Massimo’s eyes narrowed, his gaze on her flushed, angry face. Part of him knew that her anger was justified. And that she deserved some kind of explanation at the very least. But something cold twisted in his stomach. Why should he have told her anything? Or explain himself then or now? This was his property and she was nothing more than a tenant.
Just because last night she’d coaxed him into sharing grisly details about his childhood it didn’t mean that he owed her anything. He shrugged.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
Leaning back against the stove, he stared at her coldly. This was the only kind of conversation he liked. One that required cool detachment and logic. And absolutely no mercy.
Flora flinched and then her eyes flared. ‘How about, “Flora, I thought you might be interested to know that I’m going to demolish your home and build a massive resort and golf course instead”?’
‘Why would I tell you anything about the resort? It’s none of your business,’ he said coldly.
‘How do you work that out?’ She stared at him, feeling slightly sick. ‘In the first place, I live here...’
Her voice faded as he shook his head slowly.
‘Even without consulting a lawyer, I can tell you that your tenancy agreement is meaningless. It’s certainly not going to stand in the way of hundreds of jobs, or the money this resort will bring to the community here.’
There was something soft and dangerous growing in his voice, but her own anger felt more acute, more pressing and so she ignored it.
‘Is that all you think about? Jobs and money?’ Her skin was trembling with rage, and the sort of hurt she hadn’t felt since her mum died.
He shrugged. ‘What else is there?’
She almost laughed. Only the pain and anger tangling inside her wasn’t funny.
‘There’s me!’
He didn’t move, but something flared in his eyes—something dark and formless. ‘And who are you to tell me how to run my business?’
‘I don’t want anything to do with your damn business. But I thought...’ She hesitated, her hands curling into fists at her sides. Did she really have to spell it out?
His gaze met hers and her stomach plummeted.
Apparently she did.
She lifted her chin. ‘I thought I was something to do with your life. I can see why you wouldn’t tell me at the beginning, but I thought things were different now. Between us. So why didn’t you tell me after everything changed?’
‘I didn’t tell you because nothing has changed. Not with my plans for this building. Or with us,’ he said coldly. His face was expressionless, but there could be no mistaking the distance in his eyes. ‘It couldn’t. Because there is no “us”.’
For a moment her voice wouldn’t work. Anger was clawing inside her like an animal, trying to climb out of a pit. ‘How can you say that?’ she said, her voice high and shaking. ‘We haven’t just been sleeping together. We’ve shared meals; we went to Rome—’
He looked at her incredulously. ‘When I said we were just going to have sex, I didn’t mean that literally. I’m not a Neanderthal.’ Flora blinked. His eyes were staring through her, as though he had already deleted her from his life. ‘But that doesn’t make this a relationship.’
Shock and anger and misery rose in her throat, and for a second she thought she was going to throw up. ‘But what about yesterday and last night?’
‘What about it?’
Watching her eyes widen with shock and hurt, his skin tightened. He’d been right: he’d let her get too close. That was why she was so angry at him now. And that was why he needed to make sure she never did it again. Letting her know that his plan for the resort was off-limits was as good a way as any of proving to her that she was in his life for one reason and one reason only.
She stared at him wordlessly. She knew how hard it had been for him to tell her about his father and stepmother’s treatment of him. So why was he acting now as though none of it had mattered?
A white ball of anger was swelling inside her chest and she swallowed, battening down the pain. ‘Didn’t what happened between us mean anything to you?’
His eyes on hers were cold, incurious. ‘It was just a conversation—’
‘It was not just a conversation.’ She interrupted him, eyes blazing. ‘I told you things about myself, and you told me about your dad and your stepmother. We shared something.’
‘Yes. Too much alcohol and too little sleep.’
The chill in his voice made her feel faint.
‘Why are you being like this?’ She breathed out unsteadily. ‘Something happened between us. I know it did. I felt it, and I know you felt it too.’
Her heart was pounding but she wasn’t going to walk away from this without a fight. Massimo found it difficult to trust. She knew that was why he was in denial about what had happened between them. All she needed was to find some way to make him trust her.
‘I know what you’re doing,’ she said carefully. ‘I know you want to push me away. And I know why you want to push me away. It’s because you’re scared.’
She took a small step towards him, trying to find the words that would make him see that she would never hurt him.
‘But you don’t need to be. Not any more. Not with me. You can trust me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘That’s what I was going to tell you—’
His face looked glittering and hard and impenetrable, like a diamond. ‘What were you going to tell me?’
For a split second she felt as though she were standing on a window ledge. Fear, thicker and blacker than smoke, filled her lungs and then, shaking her head, she gave a small, strangled laugh.
‘I was going to tell you that I love you.’
He stared at her, the expression on his face so still and blank that she thought he hadn’t understood her.
And then he said slowly, ‘Then it’s probably a good thing that you found those plans now. Keep your love, cara, for someone who wants it.’
