his eyes. ‘I could see things were not working out between us,’ she said. ‘We had very little in common apart from our backgrounds. I think I always knew that but I was under pressure from my father to do the right thing.’
‘Meaning he wanted you to marry money.’
His statement sounded like a criticism. ‘Yes, but then that was the way I was brought up,’ Rachel said. ‘I was taught to mix with the right people.’
‘But you amused yourself by the occasional fraternisation with the lower classes,’ he said.
Rachel met the glacial glitter of his unwavering gaze. ‘I can’t really explain my behaviour,’ she said, looking away again. ‘I didn’t intend to hurt you. I think I just got carried away. I had spent years insulting you and then I was suddenly fighting an attraction that was beyond anything I had experienced before.’
‘So you ended your engagement,’ Alessandro said after a pause.
‘Yes. I would have broken things off a lot earlier but … but it was hard to … well, to admit I had got it so wrong about him.’
‘Pride.’
She looked up at him, her white teeth snagging at her bottom lip in that bewildered-child manner that never failed to stir something deep and primal in him. ‘Yes, pride and the fact that my father thought Craig was everything a future son-in-law should be. I called off the wedding twenty-four hours before it was scheduled to go ahead, and my father has never let me forget how it contributed to his bankruptcy. I knew Craig had poured a bit of money into the business but I hadn’t realised how much. Of course he subsequently pulled out everything once I called off the wedding. And then there was all that food, all those flowers, the dress, the cake—you can probably imagine how it went.’
‘I can.’
She bit her lip again, deeper this time, so deep Alessandro wanted to reach out and brush her soft lip with the pad of his thumb to restore its soft plumpness.
He picked up his glass instead and took another mouthful of the champagne. He didn’t want to think about her with her ex-fiancé. He hated thinking about her with that creep. Every day of that liaison had been like a lighted poker to his flesh. It had tortured him to think of her with that brute’s hands and mouth and body on hers. But it was what she had chosen. She had chosen Hughson’s money over his love. He had been totally gutted by her shallowness and greed. He had fought for years to put it behind him, to keep his emotions in check, to live life without feeling anything for anyone. But now his hatred for what she had done returned with a vengeance. For so long he had ignored it, but now it was back like a filthy choking tide clogging his blood. He hated her with the same passion as with which he had once loved her.
‘You never liked him, did you?’ she said, looking at him again.
Alessandro put his glass down. ‘Are we talking about your father or your fiancé?’ he asked.
Twin flags of colour rose in her cheeks. ‘Both really …’
‘I realise it is never comfortable hearing someone criticise someone you love,’ he said. ‘But then that is what is so endearing about young children. They only see the good in their parents.’
‘I was hardly an infant when you came to work for my father,’ she said. ‘I was eighteen years old, legally an adult.’
Alessandro pictured her back then, all rich-kid attitude with no idea how the real world worked—the world he had been dragged through for as long as he could remember. Her silver-spoon lifestyle made her feel superior. She had looked down that up-tilted nose of hers and sneered at anyone who wasn’t dressed in the latest designer wear or driving the fastest sports car. He had taken it on the chin for the first couple of years, putting up with her catty remarks about his background or his clothes or the second-hand car he drove. But then she had started flirting with him. He had ignored it at first but after a time she had been impossible to resist. The first time he had kissed her his senses had imploded. His body had throbbed and ached for her but he had never pushed her to sleep with him. He hadn’t felt comfortable concealing their relationship. He had wanted to go public with it but she had always insisted no one must know. Little had he realised it had all been a game to her; leading him on for weeks on end, only to reject him like a stray mongrel dog that had the audacity to have turned up at a pedigree show. For the last few years he had felt glad she had got her comeuppance. He had watched from a distance as she had lost her modelling contract, and then how the slurs on her reputation were played out in the press, which left her with no one willing to take her on, and he had felt nothing but satisfaction.
She deserved it for how she had treated him. He had been blinded by lust. He felt foolish for having thought he had ever loved her. But then he had loved a fantasy, not a real person. He had fooled himself she was not the selfish, pouting little spitfire she presented to the world, but instead a soft and caring young woman who hadn’t felt safe enough in her relationships to reveal her vulnerabilities. But he had got it wrong. She was every bit as selfish and spiteful on the inside as she was on the outside. The fact that she had sought him out for money after all this time and in spite of their history was proof of it.
She had no shame.
Looking at her now, with her beautiful face without its armour of make-up and those incredible eyes shadowed and downcast, he knew he would have to guard against her wiles. She hadn’t suddenly morphed into a demure little lady and he wasn’t going to treat her like one until she learned how to behave.
Her beautifully manicured hand was toying with the stem of her champagne flute. Alessandro felt a stirring in his groin as he thought of how it would feel to have those soft fingers trace over him, to encircle him, to milk him of his essence. He forced the image out of his head. The doctors kept assuring him it would just take a little more time, but how much time? It had been close to two months now. Two months of doing everything he could to regain what he had lost, to allow his body to heal. But no one had given him any guarantees. No one had said for certain he would regain full mobility and function. Yes, there were positive signs of improvement but what if that was as far as his body would ever go? He was luckier than most. He knew that and was grateful for it but he wanted his life back.
He wanted it more than anything.
Rachel put her fork down when she was finished and noticed Alessandro watching her. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
His expression was unfathomable. ‘No, I was just checking to see if you used the right cutlery.’
Hot colour flooded her cheeks. ‘You’re never going to forgive me for those little digs about your background, are you?’ she said, glaring at him.
He picked up his champagne glass and drained it. The sound of it coming back to the table’s starched linen surface was like a thump in the silence. ‘You are very prickly, aren’t you, card?’
Rachel’s heart gave a little squeeze at his casually delivered endearment. Even the way he said her name had a similar effect on her. His accent had deepened over the time he had spent in Italy. His voice was smooth and mellifluous. It was another devastatingly attractive feature of him that unsettled her deeply. How could a man’s voice make a woman’s spine soften like warmed honey? The deep timbre of Alessandro’s voice was like a sensual stroke of a lover’s hand. If that was just what his voice could do to her what would happen if he decided to change the rules of their arrangement? ‘Why did you call me that?’ she asked.
He gave her a brief flash of a smile that didn’t involve his
