by Miranda Lee
The memory of other eyes in that mirror immediately jumped into his mind. Green eyes, dilated with desire as their owner clung to the vanity-unit edge, staring wildly at him behind her whilst he did what she liked most, being taken that way.
The memory disturbed him. Because it wasn’t what he really wanted, just being her stud. Yet that was what he’d reduced himself to last night, he realised. Him, just servicing her every which way. Him, trying to outdo himself each time.
No wonder she’d mockingly called him Don Juan. Clearly, that was all she thought he was good for. There’d been no meaningful conversation between them, nothing but provocative banter designed to keep their minds focused on sex and their bodies ready to accommodate their thoughts. In the end, he’d proved himself to be exactly what she’d always accused him of being. Shallow!
But not selfish, he conceded ruefully. She had to give him that. Her pleasure had been his first concern.
Or had it?
Had he pulled out all the stops just to satisfy her, or to show her how darned good he was in bed? What part had his male ego had to play in last night’s many and varied performances?
A lot, he finally accepted and winced at the realisation.
‘Oh, Rico, Rico, Rico,’ he said, shaking his head at the man in the mirror. ‘What kind of man are you really? The essentially decent guy your mother thinks you are? Or the superficial, self-centred rake that Renée sees when she looks at you?’
Serious soul-searching was something Rico hadn’t attempted in a good while. He’d been forced to have a partial look at himself a few months back when he’d jumped to hasty conclusions about Charles’ wife and caused the poor devil no end of trouble. But all he’d discovered about himself at that time was that he’d become a cynic about beautiful women. With good cause, too.
There were a lot of mercenary females out there with their eye on the main chance, namely a rich husband.
Renée had once been one of them.
Not any more, apparently. She didn’t seem even slightly interested in catching herself another Joseph Selinsky. Or a Rico Mandretti. Yet she must know she could if she wanted to.
It wouldn’t take much to tip his lust for her into full-blown love. Hell, he only had to remember that moment when he’d thought she might have conceived to know his feelings for the woman ran deeper than desire.
Who knew why? It was truly perverse. And he was truly sick to death of thinking about her.
Clearly, she wanted to remain footloose and fancy-free. She wasn’t remotely interested in remarrying or ever having a family. All she wanted from the men in her life was what he’d given her last night.
The men in her life?
Rico scowled, then spun on his heel and hurried out into the bedroom to where he’d thrown the crumpled note. Scooping it up from the carpet, he smoothed it out again and reread the part where she said she’d arrange to be free.
His whole insides contracted. Did that mean she would have to cancel a date tonight?
‘At least a week,’ she’d said to him when he’d asked her how long it had been since she’d had sex. He’d thought she was joking. With hindsight, he conceded that she might not have been. A woman with her obviously high sex drive probably had a hot date every Saturday night.
A black jealousy ripped through Rico at the thought of her doing the things she’d done with him last night with any other man. He couldn’t change the past and obliterate her previous lovers, but he aimed to make sure she understood there would be no other men during the next month. Mistresses gave their lovers exclusive rights to their bodies.
At least, they were supposed to.
But mistresses didn’t always do what they were supposed to do, Rico accepted. And neither would Renée. She would run her own race, make her own rules. He hadn’t stipulated exclusiveness on that piece of paper. A bad mistake on his part.
He wouldn’t mind betting she hadn’t made any mistakes with her written demand.
It really annoyed him that she’d destroyed her darned wager. He’d like to have seen exactly how she’d worded her demand for his share of Ebony Fire. As he recalled, she hadn’t taken long to write it down. He’d had more difficulty, both over the wording and the fact the Biro hadn’t worked well because he had nothing underneath his sheet of paper except the felt-topped card table, whereas she had had the rest of the notepad for support.
A light suddenly went on in Rico’s brain. The notepad! What Renée had written might still be visible on the notepad. He’d seen how detectives handled such things on television and in the movies. They rubbed a pencil softly over the next page sideways, making sure the carbon didn’t sink into the indentations of the writing and, pronto, the words that had been written on the missing page were magically revealed!
