Colour swept Charlie's face. Was that the equivalent of, 'Your place or mine?' Whichever, she wanted to cry,Yes! — And it shook her to feel so vulnerable. She was hopelessly out of her depth and sinking fast. She had never met a man like Jake before.
Charlie had grown up in a home full of adults, and she had to some extent been left to run wild around the mountains and crags of her beloved Lakes. Her hobbies were sailing and rock climbing. She was a member of the local rescue team, and also of the International Rapid Rescue Team. With a good manager to run the hotel on a day-to- day basis, Charlie took care of the accounts and it worked out well. She kept her gear packed at all times at home, and simply postponed the paperwork when she was needed elsewhere.
She had recently returned from a trip to Turkey, where she had helped in an earthquake recovery, and gone straight into the hectic Easter holiday at the hotel. The two weeks she was spending in London were at the suggestion of Dave, her team leader. He thought that with the recent death of her father and running two jobs, she needed a complete change. Time to take an ordinary holiday, instead of being at the beck and call of other people all the time.
Charlie had agreed. She had visited hot spots all over the world, but now she was taking the chance to visit some of the highlights of her own capital city, something she had never done before.
As for men, she knew plenty on a professional level, but they all treated her as one of the boys, which was how she liked it. Glancing at Jake's perfectly chiseled profile, she realized that never in a million years could she think of him as one of the boys. In fact, she had trouble thinking at all around him.
The car came to a smooth stop, and Jake turned slightly in his seat, his black eyes gleaming with intent, capturing hers. 'So what is it to be—a nightcap? This is my hotel.'
She knew what he was offering, and it wasn't just a drink. The air in the close confines of the car positively crackled with sexual tension as he waited for her answer and suddenly Charlie was afraid. She tore her gaze from his and glanced out of the window. It was a very plush hotel, one of the best in the city, and she knew she couldn't do it...not yet.
'I think I have had enough to drink,' she said carefully, 'Thank you all the same.'
His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and she wondered if he was angry. But as she watched he shrugged his broad shoulders. 'Your decision.' Dropping a brief kiss on her brow, he turned and started the car before adding, 'I will pick you up for lunch tomorrow at twelve,' his attention on the road ahead. 'And we can move on
from there.'
'Can we indeed?' she shot back. 'It would be nice to be asked instead of told.' But there was no bite to her words; secretly, she was relieved her attack of maidenly modesty had not ruined her chance with him after all. 'I'm here on holiday, following the tourist trail, and I intend to visit the British Museum tomorrow.'
Jake's every masculine instinct had been screaming out at him to persuade her into his bed, but the almost frightened look in her blue eyes had disconcerted him. She might be selfish and money-grubbing in her love affairs—in his experience, most women were—but it didn't necessarily follow she was promiscuous. Jake was very choosy himself. He preferred to pick his lovers with care and his affairs were always as discreet as he could make them, given his high profile in the international business world.
The only reason he was without a lover at the moment was, ironically enough, because of Charlotte's father. His death had created a set of circumstances that had kept Jake at home in Italy and caused him to neglect his last lover, Melissa, a New York model, who had therefore moved on to another wealthy man.
It hadn't surprised him. Melissa had been a high- maintenance lady, he thought cynically as he stopped the car outside the apartment block, and slipped out to open the passenger door.
'Come on, Charlotte, I will see you inside.' He reached for her hand. 'And there I promise to leave you until tomorrow,' he reassured her with a dry smile. 'And before you argue—' he placed a finger over her lips '—we will do both. Lunch and the museum.' Fingers entwined, he walked her to the lift. Again he registered the wariness in her incredible eyes, and grinned. Little did she know she was in no more danger from him tonight. He drew the line at making love to her in a bed she had shared with another man. 'Until tomorrow.' He kissed her brow and left.
CHAPTER THREE
JAKE D'AMATO prowled around the enormous hotel suite. He was too frustrated to sleep, and it was all the fault of a particular blue-eyed blonde. Not quite all, he allowed—the painting of Anna played heavily on his mind as well.
It had taken all of his considerable powers of self-control to stand in that damned gallery and stare at the portrait, which, as the purchaser, had been expected of him. Anna was the nearest thing he had ever had to a sister and it had seemed almost incestuous to see her exposed in such a way.
As for the title, 'The Waiting Woman'—how apt, he thought grimly. She had waited and hoped for two years for Robert Summerville to marry her. A deep, dark frown marred his austere face as the memories flooded back. Jake had been twelve when Anna was born, and to his foster- parents her birth had seemed like a miracle. Jake had adored the new baby, and had watched her grow into a delightful little girl by the time he had left his foster home at eighteen.
He should have kept a closer eye on her. But after university he had been totally involved in his work as an engineer and building his own business. He had not had much time to visit his foster-family, mainly birthdays and holidays, but when he had Anna had always seemed fine. And as the Lasios had never appeared to have any worries about her, neither had Jake.
When Anna had turned twenty-one, Jake, then the head of the vast d'Amato International corporation, had thrown a lavish party on board his yacht for her birthday. Anna had seemed to be a happy, well-adjusted young woman, full of enthusiasm for her fledgling career as a graphic artist. Satisfied she was okay, Jake had carried on his own very busy life and respected that, as an adult, Anna was entitled to do the same.
But not any more.
Rage and regret welled up inside him. How could she have had an affair with, and posed naked for, a man who was old enough to be her father? How could she have driven when hopelessly drunk and killed herself? How could she have let a man do that to her?
There was no answer, and the burden of his own guilt had weighed heavily on his mind since Anna's death. He had lived with Anna from the moment she was born until she was six and with hindsight he knew he should have done much more to protect her.
He had known about her relationship with Summerville. She had told him over one of their infrequent lunches in Nice two years ago. At that time she had still been working and living in an apartment Jake had bought for her, and although Jake had never heard of the man, he had not queried her choice, because she had so obviously been happy, and confident it was only a matter of time before they married.
But now, remembering how appalled he had been when Anna had turned up at his home in Genoa five months ago, he bitterly regretted not investigating Summerville as soon as he'd heard the name.
Looking a shadow of her former self, Anna had cried on his shoulder and told him the whole sorry story of the affair. How she had given up her job and had been living with the man for over a year, but Robert had sent her away three months before he'd died, all because of his daughter.
He had explained she was his only child and had been spoilt by her mother. She was a bit insecure and very possessive of him, and flatly refused to meet Anna. He didn't want to upset his daughter, so Anna had to leave while she was in residence. But he had assured Anna it would only be for a few weeks. In other words, to quote Anna, 'Robert's daughter was a selfish little spoilt brat.' Anna had not even heard of his death in time to attend the funeral. For himself, after hearing the tale, if the man had not been dead already, Jake would have quite happily killed him.
Anna's tragic death a few weeks after their last meeting had gutted him, and it didn't help that the man who in Jake's mind was indirectly responsible was already six feet under and out of his reach. As for Anna's parents, they were crippled with grief.
Jake had spent the past three months simply being there for his foster-parents, his work for once taking second place.