by Penny Jordan
“But, Jackson…” Clio could just imagine the pout of Ashley’s voluptuous mouth, “I’ll be showing by then. Is this how you want our new life to begin? Me hiding in case Ms. Stiff and Proper sees me while you pretend to be her loving fiancé? The thought of you touching her makes me so…”
Ashley is pregnant… It seemed there was no end to the knocks coming her way…
Jackson spoke amidst rattling breaths. “I have no desire to touch her. And you very well know that I have no strength left after one of our afternoon appointments to do so even if I were inclined.”
Clio slapped her hands over her ears as she heard Ashley’s satisfied laugh.
“Just give me a couple more months.” Saccharine warmth dripped from Jackson’s voice. “She’s still very useful to us. Once I have used up all the connections Clio can provide for us, I’ll get rid of her. Until then, appearances are crucial.”
“If she backs out before then?”
“Backs out of what? For all her claims of walking away from her family and the man they wanted her to marry, Clio’s desperate to be loved, desperate to feel that she’s succeeded at something even if it’s just scoring a man.” There was no hesitation in Jackson’s voice. Only the absolute truth as he believed it to be. “The woman she is now, there’s no other man who would touch Clio Norwood with a pole, much less want her.”
Bile crawled up Clio’s throat and she turned away from the door. Pushing the heavy door to the staircase, she only got up one group of stairs before her legs gave out and she collapsed onto the grimy floor.
Desperate to be loved, desperate to feel that she’s succeeded at something…
Beating back her head against the wall, Clio closed her eyes, shutting off the tears that threatened to deluge her. Still, a few drops leaked through her tightly shut lids.
How could she have misjudged Jackson so badly? How could she have not seen this coming? How many times did she need to learn this lesson? She had never been valued for anything more than her father’s name, had never been valued for herself.
However far she ran, her name and everything it entailed caught up with her. Fury and self-disgust unlike she had ever known slammed into her gut.
For months, she had let Jackson walk over her, she had let Ashley make a mockery of her in front of friends.
There had been too many business dinners to attend, too many charity galas they needed to be seen at—dressed in designer clothes and sipping champagne, instead of where she preferred to be—behind the scenes getting her hands dirty.
There had been too much of displaying themselves rather than doing anything of substance. Too much of putting herself on parade on Jackson’s arm, too much of talking about her parents and her family’s aristocratic background and connections.
Too much of being stifled by rules, weighed down by expectations. Too much of being a Norwood, daughter of one of the most powerful aristocratic families in Britain, too much of being the Manhattan elite, power-hungry financier Jackson Smith’s fiancée.
Too little of being herself, of just being Clio.
All her life, she had craved her father’s approval, even when she hadn’t fit right with her family’s aristocratic connections. She’d stupidly hoped he would be proud of her if she did as he asked of her.
Had tried to make herself the perfect daughter. Until she found out he had arranged her marriage and choked at the very ropes she had bound around herself.
And she had fallen into the same trap with Jackson.
All the signs had been there and she had been too blind to see them, too desperate to need something in her life to be a success.
She had led herself to the very same place she had left in her home country over a decade ago, into the same life where she couldn’t breathe.
Every uncomfortable feeling she had repressed, every doubt she had swallowed so that she didn’t mess up another one of his meetings and parties, suddenly balled up in her throat, choking her breath.
Her identity had somehow fractured and attached itself in pieces to Jackson’s.
And all for what?
So that he could cheat on her, so that he could impregnate his assistant.
Her love, her fears, hadn’t mattered to Jackson at all. And not seeing that truth had all been her fault.
CHAPTER THREE
“I’M SORRY, MA’AM. I can’t allow you to go up to Mr. Bianco’s suite.”
Clio heard the receptionist behind the huge swathe of pristine black marble and looked around herself in confusion. Had she inquired about Stefan? Where had she walked to?
Turning around, she swept her gaze over the quiet and ultraluxurious lounge at the Chatsfield New York. A bank of glass-walled elevators stood to the side.
Utter silence reigned over the marble-floored lounge, the humdrum of quiet efficiency amidst the flowing humanity of Manhattan outside creating a sharp contrast.
The lavish interior of the famous hotel filtered in through her slowly.
“Do you want me to let him know of your arrival, Ms….?”
Blinking, Clio pulled her attention back to the young man. “Clio. Just Clio,” she said, working her mouth to make the sound. Just the thought of saying Norwood sent a chill through her. Her entire body felt as if it was operating on some kind of auto mechanism she hadn’t known she possessed.
Why else would she come to a man whose power and ambition were ten times those of Jackson? A man who had looked at her as if she had somehow tainted herself just by her association with Jackson?
“Wait, Miss…Ms….Clio, hold on.”
Coloring at the curious perusal of the receptionist, Clio wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry for troubling you. I have to leave.”
