‘Won’t he object to his darling wife fraternising with men after work?’ added Andrew slyly. ‘You usually break the land-speed record getting home to him.’
Alessandra smiled to herself. Cameron? Superman? Mmm! She liked it! ‘I’m not going to reprimand you for your continued use of that ridiculous nickname you have for my husband, Andrew—because I’ve decided that it’s actually quite accurate. You’re absolutely right—he is a bit of a Superman.’ She sighed.
She could almost hear Andrew’s ego bristling indignantly down the phone. ‘Oh, and I’m not, I suppose?’
‘Different league, I’m afraid,’ she teased him smugly, secure in the knowledge that tonight she would be in the place she most wanted to be—in Cameron’s arms. With difficulty she dragged her mind back to the conversation. ‘Where are we meeting for a drink, and when?’
‘Henry’s Bar—at seven.’
‘Oh, Andrew, must we?’ She looked down, aghast, at the stone-coloured linen suit she was wearing with the apricot silk shirt beneath. Her outfit was elegant and smart, but it simply screamed ‘Office’! ‘It’s so dressy at Henry’s Bar.’
‘Their choice, honey. You know how impressive that place is.’
‘Pretentious, you mean.’ Alessandra sighed. ‘I guess I’ll just have to go home now and find something suitable to wear.’ She did keep a change of clothes in her office for emergencies, but it was strictly casual—cotton trousers and a cotton sweater and fresh underwear. Certainly much too casual for a drink at Henry’s Bar.
‘Why bother going home?’ said Andrew. ‘You’re two minutes from one of the finest dress shops in this city. Why not treat yourself?’
He was talking about a famous Italian designer who dressed most of Hollywood! ‘Because I—’ Alessandra halted, aware that what she had been about to say would sound so stupid. That she couldn’t afford it. Of course she could afford it! She was on, if not a fabulous salary, then an extremely good one. And, even though she had firmly refused Cameron’s offer of a generous dress allowance, she could still afford to buy in the exclusive shops which abounded in the area where she worked.
The trouble was that she had never before spent several months’ salary on just one gown! She loved good clothes, yes, and they were necessary to her high-powered job and sophisticated lifestyle, but there was a limit, and old habits died hard. It had been hard to learn to spend. Hard to disregard the parsimony which had been instilled in her by her upbringing—by watching her poverty-ridden and feckless parents fritter away whatever money did actually come into the house. Alessandra had vivid memories of wearing charity-shop clothes and shoes while her parents had thrown yet another uproarious party.
‘Alessandra—’ Andrew cut into her thoughts once more. ‘For heaven’s sake, go and buy a dress on the company.’
‘No.’
‘Yes.’ He laughed. ‘All right, then—as your boss I’m ordering you to! Look on it as part of your bonus for getting us this new client.’
‘And if we don’t win the account?’ asked Alessandra, ever practical.
‘Oh, we will, we will,’ said Andrew confidently. ‘We’re bound to, with you there!’
Alessandra took the lift up to the penthouse apartment and yawned. Her jaw ached from smiling and her feet were killing her. She’d stood at the counter of Henry’s Bar—standing at the counter was the place to be seen—and had dutifully drunk vintage champagne with the prospective American clients, who had listened to her ideas with enthusiasm.
‘We love your quirky British style,’ the older one, named Billy, had told her earnestly.
‘It sells,’ his colleague, whose eyes had been riveted to her cleavage all evening, had added. Alessandra had decided that, if they did win the account, she would not wear anything low-cut like this again; she couldn’t stand men leering at her like that. The irony was that she’d bought the dress because she had been sure that Cameron would love it. It was beautifully cut and he absolutely adored seeing her wear black.
But, in the changing room at the shop, she had been in such a hurry, so intent with swirling round and checking the back and the length and the shape of the garment, that she had allowed the sales girl’s opinion to sway her. And had ended up with, she realised, a spectacular dress, but one which exposed far more of her skin than usual. It drew attention to the heavy lushness of her breasts, the stark colour making her skin seem almost translucently creamy.
