Billionaires: They're powerful, hot, charming and richer than sin...

by Clare Connelly

  She picked an imaginary piece of lint off the bed linen to hide her smile.

  Dante hadn’t wanted to ask about her childhood. To do the ‘getting to know you’ dance. But he found himself running his hand over hers and lifting her fingers to his lips. “You grew up here?”

  She looked around the bedroom. “For the first few years of my life. My parents divorced when I was about six.”

  “I imagine that was difficult.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose so. He re-married very quickly, and my new step-mother was a famous pop singer. I know it was dreadfully disloyal to my mum, but I adored the attention I got at school.” She winced now, in memory. “Mum was good about it.”

  He nodded. “I suppose she just cared that you were happy. That is a maternal instinct, is it not?”

  Maggie bit down on her lower lip. “I don’t know. Not always. My best friend Rosie’s parents were divorced and her mother moved overseas. Never really saw her again.” She shook her head. “I’m lucky, I suppose. All of my various step-parents have always been good fun. I just learned, after the first one, not to get too attached.”

  His smile was broad. “How many have there been?”

  “Well, let’s see. Cressida will be my father’s fourth wife. Presuming he doesn’t stuff it up before they set the date. My mother only re-married once. An American film director. I see her a few times a year. We’re friendly, though I suspect I remind her too strongly of dad to be closer than we are.”

  “They did not part amicably?”

  “Oh, it was as amicable as you can expect.” She forced herself to look directly in his eyes. “Dad is a serial philanderer. He means well, but he can’t help himself. He chases just about anything in a skirt.”

  Dante felt a strange acceleration in his chest. “I see.”

  Maggie’s mouth formed an exaggerated grin. “Don’t go psychoanalysing me. It’s not like that’s why I got involved with the agency.”

  “Isn’t it?” He prodded, steadily erecting shielding around his heart. If he understood her motivations, would it make him less disparaging of her actions? He feared so, and he didn’t want to remove the barriers of anger he’d felt for so long.

  “No,” she shook her head. “It’s my cousin’s business. I helped her out a few times, in the beginning. It was easy money.” She squeezed his hand. “I got to go out, have a few drinks, and earn hundreds of pounds. Back then, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. So I did that.”

  He forced himself to recall his anger, and wore it as a derisive cloak. “Broke up people’s marriages?”

  She shook her head. “You know that’s not what it was about.” She toyed with the ends of her hair, running her fingers through the shiny auburn tangles. “I used to hope against hope that the men we were targeting would prove me wrong.” She shrugged. “All I ever did was walk into a bar. But do you know how many of the suspected cheats ignored me? None.” She shook her head. “Not a very good advertisement for marriage.”

  “You, Maggie Carrington, are too good to resist though. Even a saint would find it impossible.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s a cop out.”

  He laughed despite himself. “Is it? Why?”

  “Because.” She shrugged. “For one thing, these men were already on the chopping block because of their affairs. I was just the decoy, to prove their guilt. But you don’t really believe anything justifies cheating, do you?” She flushed, thinking of the claims his wife had levelled at him.

  “I do not,” he said with a twist of his lips. “It offends me.”

  Her expression was disbelieving. “Really?”

  “Si.” He lifted his hand to her hair and took over, running his fingers over its silky lengths. His eyes, as he studied her shining locks, were hooded. “You will not believe me, and I do not much care.”

  Her stomach rolled. “You don’t?”

  “Just as you probably do not care that I don’t believe I was the first of the men you ever slept with.”

  “You were,” she said hotly. “And you’re wrong. I do care.” She pulled away from him and stood up. “I’m… not like that.”

  “Aren’t you?” He dragged his eyes from the top of her head, to her perfectly rounded breasts, down to her shapely legs.

  “NO!” She shook her head, sending her hair flying. “How can you think I am?”

  “Let’s recap, shall we? The first time I met you, you slept with me and then collected payment for services excellently rendered. Now, you have opened yourself to me time and again, practically as soon as you saw me.”

