The Innocent and the Playboy

by Sophie Weston

  ‘Don’t bet on it,’ she snarled.

  ‘Coward,’ he said softly.

  That brought Rachel’s chin up so sharply that the hibiscus flower in her hair jerked dangerously.

  ‘I’m not a coward.’

  His mouth twitched. She was positive that he was laughing at her. Anger came another critical centimetre closer to the surface.

  He absently tucked the hibiscus back into place. Rachel felt his fingers, warm and deft, just brush her ear, then touch that devastatingly vulnerable spot behind it.

  In spite of her anger at him and all he represented, she shivered with longing. Just for a moment, Riccardo looked startled. His arms tightened.

  Behind them there was a sudden surge of laughter. Rachel stood like a steel column in Riccardo’s arms. She could not even imagine what Judy had said or done to have caused that ribald shout. She felt ashamed—and desperate that he should not see it.

  She said in a hard voice, ‘Let me go.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not a chance. You can either come back to the party and dance with me of your own accord, or I carry you.’

  Rachel glared. ‘Bully-boy tactics.’

  ‘If you like.’ He was implacable.

  ‘I thought playboys stuck to charm.’

  He smiled then, as if he was really amused. ‘Ah, we do. But only as long as it works. Which, in your case, it clearly doesn’t.’

  ‘And nor will throwing me over your shoulder like a barbarian raider,’ she flashed.

  He burst out laughing. Rachel could have hit him. Or burst into tears. Both possibilities were equally awful to contemplate.

  ‘Oh, why couldn’t you—?’ She broke off, pain tearing. at her.

  There was no way she could say what she really felt. She felt betrayed—partly by Judy, whose performance tonight had rocked Rachel to her foundations, but worse—far worse—by Riccardo himself.

  He had hurt her, Rachel realised, dazed. He had hurt her more than anyone had ever hurt her in her life. And all because he was not what he’d seemed. No, not even that. It was because he was not what she had thought he was. Instead he was, as everyone else knew, one of the Villa Azul’s beautiful people: sophisticated and amoral and cold to the bottom of his soul.

  You couldn’t say to a man like that, Oh, why couldn’t you be what I thought you were? Rachel thought. He would only laugh. And serve her right.

  She was shaking as she levered herself away from him.

  She said as if she hated him, ‘I’m not dancing with you. Or anyone else in this beastly place.’

  Riccardo’s arms slackened. He held her away from him, a look on his face that said he was going to demand an explanation. Rachel knew she could not afford that.

  Before he knew what she was about, she had wrenched herself out of his grasp and fled.

  She meant to go straight back to her cabin but she was too restless. Instead she walked along the beach, trying to remember her life in England, the school she had left, the college she hoped to go to if her exam results were good enough. But it all seemed unreal somehow. Her mind kept breaking back to the Villa Azul. The problems it posed were insoluble.

  Rachel was kicking up the sand, thinking ferocious thoughts about Judy and Anders, when she realised that the person she was feeling most savage about was Riccardo di Stefano.

  What is wrong with me? she thought. Anyone would think I had fallen in love.

  She stared out to sea. The stars were brilliant but their reflection was broken up by the restless waves. The breakers looked like stranded monsters reaching for the shore, only to die before they reached it. Seeing it, Rachel shivered. Was she, too, reaching out for something she would never quite touch?

  This is nonsense, she told herself. You can’t fall in love in a day.

  But the poets she had read at school said you could fall in love in an hour, in a moment. She had thought it was silly. She had thought it was just an excuse to write their poems. She thought she had even said so in one of her examination essays. Now—

  I’m going home, she decided.

  She had an open ticket, which she now realised Anders had probably paid for. Judy must have wanted to keep her options open to stay on. Well, the advantage of that was that she could take off whenever she wanted.

  Tomorrow morning. When everyone else is still recovering from the party. I’ll get Ben to drive me to the airfield. I’ll get the first plane to Antigua or Barbados and then any plane I can back to London.

