The Tycoon's Shock Heir

by Bella Frances

  The car rolled to a halt outside Luigi’s, one of his favourite restaurants, where the food was amazing and the staff were fast and friendly.

  He got out and stood on the pavement, rolled his tensed shoulders and willed himself to clear his mind. He breathed deeply, inhaling the sultriness of the evening, the dense, heady scent of the jasmine planted on either side of the restaurant entrance.

  Ruby emerged from the car. Just looking at her was like a sip of summer wine, full of promise, easing him into a better place.

  He hoped.

  Just one more detail to be sure of before he could completely relax with her...

  Minutes later they were settled in a subtly lit corner of the restaurant, where shadows licked at Ruby’s delicate throat, her fine-boned chest and long slim arms as they rested on the white tablecloth. He so badly wanted to reach across the table and take hold of her hand, trail his fingers along her collarbone, absorb the softness of her skin.

  But control was all. Control and then controlled release. Like exercising a muscle.

  ‘You were amazing tonight,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better assistant. You know your world inside out and you didn’t need any notes. I’m impressed.’

  ‘It’s easy when it’s something you care about.’

  ‘It’s not just dance, is it? You care about the company, too. It’s obvious how much those people mean to you.’

  He thought of her face, shining with pride as she introduced him to her colleagues, how they’d embraced and smiled happily together.

  ‘They’ve been my family for years. I’ve been very lucky.’

  ‘You mean that in a figurative sense, of course?’

  ‘I mean that since the age of eleven I’ve been with the British Ballet as a boarder. So they really are my family. My mum and her boyfriend moved to the south coast when I was twelve, but I was able to stay here. I’m in with the bricks,’ she said brightly, ending the sentence with a fake note of joy.

  He was beginning to recognise her little signatures: the overly bright smile, the wide-eyed stare, the happy to help tone in her voice. Those little idiosyncrasies could pull a man under if he wasn’t careful.

  ‘I’m sure everything will work out for you, Ruby,’ he said. ‘Even if it’s not performing on the stage there must be other things you can do with the company—assuming you want to stay with them? Education or... I don’t know, maybe you want to see a bit more of the world? Aren’t there jobs in other companies?’

  ‘Of course there are, but I’m not exactly in a position to plan anything yet. It all depends on what my consultant says next month.’

  ‘And if you get the all-clear would you move? Is there anything—or anyone—holding you here?’

  ‘I don’t have anyone special in my life if that’s what you mean?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean.’

  She screwed up her face. ‘My track record with men isn’t exactly my strong suit. I’ve never been much for socialising, and this injury has completely drained me—so, no, there’s no one special in my life.’

  ‘My track record with women isn’t exactly my strong suit either.’

  Her lips curled into a mocking smile. ‘For completely different reasons.’

  ‘So the press would have you believe,’ he said, grateful for the arrival of the waiters. He didn’t particularly want to go into any of his relationship back story with her. Nor did he want to know hers. Sharing all that stuff gave out the wrong signals—as if he cared, as if there was going to be a future between them.

  They sat silently at the circular table, watching as napkins were flicked and laid over their laps, as platters of cheese and meat, olives and artichokes and glistening melon were laid down and wine sloshed gaily into their glasses.

  All the while her eyes widened, and in the candlelight the hollows of her cheeks seemed to deepen and the column of her throat lengthen as she sat forward to stare at each plate.

  Finally the waiters bowed and left.

  ‘Tuck in,’ he said, steepling his fingers and watching as she began to eat, cutting cubes of melon and ham slowly at first, swallowing delicately, then devouring them and washing it down with sips of wine.

  It satisfied something deep within him that he was able to provide food for her. He’d taken dozens of women to dinner, and never once before had he ever taken such pleasure in watching anyone eat. She was fresh and new and lovely and she didn’t care about what the all the others cared about. She hadn’t shown any interest in the jet or the car, or the people who clambered all over him to get their picture taken. She genuinely wanted to make him like the ballet and the dancers. She cared.

  He knew that feeling. It was buried deep inside him. The passion for his game, the hunger to train and win. The drive to get better and better and then the ultimate payback: the chance to play for his country.

  He would never forget that soaring feeling of joy when the coach had pulled him aside and told him he was under consideration. He hadn’t even told his parents—only Sophie. She’d been the only one he’d trusted, the only one who had known what it meant to him.

  But that was all in the past now. Even if he hadn’t had the heart ripped out of him, he was never going to be able to dedicate himself to rugby again. Not with a widowed mother and a bank to pull back from the brink. His family pride as well as billions in sterling, euros and Swiss francs were in the balance. There was no possible way he could turn his back on that and run out onto a muddy field.

  Sometimes money sickened him. Greed climbed inside people’s souls and turned them black. Like Claudio. The man had always been rich in his own right, but he wanted even more than money. And look where that had got them all.

  He looked up to see Ruby sitting back from the table with a happy, sated smile.

  ‘Is that better?’

  She beamed, revealing her dimples to him. ‘Oh, yes, thank you. It was delicious.’

