Billionaire's Secret

by Chantelle Shaw

  He watched dispassionately as she hauled the sheet up to her chin.

  ‘I’ve decided to attend the shareholders’ meeting.’

  ‘Oh!’ She stared at him, nonplussed by his announcement. ‘That’s good to hear. I’m sure you won’t regret your decision.’

  ‘That remains to be seen,’ he said sardonically. ‘It means, of course, that you will no longer need to stay at Chatsfield House. You said you would return to London once you had gained my agreement,’ he reminded her.

  A dull weight settled in Sophie’s chest. Clearly he was impatient to get rid of her. ‘Nicolo, what’s wrong?’ she said in a low voice. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  He swung away from the bed, and she had the impression that he wanted to avoid her gaze.

  ‘Last night was fun,’ he said coolly, ‘but to spend a second night together would be foolish.’ When Sophie did not reply, he said in a deeper tone, ‘When you’ve had time to think about it, I’m certain you will agree with me.’

  She was tempted to argue, to remind him that what they had shared last night had been special. But perhaps it hadn’t been special to him, she thought sickly. When he had held her in his arms in the sweet aftermath of their physical union she could have sworn that he had felt, as she had, a connection between them that defied explanation.

  She must have read the signs wrong, she told herself. She had done the same thing with Richard when she had believed that he loved her. Stupid Sophie, would she ever learn that men were not to be trusted? She had loved three men in her life, but her father, Richard and now Nicolo had let her down. Her heart jolted. She wasn’t in love with Nicolo, she assured herself. Then why did she feel so betrayed and bereft by his rejection? whispered a little voice in her head.

  Pride brought Sophie’s head up and her voice was steady as she said, ‘You’re right, of course. Christos needs me back at the office, and as you say, there’s no reason for me to prolong my visit. I’ll leave as soon as I’ve packed.’

  No way, she told herself fiercely, would she beg him to let her stay. She did not understand why her heart was urging her to fight for a relationship with Nicolo. It was never going to be easy to break down his barriers, her heart argued, but unless she tried she would never know if there was a chance for them.

  Don’t be a fool, her brain retaliated. Why would she even want a relationship with a man who was so damaged by his past that he had cut himself off from the world and even refused to have anything to do with his father and his family’s hotel business?

  She glanced at his stern profile and felt a flare of pain—a mixture of anger, hurt and frustration—that she could not dent the armour plating surrounding his heart.

  ‘I feel sorry for you,’ she said huskily. ‘Not because of your scars,’ she continued quickly when he frowned, ‘but for the fact that you can’t or won’t forgive yourself for causing the fire all those years ago. No one can change the past, and life moves on. You were given a second chance, but instead of making the most of your life you hide away in this house feeling sorry for yourself.

  ‘It’s the truth,’ she cried as Nicolo’s eyes blazed with anger. ‘You made one mistake twenty years ago and you’ve punished yourself ever since. Your life is worth more than that, Nicolo. You’ve achieved a lot, but you could achieve so much more. I don’t believe that your father and brothers and sisters still blame you for what happened when you were a boy. But if you want them to be proud of you, and if you want to feel proud of yourself, you have to stop blaming yourself.’

  Sophie made it sound so easy, Nicolo thought bitterly. But she did not have to live with the knowledge that her actions had ruined another person’s life. It was true that he had helped Marissa Bisek since he had discovered how she had suffered after the fire, but the money he gave her felt like blood money to assuage his guilt.

  He looked over at Sophie. She had pulled the sheet tightly round her, but rather than disguise her body, the material moulded her soft curves and outlined the firm mounds of her breasts. He had a flashback to the previous night when he had traced his hands over her warm, naked flesh and suckled her pebble-hard nipples until she had moaned with pleasure.

  Dio! He resented his body’s urgent response to her, and resented the inexplicable hold she had over him. It was just sexual, he told himself. Deep down he feared the truth was more complicated.

  His jaw clenched. ‘Are you done with the amateur psychoanalysis?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I have work to do,’ he growled, and strode out of the room before he gave in to the damnable craving to rip the sheet away and take possession of her slender body.

