He said it casually but he was watching her narrowly to see how she reacted. It was a powerful word, millions. It changed the way people behaved to him. And it changed them in the twinkling of an eye.
Not Lady Abigail. She did not even notice the word, too preoccupied with her private struggle.
‘This one isn’t solvable,’ Abby said soberly.
‘We’ll see.’ But he sounded very confident. Even elated. Even to himself.
She gave up resisting and went with him to the car. He sounded so certain, she thought. And she was so very tired.
Idiot, she told herself. You don’t need a man to tell you what to do. But it was heavenly to sit in the dry and relax for a moment. She tipped her head back against the leather headrest and closed her eyes.
Emilio got in beside her and surveyed her. Her nose tilted. Her damp eyelashes were long and silky. In spite of her ridiculous hair she did not seem to be wearing any make-up and her skin was soft and unblemished as a child’s.
Was this that glowing girl who had lectured him on the scent of roses and then kissed him with her whole heart? Was it?
The internal light switched off automatically. Emilio drew a breath of relief. Against his will he was recalling, not the Montijo’s garden, but those tennis circuit parties she had brought to mind earlier. There had been a time when he would have swept her off her feet and danced until dawn. Or until they fell into bed.
Hey! he thought, startled. You don’t want to go to bed with Lady Abigail Wotsit. Do you?
Her eyes opened. In the shadows he saw the movement of those extravagant eyelashes. His mouth dried.
Do you?
He said at random, ‘What happened at four-twenty to make you homeless?’
Then he remembered that one-sided phone call. At the time he had thought it was an angry lover. More than angry, by the sound of it. Who was he? And what had she done to make him throw her out?
And why did Emilio Diz waste even a moment of his precious time thinking about it?
She opened her eyes but she did not look at him. Staring straight ahead through the darkened windscreen, she said, ‘It’s complicated.’
She shifted her shoulders against the seat as if she were exhausted. A little eddy of her perfume reached him. His pulse accelerated. Just a little, but he recognised the feeling.
It was odd. He had not felt that little electric charge of sudden alertness for a long time. Attraction, yes. Sexual drive, yes. But not that sudden sitting up and taking notice when you didn’t expect to. It intrigued him.
And then of course there was the matter of whether she was the girl he remembered….
‘You had better let me buy you dinner while you talk me through it.’ Emilio was amazed at how casual he sounded.
Oh, yes, he recognised it: pulse a little faster, senses a little heightened. Also, much more dangerously, head a little lighter.
Did she feel it, too? He could not read her expression in the car’s dark interior.
‘That’s very kind.’
She sounded constrained. Because she did feel it, too? Or because she didn’t?
‘I don’t think I should wish myself on a client, though,’ Abby said.
Which answered the question neatly. If she felt it, too, she would not be thinking of him as a client. Just as well, Emilio thought. He had set himself a punishing work schedule for the next few months. There was really going to be no time for chasing women, even turquoise-haired party girls who shouldn’t be too hard to catch. Except—
Except that she had made him angry, in a way that all Traynor’s incompetent bullies had quite failed to do. Except that once he had let her go and never stopped wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t. Except that she still figured in his dreams sometimes.
‘You wouldn’t be wishing yourself on me. You’d be doing me a favour.’ He sounded amused, rueful, quite as if he didn’t care whether she said yes or no. Emilio was proud of himself. ‘Every dinner I’ve had in the last ten days has been on planes or with business partners. Or both. A real dinner with real conversation would make me feel human again.’
Abby hesitated. He could feel her hesitating. It was as if her whole body, even her breathing, had gone on hold.
How come I’m noticing her breathing already? thought Emilio, taken aback.
Then she gave an oddly shaken laugh.
‘All right. Thank you.’
He felt as if he had won a great victory. He could have shouted with triumph.
Instead of which he put the car in gear and drove sedately out into the glimmering wet streets.
‘Good.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘SO WHERE did you live before you were homeless?’ Emilio asked, easing the powerful car out through Culp and Christopher’s decorative iron gates.
Abby tensed. This unknown client was probably not going to sell her secrets to the tabloid press if she confided in him. But there was no point in taking chances.
‘Oh, south of the river,’ she said vaguely.
‘But in London?’ he pressed.
‘Oh, yes, London.’
Emilio frowned. His crane fly girl had definitely not been a London resident, with her garden of old roses that she was the only one left to look after. Perhaps he was wrong after all.
‘And do you like living in London?’
If she had been telling the truth Abby would have said, ‘No, I hate it. I feel as if I’ve been banished into exile. All I want to do is go home and never see this miserable, dirty, noisy, cruel place again.’ But she was not telling the truth. She had not been telling the truth rather hard ever since her father turned up with Justine and announced that he was married at last.
So she said, ‘It’s cool.’
The dark client sent her a quick sideways look as if she had surprised him.
Abby had no idea why he shouldn’t believe her. But she embellished her enthusiasm, anyway.
‘Lots of places to go, people to see. At C&C they’re saying that London’s the hot city this year.’
‘So you count yourself lucky to be here?’
‘Yes,’ said Abby firmly.