She hadn’t even realized how or when she had decided to walk to the Chatsfield, to see Stefan. The enigmatic green gaze and scornful mouth rose in front of her and she shook herself. No, she had no strength to expose herself to his brand of truth and evaluation, didn’t have the strength to fare against the memory of a woman she didn’t even remember being once.
His disappointment earlier still stung like a slap.
If she went to him the way she was feeling right now, he would lacerate her with his ruthless words, would peel away any remnants of self-respect she still had left.
The thought of telling him what she had heard, the thought of his reaction got her to move as nothing else could.
She took a few steps toward the revolving glass doors when she heard her name called again.
“Ms. Clio, Mr. Bianco authorized a permanent key card for you with us. At all our international branches. He left very specific instructions that we were to provide anything you asked for, anything you needed, should you come.”
The receptionist placed the key card on the gleaming counter and pulled his hand back.
As if he knew how close to breaking point she was. As if she were a wild animal he needed to treat with the utmost care. Something in his kind gaze, something in the cajoling tone of his voice shook Clio out of the fog she was functioning in.
Was this what she had become? A woman so lost in life that she had reduced a perfect stranger to pitying her?
She didn’t know what she wanted to do, she didn’t know how to take the next step in her life. She felt utterly lost, alone.
The fact that all she wanted to do was crawl into the nearest hole and never emerge scraped her raw. And yet, something in her, some small part of her that refused to whimper like a victim, had brought her here.
Her career, her life, her self-respect and her heart—everything lay in ragged tatters around her feet.
She knew that she needed help. To figure out how to do the one thing that burned inside her while everything else lay in ashes.
She grabbed the key card and palmed the smooth su
rface. Forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, to take a deep, purging breath. The quiet swish of the lift as it bore her to the fifty-second floor pinged against her tautly stretched nerves.
When the doors finally opened, she stepped out onto an enormous foyer boasting four balconies with glass railings that provided breathtaking views of the one of the world’s finest cities.
It was like a castle built amidst the clouds.
Walking past a gold-embossed statue in the middle of the foyer, she reached the lounge. A champagne-and-brown color scheme reigned, with glittering burnished-gold and deep red accessories here and there that matched the white-hot temperament of the man she had once known.
Although the Stefan she had met this evening had been coldly ruthless.
What the hell was she even doing here?
Just as she turned in the direction of the elevator, his silky smooth question rang out.
“You’re leaving already?”
Clutching her eyes closed, Clio willed herself to calm down. In a helpless way that made her totally nauseous, she was glad that he had spotted her before she had made a hasty exit.
Because now, she knew Stefan wouldn’t let her leave. Now, if she could just find the strength to say what she had come to say without betraying herself…
Every doubt she was harboring ground to a halt as he moved into the lounge with a lithe grace that she followed as if she was mesmerized.
A plush white towel wrapped around his narrow hips contrasted sharply against a tanned chest. Droplets of water clung to chest hair that covered ropes of well-defined muscles. His freshly shaved jawline glinted with that trademark arrogance of his while his olive green gaze pinned her to the spot.
Awareness sliced through Clio like a physical shove to her senses and she swayed where she stood. It was like a deluge of flood over drought-ridden land.
“Clio, is everything all right?” he said, tossing a white towel over his nape that fell onto his chest.
Clio came back to the earth with a thump. Suddenly, asking Stefan for help felt like the most absurd idea she had ever thought of.
Before she could blink, he covered the distance between them. The scent of him, raw and masculine, was like a whiplash that slammed her breath in her throat.
Shaking her head, she pushed her hair back. “I’m fine. Can I have something to drink?”
For a few seconds, he stood there staring at her.
Tall, impossibly wide, six feet three inches of prime Sicilian male, and all his focus was on her. His eyes perused her with a leisurely intensity that made her feel exposed, raw.
Not that she trusted her body’s response.
Finally, he moved to the glittering bar that covered one side of the lounge. “What would you like to drink?”
“Just some water, please.” There was a false comfort in talking about something so mundane. Maybe because it reminded her that the world did not fall away even through the earthquake in her life. “Alcohol gives me—”
“A migraine, I know. Are they still as bad as they used to be?”
He had remembered. Clio squashed the spurt of warmth that bloomed in her chest with ruthless will. So one of the youngest millionaires in the world had a good memory. Not a big surprise. “I never found anything to help me. So I don’t touch it,” she said, shrugging.
The sound of the refrigerator opening, the soft clink of the ice cubes against the glass punctured the silence that swathed them with awkwardness.
She hadn’t even told him why she was here. And he hadn’t asked.
Yet, it felt as if there was something in the air, an imbalance of power, a swirl of currents eddying around them, caging them together in the cavernous lounge. And she recoiled at adding to it by telling him what had happened tonight.
Would he laugh at her stupidity that she hadn’t even seen through Jackson’s facade for so long?
She grabbed the glass from him, and took a greedy gulp. All the while, he stood there like a dark specter, watching her, assessing her. And somehow she had a feeling, he found her wanting.