  The email arrived in Nicolo’s inbox just before five-thirty in the afternoon. Usually he did not read emails until he’d finished working for the day, but the name of the sender caught his attention. It was five weeks since Sophie had driven away from Chatsfield House and there had been no communication between them during that time. He could not deny he was curious to know why she was contacting him now.

  The message was brief and to the point.

  Christos Giatrakos has had to go abroad at short notice and therefore tomorrow’s shareholders’ meeting has been postponed until his return.

  S. Ashdown.

  He read the email twice, wondering why he felt disappointed. She had not even signed off as Sophie, Nicolo noticed as he stared at the impersonal S. Ashdown. They had spent a night of incredible passion together, but she hadn’t bothered to use her name. Anger burned in his gut. The dismissive tone of the email indicated that the night they had made love had meant nothing to her. No doubt she had not thought about him since she had returned to London, while he had found himself thinking about her too often for his liking.

  And now that the shareholders’ meeting had been cancelled he had no excuse to go to London and see her again. He swung round in his chair and stared out of the window at the rain hammering against the panes. Dorcha got up from the rug where he had been sprawled and padded over to lay his shaggy head on Nicolo’s knee.

  The wolfhound whined, and Nicolo sighed heavily. ‘Okay, I admit it. I miss her.’ He stroked Dorcha’s ears. ‘So, what am I supposed to do? Have you got any suggestions?’ He found no answers in the dog’s soulful eyes and muttering a curse he turned back to the bank of computer monitors that were flashing numbers at him.

  Sophie leaned over the sink and splashed cold water onto her face. The bout of sickness had left her feeling weak and drained. Glancing in the mirror, she grimaced at her sallow complexion. She wouldn’t look out of place in a waxworks museum, she thought grimly. Thankfully she was in a private cloakroom that was only used by the office staff of the Chatsfield London. At least there was no danger that any of the hotel’s glamorous clientele would have heard her losing the contents of her stomach.

  Christos had commented before he had left for Greece that she looked awful. ‘While I’m away I want you to see a doctor,’ he’d instructed. ‘I know you said you’re suffering from a gastric virus, but it shouldn’t last this long. Maybe something more serious is wrong with you.’

  She had laughed off Christos’s concern, but she was worried about her health, Sophie acknowledged. At first she had blamed her excessive tiredness on the fact that she had felt utterly miserable since Nicolo had sent her away from Chatsfield House, and she had assumed that her mood swings and lack of appetite were for the same reason. But over the past couple of weeks she had started to feel nauseous, and she had actually vomited several times. It brought back memories of when she had been sixteen and had kept on being sick. ‘I’m taking you to see Dr Williams,’ her mother had insisted. ‘Something is the matter with you.’

  Her mother’s instincts had proved right, Sophie brooded. But surely her cancer could not have come back? She had checked her body for strange lumps and found nothing, but her common sense told her that she needed to visit her GP to find out why she felt unwell.

  She walked back to her office and glanced at the clock. It was only 4:00 p.m. Th
e day had dragged and she knew it was because she was disappointed not to have seen Nicolo. She was an idiot to have psyched herself up to meet him again. After all, he had made it plain that one night of sex was all he had wanted.

  Her head ached, and she could not concentrate on the report she was supposed to be amending. Coming to a decision, she went into the adjoining office and spoke to Lucilla’s assistant. ‘Jessie, can you take Christos’s calls for the rest of the afternoon? I’m going home early.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Jessie said sympathetically. ‘I’ve noticed that you’ve looked pale for a few days now. Maybe you should see a doctor?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘I’ll make an appointment with my GP when I get home.’

  Back at her flat, she lay down on the bed, intending to take a short nap, and woke hours later feeling ravenous. She reheated the casserole that she hadn’t fancied the previous day and felt a lot better after she’d eaten.

  The trouble with sleeping in the day was that now she was wide awake, and she ran a bath, hoping that a long soak in a fragrant bubble bath would help her to relax. It was dark outside by the time she pulled the plug and smoothed body lotion over her skin before wrapping herself in a fluffy towelling bathrobe. The ring of the doorbell was unexpected at this time of night and she put the safety chain in place before she opened the door.

