A Forbidden Seduction. SARA WOOD
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into it gratefully. She was suddenly starving.
‘He’s unemployed, your husband?’
Her eyes flicked up. ‘No, he’s a salesman. He’s not home much. Hardly at all, lately...’
‘He keeps you short of money?’
Debbie frowned and indicated that she had a mouth full of biscuit. Something in his tone spoke of disapproval—no—anger. That didn’t make sense. But it was probably ignorance and he thought all men should make a fair settlement on their wives. What would a wealthy man know of budgeting? He probably gave his wife a huge allowance each month for underwear alone. If he was married.
She peered at the long, tanned fingers of his left hand which was holding out the plate again. A signet-ring on the ring-finger. But he was a Continental. She munched on the biscuit, her tongue absently lapping the thick sandwich of cream, and realised that when Luciano had pointed out his brother’s wedding-ring it had been on the right hand, Continental style. However, Luciano didn’t wear a ring on his right hand. So he could be married or he could be a bachelor.
‘We’re hard up,’ she said defensively, wondering why her thoughts had run on so. ‘Life’s tough out there,’ she informed him wryly.
‘Is he home at the moment?’ he asked casually.
Debbie shot him a quick look because there had been a thread of tension under the silk. His expression, however, was unreadable. ‘Not till tomorrow. He’s travelling back at the moment,’ she explained, her lashes moist with slowly oozing tears as she pictured herself asking Gio for a divorce. He’d threatened to take Steffy away with him if she ever thought of leaving him. She shuddered at the thought.
‘Does he call you when he’s away?’ asked Luciano, soft sympathy in his melting eyes.
‘No.’ She could explain that by saying that Gio had long since stopped bothering to call her, but didn’t want to share the problems of her marriage with Luciano. She bit her lip. ‘He’s working in Scotland and the Midlands at the moment,’ she confided. ‘He’s been away for three weeks...’
The dark eyes met hers with cool remoteness. ‘I see. My brother lives in Sicily. He’s been there for—’ there was a brief hesitation ‘—some time.’ The strong jaw clenched as though he was grinding his teeth in suppressed anger.
‘Oh. It seems that I jumped to the wrong conclusion. It... it did look like him,’ she said in a small voice.
‘How many more deliveries do you have?’ he suddenly asked.
‘None. I’ve finished,’ she answered listlessly, and gave a short laugh. ‘I wouldn’t be sitting here if I hadn’t.’
‘I’ll get you a taxi.’
‘No!’ she cried quickly. ‘I can’t afford one. And,’ she said as he opened his haughty mouth to speak, ‘you can forget any ideas about offering to pay for one. I don’t take charity. I’ve got my van down the road.’
‘You look very pale. I don’t think you should drive,’ he insisted sternly.
‘I’m perfectly all right.’ Flustered, she slipped her feet into the shoes, only to see him cross to his desk and punch the intercom button.
‘Get my driver to bring the limo to the front,’ he ordered abruptly.
It sounded wonderful, but her mother would have hysterics if she turned up in a limo with a chauffeur. ‘I’d rather he didn’t. Thanks for the tea,’ she said politely, roughly tying the ribbon laces. ‘I’m grateful—and sorry to have taken up your time.’
‘I’m seeing you home,’ he said firmly. ‘You can show my chauffeur where your van is and he’ll drive it for you. No arguments,’ he said, holding up his hand when she rose in protest. ‘My sense of honour would be wounded if I didn’t treat a lady in distress with Sicilian gallantry.’
‘You are Sicilian, then!’ she cried in astonishment. ‘So’s my husband.’
His mouth had tightened. ‘As I said, Colleoni is a common name there,’ he said stiffly.
Debbie passed a hand over her forehead, feeling she’d missed something vital. ‘I’m sorry. It seemed such a coincidence...’
‘Remarkable, isn’t it?’ he said smoothly, taking her elbow. ‘Now, no arguing. Let’s get you home and then I can come back and eat my lunch in peace.’
‘You’ll like it,’ she said, allowing herself to be guided into the lift. ‘It’s awfully good.’
He seemed to fill the lift. The air squeezed in on her, making her breathe faster. He looked steadily at her but she studied her feet, feeling dreadfully conscious of his proximity. She squirmed irritably and heard his soft laugh.
Scowling at him from under her thick brows, she said boldly, ‘Give me another chance to do your catering. Your staff don’t want doughnuts and beefburgers, or plastic-tasting sandwiches. We can—’
‘Family comes first,’ he cut in with quiet decisiveness. ‘I have promised Pia, my sister-in-law, that her franchises can supply my banks.’
‘Banks? Plural banks?’ she asked, her eyes widening.
‘Plural banks,’ he confirmed in amusement.
‘Good grief, you must be as rich as Croesus! My statement’s always in the red.’
‘Things are bad, then?’ he enquired thoughtfully.
‘Awful,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not playing for the sympathy vote, but if there’s a chance...’
‘No. I might have to persuade my sister-in-law to reorganise her catering till it’s to my satisfaction, but I will keep the promise I made. I must—you must see that.’
Debbie nodded gloomily. Their business would be wiped out if City Lights improved its food drastically and used real, fresh produce. She visualised the final nails being hammered into her coffin. Fate was kicking them both into the gutter again; she dreaded going back to her mother with the news. Her stomach sank with the lift as the floors ticked themselves off on the display unit above, not only gravity sucking away her insides, but despair too.
‘Tell her to sort out her ethics as well as make improvements to the food,’ she muttered, and her baleful eyes clashed with his. ‘I expect no more dirty tricks from her! A fair fight—’
‘Surely it can’t be fair?’ he pointed out as they walked out into the foyer. ‘She can cut costs by buying in bulk—’
‘But we can work all the hours God sends us and cook home-made stuff that knocks spots off anything produced in quantity,’ she defended vigorously. ‘Look,’ she said, stopping in the middle of the marble floor and gazing earnestly up at him, ‘get her in line. That’s all I ask.’
‘You think I can?’ he murmured, his mouth twitching.
‘You can do anything you want,’ she said tartly. ‘You’ll always do anything you want. That’s how you are. I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘Possibly.’ The mobile mouth had softened into a smile.
‘OK, well, listen.’ Debbie was fighting for her livelihood now. And for her mother’s health. She didn’t care that people were stopping and staring, giggling, muttering behind their hands at the sight of the great Luciano talking to a gesticulating shepherdess straight out of a nursery rhyme.
She gave two back-from-lunch typists a haughty stare and returned to the matter in hand, a little surprised that Luciano was still standing there patiently, waiting for her to continue. But she had the impression that he was finding this amusing—at last. And so she’d play on that in order to get what she wanted. Justice.
‘City Lights has to stop working on other people’s patches,’ she said firmly. ‘I told you the kind of tricks