Misery was there, on the edge of everything, but it couldn’t stave off the pleasure that was climbing to a fever-pitch inside her, taking control of her body nerve by nerve until finally she catapulted over, sobbing and moaning as the crescendo of physical joy broke over her. He chased her, his body releasing itself in a guttural cry, his hands around her wrists loosening to push his body weight off her as soon as he’d exploded, so that he could look at her, rocked by the final throes of desire.
He stared at her with an intensity that she might have believed to be love if it hadn’t instantly struck her heart cold.
‘I will remember you like this,’ he said bleakly, and before the last vestiges of pleasure had ebbed from her he was gone, pulling himself up to stand, turning his back on her. His shoulders moved with the rise and fall of his breathing.
Tilly stared at him and those little disastrous truths exploded now—terrors that filled her with pain. ‘How can you doubt this?’ she asked quietly, wiping her cheeks and noticing absentmindedly that his fingers had left red marks on the pale flesh of her wrists. They were fading already and she resented that. She didn’t want to lose any physical markers of what they’d shared.
His laugh rang in the room like an accusation. ‘I doubt everything!’
‘You love me and I hurt you,’ she said quietly.
‘Love you? I don’t even know you, Cressi—Damn it! Matilda. You are every bit as bad as Marina. No, you are worse! I actually loved you, and you allowed me to...to bare my soul to you even knowing how dishonest you were being.’
She winced and he spun to face her, his expression fury personified.
‘You weren’t supposed to be here,’ she said, pushing up onto her elbows, her eyes imploring him to hear what she was saying. ‘By the time I’d fallen in love with you and we were...this, it was too late.’
‘Too late?’ He jerked his head back as though she’d struck him. ‘How many times could you have told me the truth?’
‘I wanted to,’ she whispered. ‘But it wasn’t my secret.’
He shook his head, his expression a mix of anger and mistrust. His hair was tousled and loose over his forehead. ‘What we just did—that is the only truth we have shared this week.’
Her orgasm was still subsiding, her mind was fogged, and it took her a moment to hear his words and to make any kind of sense of them.
‘Sex,’ he supplied with dark determination.
A shiver ran the length of her spine.
‘Don’t say that,’ she whispered. ‘It’s been so much more than just a physical thing. Think of every moment we’ve shared and tell me that it’s been a lie.’
‘Easily.’ His smile was grim. ‘It has been a lie. I thought you were someone else. Everything I thought about you was based on misinformation.’
‘No!’ She shook her head, but he continued.
‘We’ve had sexual attraction and desire—incredible chemistry. But that’s not something I can’t get more of. And with someone who won’t be dishonest with every word she breathes.’
Her breath hurt. The very idea of his supplanting her in his bed nauseated her.
‘Rio,’ she said softly, but the word was drenched in the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. ‘I wanted to tell you. So many times. But I promised Cressida and...’ She thought guiltily of the enormous sum Cressida had paid her. How could he forgive her? ‘I had to honour that.’
‘If you say so.’
His detachment hurt far more than the anger. It was so angry.
‘Can you be ready in an hour?’
‘For what?’ Her skirt was ruched around her hips, and her hair was a bird’s nest that spoke of passion and need.
‘To get back to reality,’ he said crisply. ‘I want you off this damned island and out of my life.’
* * *
‘Rafaelo will take you to Sorrento. My helicopter there will take you to Naples, where my jet is fuelled and waiting.’
‘Rio...’
She stared at him, the change in his demeanour impossible to reconcile with the man she’d woken up beside. He’d showered after they’d made love. Only it hadn’t been making love. Not for him. It had been making a point.
She swallowed, the taste of acid burning her throat. ‘Please let me explain.’
He stood at the table, his hands gripping the back of a chair. His knuckles glowed white with tension.
‘Do you think any explanation will fix this?’
She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.