  Irrational, hateful tears pricked her eyes. “That’s not fair.” She spun away from him and grabbed for her robe. She pulled it on, but when she looked at him, she wished she hadn’t. His face held such contempt, such anger, that she thought he had actually slapped her.

  “It is the truth.”

  She jutted her chin at a defiant angle. “I was not paid for sleeping with you. I have told you that already. And as for this weekend…” she sucked in a deep breath. “What can I say? I guess I just find you that irresistible.” She was going for sarcasm but she feared it came out as desperation.

  His expression was dark. “Apparently, it’s mutual.”

  She wrapped her arms around her chest. “You don’t look happy about it.”

  “I’m not,” he agreed. “I wholeheartedly disapprove of your character. And yet I’ve never wanted a woman more.” He looked away from her, as though the very sight of Maggie made him angry. “Two years I have looked for you. I thought I wanted to see you just to vent my spleen at you, regarding your lax morals. But now, I realise it was because one night with you could never be enough. Even one weekend doesn’t feel sufficient.” He closed his eyes. “And I loathe myself for my weakness, where you are concerned.”

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat, her eyes wide. “You’ve looked for me?”

  He turned to her, his expression haunted. “We did not use protection. I wanted to at least make sure there had been no consequences. The agency has watertight confidentiality agreements in place, you’ll be pleased to know.”

  She gripped her stomach for support, her mind spinning off its axis. Now was the time to tell him. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her breathing coming in fits and spurts. Her tongue was heavy in her mouth. The words she needed to speak wouldn’t come.

  “And then, when you didn’t contact me, I was glad. Relieved. If there was no baby, then I was not tied to you. A woman who slept with men for money.” At least, he should have been. The truth was, any reason to see her again would have been a win, as far as he was concerned. “With you, Maggie, I never know how I feel, nor why. I just know that I am tormented by memories of your body. When I am not near you, I need to be.”

  Maggie watched him stand and get dressed. Her mouth still wasn’t working. She thought of May, their beautiful daughter, and she tried to find the words. He had just said he was glad though, to think that there had not been any complications from their union. So would he be furious to discover the opposite was true?

  “I need some space,” he muttered. “You are like toxin in my blood.”

  He paused at the door to throw her one last look, his face mutinous, his brows knitted together. “Goodbye, mi dolor.”

  “It’s the last meal of the weekend,” Maggie said, stifling a yawn and looking at the list of things they had to organise. “I’ve prepped the canapés and the desserts. The main course will be the sliders, and the cups of wings.” She smiled, thinking how opposed Cressida had been to the American themed menu. But Maggie had been right. Everyone loved little burgers and crispy wings. She’d made sure there were ample waste bins placed throughout the glass enclosed terrace, and the cider, ale and champagne were all American staples.

  “And we’re set with those,” Annie responded, running her pen down the list. “It’s been beautiful food, Maggie. You’ve outdone even yourself.”

  Maggie had. Somehow,
she’d managed to organise a menu that ran over several days, catering to a plethora of different dietary requirements, and still had time to get into an emotional mess.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re heading home tonight?” Annie asked, tucking her pen into her plait.

  “Yeah.” She was anxious to get back to May. A few days away had been harder to handle than she’d thought. Leaving Dante in the past – again – was not something she relished either, though. The knowledge that, before she left him, she would have to find a way to tell him about May, sat like a stone in her mid-section.

  “Be sure to drive carefully. The roads will be iced up.”

  Maggie looked out of the kitchen windows. It was one of those days that was almost too cold for snow. Ice, wind and sleet. She nodded. “You too.”

  Annie moved out of the kitchen to retrieve supplies, and Maggie set about chopping the coriander they were using to garnish the fishcakes. “You are to leave tonight?”

  She looked up in surprise. “Dante! How long have you been standing there?”

  His eyes were narrowed, his expression unreadable. “Just a moment.” He moved across the room, his gaze sweeping down her body. “So it is true?”

  She crossed her arms across her chest in a gesture of defiance that fell somewhat flat when she spoke. For her words were breathy with emotion. “Is what true?”