  ‘That was just the starter. You’ve got space for more?’ he asked as the table was cleared and restocked with all sorts of sharing plates of pasta, fish and salad.

  ‘Maybe a little,’ she said, her eyes widening over the next load of steaming dishes. ‘I don’t normally eat a lot. Well, that’s not strictly true—I normally stuff my face. But not recently. Not since I’ve not been able to dance.’

  ‘Don’t they pay you?’ he asked. ‘Don’t they see you as an investment?’ It was none of his business but the injustice of it puzzled him.

  ‘Of course they look after me—but if I can’t dance I can’t dance.’

  She turned her head to the side and twirled her ponytail through her fingers.

  ‘Anyway, all you need to know is that I’ve been on a bit of a tight budget recently. Normally I’d pay my share if I was on a date, but I’m a bit broke until my cheque clears.’

  ‘Is this a date, Ruby?’

  The forkful of pasta she had stabbed and was drawing up to her open mouth was placed down carefully. She looked up and the flickering candlelight licked the hollows of her huge almond eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful woman.

  ‘I... I don’t think so.’

  ‘We’ve already established that there’s something interesting going on between us. Wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘Is this how you normally seduce women?’ she asked. ‘I thought you’d be a bit more subtle.’

  She picked up her cutlery again and continued eating, her eyebrows raised like two black birds, mocking him. He couldn’t help but smile at her quick-on-the-draw retort, but he wasn’t going to let her off that easily.

  ‘I didn’t think we were working on the premise of “subtle”. I thought you were quite clear that you found me sexually attractive.’

  She put her hand to her chest. The solid line of her dress cut right across the shadows of her small breasts and hi
s eyes fell there. She was exquisite. And he allowed himself the luxury of imagining what those small breasts looked like, what those rosy nipples would taste like rolling under his tongue.

  ‘What? You’re shocked that I would call you on that?’

  ‘I’m shocked at your double standards. You’re the one who’s been putting it out all night.’

  ‘Ha! Oh, really?’

  ‘Absolutely. Every time I had to say something to you, you were well inside my personal space. I couldn’t move so much as an inch and you were right beside me, hands all over me.’

  ‘Is that right? Hands all over you?’ He could barely contain his chuckle. She was making him more and more aroused with every second. ‘Well, I have to apologise. I didn’t notice you pulling away or asking me to back out of your “personal space”. In fact, as I recall, in between your breathy little whispers, you liked to linger in my personal space much longer than a person would normally take to move away. In fact I’d go so far as to say you were almost rubbing yourself against me. Maybe that’s something that you dancers think is normal, but for the rest of us—I’d say that that was provocative.’

  As he spoke he watched her face react. Her eyes widening and the trouble she was having swallowing. It was pure, unadulterated pleasure—just what he needed.

  ‘That was you! You were provoking me!’

  ‘And I happen to know just how sensitive your ears and neck are.’

  He looked there now, watching the soft pink flush that was travelling all over her cheeks, imagining how she was going to react the next time he touched her.

  ‘You could barely stay upright when I had to ask you a question. If I brought my lips anywhere close to your ear you practically melted in my arms. You have a very responsive erogenous zone.’

  She rolled her eyes, as if he was talking rubbish, but she couldn’t disguise her smile or the deepening of her blush. She was playing for time, and every second thickened the hot, heavy, sultry air between them.

  ‘I was only doing my job,’ she said, looking up at him coyly. ‘It’s not my fault if you read more into it than was actually there.’

  ‘Ah. I see. I was imagining things.’ He knew women. He knew what he was and wasn’t imagining. ‘I’d certainly like to revisit my poor judgement over dessert. If I’m wrong, you’ll have my full apology. If I’m right...’

  ‘We’ll see,’ she said, and she gave a tiny shrug, the twin hollows of her perfect collarbones softly shadowed in candlelight.

  But with each second he could see her reaction deepen. He could feel it. Unless he was completely off his game, this was shaping up to be a night to remember.

  He leaned forward and took her hand, secretly thrilled when she didn’t try to pull away. He traced the fine veins that lay across her wrist, circled them over and over with his thumb. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips parted.

  ‘Indeed we will.’

  He brought her fingers to his lips softly, gently. Her eyelids dropped. He smiled and ran his fingers up and down the smooth skin of her forearm. She was visibly melting under his touch, but still she held something back.

  ‘I missed an evening at the casino tonight, but I’m willing to bet that I’ll have discovered every last one of your erogenous zones before dawn.’

  ‘I’d better warn you: I’m not really into sex,’ she breathed through a heavy-lidded smile.

  He tipped her face towards him until her mouth was at the perfect angle. He looked into her eyes, and in that moment he saw the wariness of the little girl she must once have been, but quickly it was gone and desire swept her lids closed.

  He angled his mouth and placed one slow, soft kiss on her lips. And then he slowly drew back.

  ‘That lengthens the odds, but I’m still willing to take the risk.’

  A smile broke across her full, kissable lips. Her eyes opened slowly.

