it what you will.’
It took her a few seconds to find her voice. ‘Why?’
‘Because it amuses me?’
Was this payback? For all the invitations he’d offered and she’d refused…because she could. Now, her refusal would have far-reaching implications. Did she have the strength of will to ruin her father, the firm he’d spent his life taking from strength to strength?
‘An investment of twenty-three million dollars against all sage advice, allows for—’ he paused deliberately ‘—a bonus, wouldn’t you say?’
She didn’t think, or pause to consider the consequences of her actions. She simply picked up the nearest thing to hand and threw it at him. The fact he fielded it neatly and replaced it down onto his desk merely infuriated her further.
‘Who do you think you are?’ Her voice was low, and held a quality even she didn’t recognise.
Stupid question, she dismissed. He knew precisely who he was, what he wanted, and how to get it.
‘I’d advise you to think carefully before you consider another foolish move,’ Diego cautioned silkily.
Her eyes sparked brilliant blue fire. ‘What did you expect?’ Her voice rose a fraction. ‘For me to fall into your arms expressing my undying gratitude?’
She didn’t see the humour lurking in those dark depths. If she had, she’d probably throw something else at him.
‘I imagined a token resistance.’
Oh, he did, did he? ‘You realise I could lay charges against you for coercion?’
‘You could try.’
‘Only to have your team of lawyers counter with misinterpretation, whereupon you withdraw your financial rescue package?’
‘Yes.’
‘Emotional blackmail is a detestable ploy.’
‘It’s a negotiable tool,’ Diego corrected, and in that moment she hated him more than she thought it possible to hate anyone.
‘No.’ Dear God, had she actually said the verbal negation?
‘No, you don’t agree it’s a negotiable tool?’
‘I won’t have sex with you.’
‘You’re not in any position to bargain.’
‘I’m not for sale,’ Cassandra evinced with dignity.
‘Everything has its price.’
‘That’s your credo in life?’
He waited a beat. ‘Do you doubt it?’
She’d had enough. ‘We’re about done, don’t you think?’ She tried for calm, and didn’t quite make it as she hitched the strap of her shoulder bag as she turned towards the door.
Damn Cameron. Damn the whole sorry mess.
‘There’s just one more thing.’
She registered Diego’s silky drawl, recognised the underlying threat, and paused, turning to look at him.
‘Cameron’s homosexuality.’
Two words. Yet they had the power to stop the breath in her throat.
Diego del Santo couldn’t possibly know. No one knew. At least, only Cameron, his partner, and herself.
Anxiety meshed with panic at the thought her father might catch so much as a whisper…
Dear God, no.
Alexander Preston-Villers might find it difficult to accept Cameron had steadily sent Preston-Villers to the financial wall. But he’d never condone or forgive his son’s sexual proclivity.
An appalling sense of anguish permeated her bones, her soul. Who had Diego del Santo employed to discover something she imagined so well-hidden, it was virtually impossible to uncover?
How deep had he dug?
No stone unturned. The axiom echoed and reechoed inside her brain.
It said much of the man standing before her, the lengths he was prepared to go to to achieve his objective.
‘I hate you.’ The words fell from her lips in a voice shaky with anger. She felt cold, so cold she was willing to swear her blood had turned to ice in her veins.
Diego inclined his head, his eyes darkly still as he observed her pale features, the starkness of defeat clearly evident in her expression. ‘At this moment, I believe you do.’
He’d won. They both knew it. There was only one thing she could hope for…his silence.
‘Yes.’ His voice was quiet. ‘You have my word.’
‘For which I should be grateful?’ she queried bitterly.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he indicated the chair she’d previously occupied. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’
He crossed to the credenza, extracted a glass, filled it with iced water from the bar fridge, then placed the glass in her hand.
Cassandra didn’t want to sit. She preferred to be on her feet, poised for flight.
Diego moved towards his desk and leaned one hip against its edge. ‘Shall we begin again?’
Dear heaven, how did she get through this? With as much dignity as possible, an inner voice prompted.
‘The ball’s in your court.’
Did she have any idea how vulnerable she looked? The slightly haunted quality evident in those stunning blue eyes, the translucence of her skin.
He remembered the taste of her, her fragrance, the soft, tentative response… He’d sought to imprint her with his touch, unclear of his motivation. A desire to shock, to punish? A lesson to be wary of men whose prime need was sex?
Instead, it had been she who’d left a lingering memory, unexpectedly stirring his soul…as well as another pertinent part of his anatomy. A pubescent temptress, unaware of her feminine power, he mused, wondering at the time how she’d react if he took advantage of her youth.
Sixteen-year-old girls were out of bounds. Especially when this particular sixteen-year-old was the cherished daughter of one of the city’s industrial scions. Her brother, the elder by two years, should have known better than to bring her to a party where drinks were spiked and drugs were in plentiful supply. A fact he’d cursorily relayed before bundling brother and sister out of the host’s house, then following in their wake.
Relationships, he’d had a few. Women he’d enjoyed, taking what was so willingly offered without much thought to permanence. As to commitment…there hadn’t been any woman he’d wanted to
