The knock at the door made her jump and stopped her mid-sentence.
Rushing to open it, she was dimly aware that she was still wearing the blue satin dress and had just put all the rest of her clothes in the suitcase. What was it about Cristiano Maresca that made it impossible to think straight?
Good evening, mademoiselle.‘
It was the concierge—a short, sleek man, with a neat moustache like Hercule Poirot. A strange mixture of relief and panic churned inside her at the thought of leaving here now. Walking away down the wide, thick-carpeted corridor. Walking away from Cristiano for good.
You asked to be booked on a flight back to Leeds, England, as soon as possible?‘ the concierge asked politely.
Yes. I‘ll just get my—‘
‘Pardonez-moi, mademoiselle, but I‘m afraid I have bad news. Due to thick fog over Leeds tonight many flights have been cancelled, and the remaining ones are being diverted to Heathrow. I‘m afraid there are no seats available on any UK
flight with any airline at the moment.‘
Kate felt the air whoosh from her lungs and the ground tilt a little beneath her feet as she took in this information. It felt like absorbing a physical blow.
But that can‘t be right, surely? There must be something…‘
I‘m afraid not, mademoiselle,‘ the concierge murmured gravely. I have checked with all the airlines. Of course,‘ he added doubtfully, glancing at her very obviously un-designer jumper, if it is urgent I could possibly look into a private charter…?‘
Kate shook her head, swallowing back the hysterical bubble of laughter that rose inside her. Dominic was notoriously relaxed when it came to expenses, but she suspected that even he might balk at private jet hire. And, since most weeks she struggled to afford petrol for her ancient car, it certainly wasn‘t going to come out of her own pocket.
Very well, mademoiselle.‘ The concierge gave a little bow. I am sorry not to have been able to help. If there‘s anything more I can do for you, please don‘t hesitate to call down to Reception.‘
Thank you,‘ Kate murmured faintly, shutting the door behind his departing back and leaning against it for a moment while she struggled to control her desolation.
She wanted so much to go home—back to Alexander. Dominic had given them all a week off to enjoy the considerable luxury of the hotel and explore the city, so their scheduled flight home wasn‘t until Friday. She hadn‘t argued because, she now realised, deep down she‘d secretly hoped that she‘d be with Cristiano.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She turned round abruptly, gritting her teeth as a crashing wave of homesickness and despair washed over her, not knowing what to do now. Cristiano was at the window. He had pulled the curtain back and was standing by the doors to the balcony, the lurid lights from the square outside casting hollows beneath his cheekbones and making his olive skin look strangely bleached of colour.
So, it looks like you‘re not going home after all,‘ he said, without turning round to look at her.
You don‘t have to sound so pleased.‘ She hated the bitterness and misery in her tone, but was suddenly too tired to hide them any more. Too tired to pretend.
He dropped the curtain, so his face was suddenly plunged into shadow again.
I don‘t want you to run away until we‘ve had a chance to talk.‘
What about?‘
Oh, God. For the first time it occurred to her that he might somehow have already found out about Alexander. Nausea rolled through her. She wanted to sink down onto the bed, but knew she‘d feel at a disadvantage with him towering over her, so settled instead for perching on the edge of the dressing table. Her heart was battering against her ribs as he came towards her, and she searched his face for clues.
There were none. Apart from a muscle flickering in his lean, tanned cheek it was very still and completely blank.
The night we spent together.‘
She gave an anxious laugh. I don‘t know why. It clearly didn‘t make it onto your list of top ten one-night stands, so unless you need the details to put in some kind of no-holds barred, X-rated autobiography there‘s really not much point in going over it.‘ Nerves were making her talk too much, too fast, and tears stung at the back of her eyes. It‘s funny,‘ she went on. Although on some level I understand that when you sleep with a man who is known throughout the world as a heart-breaking, womanising playboy you can‘t exactly expect flowers and a card on your anniversary, it would at least be nice to think that he‘d recognise you again. Especially after—‘
She stopped, suddenly breathless. An image, suppressed for the last four years, rose to the surface of her mind. The sun rising over the sea, bathing their naked bodies in rosy pink light, painting streaks of gold into his hair while, bleak-faced and rigid, he told her about his past.
After what?‘
The man in front of her looked the same—agonisingly, mockingly the same—and yet so different. Tears welled in her eyes and she got sharply to her feet.
Forget it.‘ Impatiently she dashed the tears away as she made to move past him, and gave a broken laugh. Oh, but of course you already have—haven‘t you?‘
He gave a low, savage curse. Catching hold of her arm, he pulled her back so that she hit the hard wall of his chest.
Yes,‘ he rasped, his face ashen, his eyes like glittering pools of tar. Yes, I bloody well have. I‘ve forgotten everything from the time I got into that car to qualify for the race to the moment I hit the barrier. It‘s lost. Twenty-four hours of nothingness. So that‘s why we need to talk. I want to know what happened.‘
For a long, shivering moment it felt as if time had stopped as their gazes locked. But then her hoarse whisper broke the silence. Broke the spell.
Oh, God, Cristiano. I—I‘m sorry.‘
Letting go of her abruptly, Cristiano spun round and walked back to the window, raising a hand to his pounding forehead. Why the hell had he just said that? He had come up here to get out of her whatever he could, using whatever means it took—he had intended to seduce her, not confide in her, per l’amore di Dio. He didn‘t want anyone to know about this. Never mind some girl he didn‘t know, didn‘t trust not to go to the papers.
I had no idea.‘
No. Well, it‘s not exactly something I want to broadcast,‘ he said icily.
But why?‘ There was a curious tension in her voice, and the light from the lamp beside her turned her skin to gold satin and reflected in her eyes, making it look as if there was a flame leaping in their depths. I mean, you had a terrible accident, and people would—‘
Love to know that I‘m not over it?‘ He cut her off sharply, as if that would also help him cut off the urge to cross the room and take her face in his hands and kiss that soft mouth again. That I have this…this gap? Can you imagine what would happen if it got out that I have no memory of that evening? How many women would come forward and claim I was with them? That I slept with them, assaulted them, fathered their children? The tabloid newspapers would have enough salacious front pages for the next three years, and there would be nothing I could do— nothing—because I can’t remember.‘
Oh.‘ It was more like a defeated exhalation than a properly enunciated word. Tugging her jumper down over her hands, as if she was cold, she shook her head slightly, so that her soft hair shimmered in the light of the lamp. I didn‘t think of it like that. Why would anyone do that? Make things up?‘
He gave a harsh laugh. How about for five minutes of fame and a few hundred grand? Even if a story could be disproved, with a DNA test or an alibi, by that time the damage would already have been done.‘
She stood up, wrapping her arms around herself for a moment and looking around as if she was disorientated. Well, you don‘t need to worry about that any more. You were with me.‘ She looked at him then, straight in the eye, and gave a painful smile that seemed to reach down inside him and twist at his heart. I know what happened, and I promise you I‘m not going to spread it all over the front pages. You can relax. Get back to your party and your adoring fans and stop worrying about it.‘
Her voice was soft, resigned. Cristiano tried to focus on what she was saying—to make sense of it—but the ache in his head had intensified so that it felt as if someone was hitting the inside of his skull with a sledgehammer.
I have no intention of going back,‘ he said tersely, remembering how he had planned to spend the rest of the night. In bed with her. Seducing her into telling him everything he so badly wanted to know. But he had underestimated her, he realised now. He had assumed she would fall into bed with him at the merest hint of an opportunity, like any one of the scores of women across the square who were no doubt searching the Casino for him right now. The fact that she hadn‘t was intriguing, as well as surprisingly painfully frustrating.