  And then you’ll never see Riccardo di Stefano again, said an unwelcome voice in her head.

  That’s just fine.

  But you want to.

  No, I don’t.

  This afternoon you thought he was the most exciting man you’d ever met.

  Rachel cast another look at the restless sea and its eternal hungry surge for the shore.

  ‘This afternoon he wasn’t Riccardo di Stefano,’ she said aloud.

  This afternoon he had been a challenging stranger. There had been a hint of danger about him, perhaps—a sense that she did not really know him or what he would say or do in any given situation. But she had not known about his millions, his reputation—or his groupies. It was like recognising a truth one had been hiding from.

  It was surprising how much it hurt. Rachel’s head went back as if the surging sea had struck her.

  Oh, she had to leave the Villa Azul all right. If she did not, Riccardo di Stefano was going to find out that she was in love with him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RACHEL rushed back to her cabin, determined to pack. But when she got there she found a dark figure sitting on the low wall in front of it. She stopped dead. It had to be Riccardo. Her heart leaped into her throat. But she knew this was a confrontation she could not avoid.

  She went forward bravely.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Only it was not Riccardo. It was a short, slim man with one of those cameras that looked like a long-range weapon. Which, she supposed, it was, in a way. He stood up.

  ‘Hi, Rachel,’ he said cheerily, as if they’d known each other all their lives. ‘That was a great shot I got of you.’

  Rachel stopped dead. She thought of all she had heard about the paparazzi. And then Judy’s performance tonight. Her heart leaped in an entirely different way. She wished passionately that she was older, more experienced. Or at least less alone. Don’t antagonise him, she told herself.

  So she said pleasantly, ‘I’m glad. When do I get to see it?’

  He was surprised. Then he laughed, sounding almost admiring. ‘Won’t make tomorrow’s papers in Euröpe. Too late. Any day after that. Depending...’

  He left it up in the air. She thought, He is waiting for me to protest. So she would not protest. Instead she went up to the little house and put on the terrace light.

  ‘I’ll look out for it,’ she said over her shoulder, quite as if she did not care.

  He followed her, peering into her face. ‘Has McLaine’s gone bust? Judy left your Dad? Did you know that when you came with her? How you finding life at the Villa Azul?’

  She answered the only one that was not a minefield. ‘Out of this world,’ said Rachel with irony.

  He missed the irony. ‘Gonna stay?’

  She said carefully, ‘My stepmother has put a lot of effort into giving me a good time, but we both know it’s only a holiday.’

  He looked at her, his sharp little face disappointed. ‘You saying she came to the Villa Azul so you could party? Pull the other one.’

  Rachel smiled. ‘Well, if you’ve done your background research, you must know I’ve never been anywhere like this before. And without Judy I never would have come now.’

  He chewed his lip. ‘Yeah. But...’

  She looked at her watch as if she were waiting for someone. He picked it up at once, as she meant him to.

  ‘Meeting someone?’

  ‘I think I’ve already met him.’

  She remembered how Helen had looked in
the mirror. She attempted the cat-like smile, implying all sorts of things she could not have put a name to.

  It seemed to work. He was impressed in spite of himself.

  ‘Rick di Stefano?’

  He also sounded as if he did not really believe it.

  Rachel’s shrug was innuendo all on its own. ‘I look forward to the photographs. Enjoy yourself. Goodnight.’

  She closed the door firmly behind her.

  She thought the photographer might try to follow but all she heard was a disconsolate, ‘Night,’ as he trailed away. She hadn’t closed it properly. The door swung back open again, letting in the sounds of the sea and the cicadas. But the photographer did not return.

  Rachel switched on the indoor light. She was trembling. She put a hand to the back of her neck to ease the tension and kicked off her shoes. Her feet felt gritty on the floor. She looked down.

  At some point she must have brought in sand from the beach. There were sandal-shaped prints across the floor and a little swirl in the bathroom doorway, where she must have shaken out her beach towel. It crunched underfoot unpleasantly. It could not stay like that.