‘Veramente?’ he demanded. ‘I know nothing about you, Matilda Morgan who works for Art Wyndham, but you know everything about me. Things I have never spoken to another soul I have told you this week. You know me. Surely you know I could never forgive this deception?’
‘I didn’t set out to deceive you,’ she said quickly.
‘What does that matter? The result is the same, whether you planned it or not. And you chose to deceive me even when you knew what we were becoming.’ He shook his head. ‘What I thought we were becoming,’ he corrected with cruel derision in his words.
She sucked in a deep breath. She had to make him understand.
‘I have a brother,’ she said firmly, her eyes holding his even as the withering uninterest in his made her gut churn. ‘Jack. He’s my twin. We’ve always been close. And he got into trouble recently.’
She paused here. She had made a habit of concealing Jack’s failings from the world out of a need to protect him. But even that had to be sacrificed for any hope with Rio.
‘Do not misunderstand me. I do not wish to know you,’ he said coldly. ‘Rather, I know all I need to know about you.’
‘Please,’ she said thickly. ‘Let me tell you this.’
He flicked a lazy glance at his watch. ‘Rafaelo will be here any minute. You have until he arrives.’
Urgency made her speak faster, louder. ‘Jack owed money to some guys—bad guys—and at the same time Cressida asked me to come here and pretend to be her. She would pay me to come here as her.’ She darted her tongue out and licked her lower lip. ‘I was very worried about Jack, and then all of a sudden there was this perfect solution.’
Her eyes met his and then darted away, scared by the Arctic hatred she saw there.
‘Why would you think this a solution? Impersonating someone is not easy.’
‘I’ve done it before,’ she muttered, staring at the floor. ‘Not ever for as long as this. It started with a party she didn’t want to go to, and then there was a film premiere. Sometimes she’s asked me to leave a restaurant before her so that the press think she’s gone.’
‘And she pays you for this?’
Tilly nodded. ‘But that’s not why I do it.’
His laugh was a scoff. ‘I see. I presume you do it because you get some kind of psychopathic kick out of lying to people?’
She shook her head. ‘I feel sorry for her,’ Tilly whispered the words. ‘She’s not a bad person, Rio. Just selfish and spoiled. But she...she deserves better than the treatment she gets in the press.’
He made a noise of disagreement.
‘You weren’t meant to be here. I thought I’d meet an estate agent, get a tour of the island and then...’
The words dwindled away as embarrassment over her naivety swallowed her.
‘And then what? Take payment for the deception? Fix your brother’s problems? Go back to your life, having lied to your boss?’ He shook his head. ‘None of this is making you look any better to me.’
She nodded, her throat raw. ‘I didn’t know she was going to get married. I would never have taken part in this if I had.’
He didn’t respond, and for a second she hoped that maybe she was getting through to him. But one look at his features, set in a mask of stone, and she was absolutely sure that she’d lost him for good.
‘How much?’ he asked with a thick accusation.
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Thirty thousand pounds.’
His eyes
swooped closed on the information as he digested it. She had no idea what he was thinking. In the distance she heard the unmistakable sound of the speedboat and panic slammed into her.
‘I love you,’ she said quietly, with complete honesty.
His eyes snapped open. ‘Another lie,’ he ground out. ‘Where is your bag?’
‘Not a lie,’ she insisted, walking around the table and putting a hand on his arm.
He stared at it as though she was wiping butter all over him. His gaze met hers with challenge.
‘I don’t want to leave you,’ she said thickly. ‘Let me stay.’
His eyes flashed with a dark emotion she couldn’t understand.
‘You want to stay?’ he murmured.
Hope soared inside her. She nodded.
‘You can stay, cara. But you should know that all I will ever want you for is sex. It is the only part of this that I believe you weren’t faking. I’ll even throw thirty thousand pounds into the mix if that makes you feel more comfortable.’
It took several aching seconds for the implication of his words to sink in.
