The Chatsfield: Series 2. Кейт Хьюит
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lift doors opened and, feeling very grim now, he took Keelin’s arm again. He opened the door to her suite and let her go to precede him into the room. He hated to admit it but he knew that if he stayed and forced this conversation now, he might not be able to resist touching her because his anger and that feeling of having been made a fool of was pushing him to the limits of his control.
And that was enough to make him want to retreat. His father hadn’t been able to control himself and Gianni had always had a very deep fear that he’d inherited his weakness. Not that he’d be violent, but that something of this rawness inside him might not be contained. He didn’t want Keelin to see that part of him.
And he still didn’t know enough. Yet.
She rounded on him with an injured expression on her face but before she could say anything Gianni folded his arms. ‘Basta!’ Enough.
‘I don’t know what game you’re playing, Keelin, but it’s about as fake as the tan on that delectable body. I have an important meeting in the morning, early, so I’m not prepared to sit up all night and drag a confession out of you. When I see you tomorrow I expect to meet the real Keelin O’Connor.’
His gaze dropped down, taking in overtanned flesh and a blingy outfit more suited to Studio 54’s heyday. ‘And you can put that card I gave you to use and find some more suitable clothes to wear.’
Keelin’s mouth opened, eyes wide, and Gianni cut her off. ‘Save it for the morning, cara. Buonanotte.’
He turned at the door to see a decidedly mutinous look on her face now, eyes sparking with the intelligence he’d caught a glimpse of in his apartment. Unexpectedly he felt a flare of excitement to recognise that a part of him relished getting to know this woman.
‘And don’t even think of trying to pull any more cute stunts. You make one move out of this hotel room and I’ll know about it in seconds.’
She sputtered indignantly, ‘You can’t do—’
But he’d closed the door.
* * *
Keelin was left looking at a blank space. For a long moment she stood in shock and then the pain of her feet in the heels impinged and she kicked them off angrily. He knew. He had somehow figured it out.
A sense of panic warred with relief that she didn’t have to put on this elaborate act any more. And also trepidation, to know that she’d have to face that man as herself. She went into the bathroom, looked at her reflection in the artfully lit mirror over the enormous sink. Her eyes were wide and bright. Cheeks flushed. Her gaze dropped and she sucked in a breath to see the stark outline of her nipples pressing against the flimsy silk of her jumpsuit.
She could recall all too easily how she’d wanted to rub them against Gianni’s chest in the club, to assuage the burning ache. Dammit. Once again she felt that vulnerability to know that he had a unique effect on her, cutting right through her defences. She wasn’t prepared for this unprecedented physical reaction to him. It was as if when he touched her something fused in her brain.
She was afraid of Gianni’s effect on her, that if he kissed her again she wouldn’t be able to protect herself in time. And that he might make her feel as powerless as she had when—
She closed her eyes against the memories and sucked in a deep breath.
This was why she’d avoided any kind of intimacy before now, in spite of the picture she’d painted to Gianni. She assured herself resolutely that he wouldn’t be kissing her again because she’d do whatever it took to persuade him that this union was wrong.
* * *
When Keelin woke the following morning after a fitful sleep, she felt a wave of optimism—perhaps she was wrong and Gianni just suspected something? Galvanised by the thought that all was not lost, she dressed again with inappropriate zeal in a figure-hugging red dress, and made her way to the entrance of the hotel, determined to go shopping again as if nothing had happened and hope for the best.
But when she got to the door, a tall dark familiar figure was waiting for her. She cursed silently as he approached her and took her arm before bending and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Her heart spasmed.
He pulled back and she looked at him. He smiled but his eyes were hard. ‘Buongiorno, cara. So nice of you to come down and meet me.’
‘But I wasn’t, I was—’
But Gianni wasn’t listening. He was all but frog-marching her out of the hotel to where his sleek chauffeur-driven car was waiting. She was in the back of the car and he was on the other side in a louche sprawl before she could get her breath and register that they were moving away from the hotel.
Keelin had given in to the bitter tang of defeat. He knew.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, feeling mutinous.
‘My apartment. We need to talk.’
Keelin looked out of her window, refusing to so much as glance in his direction for the duration of the journey, furiously trying to think of what he might say. And how much did he know? The fact that he might know of her degree made her feel inordinately exposed. Old and familiar urges rose. To rebel. To run. But she couldn’t. She had to be smart and roll with the punches and ensure that no matter what happened she’d come out on top and her father would be forced to acknowledge her role in their family’s company. Solo. Not married.
A memory of when she’d been about eleven years old sprang into her head. She’d been with her paternal grandfather in one of the O’Connor Foods factories. It had been a very rare visit—usually she was never taken to the factories. Huge articulated lorries had been peeling away, out of the forecourt, on their way across Europe with foods, and her father was standing in the middle, like the conductor of an orchestra.
She’d been mesmerised by all this industry and the family legend that it had all originated from one field and a herd of cattle in the west of Ireland.
In her mind at that moment she’d made the connection between her father’s obsession with work and his lack of obsession with her. She’d turned to her grandfather and said excitedly, ‘When I grow up I want to work with Daddy.’
Her grandfather had looked at her with disappointment lining his old face and had bent down to her level and said very clearly, ‘That won’t ever happen, Keelin. If you had a brother, maybe—’
Even now, she could remember the awful hollowing-out sensation, and the feeling of guilt, that she wasn’t enough, because she was a girl. She’d looked out over the forecourt again and had realised that, because of her, all of this would cease to exist some day. And that’s when she’d vowed to do everything she could to show her father that she could be enough.
‘We’re here.’
Keelin blinked and looked to see the by-now-familiar building. A sense of déjà vu assailed her as Gianni got out and came around to let her out. She felt silly, trussed up like some kind of over-the-top reality-TV star.
She pettily refused to take his hand of help and got out herself, less elegantly than she would have liked. He just shrugged minutely and led the way into his building.
The elevator felt even more claustrophobic this time, because now she knew what it felt like to be in Gianni’s arms, his mouth on hers. That hard body pressing against hers. Her face was flaming by the time the lift came to a stop and she almost fell out in her haste to put some space between them.
It was almost a relief to step into his palatial apartment again and she quickly moved over to one of the windows, dreading what was coming.
Reluctantly she turned to look at Gianni and he was stern and formidable. Distant. Perhaps she could convince him to see sense? A small voice somewhere laughed at that. Facing up to the unpalatable suspicion that he would not rest until he knew everything, Keelin steeled herself and said bluntly, ‘I don’t want to marry you.’
His