A fact which had obviously not been missed by the younger of the two Americans.
Alessandra had been reluctantly persuaded by Andrew to join them for an early supper after their drink, and so the four of them had moved on to the Savoy—and eaten a too rich combination of caviare, followed by lobster Thermidor, accompanied by still more champagne. Alessandra had felt full, tired and jaded, and she had eventually excused herself at nine-thirty by announcing that one very jet-lagged husband would be arriving from the States shortly, and she wanted to be at home to meet him. She’d felt her pulses stirring at the thought of seeing Cameron again soon.
‘Of course, of course,’ said Billy, beaming at her. ‘It’s been a great pleasure meeting you, Mrs—’
‘It’s Miss,’ corrected Alessandra quickly. ‘I’m still Alessandra Walker. I decided to keep my maiden name when I married.’
‘Really?’ queried the leerer, his eyes still hypnotised by the creamy swell of her breasts.
‘Yes,’ said Alessandra, standing up quickly, thinking that if she didn’t get away from his creepy stare she might say or do something rude which might jeopardise the account! ‘I’m well-known in the advertising world by that name, and so it seemed a pity to lose it.’
‘And it’s the modern way,’ agreed Billy, smiling. ‘In Canada, where two of my daughters live, it’s quite common to do so. Just so long as your husband doesn’t mind!’
Well, she wouldn’t exactly go so far as to say that. Cameron hadn’t objected when she’d told him she wasn’t planning to take his name, he’d just given her that coolly quizzical stare of his and then nodded without comment.
Andrew slipped her coat around her shoulders and gave them a little squeeze, which Alessandra guessed was his way of telling her that the evening had been a success, and Billy stood up, seeming eager to compensate for his partner’s blatantly obvious preoccupation with her body.
‘What kind of business was your husband doing in the States?’ he asked conversationally as he shook her hand.
Alessandra smiled. ‘It’s not really his business, more a kind of sideline. He has a factory here, in the north of England, and others in western Europe, but he dabbles in property for fun.’
‘For fun?’ expostulated Andrew. ‘I’d hardly call owning numerous apartments and a hotel on the East Side of Manhattan “fun”—or heaven help us all if he decides to get serious!’
Even Leerer’s interest had strayed from her bosom now, and Billy looked as eager as a dog who had scented a bone. ‘Really? Would I happen to know your husband, ma’am?’
Alessandra shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. He’s quite well-known in England—’
‘Understatement of the year,’ interrupted Andrew drily. ‘His name is Cameron Calder.’
He might as well have said ‘the President of the United States’, Alessandra giggled to herself now as she pushed the key into the lock of the flat. For the two businessmen surely couldn’t have been more impressed! She’d had no idea that her husband was so well-known in New York for his entrepreneurial skills.
But then, how would she have known? Cameron had never once taken her to New York with him, and he certainly wasn’t the kind of man to boast. A man like Cameron didn’t need to boast, she thought longingly, a little sigh automatically escaping her lips as it hit her just how much she had missed him.
She closed the door of the flat behind her and yawned widely, dropping her wrap carelessly onto the back of the low sofa. She would change out of this clinging black number, run herself a deep, perfumed bath and then lie—literally
, she thought with hungry amusement—in wait for her gorgeous husband.
It took a moment or two for her to register that there was a light shining from the direction of the bedroom. Surely she hadn’t been so careless as to have left it on this morning? Though she had been in a tearing hurry. She’d overslept after a troubled night of disturbed dreams, in which Cameron’s face kept appearing tantalisingly before her.
For a moment she froze as she heard a sound coming from the bedroom, but the fear fled immediately, for she recognised that much loved step at once. She pushed back her dark hair, which had been all mussed up by the wind, to see the tall, shadowy figure of her husband appear framed in the doorway, set against the soft glow of the lamp behind him. In the semidarkness, even more than usual, his body appeared all hard-packed muscle and power.
He snapped on the main-light switch and the room was flooded with a harsh glare. Alessandra’s welcoming smile died on her lips. Because she looked up into Cameron’s harsh, unwelcoming face and suddenly, inexplicably, she really was frightened.
