Billionaires: The Playboy. Carol Marinelli
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her and Matteo that had her slightly breathless with recall.
Being kissed by Matteo had been amazing, showing her a side to herself she hadn’t known existed.
Did it even matter, now that she’d told him the truth? That there had been no one before or after Hunter.
She thought about what he said, how Hunter didn’t count, and she liked that. Even if it made her a twenty-seven-year-old virgin.
She took the dress out of her wardrobe and, given today’s events, decided that the dress was too much.
Much too much.
It was seductive, provocative and sexy and it was everything Abby had hoped that she might one day be able to be.
Not yet though.
She was scared of her own sexuality, scared that if she dressed up tonight, then somehow Matteo might think she was leading him on.
To nowhere.
Oh, she was messed up, Abby knew.
She opened the package that she had signed for and her teeth ground together as a formal invitation from her father, inviting her to his fundraiser, fell out. It was written on a thick cream card but there was also attached to it a letter, or rather a note.
Abby.
As discussed.
No signature, no kisses, no Love from Dad. Just the reminder that if she wanted money to support her team, then it came with conditions attached.
She didn’t need the money so badly now but her decision not to go was starting to waver. Seeing Matteo and Allegra together, trying to do the right thing by their grandfather, had served as a very poignant reminder as to how far Abby’s own family had fallen apart, particularly since her mother had died.
Abby peeled back the paper to reveal a walnut box and she undid the tiny clasp and the lid sprung open. Her legs folded beneath her and she sat on the bed staring at her mum’s necklace...
With the silver metal, white diamonds and the green of the emeralds, it was, like her mother had been, beautiful. And, Abby thought, holding it up so it caught the late-afternoon sun, it was possibly the most perfect accessory for her dress.
It was like a sign—not that she should attend her father’s function; that decision she would make later—it just felt as if her mother had stopped by to tell her well done.
‘Oh, Mum.’
She thought of Anette, her mother, and how her marriage had been such an unhappy one.
Her father was a cruel, egotistical man and her mother, with all her family and support in France, just hadn’t found it within herself to leave. Anette had known that Hugo would have made her life hell if she did. So she had settled for a quieter version of hell—a marriage for the sake of the children.
Abby had loved her mother so very much.
She still did.
Had she been alive, Abby knew that what had happened with Hunter would have been handled differently. Oh, Anette had been weak where her father was concerned but not when it came to her girls.
Wear the dress, Abby.
She could almost hear her mother’s voice.
Be who you are, not who others dictate that you be.
Abby could hear her mother’s voice now.
She had been fifteen when her mother had died but now she remembered a long conversation they had had and her mother’s advice.
It hadn’t made sense; even in her darkest days, Abby hadn’t been able to unravel her mother’s words. Abby had tried to be herself and speak her mind and look where that had got her.
At twenty-seven those words made far better sense now.
Abby showered and then pinned up her hair and put on her make-up and with nervous hands pulled on some panties that were a touch too sensible for such an amazing dress but which were all that she had.
And then she slipped on the dress and the feel of cool silk on her skin had her face on fire. It was backless and so there was no bra that would work with it. She could see her nipples.
It wasn’t slutty; it really was incredibly beautiful.
She wore the flat jewelled sandals that she had worn to Allegra’s gala and they worked better with the dress than heels.
It didn’t need heels; what it needed, Abby knew, taking the necklace from the box, was this.
The necklace hung as if it had been designed solely for this night.
It drew the attention from thick nipples and it made her eyes a deeper green. Abby was almost scared of her own reflection because she looked sexy and wanton and she did not want to tease the tiger.
Yet she trusted Matteo not to bite.
It was the most contrary feeling in the world, given all she had been through, and with only instinct to guide her, Abby listened to her own voice now.
Both she and the dress would celebrate tonight.
* * *
Matteo waited.
Oh, he waited for way more than half an hour this time.
He wondered if Abby was having trouble getting into a denim dress and Doc Martens but just as he smiled at that thought the elevators opened and a shining, shy beauty stepped out.
She was in a dress that was a bruised shade of silver, just one polish away from gleaming, and around her throat was the reason Matteo had first made contact.
Not now.
Oh, he watched her walk towards him—too nervous and shy to be sexy. She was utterly gorgeous—and how the hell did he tell her the truth?
Never had he been more grateful for a goldfish attention span when it suited him. Matteo just dismissed the Lost Mistresses from his mind and dealt with now.
‘You look...’ What? Often Matteo stopped himself from saying what he wanted to with Abby; he didn’t tonight. ‘You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.’
And he felt the most responsible that he ever had towards another.
This was her night.
* * *
It wasn’t a restaurant like any other that Abby had ever been to.
White, candlelit tables were set on a private beach. It was an outdoor restaurant that combined fine dining with a sunset that fired as pink as her cheeks as they were shown to their seats.
‘Champagne?’ Matteo asked, and it was as if they were starting again.
Which they were.
He knew the truth now and, more importantly, Abby felt safe to let down her guard with him. She knew, Abby just knew, that she could strip naked and dance like a banshee and still he would see her safely home.
‘That would be lovely.’
The champagne was poured and the first thing he did was raise a glass.
‘To the Boucher team. Well done, you!’
They ate delectable seafood and their fingers met in the fragrant bowls and they flirted a little but more than that they talked and they celebrated her win.
‘Pedro’s happy,’ Matteo said.
‘For now.’ Abby nodded. ‘I’ve been watching him for years, since he was about sixteen. I know he’s good and that he’s thrilled with the win but he’s not going to hang around for long and I can’t blame him for that.’
‘Is that why it has to be this year that you win the Henley Cup?’
That being Hunter.
Abby hesitated