First-Class Seduction

by Lee Wilkinson

  He spoke soothingly, as though to a child. ‘Perhaps after a good night’s sleep you’ll have changed your mind.’

  ‘No way!’

  Smiling a little at her vehemence, he bent his dark head and kissed her lips. ‘We’ll see, shall we?’

  A moment later he was ascending the steps with that easy masculine grace which seemed to characterise all his movements.

  Though light, his kiss had had its usual earth-shattering effect, and she found she was trembling as she closed the door and leaned against it while she listened to his car drive away.

  After a moment, knees still shaky, Bel made her way to the nearest chair and sank into it.

  Andrew Storm had proved himself to be a determined man, and even if she kept the door locked tomorrow and refused to answer he could, and probably would, lay seige to the place…

  Hands clenched into fists, she strove for calm. For the moment at least she was safe in her own home, and if he did lay siege to the place she’d just have to move in with her father for a while…

  Her father… She groaned aloud. Somehow she had to tell him what had happened…No, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him everything; he’d be too shocked and ashamed…

  But she must tell him something. And quickly. If he tried to get in touch with her at the Bentincks’…Galvanised into action, Bel picked up the receiver and dialled her father’s number.

  He answered almost immediately, as if he’d been sitting over the phone, and she knew he had when he said, disappointment edging his voice, ‘Oh, I thought it might be Ellen.’

  ‘Then you haven’t heard from her?’

  ‘No, not yet. But you shouldn’t be worrying about business matters while you’re with Roderick.’

  ‘I’m not with Roderick,’ she broke in abruptly. ‘I’m back in town.’

  ‘Back in town? What on earth for? Surely you’re not—?’

  ‘I’m back in town because Roderick and I have split up. He has his ring back and our engagement’s over.’

  ‘Over?’ Her father sounded thunderstruck. ‘Are you sure it’s not just a storm in a teacup?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘What on earth did you quarrel about?’

  ‘Please, Dad…’ Suddenly she was close to tears, ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

  ‘Very well,’ he said slowly. ‘But is there anything I can do? You sound terribly upset.’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she admitted. ‘But there’s nothing anyone can do. I just need some time to collect myself. A breathing space.’

  ‘Then go away for a while. Leave all the hassle behind you. You’ve more than earned a break…’

  She hadn’t had a proper holiday since joining the firm, working all out to consolidate her career, and this year her father had several times urged her to take one. But Roderick had been already committed to an allmale sailing trip in the West Indies, and she had felt little inclination to go away alone…

  Now the thought of getting right away was a welcome one. Even more welcome than her father realised.

  ‘Why not go to Rome?’ he was suggesting. ‘The flat is empty—’ a pleasant second-floor flat was kept for any Grant Filey staff visiting the Rome offices, which were only a short walk away ‘—so you could see all the things you didn’t have a chance to see last time…’

  She liked the idea. Her first visit to Rome, after being appointed European Marketing Director, had been a brief one, and there had been no opportunity to do any sightseeing.

  ‘Enjoy the ambience—’ her father was into his stride ‘—and find yourself a spot of la dolce vita. Make it a real holiday…’

  Recalling the other dark cloud that hung on the horizon, Bel demurred, ‘I don’t like the idea of being away with the threat of a take-over looming.’

  ‘If I thought your being in London would make a scrap of difference I’d ask you to stay. But, as it won’t, I’d feel happier if you went. So for goodness’ sake go and practise your Italian.’

  ‘I think I just might.’ ‘Now you’re talking!’

  ‘I’ll try to get a flight out today.’ All at once she couldn’t wait to get away.

  ‘Being Saturday, the flights might be full, so if you don’t manage it we’ll have dinner together tonight. Ring me at the office. I’m going in for a couple of hours. There’s something I need to discuss with Harmen…’

  After phoning several airlines, Bel was about to give up when she was lucky enough to find a single seat on a plane leaving for Rome that very afternoon.