  ‘Nicolo!’ Shock strangled her vocal chords so that her voice emerged as a tremulous whisper.

  He was leaning nonchalantly against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest. Dressed in a pale grey suit and a black silk shirt, with the top buttons undone, a grey tie hanging loose down his front and his dark hair falling over his collar, he looked so incredibly sexy that Sophie’s breath became trapped in her lungs.

  Clutching the edge of the door for support, she dredged up her pride and managed to sound coolly uninterested. ‘What are you doing here?’ A thought struck her. ‘You did receive my email telling you that the shareholders’ meeting was cancelled, didn’t you?’

  Nicolo was tempted to deny it, but while he was debating what to say Sophie must have assumed from his silence that he had not got her message.

  He shrugged. ‘Now that I’m here, are you going to invite me in?’

  He had a nerve when she hadn’t heard a word from him in five weeks. ‘Why?’ she demanded bluntly.

  His reply was unexpected. ‘We need to talk.’

  Her heart gave a jolt. She had every right to tell him to go to hell, Sophie reminded herself, but her fingers were already fumbling to release the safety chain so that she could open the door.

  He stepped into the narrow hall and she immediately felt swamped by his potent masculinity. He was too tall, too big, too overwhelming, she thought as she led the way into the small living room. She was regretting allowing him into her home. She would give him five minutes to say what he wanted to say, and then she would ask him to leave.

  Nicolo glanced around at the pale lemon walls and cream sofa. A glass-topped dining table and two chairs stood in front of the window. The television in one corner was the only other item of furniture. A door leading off the room led to a tiny kitchen.

  ‘Nice place,’ he murmured in an attempt to break the prickling tension. ‘It’s … compact.’

  She watched Nicolo prowling around the tiny sitting room like a caged tiger and her tension escalated. It was too much to bear to be standing so close to him when a great chasm divided them, and she searched for an excuse to leave the room while she tried to regain her composure.

  ‘Would you like some coffee?’ she said stiffly.

  His eyes rested on her flushed cheeks, his expression indecipherable. Had he expected a more enthusiastic greeting? she wondered. Why should he after he’d made it plain that he wasn’t interested in a relationship with her?

  ‘Why not?’ he drawled. ‘Coffee sounds good.’

  Who was he kidding? Nicolo asked himself derisively as he followed Sophie into the kitchen that was barely bigger than a cupboard. Ever since he had watched her walk out of Chatsfield House and get into her car without once glancing back, he had done his damnedest to forget her—and failed. Her image seemed to be burned onto his retinas, and her last words to him had lingered in his mind.

  Sophie had told him that he needed to forgive himself for the things he had done in his past. But his guilt about Marissa Bisek tortured his soul. That was why he had sent Sophie away. He could not be the sort of man she deserved and he could not contemplate the kind of meaningful relationship with her that he suspected she would like. Five weeks ago he had decided that it would not be right to have an affair with her, but standing close to her in the miniscule kitchen it was hard to remember his good intentions.

  His memory had not done her justice, he thought ruefully. She looked stunning. Her skin was almost luminescent and her hazel eyes shone with a fierce brilliance. He dropped his gaze to the edges of her bathrobe that gaped slightly, revealing the creamy upper slopes of her breasts. It suddenly occurred to Nicolo that she was naked beneath the robe and his body throbbed with an urgency that made him catch his breath.

  Sophie fussed about, filling the kettle and taking the coffee and sugar jars from a cupboard. She was conscious of Nicolo’s intense scrutiny and her nerves felt as taut as an overstretched elastic band. She finished making two mugs of instant coffee and was hit by a wave of nausea. It reminded her of her fears about her health, but she had no intention of revealing her concerns to Nicolo. She turned to face him, crossing her arms in front of her in an unconsciously defensive gesture.

  ‘So what do you want to talk about that’s so important it couldn’t wait until a more reasonable hour?’ she asked tersely. ‘It’s ten o’clock,’ she pointed out when his brows lifted. ‘I want to go to bed.’

  The moment the words left her mouth she realised how suggestive they sounded and she flushed hotly.

