Happy Mother's Day!

chapter FIVE


‘SHALL I show Signor Palladio in now?’ questioned Ginger.

‘Just give me five minutes, will you, Ginger?’ Aisling gave a grim kind of smile as she flicked up the switch of the intercom. This time he could wait. This time she wouldn’t buckle beneath his domineering ways. If they really were to continue working together, then he was going to have to show her a little respect—no matter what had gone on that night in Italy. Il Tigre wouldn’t scare her.

She would finish her coffee and reapply her lipstick and generally psych herself up to greet him. As if that might somehow magically repair the damage of a largely sleepless night.

Aisling gazed into the mirror. There were dark shadows smudged beneath her eyes and her face was pale. But so what—she wasn’t trying to impress him, was she? Was she?

Smoothing her fingers down over the already smooth cap of her hair, she went back to her desk, took a deep breath and buzzed Ginger.

‘Would you send Signor Palladio in now?’

‘Sure thing!’

Was it Aisling’s imagination, or did her assistant sound a little giddy? But then the door opened and Ginger came in with an expression of such pleasure on her face that anyone would have thought she’d just won the national lottery. No, it hadn’t been Aisling’s imagination at all.

‘I’ll go and get you both some coffee,’ Ginger said, beaming up at Gianluca.

‘I don’t remember asking for any,’ said Aisling mildly.

Ginger wriggled her pale-green cashmere-clad shoulders and the titian hair which had provided her nickname shimmied all the way down her back. ‘No, but Gianluca looked so … tired… that I offered to make him some.’

Ginger was gushing, thought Aisling furiously. She was actually gushing! And just when had she been given permission to start calling him by his Christian name? ‘Thank you,’ she said crisply, and as the door closed behind her secretary Aisling dared look him in the eyes for the first time.

In a way it was easy to see why Ginger had been so uncharacteristically simpering towards him. He was dressed in a pale grey suit, which accentuated the golden glow of his skin and the jet-black gleam of his hair. The shadow around his jaw was fainter than usual and his black eyes were brilliant and gleaming.

He seemed so alive—exuding an air of vitality which set him apart from the usual men she met. Was it any wonder that she had acted the way she had?

‘Your assistant is very cute, cara,’ murmured Gianluca, who had watched the little exchange between the two women with amusement.

‘She’s very good at her job,’ said Aisling defensively, and to her horror she felt a violent stab of something like envy.

He assumed an expression of shock. ‘Did I say she wasn’t?’ he protested. ‘Just because a woman is warm and giving towards a man, doesn’t mean that she’s in any way inadequate.’

Was that a dig at her? And was she going to react to it? No, she was not. Aisling picked up her fountain pen and twirled it around between her perfectly manicured fingers like a mini-baton.

‘Won’t you sit down?’ she said coolly, watching as he spread his elegant frame in the chair and made it look as substantial as a piece of dolls’ house furniture. ‘And then we can discuss what you have in mind.’

He allowed himself the idle fantasy of telling her that what he really had in mind was to rip that horrible skirt from her body and to press his tongue into the little dip in the centre of her belly and to lick her there until she gasped with pleasure.

She stared at him with polite question in her eyes and reluctantly he dragged his thoughts away from the silken softness of her thighs to the infinitely more mundane subject of his recent takeover.

‘You remember that I said I was thinking of expanding further in England?’

Aisling nodded.

‘Well, the opportunity to do just that presented itself to me recently.’ He paused. ‘I’m in the process of buying a hotel and it’s all been very hush-hush. I would prefer you to say nothing until the official announcement is made.’

‘Oh?’ Concentrate on what he’s saying to you, and not on the high, proud slash of his cheekbones. ‘Which hotel?’

‘It’s the Vinoly,’ he said, seeing her blue eyes widen.

Aisling blinked. ‘You mean theVinoly in central London?’

‘I wasn’t aware there was more than one.’

‘Good heavens!’ she said faintly, putting the pen down on the desk. ‘It’s one of the city’s most famous landmarks!’ She blinked again. ‘In fact—it’s practically an institution.’

‘But of course. That’s why I wanted it.’

Aisling gave a dry laugh. ‘Just like that?’

‘Why not? Acquisitions excite me.’

Something about the way he said it unsettled her. All successful businessmen were constantly seeking out the new. Like sharks, they were never still—the very best of them always looking out to make a killing, because you never stayed at the top by remaining stagnant.

Maybe that attitude had spilled over into his private life, too. Was that why he had never settled down with one woman—because he conducted his private life on a similar scale? Had she just been another, rather unexpected ‘acquisition'?

Angrily, she straightened the pen, so that it lay at a perfect right angle to the blotter. This was why people didn’t have affairs at work—because you started to think about everything in how it related to you, instead of how it related to the business!

‘Is something wrong, Aisling?’ he murmured.

‘Wrong? No. Why should anything be wrong?’

He shrugged, but, oh, he was enjoying this—watching Little Miss Prim try not to react to him and failing hopelessly. ‘You were glaring.’

‘Was I?’ She shrugged right back and met his eyes defiantly. ‘Probably because I often glare when I concentrate.’

‘I see.’

Was he laughing at her? wondered Aisling furiously.

There was a knock on the door and Ginger brought in a tray of coffee. Aisling noted that, not only had she made a whole potful of the stuff, but she must have nipped out to the deli next door for some of their fancy biscuits.

‘What a lot of trouble you have gone to, Ginger,’ murmured Gianluca.

Had he deliberately exaggerated his accent to make the first syllable of her name rhyme with ‘jean'? wondered Aisling. And did Ginger really have to bat her eyelashes at him like some amateur vamp as she breathed out her breathless response?

‘Oh, it’s no trouble, Gianluca!’