  Having no car, she rang for a taxi and, while she waited for it to arrive, demonstrated her state of mind by hauling out a large suitcase and throwing things into it with a disregard for order that would have horrified the old Bel.

  Just as a knock signalled the arrival of her taxi, the phone rang. For a second she hesitated, wondering whether to ignore it. But it was probably her father. Snatching it up, she said, ‘Dad?’

  ‘No, it’s me.’

  ‘Ellen! Thank goodness! Where are you?’

  ‘I’m still in Paris.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘Hotel Colbert…it’s not far from the ChampsÉlysées. I’m having the most marvellous time—’

  ‘Have you been in touch with Dad?’ Bel broke in.

  ‘Not for a day or two.’

  ‘He needs to talk to you—’ Another knock cut through her words.

  ‘I’ll give him a ring,’ Ellen promised carelessly. ‘But I must tell you about Jean-Claude. He’s six feet tall and drop-dead handsome, with silvery blond hair and blue eyes. Honestly, Bel, he has to be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met, as well as having the sort of manners you only read about…’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Bel apologised, ‘but I can’t talk now.’

  ‘He’s invited me to his villa at Épernay—’

  There was a louder knocking and a shout of, ‘Taxi!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Bel repeated, ‘but I have to go. I’ve a taxi waiting to take me to the airport.’

  ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘Rome.’

  ‘Oh, business…’ Ellen said flatly.

  ‘No, this time it’s a holiday. And I really must fly. You won’t forget to ring Dad? If he’s not at home he’ll be in the office.’

  ‘No, I won’t forget. How long are you—?’

  As well as being a scatterbrain, Ellen was an inveterate talker. Hardening her heart, Bel replaced the receiver and hurried to open the door.

  Less than two hours later she was on the Saturday afternoon flight to Leonardo da Vinci Airport, hoping against hope that she might be leaving at least some of her troubles behind.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HEAVY-EYED after a restless night, Bel sat on the flower-filled balcony and ignored her breakfast while she gazed across the sunny piazza.

  Somewhere close at hand a dog barked, and, above Rome’s background noise of traffic, Sunday church bells from all over the city called the faithful to mass, making what Bel, after her first visit, had described to Roderick as a melodious cacophony of sound.

  At the thought of her former fiancé she had to bite her lip to stop the tears welling up. Poor Roderick. He dadn’t deserved to be hurt and humiliated in that way.

  Not even the fact that she’d drunk too much could excuse the stupidity and wantonness of her behaviour, and it was the realisation of what he and his parents must think of her that hurt most. There was one thing to be devoutly thankful for, though: she had successfully escaped Andrew Storm.

  Refusing to consider why the unmitigated relief she should have felt was somehow mingled with a kind of unreasonable depression, she wondered how long he would keep calling at her empty flat before he finally got the message that she had no intention of ever seeing him again.

  Probably not long. He wasn’t the sort of man who would waste his time.

  Despite the warmth of the sun she shivered, and, making an effort to banish the image of that strongboned, ruthless f
ace from her mind, began to eat her breakfast.

  As soon as she’d finished the fresh rolls and fruit pressed on her by Signora Paplucci, the plump, smiling wife of the mustachioed custode di casa, Bel tried again to ring her father but no one answered.

  She’d also tried to phone him when she’d arrived at the flat the previous evening, only to find she was unable to get through because of a fault on the line.

  By the time Bel was ready to go out, wearing a silky skirt and button-through camisole top with spaghetti straps, it was almost mid-morning.

  Armed with camera and a map, she made her way down the cool marble steps, across the bare dimness of the entrance hall and out into the bright oven-heat of Rome.

  Being Sunday, the shops on the Via Cordotti were closed, and the picturesque buildings, with their peeling shutters and flaking ochre stucco, had a deserted air.

  A bus-load of camera-hung tourists, already pink and perspiring in the hot sun, strolled along the narrow pavements while pairs of local youths, riding motor scooters that sounded like enraged hornets, turned the smooth cobblestones of the roadway into a racetrack.