  “You are the caterer?”

  “Oh.” She furrowed her brow. “Did I not mention that?”

  “You did not.”

  “Well, not strictly the caterer, really,” she babbled. “I mean, I am. A caterer. A cook. I used to have a café, with my best friend, but um, we sold it. And now I do this. But this is really nepotism at work because Cressida is dating my father. And um, Annie is the cook on call.”

  He stood on the other side of the bench, apparently, for once speechless. Maggie was not. “I mean, I just devised the menu and did a lot of the prep. Dad and Cress were adamant that they wanted me to be a guest for the weekend, not a kitchen skivvy.” She rolled her eyes. “They can be snobs like that.” Her heart was pounding; her mind replaying snatches of their conversation from the night before.

  “I see.” He shook his head, as if to clear his mind. “So you are not still doing work for the agency?”

  “Good Lord, no.”

  She placed the large knife down on the bench and moved around the surface, so stand beside him. “I wasn’t, when I met you. I hadn’t done that stuff in years.”

  He scanned her face with an even greater intensity than he had been a moment ago. “So why that night? Why you?” He paused a beat, his expression heavy. “Why me?”

  She gnawed at her lower lip. Was rehashing the past going to get them anywhere? He would never understand. He didn’t want to understand. “As a favour,” she whispered finally. “They needed someone… um…”

  “Someone I wouldn’t be able to resist?” He hazarded aloud, his face strangely contorted.

  “Sort of.” She looked downwards, embarrassment making her flush to the roots of her hair.

  “And that was you.”

  She nodded.

  “How much did you get paid?”

  She looked away, embarrassment making her hesitate.

  “How much?” He ground out, taking a step backwards.

  “Two thousand pounds.”

  He nodded silently. For some reason, the business facts made it even harder to stomach. “And was it worth it?”

  She wouldn’t change a thing about that night. After all, May had been the real payment. “I’ve already told you, it wasn’t like that.” She frowned, and a small crease formed between her brows. “None of the agency’s staff are ever expected to sleep with the men. In fact, I’m pretty sure it would be frowned upon.”

  “The agency’s owner isn’t in to prostitution?” He muttered disparagingly.

  She put a hand on his arm. “What’s got into you? We talked about this yesterday.”

  He exhaled a frustrated breath. “I just can’t accept it. When I left you last night, I did try to make sense of this. But there is no sense. There is no other way.” His eyes were like black coals in his face. “It is … better for me if I continue hating you.” He lifted a hand to her beautiful face. “Whenever I look at you, I’ll always see a woman who was prepared to have sex with a guy to get a spoiled bitch a better divorce settlement.”

  Her heart twisted in her chest. “That’s not why.” She lifted her other hand to his arm and squeezed tight. “That’s not why.” Tears sprung to her eyes. “I won the divorce settlement the minute you asked me to join you for a wine.” She shook him again, earnestly. “I came to your room because I wanted to sleep with you. Because I’d never met anyone like you before.”

  His lips were a snarl in his handsome face. “You spent approximately five minutes in my company before climbing into my bed.”

  Her cheeks flamed. “So? Haven’t you ever just known?”

  He looked at her long and hard, his sensible side at war with his instincts. She thought he might actually kiss her, and she swayed forward slightly in anticipation. But he didn’t. “What I know is that I would never, in a thousand years, and for a billion euro, be able to trust you.”

  He seemed to flick a switch. The last vestige of emotion emptied from his face.

  “Wait.” She grabbed his arm as he went to move away. “That’s… that’s it?”

  “Si.” He remarked caustically.

  She was too totally shell-shocked to follow him. And when, later that day, she finally went looking for him, she discovered that he and Amelie had already left.

  Without a trace, without a goodbye, and with no means of contacting him.

  5

  She fumed the entire drive back to London, her face creased with annoyance. Why? Why had this happened? She had been fine! Until that damned weekend. Running in to him had made two facts abundantly clear. She was not over him, and probably never would be. And she had to tell him about May.