Rico raced over and snatched up the phone and dialed Reception, where he gave his name then asked to be put through to the presidential suite. James answered, making Rico wonder if the man ever slept. Still, it was after nine. Not all that early.
‘It’s Mr Mandretti here, James,’ he announced, trying not to sound as excited as he was feeling. ‘I need to speak to Ali, if he’s up.’
‘His Highness is having his morning coffee out on the balcony. I will take the phone out to him.’
Ali eventually came on the line.
‘Good morning, Enrico. To what do I owe the honour of your call?’
‘I need to ask a favour.’
‘Of course. If it is within my power to grant it.’
Rico rolled his eyes. Ali’s formal way of speaking sometimes irritated him. But he was such a great guy otherwise that Rico tolerated his being slightly pompous.
‘I need to come up and have a look at that notepad which we used to write our bets on last night,’ he confessed. No point in trying to pull the wool over Ali’s eyes. No need to, either. Ali would understand perfectly why he wanted to know what Renée had written.
‘Come up from where? Oh. Oh, I see. You spent the night here in the hotel. I presume, then, that the lovely Mrs Selinsky did not stay the whole night with you?’
Rico shook his head from side to side. As he’d just been thinking. No point in trying to fool Ali.
‘She had an early hairdressing appointment,’ Rico replied. ‘We’re meeting up again at the races this afternoon.’
‘Now, what is that saying? You don’t let grass grow under your shoes?’
‘Under my feet,’ Rico corrected. ‘And you’re right. I don’t. I’ve always lived by the motto of not putting off till tomorrow what you can do today.’
‘Or last night,’ Ali said, his tone drily amused.
‘Exactly.’
‘I won’t be uncouth and ask you how things went. I will be able to judge for myself shortly. So yes, do come on up, my friend, and have coffee with me. I’ll get James to locate the notepad and have it waiting. I presume you also want a pencil. Soft-leaded?’
‘Yes, that’d be great. I knew I could count on your co-operation. And your understanding.’
The laughter down the line was deep and rich, a bit like Ali’s bank accounts. ‘We men have to stick together. Especially when the lady concerned is both beautiful and complicated.’
‘You can say that again,’ Rico muttered. ‘I won’t be a tick. I just need to put some clothes on.’
He could hear Ali chuckling as he hung up.
CHAPTER EIGHT
RICO rarely admired other men’s looks. But as he walked out onto the balcony of the presidential suite, it was difficult not to notice that Ali lounging back in the morning sunshine in cream silk pyjama bottoms and nothing else was a sight to behold. If his Arab friend ever decided to become a movie star, then a remake of The Sheikh would be the perfect vehicle for him. Not totally surprising, since that was what he was. But not all real sheikhs looked like the Hollywood version.
Ali did. He had it all. The rich olive skin. Jet-black hair and eyes. High cheekbones and hawkish nose. A lean, well-honed body and a predator’s mo
uth. Plus sufficient hair on his chest to be primitively sexy without being beast-like.
Rico could well understand why the ladies threw themselves at him. They were the same reasons women had thrown themselves at him over the years.
But looks were not the be-all and end-all, Rico had come to realise, more so lately than ever before. A man had to be more than the sum total of his inherited genes.
He wondered if Ali’s good looks had been more hindrance than help to him in his life. One day, Rico would ask him. But not this morning. This morning, Rico had other things on his mind.
‘Good morning, Enrico,’ Ali said with a flashing smile which would not have gone astray on a Barbary Coast pirate. Yet if you closed your eyes he sounded like an English aristocrat. A most unusual mix. ‘You do look well, if a little frazzled. Sit down. Some coffee? Or do you want to uncover your lady’s secret straight away?’
Rico sat down at the table and picked up the notepad that was lying there, waiting for him, along with a pencil.