Never in his life had he seen such visceral pain cross the features of someone’s face. No matter how furious he was with her, how much he loathed her in that moment, seeing his words hit their target left him with a hollow feeling in his chest. All the colour had drained from her flesh and tears had sprung to her eyes.
When she lifted a hand to slap his cheek he made no effort to stop her.
It seemed like the perfect end to what they had been.
‘I’ll take that as a no,’ he said, the words blank of any emotion.
‘Take it as a go to hell.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE ELEVATOR WAS SLOW.
Or perhaps Rio was just impatient.
Not that he conveyed a hint of emotion.
His eyes were like steel as they stared straight ahead, his expression set.
Would she be surprised to see him?
His smile was tight and humourless. He had deliberately avoided making an appointment so that he didn’t tip her off. When he saw Matilda Morgan again he wanted it to be with the edge of surprise.
He flicked a glance at his wristwatch, noting the time with dispassionate interest. He’d chosen to arrive in the late afternoon, knowing the chances of Tilly still being away from her desk at lunch were slight.
The metallic doors of the lift pinged open and he strode out of the lift with no concept of the heads that lifted as passed. Speculative glances, some recognition, a lot of interest.
A bank of three receptionists sat in the centre of the tiled foyer. He paused in front of one of them, employing a banal, non-committal smile. ‘Art Wyndham.’
The woman curled her manicured fingers over the felt end of her telephone headset. ‘Is Mr Wyndham expecting you, sir?’
‘No.’ He smiled again, and saw the effect it had on her. ‘But he won’t want to miss me.’
The woman stared at him for a moment too long and then returned her attention to the computer screen.
She checked a diary and then went to press a button on the phone, but Rio shook his head. ‘I’d prefer to surprise him.’
‘Oh...’
Perhaps the receptionist should have employed more care, but she was face to face with Rio Mastrangelo and any powers of thought and reason had deserted her.
She nodded. ‘You’ll need to go up one more level. His PA’s desk is just outside the lift. She’ll direct you.’
‘Grazie.’ He spun on his heel, stalking back to the lift and pressing the ‘up’ button. It appeared immediately, of course. That was how things generally worked for Rio.
The ride up took seconds.
He stood, a study in nonchalance, and waited for the doors.
They slid open silently and his eyes immediately moved to the desk. As promised, it was directly in front of the elevator, though halfway across the floor. A woman’s head was bent. A dark head.
He frowned. Had she changed her hair? Disappointment fired in his gut. Her hair had been spectacular.
Time seemed to stand still as Tilly’s head lifted and he waited for her eyes to meet his.
He frowned.
She was not Matilda.
He recovered quickly. He’d come to see Art, not Matilda. What did it matter that she wasn’t at her desk?
‘Is Art free?’ he asked, his tone clipped, his words impatient.
‘Oh....um...’ She stared down at her desk and then reached for her phone, dropping it once before shaking her head and lifting it to her ear.
‘Mr Wyndham?’ she said, and then bit down on her lip shamefacedly as she pressed a button. ‘Mr Wyndham?’ she tried again. ‘There’s a man here to see you.’
The woman was quiet for a moment, nodding, and then she lifted her eyes to Rio’s face. ‘What’s your name?’
Rio’s lips curled in a small smile of disapproval. This woman wouldn’t have lasted two hours in his employ. ‘Rio Mastrangelo,’ he offered.
She’d obviously heard of him. ‘Oh! Oh! It’s Mr Mastrangelo, sir!’ Another pause. ‘Right away.’
She put the phone down and smiled brightly. ‘His office is the second door on the right.’
Confident that the usual form would have been for her to lead him there, and to offer refreshment, Rio nodded in a terse acknowledgement and strode across the floor.
‘Rio!’ Art pulled the door inwards, sending a bemused look down the hallway at his PA. ‘Come in.’
Rio stepped into the office, barely noting the luxurious surrounds.
‘You’ll have to forgive the temp. Nice enough girl, but what she knows about administration you could fit on the back of a postcard.’
