The Innocent and the Playboy

by Sophie Weston

  Riccardo assessed the situation in a moment. He discarded his well-cut overcoat and dropped it over an oak chair in the hall. Alexandra followed, her eyes wide.

  ‘How pleasant,’ he said, sniffing the aroma of hot food with appreciation.

  He strolled into the kitchen with the ease of an accustomed guest. You would think that he was not only invited but absolutely certain of his welcome, thought Rachel indignantly. Such was his confidence that she gave ground before him. She retreated behind the kitchen table. He gave a small nod, as if that was what he’d expected.

  ‘I was going to take you out to dinner,’ he announced. ‘But that would clearly be redundant.’

  Rachel braced herself against a kitchen chair. The warm wood was reassuring somehow.

  She said arctically, ‘If you remember, I refused.’

  Alexandra swung between them, looking intrigued.

  ‘And now I see why,’ he said politely.

  Alexandra did not like being ignored. She said, ‘Rachel didn’t cook that.’

  Rachel ignored her stepdaughter. She was concentrating all her force on Riccardo. She was shaking imperceptibly—with temper. She assured herself it was temper.

  ‘You know perfectly well why I refused to have dinner with you.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Just as you did at the time. Which is why you turned up here, isn’t it?’

  Riccardo’s eyelids dropped. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Rachel can’t cook at all,’ Alexandra told him chattily. ‘Well, only scrambled eggs and baked beans.’

  Riccardo directed a slow smile at Rachel. She could feel the heat of it, like a furnace, like sunshine. Nine years ago, a look like that would have set her blushing furiously. What was it Judy had said? She was an open book? Rachel thanked God for experience and kept her complexion. Riccardo’s smile widened.

  ‘Then it’s just as well it’s not her cooking I’m interested in, isn’t it?’ he said, not taking his eyes off Rachel.

  Alexandra was impressed. Rachel was outraged.

  She said crisply to her stepdaughter, ‘Mr di Stefano is a business acquaintance.’

  Alexandra did not look convinced. Riccardo’s attitude did not help. He shook his head reproachfully.

  ‘Business acquaintance? Do you feel that covers it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rachel hardily.

  He put his head on one side, consideringly. ‘I would say our relationship is a little more—complicated than that.’

  Rachel forgot their audience. She forgot boardroom diplomacy and her beloved career as well. All she was aware of was a great need to tell him exactly where she stood. She met his eyes, her own cold as glass.

  ‘We have no relationship.’

  Alexandra, enthralled, held her breath.

  Riccardo was not put out in the slightest. ‘If that were true I would not be here.’

  Rachel gave him a look of undisguised dislike. ‘Well, I certainly didn’t invite you and I can’t think of any reason why you should be here.’

  ‘Can’t you?’

  She set her teeth. ‘Mr di Stefano—’

  ‘Riccardo.’

  She ignored that. ‘I don’t want to be rude—’

  ‘Don’t you?’ He looked amused.

  Rachel ignored that too. She swept on. ‘This is my home. I try not to bring work home. I don’t always succeed. But I don’t encourage colleagues to turn up on the doorstep unannounced. You, if you will forgive me, are—however grand—just another colleague.’

  He did not like that. She could see it from the way his face went very still. All vestige of amusement was banished. Suddenly, he looked the ruthlessly successful man she knew him to be.

  ‘More than that, I think,’ he corrected her quietly.

  It was not—quite—a threat. Rachel went white. She folded her arms quickly across her breast, hugging her waist. Her face felt pinched. Alexandra, she saw, was looking uncharacteristically shocked, and uncertain. Rachel tried to pull herself together.

  ‘We’d do better to discuss this in private,’ she said through stiff lips.

  Riccardo was not given to remorse. His eyes flicked over Alexandra at last. He looked back at Rachel.

  ‘Quite,’ he said blandly.

  Rachel decided that she hated him.

  The doorbell rang again. This time Alexandra did not dive for it at once. She was chewing her lip, regarding Riccardo with dawning suspicion. She had also shrunk rather closer to her stepmother. Rachel felt sorry for her.