  She went to a cupboard and got out the small besom with which the cabin was provided. In spite of her trials of spirit, Rachel grinned suddenly.

  ‘Hearts may break but the housework still has to be done,’ she remarked aloud.

  ‘How very true,’ said a voice from the doorway.

  Rachel dropped the broom and swung round. Her heart was in her mouth. When she half expected him he was not there and when she had all but banished him from her mind he turned up, rendering her speechless.

  Riccardo di Stefano raised his eyebrows at her expression. ‘Why so shocked?’ he said smoothly. ‘You knew I was not going to leave it at that.’

  He was right. Her reaction when she’d first seen the photographer proved that. All her borrowed sophistication deserted her. ‘Yes. No. I mean I wasn’t sure—’

  He laughed, not unkindly, and strolled into the room. ‘Be sure.’ He took the broom away from Rachel’s suddenly nerveless fingers. ‘Housework can wait.’ His voice was no longer entirely smooth.

  Without her shoes, Rachel felt even more overwhelmed by his height. She stepped back. Riccardo propped the besom against the wall and followed.

  She said hurriedly, ‘What are you doing here?’

  He laughed.

  ‘I told you—’

  ‘You want to go to bed with a good book. I know.’ He sounded amused but there was still that undertone that was not amused at all.

  He prowled closer. Rachel’s heart beat under her breastbone like a desperate bird. She thought, I am his prey. Before, he didn’t really care very much, but now that he is concentrating on me he will be merciless. She also thought, alarmed, I am still in love with him.

  Her eyes flickered. Riccardo gave a low laugh.

  ‘I shall have to change your mind.’

  Rachel curbed her alarm. He was a civilised man, she told herself. He might like winding her up but he had a reputation to maintain. Apart from anything else, he did not need to force himself on a woman who did not want him. Not with that fan club lusting after him back at the party.

  So she waited until her heart had stopped its panicky beating. Then she said steadily, ‘It would hardly be worth your while.’

  ‘You must let me be the judge of that.’ The undertone was less under control now. Was it anger?

  Rachel stared. What reason did Riccardo di Stefano have to be angry with her? If it had been the other way round, she would have had plenty of cause. But he had treated her like a fool, patronised and deceived her from the moment he’d seen her.

  She tried to keep it level but her voice sounded horribly young when she said, ‘Haven’t you had enough fun at my expense already?’

  There were green glints in his eyes. ‘Believe me, I haven’t even started. Come here.’

  Rachel was shaken. ‘What?’

  But he did not order her again. Instead he took one long step forward and took her in his arms. He forced her to look up to meet his eyes. It hurt Rachel’s neck. He was too tall, too wide-shouldered; he blocked out everything. In spite of all her good sense, Rachel felt her head begin to swim.

  ‘Don’t pretend,’ Riccardo said roughly. ‘You’ve been playing me on a line ever since you saw me this afternoon, haven’t you? Well, now you’ve got me. Don’t you want me, after all, sweetheart?’

  Rachel swallowed. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  But her voice was shaky. She had promised herself she would make him sorry. How had he found her out? It was stupid. She regretted it bitterly. She did not think Riccardo was going to believe her regrets, though.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said again, helplessly.

  He held her away from him. ‘You know.’ His voice was cynical, even weary. ‘Would it help if I told you I heard every word you said to that creature with the camera out there?’

  The half-truths she had used to fob off the reporter? What relevance did those have to anything? Rachel’s eyes widened.

  He nodded, as if she had spoken. ‘Yes, it did give you away rather.’

  She shook her head, bewildered. ‘Give me away?’

  Riccardo shook her a little—not hard, just as if he was trying to make her concentrate.

  ‘Up to then, I might have been willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.’ He sounded mildly regretful. ‘But that was a class performance you turned in out there.’

  She was so angry that she forgot that Riccardo di Stefano intimidated her. She fought her way out of his arms and backed to the wall, glaring.