‘She’s not my lady. Not really.’
Ali frowned. ‘I’m not sure I understand. If she spent the night with you, then surely she—’
‘That was part of my prize for winning the hand,’ Rico broke in. He had decided to confess everything on the way up in the lift. He needed another man’s opinion, and he couldn’t talk to Charles about his situation with Renée. Charles would not have been sympathetic at all. Ali, on the other hand, lived his own life by less conventional rules than those society dictated, especially when it came to his relationships with the opposite sex, so surely he would not be quite so judgemental.
‘I didn’t ask for Renée to go out with me,’ Rico went on. ‘She lied about that. She was protecting Charles’ sensitivities. I demanded she be my mistress. For a month. Starting last night.’
Ali’s eyes showed more shock than Rico had anticipated.
‘My friend,’ Ali said carefully, ‘I admire your boldness, but that is a dangerous game you’re playing, especially with a woman like Renée.’
‘I realise that now. That’s why I have to see what she wrote; what she wanted from me.’
‘What do you think she wanted from you?’
‘My share of Ebony Fire. She loves that horse more than anything. She covets all of him.’
‘As you coveted all of her.’
No point in denying it. ‘Yes.’
‘So you dangled your share of the horse as a carrot to tempt her to make that wager, knowing full well she would lose and have to become your whore.’
‘My mistress,’ Rico protested. ‘Not my whore.’
‘In my culture, it is the same thing. A mistress is a kept woman. She accepts money and gifts to make her body available for sex. That makes her a whore.’
Rico was beginning to think he’d made a mistake in confiding in Ali. It seemed he was more like Charles than he’d realised. ‘We don’t look at mistresses like that in the west,’ he pointed out a tad irritably.
‘I can’t see how you can look at them any other way,’ Ali countered. ‘But, that aside, why are you so anxious to see what Renée asked for, when you already know?’
‘I now think she might have asked for something else.’
‘Why? Because she melted in your arms?’
Rico laughed. ‘I wouldn’t say melted, exactly. But she didn’t object.’
‘Such modesty, my friend. I’m quite sure she melted. You have a reputation for being…shall we say…more than adequate in the bedroom?’
Rico stiffened in his chair. ‘Where in God’s name would you hear something like that?’
‘Without being indiscreet, I have to inform you that we shared a certain lady during the past year.’
‘My God, who? Oh, of course. Silly of me not to guess. Leanne.’
‘There is no need for us to exchange names, or notes. We are gentlemen, are we not? Let me just say that this certain lady raved about your—er—technique. But being a man as well as a gentleman, I was forced to demonstrate at length that Arab men of good breeding and culture are never surpassed in the bedroom.’
Rico could not help but be amused. So he’d been right in the first place. Ali was more pirate than gentleman. And a competitive, arrogant pirate at that. ‘Just as long as we haven’t shared Renée,’ he said warningly.
‘Only an Italian would be fool enough to take on a woman such as your merry widow,’ Ali said quite seriously. ‘Now, pick up the pencil and satisfy your curiosity. And mine.’
Rico wished his hand had been steadier. He didn’t want to look more of a fool in Ali’s eyes than he already did.
‘Well?’ Ali prompted when Rico finished and just stared down at the piece of paper. ‘What does it say?’
Rico remained speechless. With a bewildered shake of his head, he handed the revealed note over to Ali. ‘It doesn’t make sense. It’s crazy.’
“‘Marry me,’” Ali read aloud, then glanced up, his own face puzzled. ‘If you had asked her to marry you, then I would not have been surprised. But this…this is indeed a strange request from a woman who has done nothing but argue with you for the past five years.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘Could she possibly be secretly in love with you?’ Ali asked.
‘You have to be joking! She can’t stand a bar of me. You know that.’
‘No. I do not know that. What women say and what they feel are two entirely different things.’
‘Renée does not love me,’ Rico stated quite firmly. ‘Trust me on that.’