  Bel was enjoying the colourful scene when a sudden wrench on the strap of her shoulder-bag made her stumble and fall, grazing her elbows and knees and sending her sunglasses flying.

  Scrambling up, dazed and dazzled, she glimpsed a tall, dark-haired man dressed in fawn trousers and a two-tone shirt sprinting after the last pair of scooter riders, who were making off with her bag.

  As he drew level he seized the man by the scruff of the neck and hauled him off the scooter, which, after one drunken swerve, kept going.

  The ensuing scuffle was brief but fierce. A moment later a blow to the jaw had sent the burly youth sprawling on the pavement and the tall dark man was returning with her bag. A man who was no stranger.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Andrew demanded urgently.

  When she merely goggled at him, he repeated the question, stooping to retrieve her sunglasses and hand them, and her bag, to her.

  Somehow she found her voice and stammered, ‘Y-yes, I’m quite all right,’ just as rapidly retreating footsteps indicated that the youth was making good his escape.

  The passersby who had seen what was taking place and had stopped to stare began to walk on, and the next second it was as if nothing untoward had happened.

  His eyes travelling over her with the proprietorial air that was becoming only too familiar, Andrew remarked, ‘You’ve cut your knee.’

  Removing a spotless white handkerchief from his trouser pocket, he crouched on his haunches to stanch the warm trickle of blood that was running down her slim tanned leg.

  Staring at the top of his dark head, she wondered with a kind of stunned disbelief what he was doing in Rome, and how, in a city of over three million inhabitants, she’d been unlucky enough to run into him.

  When he rose to his feet, towering over her, wideshouldered and heart-stoppingly attractive, she stepped back abruptly, afraid he was going to kiss her, and, donning the sunglasses as a kind of protection, something to hide behind, demanded, ‘Why are you in Rome?’

  Apparently amused rather than annoyed by the manoeuvre, he asked mildly, ‘Why shouldn’t I be in Rome?’

  ‘Oh, this is ridiculous!’ she exclaimed. ‘My coming to Rome was a spur-of-the-moment decision. You couldn’t possibly have known…’

  ‘Then you can’t accuse me of following you.’

  With a blinding flash of knowledge, she charged, ‘But you did, didn’t you?’

  His expression bland, he said, ‘You’ve just demonstrated that it would have been impossible.’

  And on the surface it was. Yet Bel felt absolutely convinced that his being here in Rome was no coincidence. Though real-life coincidences could sometimes rival fiction, this one was just too bizarre to be believable.

  ‘So are you trying to tell me it was simply luck that you happened to be on the spot?’

  ‘What else?’ His face straight, but his grey eyes holding a gleam of devilment, he went on, ‘I noticed this slim, long-legged blonde and realised it was you just as the would-be thief struck.’

  With that teasing look in his eyes he was almost irresistible. Fighting against the pull of his magnetism, she said thickly, ‘I don’t believe a word of it. I think you were following me.’

  With exaggerated patience, he pointed out, ‘I was coming towards you, so how on earth could I have been following you?’

  Before she could make any further protest, however, he had tucked her arm through his, sending her pulses racing, and was walking her down the street.

  ‘As it’s still a bit early for lunch, I propose that as soon as we reach a café we have a cappuccino and sit down for a while.’ Smoothly, he added, ‘You must have had something of a shock…’

  The worst shock had been to find that he was her saviour, she thought. And then knew immediately that that was what he’d meant.

  Vexed that he was openly making fun of her, she gave him an angry look, and received a mocking grin in return.

  He had an air of satisfaction, almost of triumph. Clearly he thought he’d won.

  But she’d come to Rome to get away from him, and she wasn’t about to let him take her over again. As soon as they’d had coffee she would tell him once and for all that she had no intention of lunching with him. Or indeed of seeing him again.

  If she made her rejection decided enough he could hardly force his company on her. And, if he tried, all she had to do was jump in a taxi. He didn’t know where she was staying…

  Or did he? The thought raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

  No, he couldn’t possibly know.