Art waved a hand at the comfortable leather sofas near the enormous windows that painted an expansive view of the Thames.
Rio sat, crossing one ankle over his knee.
‘I had to fire my assistant,’ Art grumbled. ‘Though, having spent the last four weeks getting intimately acquainted with the dregs of every temp agency in the city, I almost wish I hadn’t.’
Rio didn’t want to analyse the emotional response he was having to this discovery. ‘You fired Matilda?’
Art narrowed his eyes, putting two and two together with less efficiency than Rio would have liked.
‘That’s right,’ he murmured. ‘You met her. Or rather you met her in the guise of my daughter.’ He spat out the summation with deep condemnation. ‘Sorry about that. Of course I had no idea what they were up to.’
‘Of course.’ Rio nodded, his mind poring over this fact. ‘When?’
Art looked confused. ‘When, what?’
‘When did you fire her?’
‘As soon as she got back. I can’t believe she helped Cressida marry that useless waste-of-space artist.’ He shouted the last word as if it were the worst thing a man could be. ‘Anyway, that’s not your concern. What can I do you for?’
* * *
The pounding wouldn’t stop. The pounding in her head and then, making it worse, the pounding at the door.
‘I’m coming,’ she called, wincing as the words shredded her raw throat.
She grabbed a tissue as she passed the nightstand and blew her nose, then discarded the white paper on the floor. She pushed her hair back from her face, tangling her fingers in knots. When had she last showered? Days ago, she thought with a frown, hating the idea of standing upright for any period of time.
A sneeze burst from her and it was like being slapped over the head with a hammer. She pulled the door inwards and the sneeze was quickly followed by a second, then a third, so that she was disorientated when she blinked her eyes open.
It was early evening, and the sky was dark. Surely that explained why she wasn’t seeing properly?
Confusion followed disorientation. Was she hallucinating? Or was Rio Mastrangelo really standing on her front doorstep looking better than anyone had a right to?
Gone was the coarse hair that had covered his c
hin and upper lip in a mask of stubble. He had shaved, and his hair was neat—not a hint of Island Rio remained in evidence. But it was him, all right, nonchalant and sexy in a slate-grey suit with a crisp white shirt open at the collar to reveal the thick column of his neck. A neck she had loved to kiss and bite and taste.
She swallowed and looked away quickly. Stars burst at her temple too fast. Her eyes had been sore for days.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Dio. You look like death warmed up.’
She groaned inwardly, keeping her fingers gripping tightly to the door. He was right. She hadn’t just been skipping showers, but meals and hair-washing, and she was pretty sure she’d spilled some coffee down the front of her cream shirt, leaving a tell-tale trail of caramel staining.
Still, that was no business of his. He hadn’t even walked her to the door of the cabin when Rafaelo had knocked. She’d walked away from him, head held high, and she stood before him now with her shoulders squared. ‘Did you come to insult me a little more?’
‘Have you been crying?’ he asked with incredulity.
As if she hadn’t had every reason to cry! The first two weeks back from Prim’amore had been strewn with tears. Not just tears over losing Rio, but tears over the injustice of losing her job and the friendship with Art that she had foolishly believed mattered as much to the older man as it had to her.
‘No.’ She sneezed emphatically, her head spinning with the jerk of movement, and he took advantage of her distraction to move closer, lifting a hand to the door.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, the words thick with congestion.
He frowned. ‘You are ill?’
‘I have a cold.’ She kept her hand on the door even as he went to move it inwards.
‘A cold?’ he repeated, his frown deepening.
She coughed. ‘Yes. You know—sneezing. Coughing. Sore throat.’ As if to emphasise her point, she sneezed again.
‘It’s summer.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘So?’
He expelled a deep breath. ‘Then get inside and sit down before you fall down.’
Tilly feared his prediction was not an unlikely one. Her head was woozy and thick, her body shivering. ‘I will—as soon as you go.’
Innocent in the Billionaire's Bed Page 15