write a real story about people’s jobs being on the line.
As far as she was concerned her paper had struck a deal with the devil—but, as usual, commercial considerations ruled the day, she reminded herself angrily.
‘You can go up now, Ms Keyes.’ The receptionist smiled over at her. ‘Mr Lombardi’s office is on the top floor.’
Hallelujah, Isobel thought sardonically as she glanced at her watch. He’d only been keeping her waiting for over an hour. And of course he had done that on purpose too.
As the lift swept her upwards, Isobel tried to compose herself. She had no choice now but to swallow her principles and give the paper the article they wanted, but it really did infuriate her. Because Marco was the type of man she despised. The type of man who did exactly as he pleased, regardless of the consequences, regardless of who he might hurt. And she had reason to know that more than most—because this was the man who had bought out her grandfather’s firm eleven years ago, and had then systematically torn it apart, breaking her grandfather’s heart in the process.
As far as she was concerned, Marco was a ruthless charlatan. And frankly she couldn’t understand why there was so much speculation over his divorce. The reason he’d split with his wife seemed blindingly obvious to Isobel—he’d always been a womaniser. So much so that people had been stunned when he had announced he was getting married. And since his divorce he’d been pictured in the press with a different woman every week. Some sections of the press had even dubbed him a heartbreaker, for heaven’s sake!
As the lift doors swished open Isobel took a deep breath and reminded herself—as she always did when working on a story—that she couldn’t allow preconceived ideas to cloud her judgement.
‘This way, Ms Keyes.’ A secretary stepped forward to open a door into an office with sweeping panoramic views out across London. But it wasn’t the view that held Isobel’s attention. It was the man seated behind the large desk
She had heard so much about him over the years that now, suddenly face to face with her nemesis, she felt slightly unnerved.
Marco was absorbed in some paperwork and didn’t look up as she approached slowly. ‘Ah, Ms Keyes, I presume.’ He murmured the words absently, as if he were only half aware of her presence. His English pronunciation was perfect, but more disturbingly she noticed that his velvet Italian accent sizzled with sex appeal.
He was wearing a white shirt left casually open at the strong column of his neck. Isobel noticed how the colour contrasted with the olive tones of his skin and the dark silky thickness of his hair.
She stopped next to the desk, and at the same time he looked up and their eyes locked. Inexplicably, her heart seemed to do a very peculiar flip.
He was incredibly good-looking, she thought hazily. His bone structure was strong, giving him an aura of determination and power, but it was his eyes that held her spellbound: they were the most amazing eyes she had ever seen—dark, smouldering, and extraordinarily intense.
She didn’t know why she was so taken aback by him—it wasn’t as if she hadn’t already known he was attractive. There were snatched photographs of the thirty-five-year-old in the press all the time. And women were always raving about how handsome he was. But Isobel had always maintained that she couldn’t quite see what all the fuss was about—she didn’t like the guy, and as far as she was concerned a lack of moral substance overshadowed mere good-looks any day. It was therefore a total shock to find herself so….mesmerised.
‘Sit down and make yourself comfortable.’ He waved her towards the chair opposite him, and she had to shake herself mentally.
What the hell was wrong with her? She was staring at him like an idiot! And meanwhile she was well aware that his eyes had moved over her with a look that could only at best be described as quizzically indifferent. No surprise there.
Isobel knew there was no way she could match up to the women Marco would be drawn to—for a start his ex-wife was a film star, rated as one of the world’s most beautiful women. By comparison Isobel was nothing—just a Plain Jane. Her clothes were businesslike, her figure bordered on being too curvaceous, and her long dark hair—although shiny and well cut—was held back from her face in a manner that was purely practical.
But that was her style. She didn’t want to be overtly feminine or glamorous. She wanted to get on with her work and to be treated seriously. And she certainly didn’t want to attract men like Marco Lombardi, she reminded herself fiercely. Her father had been a womaniser, and she knew how someone like that could devastate lives.
The reminder helped to snap her back to reality.
‘So, Mr Lombardi, it seems you have succeeded in diverting attention away from your proposed bid to buy Sienna,’ she remarked crisply as she took the seat opposite.
Marco had been about to finish his paperwork and keep her waiting a little longer, but he found himself looking over at her again. ‘Have I, indeed?’ he countered wryly. Her cool, businesslike tones surprised him. Most women flirted with him. Even when they were being businesslike they softened their questions with a fluttering of eyelashes and a surfeit of smiles. Isobel Keyes, it seemed, wasn’t going to conform on either front.
‘You know very well that you have,’ she retaliated. ‘And we both know it’s the only reason I’ve been granted this interview.’
Interesting, he thought as he gave her demure appearance another quick glance.
His first assessment of her, when he’d seen her on the security monitors, had been that she was a staid little mouse—someone who would probably be easily fobbed off with an interview. Now he was busy reassessing her.
‘You seem very certain about your facts.’
‘I am certain.’ She angled her chin up a little. ‘I saw your accountant at the Sienna offices this morning.’
‘You probably did. He’s a free agent—he can go where he wants.’
‘He goes where you send him,’ she countered quickly.
He hadn’t noticed her eyes until now. The feisty sparkle in them made them glow a deep emerald-green.
His gaze swept slowly over her face again. He’d originally thought that she was in her late twenties—probably because he hadn’t looked at her that closely. But now he realised that it was just the way she was dressed that made her seem older, and that she was possibly nearer to twenty-one. Nice skin too. She might have been passably attractive if she made more of an effort with herself. The hairstyle did nothing for her, and she was wearing little or no make-up. As for the clothes… His eyes swept downwards. They were verging on boring.
No Italian woman would be caught dead in a blouse like that…especially with it buttoned right up to the neck! Her waist was small, and she appeared well endowed. That blouse would definitely benefit from being unbuttoned a few notches, he thought distractedly.
Isobel suddenly noticed his sweeping assessment of her appearance, and as his dark eyes moved boldly back to her face she found herself heating up inside with consternation. Why was he looking at her like that? It was almost as if he were weighing up her desirability.
The thought made her heat up even more.
Hell, she was blushing! How embarrassing was that, when she disliked Marco so intensely? She wouldn’t