He watched her face, saw the flash of pain and knew that he wasn’t being fair or kind. But that simply seemed to wind him up more tightly, and he couldn’t stop the rush of anger rising inside him.
She might trust him, but he sure as hell didn’t trust her—or anyone else for that matter. And he would certainly never trust anyone enough to love them.
It wasn’t his fault.
It was just how it had to be.
And he’d been fair. He hadn’t promised what he couldn’t give. Nor had he lied about what he wanted. And he didn’t want her love. Hell, he’d never even asked for it. Yet now she was trying to make him feel guilty about that!
‘I didn’t intend for any of this to happen,’ he said roughly. ‘You and I. Us.’
Her head jerked up. ‘I thought there was no “us”,’ she said, unable to hide her bitterness. ‘There’s not even really a me, is there? You’re the only one that matters—aren’t you, Massimo?’
She watched him, saw his face close and harden.
‘So when were you going to make yourself homeless?’
His eyes met hers. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t think that far ahead.’
In part it was true. Since he’d arrived at the palazzo his life had been turned upside down. Normally his days were micromanaged to the last minute. Now, though, he seemed to have lost the ability to think beyond the immediate present.
He frowned. It was also true that he’d deliberately avoided even thinking about the development—let alone broaching it with Flora. But so what if he had? It was nothing to do with her. And if she didn’t like that fact, that was her problem. She shouldn’t have tried to make things personal.
Flora felt something shudder through her bones. He was lying. For weeks now she’d seen him at work. He was on top of everything.
No detail escaped his eye. With a stab of misery she remembered her dress fitting. No, he knew: he knew exactly when he’d been going to tell her.
And suddenly so did she. It would have been when he took her back to Rome in a couple of weeks.
Blood was roaring inside her head and shakily she reached out to grip the back of a chair.
‘You used me!’ She was so angry that she was glad there was a table between them. ‘Of all the low things you’ve done, this is the absolute—’
‘What are you talking about?’
Her eyes met his. How could she have been so gullible? A man like Massimo could have sex every hour on the hour with a different woman if he wanted. Yet not once had she ever questioned his attraction to her. She clenched her teeth. But then she didn’t have his low morals; she couldn’t just use anything or anyone to get what she wanted.
‘I thought you wanted this house. And then I thought you wanted sex. But this was never about the palazzo. And it wasn’t about the sex either. It was always just about the deal. Building that resort.’ She gestured towards the plans in disgust.
For a moment she thought of how it could have been. Of what it might have been like to love Massimo and be loved by him. And suddenly she was fighting tears. Gritting her teeth, she breathed in sharply. It was not the end. It was the beginning. For now she knew that love was no longer something to be feared or shunned. And one day she would give her heart to someone who would treat it like the priceless gift it was.
She lifted her face and stared at him. What was she doing? Why was she having this pointless, excruciating conversation? There was nothing more to be said. And nothing more to do here.
With shock, she realised that she didn’t need to keep hiding in Sardinia. Massimo Sforza had just trampled on her heart. If she could survive that then she could face her father and her brother. It was time to go home. To England. To her family.
She held his gaze for a moment and then, turning, walked swiftly out of the room.
Massimo stared after her. Not a muscle had moved on his face but inside he felt something like panic stir inside him. Never had a conversation spiralled so badly out of his control. Every word he’d spoken had simply seemed to make things worse.
But it wasn’t his fault, he thought angrily. Last night had unsettled him—for obvious reasons. And she knew that.
So why couldn’t she just have backed off? Instead of grilling him about matters that didn’t even concern her? And telling him she loved him?
What the hell did she expect him to do with that piece of information?
It was her choice to feel like that. She could have kept it to herself. But instead she’d had to go and tell him. But why? Did she think he was going to fall down on bended knee and propose to her? Well, he wasn’t. He wasn’t the right man for her. And she shouldn’t have put him in the position of having to say so. Nor should she have got upset at hearing the truth. It was far better for both of them that he made it clear right now that their relationship was always going to be purely sexual.
He gritted his teeth. Why should he have to remind her of that, anyway? Just because he’d told her about his past it didn’t mean he owed her anything.
His stomach tightened painfully.
Except that he did.
Remembering the warmth and worry on her face as she’d listened to him talking about his father and Alida, he felt his anger slide away. She had helped him face up to his childhood. Even though he’d lashed out at her she’d stood her ground, pushing back when he pushed her away. Until finally she’d broken through the layers of protection he’d put up between himself and the world and freed him from the burden of his past.
He breathed out unsteadily.
Was he really not going to go after her?
Heart racing, he walked quickly out of the kitchen and ran up the stairs two at a time. Her bedroom was empty. His too. Mouth drying, he stepped back into her room. At first glance it looked unchanged. Her clothes were still in the wardrobe. A book she was struggling to finish lay spine-up on her bedside table.