  “That will be Theo, won’t it?’ she said gently.

  ‘Yes.’ Alexandra hesitated, still undecided.

  ‘Then you’d better let him in. You invited him.’

  ‘I know. But—’

  The bell rang again, insistently. Reluctantly, Alexandra went off to the front door. Left alone, Riccardo and Rachel measured each other like duellists.

  He said softly, ‘She’s very protective.’

  ‘She’s very young,’ said Rachel sharply.

  ‘But not young enough to be your daughter.’

  Her head came up. ‘What?’

  He said in a musing voice, ‘Marriage to a man old enough to be your father. Two adolescent stepchildren. Full responsibility for them when he dies. Plus a demanding climb up the corporate ladder. Don’t you ever feel out of your depth?’

  Her eyes glittered. ‘Do you?’

  For a moment he looked taken aback. ‘I direct my own course.’

  ‘So do I.’

  His brows rose. She thought he was going to challenge her. But then Alexandra came back into the kitchen with Theo and the moment passed.

  Theo, as usual, was wearing a black leather jacket and dark jeans that Alexandra, no doubt, thought the height of sophistication. As always he was so much at ease that Rachel wanted to hit him. It deflected her momentarily from Riccardo di Stefano.

  ‘Hi, Mrs Gray. How you doing?’

  ‘Fine, thank you,’ said Rachel with restraint. ‘You?’

  ‘Can’t complain.’ He eyed Riccardo di Stefano. ‘You want us out, right?’

  ‘No,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Perceptive of you,’ said Riccardo at the same time.

  Theo grinned. ‘No sweat. We’re on our way.’ He flicked a forefinger in Alexandra’s direction. ‘Get waddling, doll.’

  Rachel closed her eyes, anguished. Alexandra, however, found nothing to complain of in this mode of address. She grabbed a crocheted shawl, swung it about her shoulders and flung her arm round Theo’s waist. She was positively luminous with glee.

  ‘Ready.’

  ‘Back by eleven,’ Rachel reminded her.

  Alexandra frowned but the curfew clearly suited Theo very well.

  ‘You’re on,’ he said. ‘Eleven it is.’

  They began to go.

  ‘Have a good time,’ said Rachel, though it cost her.

  Theo gave her an altogether too knowing look over his shoulder. ‘We will.’

  The front door slammed. Rachel let out a long breath of relief. No longer obliged to contain her frustration, she picked up an oven glove and threw it hard at the opposite wall.

  Di Stefano considered the fallen thing with some amusement. ‘Don’t like the boyfriend?’

  Rachel was reminded that she hated Riccardo more than she loathed Theo Judd. ‘That’s got nothing to do with you.’

  ‘That depends on your point of view.’

  She sent him a look of dislike and went round the table to pick up the oven glove. Di Stefano forestalled her. He picked it up and tossed it absently onto the table behind her. Then he took her gently by the arm.

  Rachel froze.

  ‘From where I’m sitting, anything that comes between you and your work has rather a lot to do with me,’ he said quite gently.

  His hand was incredibly warm on her bare arm. It set up a perceptible flutter in her throat. Rachel ignored it, trying to disengage herself.

  She said icily, ‘Nothing comes between me and my work.’
r />   He did not let her go. ‘That’s not the way I hear it.’

  ‘What?’ She was so startled that she stopped pulling against those imprisoning fingers.

  ‘Philip tells me that you have been very preoccupied recently. He thought—trouble at home. Of course, you’re very young to have such a big responsibility. He assumed it was getting you down.’

  Riccardo’s tone was neutral. He expressed no opinion; he was merely reporting an allegation, awaiting her response. It was all admirably unemotional.

  Rachel was unable to match that professional impassivity. She shook herself free from his grasp.

  ‘If that were true, why didn’t Philip say anything to me about it?’

  Riccardo shrugged. ‘Didn’t want to add to your burdens?’ he suggested indifferently.

  ‘Balderdash. Philip doesn’t know a single thing about my burdens. And cares less,’ said Rachel roundly.