CHAPTER TWO
CAMERON studied Alessandra for a moment and something about the forbidding coldness in his eyes—an expression Alessandra had never seen there before—made her skin prickle with tiny goose-bumps. So that, instead of falling ecstatically into each other’s arms as they would normally have done, they stood surveying each other silently against the great expanse of the room. But there was no tenderness in his face and none of the softness which was usually there when he looked at her.
‘Hello, Alessandra,’ said Cameron eventually, but he didn’t move from where he was standing.
And pride kept her where she was. ‘Hello, Cameron,’ she said, and it came out far more coolly than she’d intended—but why shouldn’t it have done? There had been some odd, strained quality to his voice. ‘I—wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’
‘So I see.’ His mouth curved disdainfully as he took in the low-cut black dress which emphasised the creamy thrust of her breasts and skimmed down closely over her narrow waist and hips to finish midthigh, making the most of every inch of her long, slender legs. She could see a spark of hunger in his blue-grey eyes vying for dominance with a definite expression of contempt.
With a kind of derisive snort, he strode over to the drinks cabinet and poured two glasses of wine from the bottle which he had obviously opened earlier and which lay cooling in an ice bucket. Had he been planning some kind of celebration? she wondered fleetingly.
And just how long had he been home? A slight desperation crept into her veins as she saw that his grim face showed no sign of relaxing. He silently moved towards her and held out a glass of Chablis. It was her favourite wine, and he had chosen one of the finest vintages, but suddenly the thought of drinking it sickened her to the stomach.
He continued to regard her unsmilingly and an angry pulse began to beat at the base of her throat. Just what right did he think he had to stand there and offer her wine, while that condemning look tightened the features of his arrogant face? As if she were some kind of criminal!
‘I don’t want any wine,’ she said shortly.
‘No,’ he answered curtly, and his mouth curved with scorn this time as he put both the untouched glasses back down. ‘I shouldn’t imagine that you do—I can smell it on your breath as it is.’
She’d had a total of three glasses of champagne all evening, hardly enough to qualify her for the drunk of the year that he was making her sound like! But she had no intention of justifying her behaviour to him. She would not be treated as though she were on trial. She stared him full in the face, her dark eyes sparking angry fire, feeling more furious than she could ever remember feeling in her life.
And yet she was achingly aware of his slanting blue-grey eyes, with the dark brows which matched the thick, naturally ruffled hair. She hadn’t seen him for just one week and it took every bit of concentration she possessed not to stare at that magnificent muscular physique, imagining him naked... hating herself for wanting him, even though he was behaving in this inexplicably hostile way towards her.
‘You’re obviously jet-lagged—’ she began, prepared to be conciliatory, but he interrupted her with a seemingly casual query.
‘New dress?’
Now why were her cheeks growing pink? ‘Yes.’ She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘You know darned well it is.’
His experienced eyes had obviously assessed the quality and the superb cut of the gown which clung to the streamlined curves of her body, and that direct scrutiny made her skin tingle, the fires of lust and anger igniting in her veins.
‘You aren’t usually quite so generous with yourself,’ he remarked, in a seemingly offhand way which spoke volumes.
Enough was enough! Alessandra decided to tell him the truth. That way she would have nothing to feel guilty about. Because she could just imagine how she’d feel if she lied and told him she’d purchased the gown herself, only for Andrew to let slip that it was a bonus, bought by the company.
Oh, why the hell had she let him talk her into it? What had, at the time, seemed a perfectly reasonable action was fast developing into something else entirely. But she wasn’t going to feel guilty. For she had absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.
‘No, you’re right,’ she answered coolly. ‘I’m not normally quite so generous with myself.’
‘But on this occasion you were?’ he persisted in that impartially analytical manner she’d only ever heard him use at work. ‘I’m intrigued to know why.’
‘I didn’t actually buy it—’ she began.
But he interrupted her with a clipped demand. Then just who did?’
‘The company.’
‘The company?’ he echoed softly, his deep voice full of sarcasm, the blue-grey eyes narrowing unfathomably. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really!’ she snapped.
