Italian Surgeon to the Stars (8 page)

My anger blistered inside me, peeling off a layer of my stomach like acid. How could I have been so gullible as to believe he loved me? He hadn’t even
told
me. Not in so many words. He had acted like he did. That had been enough for me. I’ve always been a great believer in actions speaking louder than words. Words are so cheap. Anyone can say
I love you
. It’s demonstrating it that’s important.

All he had demonstrated was that he was a master at manipulation. He’d charmed me into believing I was the best thing that had ever happened to him. When I’d ended things
he hadn’t even
acted
being devastated. He’d shrugged it off in an easy-come, easy-go manner that still rankled with me. If he’d felt anything for me—anything at all—wouldn’t he have fought for me? Defended himself?

But, no. He’d listened to my spitting tirade and gone all stony-faced and tight-lipped. And why wouldn’t he? The woman he’d really wanted had got away. I was just the backup plan. The face-saving fling. What did it matter if I stormed off in a huff? Our four-week fling had achieved what he’d wanted it to achieve. It had showed his ex he’d well and truly moved on.

The trouble was I
hadn’t
moved on. I was stuck. My life was on pause. I couldn’t go forward because I was too frightened to open myself up to caring about someone enough for them to hurt me. I was watching life from the sidelines. Watching as friends fell in love and got married. Set up homes together. Had babies.

Even my sister was talking about babies. She and Matt were getting married in September, and I was going to be the maid of honour. I was dreading it. It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy for her. I was. I was thrilled she’d found Matt after that two-timing twat
Andy she’d been with before. But it was the thought of everyone asking me if I was seeing anyone. Of everyone looking at me and pitying me for still being single at twenty-nine.

I struck a don’t-mess-with-me pose: one hip pushed forward, my arms still crossed over my chest. ‘You can’t keep me here all night.’

That wickedly sexy gleam was back in his espresso-dark eyes. ‘Can’t I?’

A frisson of traitorous excitement shot down the length of my spine. ‘Holding someone against their will is a crime.’

He moved away from the door and came over to where I was standing. ‘Open your hand.’

I didn’t care for his commanding tone, but I opened my hand regardless. The sooner I got out of there the better. He placed my hair tie in the middle of my palm and then gently closed my fingers over it, giving my hand a tiny squeeze before releasing it.

‘I like your hair loose,’ he said.

‘I’m thinking of getting it cut off for the wedding.’

His eyebrows snapped together. ‘Whose wedding?’

‘My sister’s.’

‘Oh…’ Something about the way he said it gave me the impression he was distracted. But then he seemed to gather himself. ‘No. Don’t do that. Your hair is beautiful.’

I raised my brows at him. ‘It’s
my
hair. I can do what I damn well like.’

He picked up one of my curls and slowly wound it around his finger. I should have moved away. But apart from the risk of having my hair pulled out by the roots I was having trouble getting my body to respond to the commands from my brain. My body was acting of its own accord, standing close enough to touch him, my hips almost brushing his.

I looked at his mouth and a shudder of longing went through me like the tremor of an earthquake. I knew if he kissed me a second time I might not be able to control myself. I put my hands against his chest, but instead of pushing him back, my fingers curled into the fabric of his T-shirt.

‘Don’t…’ I said in a breathless little whisper that kind of belied my plea.

His mouth hovered just above mine, his eyes hooded in a way that made every feminine cell in my body sit up and beg. His warm breath danced over the surface of my lips, teasing my senses into a mad frenzy.

‘Don’t what?’

My fingers tightened their grip on his shirt. ‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’
I
shouldn’t be doing this
.
Not again. Never again.

His lips nudged mine—a playful, teasing little movement that made my lips buzz with sensation. ‘You want me so bad you’re shaking with it.’

The fact that it was true was just the impetus I needed to get the hell out of there while I still could. Pride came to my rescue.

I gave his chest a hard shove and stepped back from him, flashing him one of my trademark haughty looks. ‘I wouldn’t sleep with you again if you paid me a million pounds.’