  But how?

  Her phone began to ring and she clicked on the little Bluetooth signal to answer. “Hey, Mags,” Rosie’s familiar voice rang out through the Citroen.

  Maggie smiled instantly. She’d missed her best friend. “Hi.”

  “Good weekend?”

  Maggie grunted. “It was… eventful.”

  “Oooh. Any scandal?”

  “You could say that. I’ll fill you in later. How’s May?”

  “Perfect as ever. I hope she gives Marianna a bit of advice on sleeping through the night, though.”

  Maggie laughed. “Oh, no! Is my God-daughter still giving you problems?”

  “You better believe it. A romantic weekend away with two one years old is not quite what I had in mind.”

  Maggie giggled. “Maybe you should hire a nanny? Oh, that’s right, you have two!” She teased. Rosie might play the part of the long-suffering mummy to a demanding toddler, but she was completely in her element. Besides, her husband Luca barely let her lift a finger.

  “Luca’s going to bring May home so that I can get Marianna settled back into her routine,” Rosie said distractedly. “Marianna, bring that back right now. Mummy’s still talking. Marianna? Listen here, miss!” There was the sound of static and then Rosie’s breathless voice. “Sorry. She ran off with my phone. So Luca will be over in an hour. Okay?”

  “Thanks so much. Gives me time to grab a few essentials on the way.”

  She disconnected the call and steered the car on to the M1, heading for the comfort of home. Only a few minutes after hanging up from Rosie, she found her hands dialling a familiar number.

  “Dad, is Cress there?”

  “Maggie? Is everything okay?”

  “Of course,” she rushed to assure him. Ever since she’d been in a car accident as a teenager, he was always nervous about her driving. “I’m fine. I just need to ask her a favour.”

  “You? Ask Cressida a favour? Well, just let me bat my way past the flying pigs, hon
ey, and I’ll put her on.”

  Maggie’s grin was tight on her face. “Maggie, what a pleasure. What can I do for you?”

  “Oh, hi, Cress. I just, um, wanted to thank you again for a lovely weekend.” Her words petered out into nothingness.

  Cressida was silent. Patient. “Is that all?”

  “No,” she sighed, squirming in her seat with embarrassment. Then, inspiration struck. “I think I have something of Amelie’s. Her, um, ipad. I must have grabbed it by mistake when I was packing my things. You don’t have her number do you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Would you be able to text it to me? Please. I’m driving now, and I’d like to get in touch as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Maggie. I’ll do it straight away. Thank you for the call, dear.” She hung up the phone. Maggie pulled over at her local Sainsbury’s and waited. As if staring at the screen might speed up the text message, she stared. And stared. Finally, it buzzed through. She clicked on it immediately and waited for it to begin the call.

  Amelie answered after two rings.

  “Oh, hi,” Maggie said uncertainly. She tried to hold on to the vision of Dante’s face. She had to see him, and she had to explain. She at least had to tell him about May. How could she continue the deception a moment longer?

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Maggie. Carrington. From the weekend.” Silence. “The girl who was sick in the garden?”

  “Oh!” Recognition of the most unfortunate kind. “Yes?”

  “It’s just, um, I need to speak to Dante.” She could practically hear the other woman’s mind ticking over. “Can you just give him my number? Have him call me?”

  “Dante? My Dante?”

  Her heart flipped over. She wanted to shout, “NO! My Dante!” But she just nodded. “Uh huh. Thanks, Amelie. Bye.”

  Walking beneath the fluorescent glow of the Sainsbury’s lights was a depressing task indeed. Particularly after the weekend she’d just had. From a country mansion in an enormous garden, cooking delicacies and delights, to perusing the Discount racks and trying to fit their food requirements into her meagre budget. At first, her fierce independence had felt noble. There were times, lately, when it had worn somewhat thin. And yet still she continued to refuse offers of help. Still she insisted on making ends meet with what she earned on her own. Dejectedly, she picked a few items from the shelves, paid for them and left.