  He couldn’t possibly have known she would be walking down the Via Cordotti Stretto, but somehow he’d contrived to be there…

  She was still wondering agitatedly how he’d worked it when they reached a coffee-bar with red- and whiteumbrella-shaded tables spilling onto the pavement.

  Steering Bel to the nearest empty table, Andrew tilted the umbrella to shield her from the glare and, reaching over, calmly removed her sunglasses from her nose and slipped them into his pocket.

  ‘You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen on a woman. It’s a shame to hide them.’

  As she blinked, feeling suddenly vulnerable, with effortless ease he secured the attention of a passing waiter and ordered coffee.

  His Italian, she was annoyed to find, was a great deal more fluent and colloquial than her own.

  Listening as he made the white-aproned cameriere laugh with a quip about the latest scandal spread across the centre pages of Rome’s principal newspaper, Bel found herself wondering when he’d arrived. Obviously he’d been here long enough to buy and read a morning paper…

  As soon as the waiter had moved away, she asked, ‘When did you get here?’

  A little smile played around his chiselled mouth, giving the impression he’d been waiting for the question, and Andrew answered, ‘I flew in fairly late last night.’

  Recalling her own difficulties, she commented sourly, ‘I don’t know how you managed to get a flight’

  ‘I came by private jet.’ His voice was smooth as silk.

  Bel bit her lip. She tended to forget that being wealthy he didn’t have the problems facing ordinary mortals.

  Though firmly convinced that he wouldn’t tell her anything he didn’t want her to know, she returned to the attack. ‘You still haven’t told me why you’re here.’

  ‘Would you believe business?’

  Judging by his tone of voice, he didn’t intend her to believe it.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said shortly.

  He sighed. ‘Pity. Then I’ll have to admit the slothful truth. I’m taking what the Italians call a vacanza.’

  She didn’t believe he was taking a holiday either. Though it sounded absurd, she was still convinced he had deliberately followed her here. But how had he known she was coming to Rome? Perhaps her father had told him? Though
a little far-fetched, this had to be the answer.

  The waiter brought their coffee, the pale froth sprinkled with chocolate, and a small plate of marzipan biscuits.

  Taking a sip of her coffee, and setting the cup carefully back on its little padded doily, Bel glanced at Andrew and asked as casually as possible, ‘How well do you know my father?’

  For an instant a hard, almost angry look crossed his face. It was gone so quickly that she found herself wondering if she’d only imagined it, and he answered equally casually, ‘Not at all. I know of him…’

  Through Roderick, no doubt.

  ‘But we’ve never met or spoken.’

  Both his voice and manner convinced Bel he was speaking the truth.

  So she was no nearer solving the mystery.

  Andrew raised a dark brow. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered,’ she said vaguely.

  When she made no attempt to elaborate, he coolly changed the subject, glancing at the map tucked into the back pocket of her bag. ‘I gather you don’t know the city too well?’

  ‘No, not at all, really.’

  Dropping some lire notes onto the table, he drew her to her feet. ‘In that case, when we’ve had lunch we’ll do a spot of sightseeing.’

  His touch made every nerve in her body begin to clamour and completely scattered her wits. Like someone under a spell, she let him tuck her hand through his arm and start to walk.

  So bemused was she, it wasn’t until they’d gone a hundred metres or so that she awakened to the fact that once again, despite all her vows to the contrary, she was letting him calmly take her over.

  Furious with herself, she stopped short and made an attempt to free her hand.

  He wouldn’t allow it.

  ‘Let me go,’ she began fiercely. ‘I don’t want to have lunch with you and I refuse to—’

  His mouth stopped the angry words. One hand spread against the small of her back, the other cupping her nape, he held her close and deepened the kiss with a masterful ease that was at once passionate and punitive.

  It was overwhelming. Devastating. Like being caught up in some maelstrom. Head spinning, she lost all feeling of time and place and her entire body seemed to melt.