‘She is attracted to you, though, isn’t she?’
Was she? Or was she attracted to and turned on by any good-looking guy who knew what he was doing in bed? ‘She likes my looks and, yes, my technique, to coin your phrase. That’s all. She told me last Sunday how much she dislikes me. And last night, she added that she now hates me.’
‘Whereas you are madly in love with her.’
‘What? No, no, I’m not. Definitely not. Why on earth do you say that? Or think it?’
‘I’ve seen the way you look at her when she doesn’t know you’re looking at her. I know that look. It’s the way I looked at a woman once. I recognise the symptoms of the disease. And it is a disease, being in love like that. It possesses and obsesses you. You can think of nothing else but being with her. You will do anything, risk anything, even your honour, to lie with her, even if it’s just the once.’
Rico was taken aback by this unexpected confession. At the same time he was totally in tune with the emotions expressed. Ali understood. He’d been there, done that. But Rico still did not agree with him that he was truly in love with Renée. He wasn’t madly in love at all. Just madly in lust.
‘Who was she?’ Rico asked.
Ali smiled the saddest smile. ‘The one woman I could never have. My eldest brother’s wife-to-be. The crown prince’s betrothed.’
‘Hell, Ali, that was rotten luck. So what happened?’
‘What happened? Nothing happened,’ he bit out. ‘I was exiled here to Australia, my brother married my beloved, and their marriage remains a brilliant success to this day. They even have a handsome son and heir to prove it.’
The bitterness in his words and the abject bleakness in his eyes filled Rico’s heart with pity for this man whom the world would perceive as having everything. Everything but the woman he loved. No wonder he never wanted to marry or have children. No wonder he had never fallen in love with any of myriad women he’d bedded since coming to Australia. His heart remained in Dubar, that was why. Either that, or it had been irretrievably broken.
‘So why do you think Renée asked you to marry her?’ Ali resumed, his eyes and his attention returning to the piece of paper he was holding. ‘If not love, then what? Money?’
‘That doesn’t make sense, either. She’s a very wealthy woman already. If she wanted to marry me for my money, she hasn’t gone about achieving that end with any intelligence. You know how she acts around me. No, now that I’ve had t
ime to think about, it’s more likely to be spite.’
‘Spite!’ Ali repeated with surprise in his voice. ‘I can’t imagine many women marrying for spite. Still, Renée is not your usual woman. She runs very deep, that one.’
‘Tell me about it. I can’t work her out at all.’
Rico could work out the spite part, however. He remembered how she knew last night that he would demand sex as his prize. Had she decided to go one better, ask him for the one thing which she thought he would never want to give her? A wedding ring? Had it been a spur-of-the-moment burst of vengeance, something she had instantly regretted?
That certainly fitted the facts. And the woman. Rico recalled how he thought he’d detected relief in her when she hadn’t won. She might have become afraid that he would relish marrying her, just to spite her.
‘Going back to the motive of money,’ Ali said, interrupting Rico’s train of thought, ‘I wouldn’t dismiss that motivation out of hand. Renée might not be as wealthy as we presume. She might have had some bad luck on the stock market. There have been some mammoth losses recently, both locally and overseas. Also, her own business might not be going well. Remember, she lives high and likes to gamble. Maybe she’s frittered a lot of her dead husband’s money away. It might be worthwhile for you to find out the exact state of her finances.’
Whilst Rico believed he’d already worked out the reasons behind Renée’s surprising demand, he conceded that Ali did have a point. It was worth checking out. No way would he want to risk ever falling into the hands of another devious fortune-hunter.
‘I agree with you wholeheartedly. But how am I going to do that? I can hardly ask to look at her bank statements.’
‘Use that detective agency you hired to check up on Charles’ wife,’ Ali suggested, leaning forward to refill his coffee-cup from the pot. ‘They’ll be able to do it quite easily. They have the right contacts and the right computer equipment. They can find out things which ordinary people can’t.’