  There was quick gleam of triumph in the dark eyes. It was as quickly masked but Rachel had seen it. It set light to all sorts of vague suspicions.

  She said slowly, ‘When did Philip tell you he thought I had trouble at home?’

  Riccardo had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘He didn’t exactly tell me—’

  ‘When?’ Rachel was implacable.

  ‘I called him this evening,’ he admitted.

  ‘You called him? About me?’

  If she thought he would show any sign of decent confusion she was disappointed.

  ‘Naturally.’

  She was so outraged that for a moment she could barely speak. ‘How dare you?’ she managed at last.

  ‘If we are to trust the recovery program to you, I have to know that you are reliable. You are, after all, relatively inexperienced.’

  Their eyes clashed. His mouth tilted wickedly.

  ‘In banking, anyway.’

  Rachel felt as if she had been hit. Her head reared up. For a moment the kitchen seemed to swing wildly about her. She almost staggered. Something flickered in those strange eyes and he reached out as if to steady her.

  This time she had no trouble at all in detaching herself. She shook his hand off as if it were no more than a troublesome insect. She held his eyes with hers.

  ‘I see,’ she said softly.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘What do you see?’

  ‘You think you have some sort of special influence over me.’

  ‘Not influence.’

  She paid no heed to his protest. ‘Because I knew you when I was young and silly, you think you can walk into my life and hijack whatever part of it happens to amuse you at the moment.’

  His face tightened. ‘Don’t be melodramatic.’

  She brushed that aside too. She took an angry step towards him. ‘I’ve got news for you. I grew up.’

  ‘I noticed.’

  ‘I’m not so easily intimidated. Not any more.’

  His look was frankly incredulous. ‘Are you trying to say you were intimidated the last time we met?’

  Rachel set her teeth. ‘The last time we met,’ she said with precision, ‘I was eighteen years old.’

  To her astonishment, Riccardo di Stefano looked away. A faint colour ran along the high cheekbones. Could the man possibly be embarrassed?

  He said stiffly, ‘So I have been told.’

  ‘So don’t think you can treat me like a child any more. I’ve learned a few things along the way, including how to fight my corner.’

  The flush—if a flush it had been—was gone. It left him surprising pale under the accustomed tan. ‘I am sure you have. But you don’t have to fight me.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ said Rachel. It was a challenge and neither of them pretended anything else.

  Riccardo muttered something under his breath. It sounded explosive and uncharacteristically agitated. He pushed a hand through his hair.

  ‘Rachel, I didn’t come here to fight with you.’

  She could see herself reflected in the mirror that hung on the wall behind his head. Her eyes were too bright, like those of a child who had been too long at a party. She thought, I’ve got to get him out of here.

  She said, ‘No, you came here to remind me about an episode which was over and done with nine years ago. I don’t know if you think that puts me in your power in some way. I can only tell you that it does not. Nor does it give you any right to invade my private life—’

  He held up a hand, quite suddenly. He was smiling but Rachel had the sudden impression that he was very angry.

  ‘Any invading,’ he said, too quietly, ‘was done a long time ago and was entirely mutual.’

  Rachel snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘It is not ridiculous. It is the truth. As you would recognise if you would only stop spitting for a moment and talk this over like a reasonable person.’

  ‘I am not,’ said Rachel with the calm of despair, ‘going to stand here discussing my adolescent disasters with you.’

  He homed in at once on the one word that gave her away. She would have recalled it if she’d been able to. But it was too late.

  ‘Disasters?’ He took a step forward.

  Rachel backed. ‘I hate post-mortems.’

  Another step forward. She had nowhere else to go unless she swung herself backwards into the sink.

  ‘Why disasters?’

  She lifted her chin and met his eyes with as much dignity as she could muster.

  ‘Don’t be disingenuous, please. Of course it was a disaster. One night with the last of the all-time playboys? It had to be a disaster.’

  He drew in a little breath as if she had punched him unexpectedly. But it did not stop that slow advance on her position. He was now so close that she had to strain back not to touch him. A muscle worked in his cheek.

