style="font-size:15px;"> He smiled then, a rare show of perfect white teeth, the movement of his lips triggering the creasing of the fine lines about his eyes. ‘Yes, I am sure you would have, cara.’
Bronte felt that quivery feeling again and tried desperately to suppress it. What was it about this man that made her so weak and needy? His mere presence made her remember every moment they had spent together. Her body seemed to wake up from a long sleep and leap to fervent life. All her senses were switched to hyper vigilant mode, each and every one of her nerves twitching beneath her skin to be subjected again to the exquisite mastery of his touch.
He had been the most amazing lover. Her only lover. She had been romantically and perhaps somewhat foolishly saving herself for the right man. She hadn’t wanted to repeat the mistakes her mother had made in falling for a wastrel and then being left holding the baby. Bronte had instead fallen for a billionaire and the baby she had been left holding he still knew nothing about.
And, given how appallingly he had treated her, she planned to keep it that way.
‘I have to ask you to leave, Luca,’ she said. ‘I have a class in a few minutes and I—’
‘I want to see you tonight, Bronte,’ he stated implacably. ‘No is not a word I will tolerate as an answer.’
She pulled out of his hold with a surge of strength that was fuelled by anger. ‘You can’t force me to do anything, Luca Sabbatini,’ she said. ‘I am not under any obligation to see you, have dinner with you or even look at you. Now, if you don’t leave immediately, I will call the police.’
His dark eyes hardened to black ice. ‘How much rent did you say you were paying on this place?’ he asked.
Bronte felt a lead-booted foot of apprehension press down on her chest until she could barely breathe. ‘I didn’t say and I am not going to.’
His smile had a hint of cruelty about it. He reached into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and handed her a silver embossed vellum business card. ‘My contact details,’ he said. ‘I will expect you at eight this evening at my hotel. I have written the name and address on the back. I am staying in the penthouse suite.’
‘I won’t be there,’ she warned him as he turned to leave.
He stopped at the door of the studio and turned to look at her. ‘Perhaps you had better speak to your previous landlords before you make your final decision,’ he said.
‘Previous?’ Bronte’s eyes flared as the realisation dawned. ‘You mean you bought the building?’ Her heart gave a stutter like an old lawnmower refusing to start. ‘Y…you’re my new landlord?’
He gave her a self-satisfied smile. ‘Dinner at eight, Bronte, otherwise you might find the sudden rise in rent too much to handle.’
Bronte felt anger rise up like lava inside an ancient volcano. Her whole body was shaking with it. Her hands were so tightly fisted her fingers ached, and her blood was pounding so hard in her veins she could hear a roaring in her ears. ‘You’re blackmailing me?’ she choked.
He met her excoriating look with equanimity. ‘I am asking you on a date, tesore mio,’ he said. ‘You know you want to say yes. The only reason you are making all this fuss is because you are still angry with me.’
‘You’re damn right I’m still angry with you,’ she spat.
‘I thought you said you were over me,’ he returned with an indolent smile.
Bronte wanted to slap that smile right off his face and only a smidgen of self-discipline and common sense stopped her. ‘There is a part of me that will always hate you, Luca,’ she said. ‘You played with me and then tossed me aside like a toy that no longer interested you. You didn’t even have the decency to meet with me face to face to discuss what had gone wrong.’
The hot spot of tension was beating beside his mouth again but Bronte continued regardless. ‘What sort of man are you to send one of your lackeys to do your dirty work for you?’
His eyes darkened as he held her burning gaze. ‘I thought it would be less complicated that way,’ he said. ‘I don’t like deliberately upsetting people. Believe me, Bronte, meeting you in person would have been much harder on both of us.’
Bronte rolled her eyes again. ‘That is such an arrogant thing to say. As if for a moment you had any feelings. You’re a heartless, cruel bastard, Luca Sabbatini, and I wish I had never met you.’
The studio door opened again. ‘Sorry I’m late. You would not believe the traff—Oh, oops…sorry,’ Rachel Brougham said. ‘I didn’t realise you had company.’
Bronte walked stiffly to the reception desk, using it as a barricade. ‘Mr Sabbatini is just leaving,’ she said with a pointed glare at Luca.
Rachel’s gaze went back and forth like someone at a Wimbledon final. ‘You’re not one of the parents, are you?’ she asked Luca.
‘No,’ he said with a crooked smile. ‘I have not had the pleasure as yet of becoming a father.’
Bronte couldn’t look at him. Her face felt like a furnace as she silently prayed Rachel wouldn’t mention Ella.
‘So…’ Rachel smiled widely, her grey eyes twinkling with interest. ‘You know Bronte, huh?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We met a couple of years ago in London. My name is Luca Sabbatini.’ He held out his hand to Rachel.
Please, God, please don’t let her join the dots, Bronte begged silently.
‘Rachel Brougham,’ Rachel said, taking his hand and shaking it enthusiastically. ‘Hey, I think I read something about you in the paper a couple of weeks ago. You’re in hotels, right?’
‘That’s right,’ Luca said. ‘I have some business here and thought it would be a good opportunity to catch up again with Bronte. We’re planning to have dinner tonight.’
‘Actually, I have something on to—’ Bronte began.
‘She’d love to come,’ Rachel said quickly, giving Bronte an are-you-nuts-to-turn-him-down look. ‘She hardly ever goes out. I was only telling her the other day how she needs to get a life.’
Bronte sent her friend a look that would have stopped a charging bull in its tracks. Rachel just smiled benignly and turned back to look at Luca. ‘So how long are you in Melbourne?’ she asked, leaning her elbows on the reception counter as if she was settling in for a good old natter, her expression rapt with interest.
‘A month to start with,’ he said. ‘I will use Melbourne as a base as I have some distant relatives here. I will also be spending a bit of time in Sydney and the Gold Coast.’
Bronte hadn’t realised Luca had family here. Although, now that she thought about it, Melbourne had a huge Italian community so it was not all that unlikely he would have cousins or second cousins, even perhaps uncles and aunts. They hadn’t really talked too much about their backgrounds when they were involved. Bronte had always found his reticence about his family one of the most intriguing things about him. It was as if he wanted to forget he was from wealth and privilege. He rarely mentioned his work and, although they had