  ‘You’re on,’ she said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  RUBY STEPPED OUT onto the terrace and walked to the wall that separated Matteo’s penthouse apartment from the rest of the dazzling London skyline. Below her the glow of a thousand lamps lit up the Thames embankment. Boats glided this way and that on the mottled surface of the river, which rolled along under a clear night sky.

  A tiny light breeze wafted over her bare skin and she touched her arms, holding herself close. She looked at the champagne flute, half full and balanced on the wall, and listened again for the sound of Matteo’s voice, rumbling low within the apartment—the third call he’d had to take this evening so far.

  The life of a corporate exec.

  She’d had no idea that people lived like this, in surroundings like this, on call day and night, and for a moment she let herself imagine becoming part of it. The money, the views, the parties. The meetings in boardrooms with demanding clients and hungry shareholders. She imagined him delivering a presentation in a glass-walled office, all eyes watching him, thought how impressive he must be in his world. How different that world was from hers.

  The shadowy shape-shifting future that she’d always imagined only ever featured herself—alone. It was a world on-stage, pushing herself to her limits, twisting her body into the shapes that she had practised over and over in rehearsal, presenting to one audience after another, relishing their thrilled excitement and basking in their awe as they rose to their feet, applauding.

  There was never any ‘afterwards’. No handsome husband to share the cab ride home with. No children waiting to say goodnight with the nanny, sleepy-eyed and pink-cheeked. No mother on the phone gushing with pride.

  She’d never seen those things in her future, and until this moment she had never even known they might be missing. Her dream had been the same since the moment she could remember. Since her first ballet lessons at the church hall and the surprised pleasure of the teacher, telling her mum that her daughter was ‘very talented’. She’d danced everywhere she went—the bus stop, in the supermarket—and people had beamed at her, filling up that achy dark spot inside her with their happy smiles.

  She would turn to her mother, expecting to see the same happiness, but it had hardly ever been there. She had been deep in her own world, her mobile phone never far away, her own heart broken and never healing. Not until she’d met George. And then it had all been decided.

  In her mind it had felt like coming to the top of a road and seeing two paths going in totally different directions. The promise of a ‘new life’ in Cornwall, with Mum and George. New school, new friends. She would still dance. They did ballet in Cornwall for goodness’ sake. But Ruby had known—she had known what that new life would really be like. It would be all about George. There would be no dance—not like she’d had before—and there would be even less of her mother’s love...

  She snapped out of her memories as Matteo finished his call and walked across the wooden floor. Her heart began to skip and her stomach flipped again against her ribs. He had been the perfect gentleman since they’d left the restaurant. Faultless. Too faultless. Attentive and caring and kind. He’d asked after her knee...asked was she still hungry? Could he prepare her some food? Bring her some wine? Could he kiss her here and here?

  He paused in the doorway, his white shirt unbuttoned at the neck and the dark shadow of hair and muscle excruciatingly close and alluringly touchable. Once again she felt that deep tug in her core. But she didn’t fight it—she couldn’t. The battle was well and truly lost.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said, walking up to her and circling his arm around her waist.

  He delivered another soft, leisurely kiss to her lips and then pulled back and smiled at her. Just as he’d done several times already in the past hour.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind. But that should be the end of it until tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I guess there’s never any real downtime in your world. There’s always someone’s needs to take care of.
High net worth people must be very high maintenance.’

  ‘You’re right. And I can’t pretend that that’s my favourite part of the job. You know, in the summer I’ll be on the Riviera most weekends? We host a regatta for charity. All the big names come. Sounds amazing, yes? But it’ll be full-on. Entertaining can be draining.’

  ‘Yes—so I witnessed tonight.’

  ‘But you were the best possible antidote,’ he said, leaning in for another kiss. ‘I’d never have thought I’d hear myself saying I had a great time at the ballet. But I did. He tugged her close and started to trail kisses on her neck. ‘Thanks to you...’

  Once again she felt herself melt into his arms, felt those overwhelming urges rise up within her. She turned around in his arms, aching to feel his lips on her mouth, his hands on her body, but every time she thought he was going to finally lead her off to bed he cooled them down again—like the conductor of an orchestra, setting the beat and the heat of their passion.

  She’d never had an experience like it.

  He walked to the wine bucket and lifted the champagne bottle, topped up her glass and handed it to her, looked around for his own. The tray of petits-fours and strawberries lay untouched. She sipped the champagne, but truly she only had an appetite for Matteo now.

  ‘What do you think of the view?’ he said, leaning beside her. ‘Isn’t it spectacular? I never tire of this city. Even Rome doesn’t do it for me the way that London does. And Rome is in my blood.’

  He hooked his arm around her shoulders as they stared down at the river. Two party boats, illuminated and booming with the deep bass sounds of dance music, sailed past one another in opposite directions, while on the bridges above them traffic rumbled back and forth.

  ‘Honestly? I’ve never seen the city from up high before. This is a totally different place from the London I know. Even though we’re only a few miles apart. You see those buses down there? That’s usually me on one of them, while you’re up here—or up there. Do you have one of those?’