She had fallen in her own eyes. Did it matter if she did in his? a rebellious part of her mocked.
The answer had to be no because she didn’t have a single feeling to spare for him. There was nothing but cold will to keep her going.
“I’m sorry about intruding on you unannounced,” she said, once the cold water brought feeling back into her throat. “I didn’t even realize I had started walking toward…”
Catching the gleam of mockery in his green gaze, she faltered.
He took the glass from her shaking fingers. “Clio Norwood—epitome of good manners and decorum, even as she’s falling apart.”
“I’m not falling apart.”
His blunt-tipped fingers landed on her jaw and tilted her face up.
Panic chasing her stringent awareness of him, she caught his wrist to push it away. The pressure of his fingers increased.
“Then why are you so jumpy?”
There was no sympathy in his voice and for that she was a thousand times grateful. One kind word from him would break the small thread that was holding her together.
Falling apart, in front of him, was not a choice.
“I’m not. I just…” A ball of tears tightened her throat.
“Tell me what’s going on, Clio.”
The inherent command in his tone somehow grounded her.
Instead of jerking away from his touch, she slowly pushed it back. But the rasp of his hair-roughened wrist, the strong tendons of it, was too much sensation. She dropped his hand, her pulse thudding too loud.
“Have you eaten dinner?”
“No.”
“How did you get here?”
She raised her gaze. “What?”
“To the Chatsfield?”
“I walked.”
“From where?”
“From the dinner party.”
“At the Empire State Building?”
“Yes.”
He cursed so vehemently that Clio hugged herself instinctively. “That’s almost fifteen blocks from here and it’s nine-thirty at night. What the hell is wrong with you that you would walk at night in New York of all places?”
She remained mute, no response rising in the face of his valid point.
He sighed. “Finish that water and then order something from room service. I’ll get dressed and be back. And then you can tell me why you look like you—”
Anxiety hit her in waves. If he disappeared, she knew she would lose whatever it was that had brought her this far.
Saving face in front of him would become more important than moving on in her life.
“No, wait. Don’t leave. I…”
“Then get rid of that look in your eyes, bella,” he said. “I can’t stand it.” A hint of emotion colored that bland statement.
“What look?”
Pushing his tensile body into her space, he folded his hands. The muscles in his biceps curled enticingly and Clio choked back hysteria. Her life was falling apart, and yet it seemed the sight of Stefan half-naked could distract her as nothing else could.
“Like you’re terrified of me,” he said through gritted teeth. “We might have become strangers to each other but I would never hurt you, bella. Whatever Jackson did, you need to shake yourself out of it.” His voice fell as if she were a wounded animal he was persuading into his care.
“I’m not a danger to you, Clio.”
Oh, but he was, Clio admitted, her pulse skyrocketing.
If Jackson had reduced her to a shadow of herself over the years, Stefan could destroy the small part of her that was still intact. That he knew what she had been once and what she was now, it was a weapon he could wield with ease and with
out emotion, if he didn’t like what she was about to say.
The young man she had known at Columbia had not only been idealistic but also kind, with a rosy view of the world.
This man he was now, he rattled Clio on so many levels.
But she had no intention of ever letting a man define her sense of self. Ever again.
The thought gave her the courage to say what she wanted to. “I decided to take you up on your offer. I need your…I need help, Stefan.”
Something infinitesimal flashed in his brooding gaze, gone before she could read it. His defined jaw hardened. He moved to a small side table with delicately carved legs, and pulled out a checkbook.
He flipped it open with a pen poised in his left hand. That familiar sight of him balancing the book on his right forearm brought forth such a strong memory that she almost didn’t hear him when he said, “How much do you need?”
Her jaw falling open, Clio stared at him. Acid crawled up her throat and she forced herself to hold his gaze, realizing what his look had meant.
He thought she had come to him for money.
Even as he had reminded her of what she had been, it was clear that Stefan had already written her off as a lost cause.
It rankled just as much as Jackson’s treacherous perfidy did; it tore her in half that she had brought this on herself. But it was high time she started fighting for herself, too. High time she started growing a backbone.
“How much, Clio?”
“Will you give me as much as I want, Stefan? How about a million dollars?” Something in her challenged him, pushed to see how far he would go.
He didn’t even blink. “A million it will be, bella. I will tell my finance guy that this year our charity contribution is going to the Clio Norwood Foundation.”
I don’t want your charity.
Swallowing back the bile his offhand comment provoked, she reminded herself to not flinch, to not betray the hurt that lanced through her.
She had no idea why she was inflicting this on herself, but she couldn’t stop.
“And if I come back for more?”
“I’ll give you more.” He threw the checkbook on the coffee table between them, the gesture so full of powerful arrogance and a masculine elegance that Clio forgot what had prompted it. Even half-naked as he was, power and ruthlessness emanated from every cell in him.