He elevated his dark, beautifully shaped eyebrows. ‘How very extraordinary. I must say that I’ve never considered buying any of my staff dresses,’ he emphasised deliberately. ‘Particularly exorbitantly priced dresses which do rather more to reveal than to conceal. Dresses which are designed solely with the intention of turning a man on.’ He looked directly into her eyes, his handsome face cold with arrogant enquiry. ‘But presumably that’s what Andrew had in mind?’
‘Andrew had nothing to do with it!’ she retorted furiously.
‘No?’ He clearly didn’t believe a word she was saying. ‘He just paid the bill, did he?’
‘Oh, I’m not talking to you when you’re in this kind of mood!’ she retorted, and made to whirl away, but he stayed her with one hand on her bare arm which, in spite of her rage, had her senses dancing in frantic plea for more of his touch. She turned her face up to him, her eyes wide in silent appeal. ‘Cameron...?’ she said, on a whisper.
But there wasn’t a flicker of answering emotion on his face. ‘And did Andrew help you choose it—honey?’ He mimicked Andrew’s nickname for her softly, his voice roughed with an intimidating menace which was completely alien to her.
‘Wh-what are you talking about?’ she stumbled, meeting the blaze of fury in his eyes.
‘Try listening to the answering machine,’ he suggested silkily, and his hand dropped from her arm.
The cessation of his touch was strangely disconcerting and Alessandra walked on her high, spindly heels towards the answering machine like a robot, aware, and yet trying not to be aware, that those cool blue-grey eyes never left her.
She pressed the message button and Andrew’s disembodied voice echoed around the flat.
‘Alessandra—are you there? It’s ten o’clock, and I want to check you’re home safely, honey—so ring me as soon as you get in—if this message ever reaches you!’
Damn Andrew and his stupid nicknames! Alessandra swiftly turned round, suddenly frightened again. This wasn’t how she had wanted Cameron’s homecoming to be—not at all. ‘I can explain—’ she began, but he shook his head and walked towards her with a stealthy inte
nt which set her heart pounding.
‘So did Andrew help you choose it?’ he asked again, standing just inches away from her. ‘Did he like the fact that it fits so closely? So that when your nipples are hard—like now—they press against the silk and you might as well be wearing nothing at all?’ he demanded brutally.
It seemed pointless telling him that he, and only be, had that effect on her—with Cameron around her nipples seemed to be almost permanently erect. She could tell by the look on his face that he wouldn’t listen.
‘So tell me,’ he continued, and Alessandra knew, from the cruel pleasure she saw carved on his features, that he knew precisely the effect he was having on her. ‘Are you wearing any panties underneath that thing? Are you supposed to?’ His eyes glittered. ‘What did Andrew say?’
Alessandra felt the pooling of desire deep at the fork of her body, her senses so inflamed that the pride she normally possessed had suddenly vanished. So that, instead of storming out of the room and away from his vile accusations, she found herself unable to move, her skin on fire, despising herself, and yet yearning for what she knew could be the only possible conclusion to this angry confrontation.
‘May I?’ he asked conversationally as his long fingers slithered the silk of the dress all the way up her thigh until her tiny black bikini pants were revealed. ‘Oh,’ he said neutrally. ‘You are wearing some.’ His finger skimmed along the centre of them and Alessandra gasped with shock and pleasure. ‘And so wet too.’ He removed his hand, and she could have wept with frustration.
‘But you aren’t going to be wearing them for very much longer, are you, my delectable love?’ he continued remorselessly, and he reached down again, this time with both hands, and decisively pulled the delicate fabric apart with one swift, sure movement, so that it made a tiny rasping sound as it tore, and the panties slid slowly down her legs to the floor.
Alessandra followed as he took her into his arms and pushed her to the ground and at last, at long last, began to kiss her. She wanted to be angry with him but she was so in love with the man, the passion he’d aroused in her so pent up inside, that she decided to forgive him this one monstrous display of jealousy, and she began to kiss him back. Hard.
Long-Distance Marriage Page 2