a very generous budget to work with. And I don’t care whether or not he finds me attractive. I’d like it if for once we could keep my looks out of it, since I’m supposed to be here on merit.’ She stared at him. ‘What I’m talking about is you telling him I was busy and couldn’t have dinner with him tonight.’
‘Did you want to have dinner with him?’
‘That’s beside the point.’
He slanted her a look. ‘I’m not sure what your point is.’
‘That I don’t want you or anyone else answering for me because I like to make my own decisions. And…’ she hesitated ‘…you have no right to be territorial about me.’
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘I realise that.’
She narrowed her eyes warily. ‘You mean you’re agreeing with me?’
He shrugged. ‘For a man to behave in a territorial way towards a woman implies that she is his. That she has given herself to him in some way. And you haven’t, have you, Alannah?’ The eyes which a moment ago had looked so flat now gleamed like polished jet. ‘Of course, that is something which could be changed in a heartbeat. We both know that.’
Alannah stiffened as his gaze travelled over her and she could feel her throat growing dry. And wasn’t it crazy that, no matter how much her mind protested, she couldn’t seem to stop her body from responding to his lazy scrutiny. She found herself thinking how easy it would be to go along with his suggestion. To surrender to the ache deep inside her and have him take all her frustration away. All she had to do was smile—a quick, complicit smile—and that would be the only green light he needed.
And then what?
She swallowed. A mindless coupling with someone who’d made no secret of his contempt for her? An act which would inevitably leave him triumphant and her, what? Empty, that was what.
A lifetime of turning down sexual invitations meant that she knew exactly how to produce the kind of brisk smile which would destabilise the situation without causing a scene. But for once, it took a real effort.
‘I think not,’ she said, scooping up her pashmina from the sofa. ‘I have a self-protective instinct which warns me off intimacy with a certain kind of man, and I’m afraid you’re one of them. The things I require from you are purely practical, Niccolò. I need a list of craftsmen—painters and decorators—who you use on your properties and who I assume will be available to work for me—and to work very quickly if we’re to get this job in on time.’
The impatient wave of his hand told her that painters and decorators were of no interest to him. ‘Speak to Kirsty about it.’
‘I will.’ She hitched the strap of her bag further over her shoulder. ‘And if that’s everything—I’ll get going.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘You have your own car?’
Was he kidding? Didn’t he realise that car parking costs in London put motoring way beyond the reach of mere mortals? Alannah shook her head. ‘I always use public transport.’
‘Then I will take you. I insist.’ His eyes met hers with cool challenge. ‘Unless you’d prefer to travel by train on a freezing December night, rather than in the warm comfort of my car?’
‘You’re boxing me into a corner, Niccolò.’
‘I know I am. But you’ll find it’s a very comfortable box.’ He took his car keys from his jacket pocket. ‘Come.’
In the elevator, she kept her distance. Just as she kept her gaze trained on the flashing arrow as it took them down to the underground car park, where his car was waiting.
He punched her postcode into his satnav and didn’t say another word as they drove along the busy streets of Knightsbridge, where Christmas shoppers were crowding the frosty pavements. Alannah peered out of the window. Everywhere was bright with coloured lights and gifts and people looking at the seasonal displays in Harrods’s windows.
The car turned into Trafalgar Square and the famous Christmas tree loomed into view and suddenly Alannah felt the painful twist of her heart. It was funny how grief hit you when you least expected it—in a fierce wave which made your eyes grow all wet and salty. She remembered coming here with her mother, when they were waiting for the result of her biopsy. When standing looking up at a giant tree on an icy winter night had seemed like the perfect city outing. There’d been hardly any money in their purses, but they’d still had hope. Until a half-hour session with a man in a white coat had quashed that hope and they’d never been able to get it back again.
She blinked away the tears as the car began to speed towards West London, hoping that Niccolò’s concentration on the traffic meant he hadn’t noticed. He reached out to put some music on—something Italian and passionate, which filled the air and made her heart clench again, but this time with a mixture of pleasure and pain.
Closing her eyes, she let the powerful notes wash over her and when she opened them again the landscape had altered dramatically. The houses in this part of the city were much closer together and as Niccolò turned off the main road a few stray traces of garbage fluttered like ghosts along the pavement.
‘Is this where you live?’ he questioned.
She heard the faint incredulity in his voice and realised that this was exactly why she hadn’t wanted this lift. Because he will judge you. He will judge you and find you wanting, just as he’s always done. ‘That’s right,’ she said.
He killed the engine and turned to look at her, his dark features brooding in the shadowed light.
‘It’s not what I expected.’
Her question was light, almost coquettish. She wondered if he could tell she’d been practising saying it in her head. ‘And what did you expect?’
For a moment Niccolò didn’t answer, because once again she had confounded his expectations. He had imagined a pricey location—a fortified mansion flat bought on the proceeds of the money she’d earned from Stacked magazine. Or a cute little mews cottage in Holland Park. Somewhere brimming with the kind of wealthy men who might enjoy dabbling with a woman as beautiful as her.
But this…
The unmistakable signs of poverty were all around them. The rubbish on the pavement. A battered car with its wing-mirror missing. The shadowy group of youths in their hoodies, who stood watching their car with silent menace.
‘What happened to all your money?’ he questioned suddenly. ‘You must have earned—’
‘Stacks?’ she questioned pointedly.
His smile was brief as he acknowledged the pun. ‘A lot.’
She stared down at her handbag. ‘It was a short-lived career—it didn’t exactly provide me with a gold-plated pension.’
‘So what did you do with it?’
I paid for my mother’s medical bills. I chased
