One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents (90 page)

‘I cannot imagine what you want, Georgina,' he said, seemingly captivated by the view outside. ‘I have said all there is to say.'

‘Well, I haven't,' Francesca said. That brought a response. He spun around sharply. ‘In fact, I've only just begun, Angelo.' She stepped forward. ‘Why didn't you tell me that you had broken off your engagement with Georgina?'

‘This is neither the time nor the place for a personal confrontation.'

'Conversation.'

‘Whatever you want to call it.' He shrugged, looking at her, and used his intercom to tell his secretary to cancel his meetings for the morning. Taking time off work, something he never did, had never seemed so enticing. He had spent the past couple of days wondering what in hell he was doing. He had broken off his engagement, which he could see now had been a good thing, but still…would he have broken it off had it not been for the reappearance of Francesca in his life? Now he had slept with her and, like a man with an appetite not yet sated, he wanted more. But what for? He would never again make the mistake of offering her a relationship and he had already proved to himself that he could have her. Now she was standing in front of him like an avenging angel and his blood soared with wild elation.

‘Did you plan on getting me into bed when you came round to my house?' Francesca asked bluntly, watching him as he grabbed his jacket.

‘I told you. We'll discuss this out of my office.'

‘Why? In case I throw a hissy fit and all your buddies come running to see what's going on?'

Angelo paused and looked at her. ‘Now, why do you imagine that I would care what all my
buddies
think of me? You seem to forget that I own all of them. Who told you about the engagement?'

‘Oh, I had a personal visit from your ex-fiancée. It seems she was a little less than impressed that you'd spent months leading her up the garden path only to cast her aside because, apparently, of me.'

Angelo shot her a cool smile. ‘Georgina needs a reality check. How did she find out about you? I never mentioned it.'

‘Jack.'

‘Ah. The boyfriend that never was. Come on. We'll continue this somewhere else.'

‘I don't want to continue this somewhere else.'

Angelo approached her, his face a grim, unsmiling mask. ‘Let's get one thing straight, Francesca. You are not throwing a tantrum in my office. You will either leave with me now, and be grateful for the fact that I am making a space in my very packed diary to accommodate you and whatever gripes you seem to have, or you will leave.'

She sighed heavily and acquiesced, maintaining a steady silence until they were out of the building.

‘Where are we going?'

‘Somewhere more private than an office block.' He hailed a taxi, leaned in to the window to give the driver an address, while Francesca scrambled into a seat and waited, bristling, for him to join her.

She opened her mouth to talk and his mobile rang. While she continued to bristle he spoke into his phone, not looking at her. A long, detailed conversation to do with work. She might as well have been invisible.

Loosely translated, his behaviour was spelling out what she had already suspected. Angelo had made love to her, but not because he cared about her. Years ago he had cared about her, truly cared. Now he just wanted her. She also had to face the cruel fact that her anger was all about the stark truth that she had made love to him and her heart had opened out and welcomed him in, had been waiting in some foolish way for him to return.

He finished the phone call at roughly the same time as the taxi pulled up in front of an elegant Georgian house set in a crescent of identical houses—gleaming, beautifully proportioned white façades, black wrought iron railings and, lining the pavement outside, sleek, fast cars.

‘Where are we?'

‘My place. You want to talk? We'll talk in total privacy.' And those cool, dark eyes on her, melting her in places she didn't want, stirring up all kinds of things she could do without, because of the sickening realisation that whatever he had once felt for her had been stripped back to the barest bones, leaving only a searing passion that would never destroy him but very well might destroy her.

H
IS
house was larger inside than it appeared on the outside. Three floors, each of them compactly and efficiently laid out. The front door opened into a hall with sepia-coloured marble tiles, from which she glimpsed a door leading to a small sitting room. She followed him away from that towards the kitchen which dipped down three stairs and which was a functional blend of chrome and wood.

He made straight for the coffee percolator and began brewing some coffee while Francesca maintained a fuming presence at the door.

‘Sit down,' he said, without bothering to turn around and look at her. ‘You know you will eventually, anyway.'

‘Why didn't you tell me that you had broken off your engagement with Georgina when you came around to my house?'

Angelo turned round slowly and looked at her, arms folded. ‘Because I wanted you to make love with me thinking that I was still engaged. I wanted you to be so blinded by desire that your well-structured sense of morality would not have been able to overcome your physical craving.'

‘You…you…' Francesca looked at him and struggled to find the right words to convey the depth of her disgust.

‘Arrogant bastard?' he interjected helpfully.

‘How
could
you?'

‘Oh, don't think that it was passionless curiosity on my part. It wasn't. I wanted you every bit as much as you wanted me.'