  ‘Actually,’ Nicolo murmured in a voice as seductive as molten syrup, ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

  His gaze lingered on the front of her robe and Sophie felt her breasts swell. The friction of her hard nipples rubbing against the towelling robe was shockingly erotic and the bold gleam in Nicolo’s eyes made her heart pound.

  ‘You mean you don’t want coffee?’ she choked.

  ‘No.’ He reached out and gripped the lapels of her robe. In slow motion, it seemed, he pulled her towards him. ‘I don’t want coffee,’ he said softly, ‘I want you.’

  Of course she was going to tell him to get lost. Angry colour flared on Sophie’s cheeks. Did he really think he could walk into her flat and she would drop her knickers, just because he fancied sex rather than coffee?

  She wasn’t wearing any knickers; the thought slid into her head and molten heat flowed through her veins. She felt furious and vulnerable and, oh, God, so turned on. Her eyes widened as he lowered his head. She still could not quite believe that he was here, that he was going to …

  A tremor shook her as Nicolo brushed his mouth across hers. One touch was all it took, Sophie thought despairingly as her lips parted of their own accord and a shaft of piercing need arrowed down to her pelvis.

  ‘Sophie …’ He growled her name, his voice raw with sexual hunger. And then his mouth was on hers once more, forceful, demanding a response she could not deny him or herself.

  For the first time in five weeks the heavy weight in her heart lifted and she felt alive again, every nerve ending on her body quivering with anticipation as he pulled her against his muscular frame and wrapped his arms around her. When he lifted her up a voice inside her head warned that she must resist him, anything else would be madness. But as she turned her face into the tanned column of his throat and breathed in the scent of him—masculine, sensual and utterly addictive—her breath left her body in a shuddering sigh and the fight went out of her.

  It was not difficult to locate her bedroom in the small flat. As he shouldered the door Nicolo had a vague impression of a pretty, feminine room and his shadow of doubt that
maybe there was some other guy in her life disappeared. His instincts had told him that Sophie did not have casual affairs. She was a one-man kind of woman, but rather than sending him running, the thought filled him with an unexpected sense of satisfaction.

  Her skin was satin-soft beneath his lips as he trailed his mouth down her throat while he deftly untied the belt of her robe. He pushed the bathrobe over her shoulders and groaned as he freed her breasts and they spilled into his hands. Her nipples were as hard as pebbles and he remembered how much she had enjoyed him touching them as he rolled the taut peaks between his fingers, gently, and then not so gently, and felt desire corkscrew through him when she moaned softly.

  Urgency overwhelmed him. In all his womanising years he had never felt this level of hunger. Sophie aroused a primitive need in him to claim his woman and possess her utterly. With shaking hands he pulled off his jacket and shirt. The light emitted from the bedside lamps revealed the full horror of his scars, but he did not feel the need to hide them because he knew that Sophie did not care about his disfigurement. When he looked into her eyes he saw only desire and he brought his mouth down on hers again in a kiss that quickly deepened and became intensely erotic.

  ‘Nicolo,’ she whispered softly, pleadingly, as he pushed her legs apart and ran his fingertips up and down her moist opening. She arched her hips, her body quivering, eager, as he dipped into her honeyed sweetness and swirled his fingers in a rhythmic dance until she gasped and clutched his shoulders, urging him down onto her.

  He was out of control, his erection pushing between her thighs, straining to sink into the velvet embrace of her body.

  ‘What are you doing to me?’ he muttered. And then he thrust into her, deep and hard, driving the breath from her as he filled her.

  He stilled, shaken by the intensity of his desire. ‘Did I hurt you?’

  ‘No. Don’t stop.’ Sophie delivered the words like a burst of gunfire. She could hardly speak or think as the sensation of Nicolo’s swollen length pulsing inside her, pushing deeper, sent her spiralling out of control. She was glad he wasn’t gentle, and gloried in his sensual mastery. He was so big and powerful, poised above her. He moved again, taking her with steady strokes, his pace increasing as she arched her hips to accept every powerful thrust. Her body belonged to him, Sophie acknowledged. And moments later, as they simultaneously reached a shattering climax, the terrifying thought slipped into her mind that so did her heart.