was thankful it had been a private funeral, and that there had been no photographs taken of the encounter to appear in the newspapers the following day and stir up the media frenzy once again. There’d been enough speculation after her father’s sudden death without adding to it with her personal attack on Gregorio de la Cruz.
Nevertheless she had found a certain satisfaction in slapping the Spaniard’s austerely handsome face. Even more so at seeing her blood streaked across his tautly clenched cheek.
As the days, weeks and then months had passed, and Gregorio de la Cruz’s chilling promise that they would talk again hadn’t come to fruition, Lia had mostly been able to put the man out of her mind. Just as well, because she only had enough mental energy to concentrate on the things that needed her immediate attention. Such as packing up the house, with Cathy and Rick’s help, and finding herself an apartment and a job.
But she had successfully done all those things now—including securing a job as a receptionist in one of London’s leading hotels.
Having no wish to start answering awkward questions from a prospective employer or, even worse, become the recipient of sympathetic glances that just made her want to sit down and cry, Lia had applied for several jobs under the name Faulkner—her mother’s maiden name.
Nevertheless, she had no doubt it was her years of being the Amelia Fairbanks that had given her the necessary poise to secure her job. The manager of the hotel had obviously liked her appearance and manner enough to give her a one-day trial. He had admitted afterwards to being impressed with her warmth and the unflappable manner with which she’d dealt with some of their more difficult clientele.
The poor man had no idea she was usually on the other side of the reception desk, booking in to similar exclusive hotels all over the world.
So—new apartment, new job.
Cathy was right: she was going to be just fine.
But not if one of her new neighbours was going to ring her doorbell at nine o’clock at night, when she was soaking in a much-needed bath after having pushed herself to empty half a dozen of the boxes once she’d eaten a slice of toast.
It had to be one of her new neighbours, because Lia hadn’t sent out new address cards to any of her friends yet. It was the next job she had to do—once she had unpacked completely and arranged her furniture ready for receiving visitors.
Not that she expected there to be too many of those. Amazing how many people she had thought were friends had turned out not to be so once she was no longer Amelia Fairbanks, daughter of wealthy businessman Jacob Fairbanks. Even David had broken their engagement.
But she refused to think about her ex-fiancé now!
Or ever again after the way David had deserted her when she’d needed him most.
Going to answer the door wrapped only in a bath towel was far from the ideal way to meet any of her new neighbours, but it would look even worse if Lia didn’t bother to answer the door at all. It must be obvious she was in from the amount of noise she’d been making unpacking boxes and moving furniture around.
Impatient neighbours, Lia decided as the doorbell rang again before she’d even had chance to wrap the towel around herself.
She might be new to living in an apartment, but she knew at least to look through the peephole in the door before opening it. Except she couldn’t see anyone in the hallway—which meant they had to be standing out of view. Well, there was always the safety chain to prevent anyone from coming in if she didn’t want them to. And she didn’t want them to. She was nowhere near ready—or dressed!—to receive visitors.
The reason her visitor had been standing out of the view of the peephole became obvious the moment Lia opened the door and saw Gregorio de la Cruz standing in the hallway!
‘I do not think so.’ He placed his handmade Italian black leather shoe in the six-inch gap left by the door chain, effectively preventing Lia from slamming the door in his face.
‘What are you doing here?’ Lia demanded, her hands gripping the door so tightly her knuckles showed white as she stared at the tall Spaniard.
He was once again dressed in one of those dark bespoke tailored suits, with a pristine white shirt and a perfectly knotted dark grey silk tie. Along with that slightly tousled hair, he looked like a catwalk model.
‘You seem to have asked me questions similar to that several times now,’ he answered evenly. ‘Perhaps in future it might be wise of you to anticipate seeing me where and when you least expect to do so.’
Lia didn’t want to ‘anticipate’ seeing this man anywhere. Least of all outside the door to her apartment. An apartment he shouldn’t even know about when she had only moved in today.
Except he was the powerful Gregorio de la Cruz, and he could do just about anything he wanted to do. Including, it seemed, finding out the address of Amelia Fairbanks’s new apartment.
‘Go to hell!’ She attempted to close to door. Something that wasn’t going to happen with that expensive leather shoe preventing her from doing so.
‘What are you wearing? Or rather, not wearing...?’
Gregorio found himself totally distracted by the view he could see of Amelia’s bare shoulders, where tiny droplets of water dampened her ivory skin, and what appeared to be a knee-length towel wrapped around the rest of her body. Her hair was loosely secured at her crown, with several loose tendrils curling against the slenderness of her nape.
‘None of your damned business!’ There was a flush to her cheeks. ‘Go away, Mr de la Cruz, before I call the police and ask them to forcibly remove you.’
He arched a dark brow. ‘For what reason?’
‘Stalking. Harassment. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something suitable by the time they get here,’ she threatened.
‘I am not worried,’ he assured her calmly. ‘I merely wish to speak with you.’
‘You have nothing to say that I want to hear.’ She glared at him, her eyes a deep metallic grey, the black rings wide about the irises.
‘You cannot possibly know that.’
‘Oh, but I do.’
Gregorio was not known for his patience, but he had waited for two long and tedious months before seeking out this woman again. Two months during which he had hoped her emotions would not be quite so volatile. Obviously time had not lessened her resentment towards him. Or the blame she felt he deserved for her father’s death at the age of only fifty-nine.
To say he had been shocked by Jacob Fairbanks’s demise would be an understatement. Although it must have been a strain for the man—and his company—to have been under close scrutiny of the FSA financial regulators. They were still investigating, and all of Jacob Fairbanks’s assets would remain frozen until their investigation was complete.
Gregorio had no doubt that it had been the withdrawal of De la Cruz Industries’ offer to buy Fairbanks’s company that had caused the FSA’s investigation. But he would not be held responsible for the bad business decisions that had brought Jacob Fairbanks to the brink of bankruptcy. Or the man’s fatal heart attack.
Except,