‘But you had a bruised ego to take into account and what better way to apply some balm to it than by proving to yourself that you still had sufficient power over me to have me against the odds?'

‘Something like that.' He shrugged and returned to the business of making them some coffee, some very strong coffee. She looked as though she could do with it and, frankly, he couldn't blame her. He had reduced their night of passion to a game with a winner and a loser. His bruised ego, as she had put it, should have been feeling considerably less bruised, bearing in mind that he had been the winner in the game, but it wasn't. Not that he was about to share this with her. No, he had learnt that emotional revelations were the first steps to vulnerability and vulnerable was not a place he intended to occupy again.

He handed her the cup of coffee, noting how her hand shook as she took it.

‘I never thought…' Francesca managed to make it unsteadily to one of the kitchen chairs and sank into it. ‘I never thought that you could…use me like that, Angelo.' Of course she did! The minute she had learnt of the broken engagement, of the timing of it, she had known in her heart that he had used her. It was her own fault that she felt sickened by the fact. Was she now going to give him the further satisfaction of seeing her break down in front of him, all her emotions displayed like lines on a page waiting to be read? She realised how much her hands were shaking, enough to make her spill the coffee if she wasn't careful. She sat on them and took a few steadying breaths, not looking at him, although she knew that he was looking at her, coolly and dispassionately.

‘I'm not the man you used to know,' Angelo commented neutrally. ‘Nor are you the same woman I used to know.'

‘Why did you break off your engagement?' This time she did look at him and was proud that she met his unwavering gaze steadily. In fact, he was the first to break eye contact, pushing himself away from the counter and moving to straddle one of the chairs facing her.

‘It wasn't fair on her,' he said. ‘On either of us. A business arrangement is fine but it depends on both partners playing by the rules.'

‘And your rules didn't include emotions.'

‘I also discovered that what passed for sexual attraction to Georgina wasn't quite as…satisfactory as it could have been…' This time she was the one to look away as his stare became unbearable to hold.

‘Well, now that you've explained things to me, I think I'll leave.' Her legs felt much steadier now. She felt that she might actually be able to balance herself on them.

It had been a good decision to confront him. He had been truthful with her and, sure, the truth was hurting her all over, even in places that were too deep to access, but at least there were no unanswered questions in her head. She remembered the way she had left him—had left him with swarms of unanswered questions—and flinched with guilt.

‘Already? Don't you want to hear what else I have to say?'

No, because I know it'll hurt.
But then walking away from him for ever would hurt too. What harm in delaying the inevitable by just a few more minutes? She sat back down and attempted to drink some of the coffee.

‘What else could there be to say, Angelo? You can congratulate yourself on taking away my pride. Now the scores are finally even.'

Angelo flushed darkly, not liking the way that sounded, but knowing that she had every right to level the accusation.

‘Poor Georgina. No wonder she came storming into my house. You took away hers as well, Angelo. Does that make you feel good?'

‘No. No, it doesn't,' he said grimly. ‘Her consolation is that she is well rid of me. She would have had a miserable marriage.'

‘Big of you. I'm sure she's feeling very
consoled
already when she thinks about that.'

‘Dammit, Francesca!' He ran his hands through his hair and stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back.

‘I know. Horrible, isn't it? Having a woman answer you back. I may have changed in three years, Angelo, but I haven't changed that much. I still speak my mind. Oh, I forgot, that's one of the reasons I was so unsuitable.'

‘But one of the reasons why you fire me up.' He came to stand by her and leaned down so that his face was inches away from hers. ‘Georgina never fired me up.'

‘And I'm supposed to feel flattered by that?' She felt her pulses quicken as she breathed him in, that unique, male scent with just the merest hint of aftershave that sent her senses soaring. She gulped and wished that she had left when she had the chance. Now she would have to push him out of the way to get past and she didn't want to touch him, didn't trust herself.

‘Just like I feel flattered that you slept with me even when you thought that I was engaged to another woman. So you see, the scores are even.'

‘Don't do that.'

‘What?'

‘Twist things around.'

‘Is that what I'm doing? Or am I only being utterly truthful? I wanted you, Francesca, even when I was engaged to be married. Against all odds. That's saying something, isn't it?'

‘What is it saying, Angelo?' Her breath caught in her throat at the expression in his eyes as they darkened.

‘That we're still attracted to one another after all this time and despite all the water that's flowed under the bridge.' He straightened up, giving himself time to get his act together and his raging body time to cool down. ‘Let's finish this in the sitting room. Kitchen chairs are too uncomfortable for a full and frank discussion about how much we still want each other.'