His smile was deliberately—irritatingly—mocking. ‘How about two?’

I put my hands on my hips in a combative manner. There’s nothing I like more than a fight-to-the-death contest. I was
so
going to win this.

‘Make it five and you’ve got yourself a deal,’ I said, privately congratulating myself on calling his bluff. I even did a couple of mental fist pumps in victory.

But then he held out one of his hands, and my stomach fell through the floor as he said, ‘Done.’

CHAPTER FOUR

T
O SAY
I was gobsmacked would be an understatement. I stood gaping at him as if he’d just offered me five million pounds. Hang on a minute. He
had
just offered me five million pounds.

Five million pounds!

My head was spinning. My mouth opened and closed but I couldn’t locate my voice. My heart was thumping as if I’d just sprinted up the Empire State Building during an asthma attack. Not that I get asthma or anything, but you get the idea.

‘Are you
serious
?’ I finally managed to ask—although to be perfectly honest it was more of a squeak.

His gaze was unwavering as it held mine, his expression as enigmatic as ever. ‘Don’t you think you’re worth it?’

I licked my lips. Not in anticipation of all
that money, or even the sex—although the thought of having smoking hot jungle sex with him
did
make my pulse skyrocket like crazy—but in panic. I couldn’t possibly agree to such an outrageous proposal.
Could I?
The sex I could handle. No-strings sex. No-promises sex. No-plans-for-the-future sex. The fact that money would be exchanged for it made me feel a little uncomfortable…but, heck, it was a
lot
of money. A truckload of money. Besides, it had been ages since I’d had sex. Years, actually. Why
shouldn’t
I indulge in a hot fling with him?

Because he broke your heart the last time, you idiot!

Yes, well, there was that to consider. But five million pounds was nothing to be sneezed at.

I could buy my own Georgian mansion with loads of acreage, instead of living in a tiny flat where I could hear every petty little argument my neighbours had. I could wear ridiculously flashy jewellery and be driven around by a chauffeur in a Bentley or a Rolls-Royce with personalised number plates. I could wear bespoke designer clothes and have a flock of servants to see to my every whim. I could have my very own beautician and nail
technician. I could have my hair washed and styled and straightened every day.

My capitalist-hating parents would probably never speak to me again, but still…

I stared at Alessandro’s outstretched hand while this inner dialogue ran through my head. With that sort of money I could have anything I wanted…except the thing I
most
wanted.

I brought my gaze back up to his and gave him a tight smile. ‘Wow. You nearly had me there.’

‘You think I don’t mean it?’

I gave a tinny-sounding laugh. ‘You must have a very expensive sex-life if you have to dish out that amount of money every time you want to get laid.’

His dark eyes smouldered as they went from my mouth to my gaze and back again. ‘I’ve never had to pay until now.’

I turned away to scrape my hair back into a knot on top of my head, using the hair tie. It gave me something to do with my hands, because I was worried one of them might be tempted to reach out and shake on his deal.

He surely wasn’t serious? He was playing with me. Teasing me. Of course he was. I was an idiot to think he would pay five pounds,
let alone five million. He was just stringing me along, making me out to be some sort of greedy little gold-digger. The fact that I’d started it by using that old cliché was beside the point.

‘You’ve got the wrong person, Alessandro,’ I said, swinging back round with another forced smile. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’

If he was disappointed or annoyed, nothing in his expression showed it. In fact I thought I saw a gleam of respect shining there. ‘Would you like a look around the house before you leave?’ he asked.

‘Sure—why not?’ I said, thinking it best to keep casually cool and easygoing in spite of the fact that I might have just rejected—
gulp
—five million pounds.

Alessandro led me out of the reception room into the hall. ‘As you can see, there’s still a lot of work to be done,’ he said. ‘There’s a lot of structural stuff that has to be sorted before I can get the painters and decorators in.’

‘My sister does a bit of home renovating,’ I said as I looked around at the paint-stripped hall and bare floors that were in need of a polish and stain. ‘She finds it relaxing. But
I can’t think of anything worse. I guess I’m not so good with my hands.’