Turning sharply, he felt a rush of pain. Her rucksack was no longer hanging on the back of the door. Nor was the folder containing her thesis on the dressing table. Blood was pounding in his ears. Feeling light-headed, he stumbled into the bathroom intending to splash his face with cold water—and then he saw it. Her dress. The blue silk lay draped over a chair, like the discarded skin of some mythical creature. And resting on top of it, scribbled on the bottom of her tenancy agreement, was a note.
Congratulations. You win. You got what you wanted. You closed the deal.
CHAPTER TEN
SLUMPING BACK IN his seat, Massimo stared at the men and women sitting around the boardroom table and frowned. All of them were white-faced and trembling. Some of the women seemed close to tears.
He’d lost his temper. It had been spectacular, brutal and unfair. But he didn’t feel fair.
He felt angry.
And spread out on the table in front of him was the reason why.
The plans for the Sardinia resort. Nine weeks ago they’d been a glittering prize, waiting to be held aloft at the end of a challenging, arduous race. Now, though, the mere sight of them made him want to kick the table across the room.
Abruptly, he stood up and walked towards the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that ran the length of one wall, his eyes tracking the small clouds drifting slowly above the humming centre of Rome.
Where were they going? At some point would she look up and see them too?
At the thought of Flora, he felt his stomach clench painfully. And suddenly he wanted to be alone—alone with his anger and frustration.
‘There’s a lot to think about,’ he said tersely, not bothering to turn round. ‘Let’s take the weekend and reschedule for Monday.’
The meeting was over.
Behind him, the sound of shuffling feet and papers told him that his staff were leaving. After a few moments he heard the door to the boardroom close with a soft click.
Sighing heavily, he added remorse to the list of feelings churning around inside his chest. His behaviour hadn’t just been unreasonable; it had been completely incomprehensible as far as his staff were concerned. The Sardinian development was ready and waiting for the contractors to move in. Work on-site could have started today or yesterday or even a week ago.
So why the delay?
Remembering his fury when someone had asked him that very question, he gritted his teeth.
He knew the answer, of course. That was why he’d lost his temper. But what else could he have done? He certainly couldn’t tell them the truth.
But now, alone, with no one to answer to except himself, his anger seeped away, leaving an aching hole in the pit of his stomach. The truth was there was no good reason to wait. There wasn’t even a bad one. There was nothing except a feeling—a sense that once the palazzo was demolished what had happened between him and Flora would finally and irretrievably be over.
He felt a sudden, painful sting of frustration and, turning, he began to pace the room.
What was he thinking?
It couldn’t be over because it had never actually started. Aside from the cohabiting, their affair had been exactly the same as every other he’d had. Probably the only reason he was even still thinking about her at all was because she’d stormed out on him.
His mouth twisted as he remembered how he’d sat and waited for her in the kitchen—hoping, believing that she would change her mind and come back. How finally, after several hours of increasing anger and frustration and despair, he’d got in his car and driven round the island looking for her. He hadn’t found her. And instead of having the chance to throw her accusations back in her face he’d been left alone to brood in an empty house, where every single room was filled with reminders
of her absence.
Was it any wonder he couldn’t just forget her?
He was still mulling over that thought when there was a soft tap on the boardroom door.
‘What is it?’ he said irritably.
The door opened slowly and a hand slid through, waving a red paisley handkerchief.
Massimo frowned. ‘Is this some kind of mime show or are you stripping? Because, as stripteases go, I have to say it’s not doing that much for me.’
He watched as Giorgio stuck his head round the door. ‘It should really be white.’
Massimo smiled reluctantly. ‘So why are you surrendering?’
Stepping into the room, the lawyer glanced at him nervously. ‘I’ve got a family so I need to stay alive!’ He shot his boss a furtive look. ‘Apparently it was a bit of bloodbath at the board meeting.’
Massimo sighed. ‘Is that what they’re saying?’
Giorgio shook his head. ‘They’re not saying anything! But given that it looks a bit 28 Days Later out there, I just took an educated guess.’
There was a long, strained silence, and then abruptly Massimo yanked the nearest chair away from the table and sat down heavily. ‘I was a little short,’ he admitted finally. ‘But I just need a bit more time...’
His words trailed off and, leaning back in the chair, he rubbed his hand slowly over the top of his neck. A headache was forming, and more than anything he just wanted to lie down in a dark room and go to sleep. Except that wouldn’t actually happen. Since arriving back in Rome he’d barely managed more than an hour or two a night on the sofa. He’d lost his appetite too—which probably wasn’t helping the headaches that punctuated his days and nights with monotonous regularity.
As though reading his mind, Giorgio cleared his throat and, pulling up a chair beside him, he said quietly, ‘You look exhausted. Why not have an early night? Use the weekend to recharge. Get some focus.’
Massimo stared up at the ceiling. That was the other problem. He couldn’t focus on anything. Certainly not work. He’d tried upping his exercise regime, to no effect. And his standard go-to for clearing his brain—a night or three with a beautiful, eager woman—held no appeal for him whatsoever. Not since Sardinia. Not since Flora.
A Deal Sealed by Passion Page 15