‘But you’re still homeless?’
That was a mean shot. Abby felt her heart lurch. She stopped emitting excitement as if he had pressed a switch to turn it off.
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re in a panic about it.’
‘No, of course not, I’m—’
That dark, disbelieving look again. She shuddered into silence.
Then she said carefully, ‘What makes you think I’m in a panic?’
‘Because you got into this car without asking my name.’
‘Oh!’
‘Unless you already know?’
She considered lying. She never used to be a liar but six months at Culp and Christopher had taught her the importance of giving clients the answer they wanted, especially when their ego was involved. A man with the millions he claimed would probably have the ego the size of the Empire State Building.
But then, she thought, this man doesn’t sound as if he cares whether I know who he is or not. He does look vaguely familiar. But I can’t place him. Anyway, there’s no way I could keep up the pretence.
So in the end she said baldly, ‘Haven’t a clue.’
He gave a soft laugh. ‘Well, it’s all a long time ago. You would not have been much more than a child when I had my picture all over the sports pages.’
He was looking at her sideways again. Abby didn’t like it.
She said crisply, ‘Sport bores me, anyway. Who are you? Or should I say, who were you?’
‘I am Emilio Diz. I was a tennis player on the international circuit. Fifth in the world for a while.’
‘Oh? Congratulations. I don’t know anything about tennis. That’s my brothers’ department. My brother Sandy was—’
And then it hit her. She had said this before. I’ve heard my brothers talk about him. They thought he would be Wimbledon champion thi
s year if he hadn’t retired from the circuit.
It came back to her as clearly as if it was yesterday, not nine years ago. The heat. The disapproving matriarch. The duel on the sunlit tennis courts. And this man, fluid and graceful as quicksilver and about as out of place.
She was remembering other words, as well. You shouldn’t be here talking to me. You’re important. And not just words.
The night. The music. The dancing. Her first dance with a man who wasn’t just being kind, steering her round the floor and trying to avoid major breakages. Her first dance with a man whose arms she had wanted to be in.
Then, in the darkness, standing on tiptoe, bringing his head down to meet her mouth. Her! Shy, awkward, ignorant Abby, sixteen and terrified that people would find out how little she knew, actually kissing a man of her own free will.
And the man holding her off.
The man who had held her off in her dreams ever since. The man who had told her, finally and forever, that no man would ever want her to kiss him in the shadows and mean it. The man who had pulled the borrowed silk up over her breasts and managed not to touch a millimetre of her skin. The man who had laughed.
The man who still made her wince every time she thought about him. How had she failed to recognize him?
‘Oh, Lord,’ said Abby, appalled.
So she was his crane fly girl. Emilio felt an odd fierce triumph.
No one would have told it from his smooth voice.
‘How do you do, Lady Abigail.’
‘Er—how do you do,’ muttered Abby, writhing inwardly.
She plaited her fingers in her lap. Did he know?
She glanced at him sideways. He was driving with easy confidence, concentrating on the twists and halts of the busy road. No, of course he didn’t know. He probably didn’t even remember.
How important could a simple kiss in the dark be? After nine years, too. Especially when it was a kiss he had rejected. He must have had so much practice at holding off starstruck teenagers in those days. He’d probably forgotten it before he had gone home that night. No, of course he didn’t remember.
She said more easily, ‘Is this your first visit to London, Señor Diz?’
‘Emilio, please. No, I came every year when I played tennis. And recently, this has been a hot place to do business, too. In fact, I’ve just bought an apartment here.’ He gave an amused sigh. ‘And what a business that was. To say nothing of getting some furniture into it. Setting up home in London is no job for a busy bachelor. Still, it’s done now. You must come and give me your opinion of it.’
Oh, he was all charm now that she wasn’t a teenager anymore, thought Abby. It made her feel triumphant, but also forlorn. She wasn’t so different from the awkward teenager, not inside. He wouldn’t bother to turn on the charm if he knew what she was like inside.
She said, more tartly than she intended, ‘My opinion wouldn’t be worth much. I’ve never set foot in a millionaire’s bachelor pad.’
As soon as she said it, Abby wished she hadn’t. Would it offend him? Make him angry? He was an important client, after all. What was more, he had gone out of his way to help her when he could perfectly well have left her standing in the rain. He did not deserve her to spit at him like a bad-tempered kitten.
There was the pause of a heartbeat. The longest heartbeat Abby could remember.
‘Then I look forward to giving you a new experience,’ he said smooth as cream.
Abby stopped worrying about offending him. She sat bolt upright. Was the man laughing at her? Again?
But his tone was neutral when he said, ‘In fact that may be the best place to go right now.’
‘Why?’ she said suspiciously.
He gave a soft laugh. ‘Relax. I’m not going to kidnap you.’
‘I didn’t think you were,’ said Abby furiously.
‘Then you gave a pretty good imitation of it. But you needn’t worry. I need to check on some things, that’s all. We can stop off at the apartment and then go and find that meal. There are plenty of restaurants around the block.’
He paused. Abby said nothing.
‘Or if you’ve changed your mind, I will take you anywhere else you want to go and we can forget dinner.’