  ‘How kind,’ she spat. ‘Class performance. I’m really flattered.’

  He gave a low laugh. But he did not look amused. His eyes were cold and watchful.

  ‘I can see you are. I take it you’ve finished your experiment for tonight?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Experiment,’ repeated Riccardo di Stefano casually. ‘Isn’t that what it was? A little flattery, a little stroking. How much can I get away with without having to pay my dues?’

  Rachel realised with an unpleasant shock that he was seriously angry. In fact ‘angry’ was hardly the word for the cold rage beating at her across the little cabin.

  She was tired and not entirely proud of herself but she was still not answerable for her actions to Riccardo di Stefano.

  So she tossed her head and said, ‘What’s wrong with experimenting a little?’

  ‘And this is the girl who took me to task for being a playboy,’ he mocked. ‘There’s a name for what you were doing this evening, you know.’

  She shrugged. His eyes flickered. She was suddenly aware of her bare shoulders cooling in the evening air. She lifted her chin and stared straight back in defiance.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I think that makes us equal,’ he said softly.

  Quite suddenly, Rachel began to feel thoroughly out of her depth. She looked over her shoulder, harried. She had nowhere to retreat to. He saw her dilemma. His smile grew.

  ‘What do you mean, equal?’ Rachel wished her voice had not quavered on the last word.

  The green glints in his eyes made him look positively satanic. ‘I mean you lost the moral high ground tonight. If you ever had it. Which, with hindsight, I doubt.’

  Rachel was pressing back against the wall so hard that she could feel her hair catching on the rough plaster. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said contemptuously. But there was a distinct tremor in her voice.

  Riccardo laughed. He came so close that Rachel could feel the heat of his body. He leaned forward, one hand pressed against the wall behind her head. If she’d turned her head, Rachel could have touched his flexed knuckles with her mouth. She could smell wine and the crisp cotton of his shirt, and some other odour that was entirely masculine, entirely Riccardo. She caught her breath.

  ‘You are not intimidating me,’ she announced.

  ‘So I sho
uld hope. If you can handle the paparazzi you can handle me. A high-grade diplomat like you.’

  He put his other hand on the wall by her head, effectively pinning her in place. Rachel’s heart beat fast but she refused to let him see how nervous he was making her. She looked scornful.

  ‘Now who’s being childish?’

  Riccardo showed no sign of remorse. He said thoughtfully, ‘There is a child in all of us. Sometimes a good child, sometimes a naughty one. This afternoon, I thought I was letting a good child down lightly.’ He paused and surveyed her deliberately. ‘But I am reappraising the situation.’

  Rachel said furiously, ‘I am not a child.’

  Quite suddenly he was not laughing any more. ‘Quite.’

  ‘I—’

  In the corner, the broom clattered to the floor with a sound like a gun going off. Rachel gave a small scream, out of sheer tension. Riccardo gave her a disparaging look. But he straightened and lounged away from the wall to pick up the broom.

  ‘What an extensive repertoire you have,’ he marvelled. He sounded savage all of a sudden. He threw the broom away from him with quite unnecessary force. ‘Home-maker. Diplomat. The siren on combat duty. Now, she was very beguiling. But I think my favourite so far has been the trembling innocent. You’re good at that.’

  He looked her up and down, where she stood pressed against the wall. There was something in his eyes which froze Rachel to the spot. He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

  ‘Which one will it be in bed, I wonder?’

  Her mouth went dry. Civilisation was out and anger was in but this was unbelievable. He might be angry with her but he still could not make love to her against her will. She said so.

  ‘Who said it would be against your will?’

  ‘I did,’ said Rachel with the firmness of desperation.

  She stared at him, quivering. Riccardo was unimpressed, dismissing her protest with a shrug. He hooked a finger into his bow-tie and undid it with a single pull. For some reason the little movement was more threatening than anything else that he had said or done yet.

  ‘You don’t mean it,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’m not a fool. This is a game to you.’