His eyes met mine across the distance that separated us. ‘I disagree. I seem to remember your hands had very special skills. Skills I haven’t come across before or since.’

I turned my face away so he wouldn’t see the blush I could feel creeping all over my cheeks. The same heat was pooling between my thighs. Pulsating need was like a raging fire, racing out of control. I could feel it licking along my flesh with hot, fiery tongues. Why was he so determined to remind me of our past? Surely he realised by now that I was not interested in resuming it.

Although I had to admit I’d been giving him mixed messages. Kissing him the way I had had hardly helped my cause. I’d come across as a wanton desperado. I mentally cringed. How could I have let my guard down like that?

I pushed the toe of my shoe against a bit of broken plaster on the floor. ‘Do you really think you’ll have this place ready in a month? It looks like it could take six months—maybe even more. It must be costing you a veritable fortune.’

‘Money’s not an object for me when I have my heart set on something I want.’

His statement had an element of ruthless determination about it that sent another frisson dancing down my spine. I didn’t have the courage to look at him. If I looked at him I would cave in and reveal how pathetically weak I was.

I stared fixedly at the peeling paint on the skirting boards instead. ‘Clearly not.’

He moved towards another door that led into an east-facing room. ‘This is the morning room,’ he said. ‘It has a nice view over the garden—well, it will once the gardeners get control of the weeding and pruning.’

I looked out of the windows at the garden, where the weeds were almost waist-high. There was a yew hedge surrounding a fountain, but it looked like it hadn’t been pruned in years. There were roses in another section, their skeletons spindly and long-armed from lack of winter pruning. There were clusters of bulbs here and there—narcissus and jonquils, and an early daffodil or two offering the only bit of colour and cheer in the neglected landscape.

I turned to look at Alessandro. ‘Who owned the house before you?’

‘An elderly man who had neither family nor funds nor the health to keep things in shape.’

I thought of all the gorgeous properties in and surrounding Bath. With the sort of money he apparently had at his disposal he could have bought any of his choosing. Why choose a house that needed such a lot of work?

‘So why this house?’ I asked, voicing my thoughts out loud.

He turned from looking out of the window, his eyes meeting mine. ‘It was where my mother grew up as a child.’

I blinked at him in stunned surprise. My mother would be doing cartwheels at this. She would say there was some supernatural force at work that had led me to work and live in Bath because it was where Alessandro’s mother had lived as a child. I must admit it was a little freaky, even for a hardened sceptic like me.

‘This was her home?’

‘My grandparents’, actually,’ he said. ‘She was supposed to inherit it on their death.’

Something about his tone alerted me to an undercurrent of bitterness. His jaw had a locked look about it, as if he were grinding his molars together.

‘So what happened?’ I said.

A diamond-hard look came into his eyes. ‘She got swindled out of it by my father.’

I frowned. ‘How did that happen?’

His mouth had an embittered set to it. ‘When my grandparents died soon after each other, from cancer and a heart attack, my father tricked her into signing the house over to him. As soon as she signed he divorced her.’

I gasped in disgust. ‘That’s
despicable
.’

‘Yes…he’s a class act, is my father.’

‘So he’s still alive?’

‘Not to me.’

The implacable way in which he said the words and the black look on his face made a shiver pass over the back of my neck. ‘You really hate him,’ I said, rather unnecessarily.

His coal-black eyes pulsated with it. ‘Six months after the divorce my mother had a fatal car accident. After the funeral Bianca and I went to live with our father and his new wife.’

‘How old were you?’

‘Ten. Bianca was seven.’

I pictured him as a ten-year-old boy. Devastated by the divorce of his parents, shattered by the loss of his mother, traumatised by being forced to live with a parent he no longer respected and a new stepmother who
might well have resented having to care for two children who weren’t her own.

I could see why he hadn’t wanted to tell me about his background. It was probably too painful even to think about, much less talk about. And now he had the worry of his sister’s health and the responsibility of caring for his little niece.

‘I’m really sorry,’ I said. ‘It must’ve been a terrible time for you and your sister.’