Now she knew who he was, she would rather have had dinner with Count Dracula. Only of course she could not admit it. Anyway, there was nowhere she could think of to tell him to take her. And it was pouring with rain. And the car was so warm and comfortable.
Abby muttered, ‘No. All right. I’ll have dinner with you.’
‘Thank you,’ he said dryly.
Now that was definitely laughing at her. She retaliated in kind.
‘You’re welcome.’
He laughed aloud at that.
‘Everything will look better when you’ve eaten. Now sit back and stop worrying.’
Slightly to her own surprise, Abby did.
She took the opportunity to look around her. In the intermittent light from the street she saw that this car was no millionaire’s Lamborghini. It was discreetly dark, though the upholstery was leather and the dash gleamed with polished wood. Luxurious, powerful and completely anonymous, Abby thought. There was not so much as a map or a tube of sweets in the glove compartment to prove he was human. It was the car of a man who did not leave any clues. It was not a comforting thought.
No amount of understated luxury could hide the power of the engine, though. As Emilio sent it surging along, Abby realised three things: Emilio Diz knew London well enough to drive a convoluted path through back streets that she had never seen before; that he handled the car with easy mastery; and that the nine-year-old attraction was still there.
The last thought scared her so much that she said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Do you know where we are?’ It sounded like an accusation, but she could not help that.
She was badly rattled and doing her damnedest to hide it. If he thought she was a back street driver, well tough. It was better than him thinking she was an overgrown groupie, sitting next to him with her tongue hanging out.
He glanced down at her. ‘I always know where I am.’
‘How comforting.’ She was only slightly acid. He was trying to be helpful, after all, and she was getting her equilibrium back.
‘Not comforting. Essential.’ The accent was Mid-Atlantic again, amused, sophisticated and very nearly caressing. ‘Like I said, I specialise in problem solving. The first rule before you can change anything is be quite clear where you stand.’
How could a voice make you feel as if you were being stroked? Abby shivered, half in pleasure, half wary. She had never come across a voice that affected her like this. No wonder her sixteen-year-old self had fallen for it so hard she lost all restraint. She suspected it was world-class seduction.
Determinedly she brought herself back to reality. ‘That sounds like management speak,’ she said. That was more waspish than she meant, too, but she could not do anything about that. Not if she was going to resist slipping under the spell of that voice. ‘I mean, what does it mean—be quite clear where you stand?’
She found they were coming out opposite Green Park. He concentrated on turning the car into the stream of traffic. They went round Hyde Park Corner before he answered.
‘It means know what you’ve got. Know what you want. Above all, know what you’re prepared to give up to achieve your goals.’
‘That sounds very ruthless,’ Abby said slowly. ‘What about other people?’
‘Everyone has to be responsible for himself. The secret is to know what things are worth in relative terms.’
She was thinking of her father. Had he taken a decision that his new wife was worth the loss of his family, if it came to it?
‘And if some of the things you must be prepared to give up are people? Maybe they don’t want you to give them up.’
He shrugged. ‘We all have to move on.’
At least his voice was no longer caressing. Abby thought: he’s said that before
. How many times has he moved on? And what happened to the women he left behind?
She stopped the thought abruptly. She was shaken.
She had only met the man twice in her life, for heaven’s sake. What was she doing thinking about the women he had left behind? They were nothing to do with her. He was nothing to do with her. An impromptu meal on a rainy night did not give him a place in the landscape of her life.
She grabbed for a change of subject and alighted on the luxury of the car.
‘This car is so comfortable. What is it?’
He shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
Abby stared.
‘It’s a rental. I don’t know whether I’ll buy a car or not yet. I’m not sure how much time I’ll be spending here. It may be easier just to rent.’
Abby was entertained. ‘You’ll spend all that money on an apartment but not buy a car?’
‘An apartment is an investment. A car is a running cost,’ Emilio said dispassionately.
She looked at him sideways. ‘Yes, you are a typical businessman, aren’t you? Most of the men I know would be much more interested in their wheels than a roof over their head.’
‘It sounds as if the men you know need to grow up,’ said Emilio with something of a snap. That crack about him being a typical businessman had hurt.
Abby tipped her head back. ‘Oh, I don’t know. A really swish car is a work of art.’ There was real longing in her voice.
Against his will, he laughed. ‘All right. I’ll buy it. You drive a vintage Morgan, right?’
Abby sighed. ‘I wish.’
He was genuinely intrigued. ‘Then what?’
‘Oh, I haven’t got a car in London. At home I used to have a runabout. It was old but not old enough to call it vintage. It was always covered in mud which my father said held it together. No one but me would drive it because the gears jumped sometimes. I was the only who had the trick of it.’
She sounded wistful. Emilio registered it—and also that she did not seem to have any idea that her homesickness showed. But that’s what it was. He knew all about homesickness. When he first went off round the world, as a junior, he had called the crowded shabby little house in Buenos Aires every chance he got. The others had laughed. But he had missed even the bad bits. Just as she did.
More Than A Millionaire (Contemporary Romance) Page 7