Aisling wondered how he would have reacted if he had been given a mugful of the rather mediocre instant coffee which was what they usually drank, but she didn’t say anything. She waited until the door had closed behind her before picking up the pot and forcing her mind back to his hotel. ‘The Vinoly,’ she mused. ‘Second biggest hotel in London after the Granchester, and an architectural gem. I guess congratulations must be in order.’

His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘You sound doubtful,’ he observed.

‘Well, it’s a bit of a departure for you. You usually deal in smaller, boutique hotels.’ She poured him a cup of coffee and pushed it across the desk in front of him. ‘Biscuit?’

He shook his head.

Aisling poured her own. ‘Won’t this affect the industry’s view of you? Isn’t it a slightly risky strategy?’

Gianluca stared at her with something approaching admiration—at her icy blue eyes which gave away precisely nothing. Had he been expecting her to be cowed by his insistence on this meeting? Perhaps for her to display irritation towards the secretary who was so obviously flirting with him? Or maybe to gush just a little, recognising that a man who could afford to buy the Vinoly must be a very rich man indeed—and he knew only too well how most women responded to wealth.

And hadn’t there been a tiny part of his mind which had wondered whether she might behave as other women in her position might have done? That, having known the pleasures of his body, she might lock the office door and slide off her panties and come over here and sit on his lap.

But no—the expression she presented to him was completely professional and the objections she voiced were exactly as they should be. And the cool expression on her face was starting to make him wonder whether he’d actually dreamt the whole seduction.

As a client he applauded it, while as a man, it irritated the hell out of him. There had been not one intimation—not a single hint—that they had shared a night of passion in his bed, and in truth he found that deeply insulting. Did she have no feelings?

His mouth hardened. Perhaps she imagined that by remaining so composed in his presence she would make him want her even more.

And she was right, damn her!

He was the one who usually compartmentalised—and it was not a trait he particularly admired in the opposite sex. He liked his women warm and soft and available—ready to juggle their schedules to fit in with his busy life.

He sipped the coffee, which was surprisingly good, finding himself in the curious position of having to force his mind back to work instead of the memory of her pale, curving body revealed by his removal of that rather plain underwear.

‘You are doubting my ability to expand into this particular market?’ he demanded.

‘No, of course I’m not. And I can find whoever you need to staff it. I assume you’ll want a new general manager—someone who will put your own particular stamp on the place?’

‘Sì. But I don’t want to change too much, too quickly.’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I want to be able to observe what works and what doesn’t, before I decide.’

Aisling hesitated. ‘You’ll be careful not to change too much, won’t you, Gianluca? One of the place’s biggest selling points is its very Britishness—the tourists love all that.’

She was unbelievable! ‘You think that I’ll serve only pizza in the restaurants from now on and start playing loud Italian opera?’ he queried sarcastically.

‘And plastic gondolas on sale in the foyer,’ she agreed, deadpan.

His mouth twitched as he tried to hold back a smile. ‘Ah, Aisling,’ he sighed. ‘What is it that you object to in this deal?’

He paid for her judgement and her perception, didn’t he? And for the truth, too.

‘It’s just that this a departure from the Palladio brand,’ she said softly. ‘That’s all.’

‘A brand?’ he echoed. ‘You think that Gianluca Palladio is a brand? What kind of a word is that? You are comparing me to a can of beans, perhaps?’

‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Gianluca—of course I’m not! I’m just telling you not to lose that special something for which you’re known.’

‘Ah!’ His eyes narrowed and a sudden sensation of friction became almost tangible in the air around them. His voice dipped. ‘And what special something would that be?’

Feeling as if she’d walked straight into a trap of her own making, Aisling felt her skin grow warm—the tightening of her breasts reminding her all too clearly of Gianluca the lover. How he had suckled them, teased them with his teeth, licked them.

She bit her lip. Oh, why remember something at a time like this? The colour in her cheeks intensified and she found she wanted to look away from him, but couldn’t. She swallowed. ‘Gianluca. Please, don’t.’

‘Don’t what, cara? Don’t desire you when it feels as natural to me as breathing? Don’t you know how lovely you look when you lose that frosty look of yours and smile? I saw you smile more times in my arms that night than I’ve done in almost two years of working with you.’

‘But that’s not why we’re here!’ she said quickly. ‘What happened that night was a moment of madness—a mistake.’

He stared at her disbelievingly. ‘And that’s all?’

‘That’s all,’ she agreed. Because what alternative did she have? Admit she’d done nothing but think about him—with images of his mocking face and hard body consuming her memory like a fever? ‘And we’re supposed to be working,’ she reminded him. ‘I’m your head-hunter and you asked my opinion.’

There was a pause but all he could think was how tantalising it was to be pushed away. ‘I know you are,’ he said softly. ‘And that’s why I want you to come to a cocktail party at the Vinoly this evening. This will be a good opportunity to observe how the hotel is being run with a degree of relative anonymity. Once the sale goes through it will be impossible for me to fade in the background.’

Aisling swallowed. She felt he was playing with her. Pushing her around like a croupier sliding little plastic chips across a gaming table. ‘But if you take me with you, then won’t people guess?’

‘And what will they guess, cara?’ he taunted. ‘That we’re lovers, or that I’m buying the hotel?’

‘But we’re not lovers, Gianluca. Not any more.’

He smiled, but the curve of his lips was cynical and it made a perfect partner for the mockery in his eyes. Aren’t we? they seemed to say. ‘It’s at six, in the Thames Room. I’ll send a car here for you.’

She shook her head in frustration, feeling control begin to slip away, and it scared her. ‘I’m a London girl and I’m used to getting around the city on my own. There’s really no need to—’

He cut across her protest with an arrogant wave of his hand.

‘I will send a car,’ he repeated obstinately.