Francesca stood up and heard herself mumble a weak refusal which he ignored, taking her hand instead and leading her out of the kitchen and into the sitting room.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world for her fingers to be entwined in his. Years ago, they used to walk like this, hand in hand, enjoying everything life had to offer. But this was now and it amazed her to find that it still felt good to be holding his hand, even though so much bad feeling stood between them. It hardly seemed possible but here she was, allowing herself to be led towards the sitting room. Away from the front door.

Sunshine poured into the sitting room and Angelo went to the windows and half closed the wooden shutters, immediately reducing the bright light to subdued strips that accentuated the deep, warm colours in the room.

Francesca had moved to the sofa and he joined her there. His fingers still tingled from where hers had been touching them. Crazy, the sexual chemistry that still existed between them.

‘I meant what I said about…both of us having changed and I have a proposition for you.' He leaned forward, arms resting lightly on his thighs, and linked his fingers together.

‘What kind of proposition?'

‘The kind that acknowledges what we have and what we can't fight against.' His voice was calm, cool and controlled. Francesca fought to follow suit. ‘An arrangement of sorts,' he said conversationally. ‘One of a passionate nature. Passion with no strings attached. I never expected us to run into each other again and I certainly never expected that I would still be attracted to you, but we did and I am and you feel the same way.'

‘You don't know what I feel, Angelo.'

‘Oh, but I do.' He relaxed back and crossed his legs. Sexy, elegant and composed. ‘Actions speak so much louder than words.'

‘What would be the point?' Suddenly she couldn't sit still any longer. Nor could she withstand the shuttered steadiness of his gaze. She walked jerkily across to the bay window and perched on the ledge, wrapping her arms around her. How could he sit there and discuss them sleeping together as nonchalantly as if he was discussing the weather? ‘You would want it to lead somewhere, wouldn't you? Isn't that what you said all those years ago?'

‘What happened years ago is an irrelevance. It's what's happening now that matters. We want each other. Sufficient for me to break off my engagement, sufficient for you to sleep with me when your head was telling you not to.' He shrugged. ‘I'm looking for nothing from you and you want nothing from me. Beyond the obvious.'

‘It's crazy.'

‘Come and sit back down.'

‘What difference will that make?'

‘Come and sit back down.'

She would have made for one of the chairs but that would have looked cowardly, so she stuck her chin up and sat next to him, face averted.

‘Look at me. Unless, of course, you're too scared to do that.'

‘Scared? Why should I be scared?' She faced him with a glare and sank straight into the fathomless depths of his black eyes. It really was a drowning sensation.

‘Feel it?' he murmured, making no move to get closer to her, just watching her.

‘No! Feel what?'

‘That undercurrent that runs between us. It's irresistible, Francesca. That's why I think we should continue seeing one another, sleeping with one another, and this time we'll both know the boundaries and won't overstep them.'

‘And if I say no? Which,' she added hurriedly, ‘I will.'

‘Then you leave. It's as simple as that. You know where the front door is. But I hope you don't.' He reached out and lazily coiled one finger into her hair, twining it round into a spiral before letting it drop.

But I hope you don't.
She knew what she ought to do. Faced with a pool of quicksand yawning by her feet, she just had to turn around and walk away across solid land to safety. Nothing could ever come of anything between them.

But for just a little while she could have some stolen happiness. The past three years had been a wasteland. She had thrown everything into her career and enjoyed it, but the emotional side of her that had needed tending had been allowed to grow into a wilderness through lack of care.

‘What you're proposing is…preposterous,
primitive
…'

‘I'm a primitive man but never preposterous. What I am proposing is a solution.'

He stroked his finger along her collar-bone and Francesca sighed.

‘And how long until this solution becomes redundant?' she asked quietly.

‘Who knows? How long is a piece of string? All we know is that we will be able to satisfy our hunger for one another and then we will move on to find our proper destinies.'

‘I can't believe I'm actually sitting here having this conversation with you, Angelo.' She eyed the door. ‘I thought you were just making time to hear my gripes. Don't you have important meetings to rush off to?'

‘Oh, nothing that I can't put on hold if I need to. Consider the day yours if you're brave enough to take the plunge.'

She stood up and he hooked his fingers around her wrist and with a little tug pulled her back down, in a tangle on his lap, laughing as she stared up at him with affronted eyes, laughing and sure of himself, of her.

She was clear-headed only for the length of time that it took for his mouth to find hers and, when it did, she sank into the kiss like a drowning man finding land. She felt the thrust of his tongue against hers and groaned when his hands curved beneath the formal white shirt, pushing it up until he was cupping her breast, feeling its weight through the lacy bra.

Then he was sliding down on the sofa, taking her with him and fumbling with the small buttons of her blouse. Now the shirt was finally off. Getting his own off was considerably quicker, especially as he didn't give a hoot if he ripped a few buttons off in the process. He just wanted her naked and on top of him.