  ‘I see your point,’ he admitted levelly. ‘What I don’t see is why.’

  He put a hand on her waist. It felt hot, burning. Suddenly Rachel was having trouble getting her thoughts together.

  ‘Why?’ she echoed.

  Another step. No amount of craning backwards could avoid physical contact now. He touched her everywhere—thigh, hip, shoulder. He towered over her, making her look up into his face. It was quite without expression.

  ‘Why it had to be just one night,’ he explained.

  Rachel stared at him. Desperately she reminded herself that, however practised he was, she had the measure of him. These days she could meet him on his own ground and rout him. Had she not been training herself to do exactly that for the last nine years?

  But the last nine years seemed to be dancing away from her. Looking up at him, she could almost smell the ocean again, hear the distant rock band and, closer, the whirr of the old-fashioned ceiling fan above their heads. She swallowed.

  Riccardo said, quite kindly, ‘You made a mistake leaving like that.’

  ‘L-leaving?’

  ‘I said we’d talk in the morning. I don’t like waking up and finding the lady I should be having breakfast with has gone.’

  Some vestige of common sense reasserted itself. Rachel gave a crack of cynical laughter. ‘Tough.’

  He smiled but his eyes were veiled. ‘It was. Oh, it was. Especially as we had not done with each other. Had we?’

  Rachel reared back, shocked. Riccardo laughed aloud. He touched a finger to her mouth. It was hardly a touch, just a butterfly brush of the very tip of his finger, but it made Rachel shake visibly as if he had branded her.

  He saw her reaction and smiled. ‘We are not done yet, are we?’

  She might be shaking but she had built some defences in the last nine years. Now, at last, she activated them. She pushed at him, head down, outraged. ‘Get out of my house.’

  He gave ground, his eyes alight with laughter suddenly. ‘Are we?’

  ‘Out.’

  She drove him back through the kitchen, the hall. He went, throwing up his hands like a defeated duellist. But he did not look defeated. He looked alert and interested and altogether too cool.

&nb
sp; ‘There’s unfinished business between you and me, Rachel. You know it and so do I. Nothing either of us can say will change that.’

  ‘Get out. Now.’

  He shrugged. ‘If not now, later.’

  Rachel picked up his coat and flung it at him. He caught it one-handed, hesitated for a second, then reached out and took her chin in one long-fingered hand. Rachel let out a screech of sheer animal rage.

  And Riccardo di Stefano leaned forward and kissed her hard on the lips. He did not wait to see her reaction.

  The next day Rachel was waiting for Philip when he came into his office at nine. He was surprised but he showed no sign of an uneasy conscience.

  ‘Good morning, Rachel,’ he said, regarding his personal computer with disfavour. He sighed and turned it on. ‘Jolly well done yesterday, by the way. I didn’t get the opportunity to say so at the time. Rick was most impressed.’

  ‘I just bet he was,’ said Rachel grimly.

  ‘What?’ Philip looked up from the keyboard he was squaring up to gingerly. ‘Sorry, missed that.’

  She sat down on the end of the sofa which Philip kept for his most illustrious clients. Her mind went blank.

  It was odd. Rachel had thought out this interview so carefully. When she had told Gilly that she was going to appeal to her colleagues’ egos, it had been of Philip that she’d been thinking. She had thought she could get him on her side by showing him a way to score a victory over di Stefano. After yesterday he would be badly needing to do something to restore his self-esteem. Last night she had concocted a strategy step by step.

  This morning it was gone. Rachel looked down at her hands and desperately tried to recall what had seemed so obvious last night. She tried to think of a way to approach the subject subtly. Nothing came. In the end she blurted it out baldly.

  ‘I need to know what di Stefano said. About me, I mean.’

  As soon as she’d said it, she could have kicked herself. It was about the worst thing she could have thought of. Instead of getting Philip on her side, it immediately set him on the defensive.

  He bridled. ‘Well, we had other things to talk about. Business strategy in the wider arena—’