’
‘Don’t worry about it…I’11 soon find company ! Lydia heard herself declare.
His lean darkly handsome face froze. ‘ls that a joke’?’ he launched at her loud enough for Arnaldo to frown in surprise from his position several feet away.
‘I just meant…talking…dancing-‘
‘No and no ‘ Cristiano riposted with icy force.
‘No talking, no dancing, no flirting. One false move of that nature and you’re in trouble. There will be no second chances. Don’t let me catch you even looking at another guy! ‘
Astonished by that chilling warning, and the derision in his hard gaze, Lydia had to snatch in a sudden breath and hold it to keep her temper under control. Forced to breathe again or burst she leant forward without conscious thought and said
‘You’d better tell Amaldo to watch me!’ Cristiano sank back down beside her his stunning gaze flashing flames of gold as he slowly and carefully laced long elegant fingers into the pale waves tumbling across her breast.
‘Do you know what I really want to do now’?’
he murmured huskily.
‘I want to take you back to the apartment, spread you across my bed and teach you some manners.’
Open-mouthed she stared back at him shock paralysing her while colour washed her cheeks. That graphic response ripped through her hurt pride and defiance to remind her of exactly what their relationship was.
Slowly, he got up again. She didn’t watch him walk away. Thanks to that absurd fiasco with Mort Stevens he honestly believed she couldn’t be trusted around other men. In fact he thought she was a‘femmefatale’. Why wasn’t she laughing at the idea?
Instead she drained her glass and grasped it again as soon as it was refilled. Fear of the unknown had seized her and she was fighting it off. His bed? Would he realise that she was totally inexperienced? She thought it unlikely. After all he had dismissed her claim of innocence with contempt and she had once read that most men couldn’t tell the difference between a virgin and a sophisticate. Her chin came up, her fierce pride kicking in.
Playing ‘femmefatale’ to the bitter end appealed to her. Surrendering to him would be a sacrifice and she did not want a guy she hated to appreciate that. She wanted him to think that he couldn’t get to her that she didn’t care what he did or how he behaved. Indifference would be her arbour she told herself feverishly.
Forty minutes later Cristiano broke the habit of a lifetime and delegated his phone. He strode back to his table and sat down beside her. An arm anchored round her he lounged back tugging her into intimate connection with the long, powerful splawl of his relaxed muscular body. Celebrity friends and acquaintances began to drift up for he was always the centre of attention. Incredibly tense and nervous, Lydia avoided all eye contact. Cristiano inclined his handsome head in aloof acknowledgement exchanged the occasional sally but he made no attempt to introduce her to anyone. Nobody dared to breach his reserve.
‘Why are you acting like I’m not here’?’
‘That you are with me is my business alone’ Cristiano asserted with immense cool even while he wondered why she was so on edge.
‘I hate being stared at’ she muttered wondering if she had been recognised as the former model and thief exposed by the tabloids. She thought that it was unlikely, for she had never been half as famous as most of the people present. Even so tension made her tremble against him like an animal being exhibited in a cage.
‘Get used to it.You are beautiful enough to stop traffic and you’re with me. Maintaining a low profile isn’t an option.’
He had never remarked on her looks before and before she could think better of it Lydia turned her head to whisper inquisitively,
‘Do you really think I’m that beautiful’?’
‘Why else are you here’?’ Her momentary pleasure evaporated at that caustic response and she shifted uncomfortably.
‘Can’t we dance or something’?’
‘I don’t dance. ‘
An employee signalled him from the door of th
e private room and he released her and sprang up.
A bag of nerves without his presence Lydia downed more champagne. He had bought her out of trouble on a whim-as an amusement an ego trip. Now he was laying down rules much as he intended to lay her down. Angry rebellion snaked through her. She wasn’t to dance or talk with anyone. He had stuck her in a booth and deserted her like an umbrella on a sunny day. But he had said nothing about her dancing on her own had he? Why should she hide? Straightening her slim shoulders she got up. Her head swam a little and for a moment she had to clutch the
table to steady herself. How much champagne had she drunk for goodness’ sake? Flinging her head back, she breathed in deep and headed out on to the floor.
Ten minutes later Cristiano came to an arrested halt on his passage back to her side. His ebony brows drew together above incredulous dark eyes. Lydia was dancing alone and there was a spotlight on her. Lost in the music she was spinning with her eyes closed silver-gilt hair fanning out in a glittering curtain her divine body twisting in time with the driving beat. She looked amazing. Every guy in the club was watching her with his tongue hanging out, and he didn’t like it. He wanted to drag her off the floor and take her home and that caveman instinct startled him.
When Lydia opened her eyes and saw him her reaction was not at all what she had expected.
Somehow the messy tangle of emotions he evoked coalesced inside her to produce a treacherous current of raw excitement. She had loved him once a little inner voice whispered in persuasive reminder. Wouldn’t it be wiser to make the best of a bad situation? In confusion she stilled her body awash with physical awareness. The tiny snaking curl of heat tugging low in her pelvis made concentration well-nigh impossible.