Happy Mother's Day! (6 page)

A
ISLING
remembered the first time she’d ever been to the Vinoly, with its sweeping mahogany staircase and famous rooftop restaurant. She’d been an impressionable twenty year old who hadn’t yet learnt that it was almost impossible to hold a drink as well as eat a canapé, and she had ended up squashing a filo-pastry case against her best dress and ruining it.

These days, of course, she never ate canapés—and had lots of dresses which could have been defined as ‘best', all hanging in neatly pressed, plastic-shrouded lines in the wardrobe of her apartment. She was also used to London’s more glamorous locations and conducted many of her meetings at this particular venue.

Nonetheless, when the luxurious black car dropped her off at the revolving doors of the famous hotel, she felt the nerves which were beginning to gnaw away at her. Not that anyone would have guessed it from the cool, calm smile on her face. In fact, no one would have guessed anything.

She knew a million ways to hide what she was feeling—she had learnt them at about the same time she’d learnt to ride a bike.You developed a pretty tough skin when you were
instructed to tell the creditors that your mother had nipped out to the shops and you didn’t know when she’d be back.

Her high heels sinking into the acres of plush carpet, she walked along the seemingly endless corridors towards the venue. She could hear the chatter of voices as she walked into the crowded Thames Room, and then she saw Gianluca and her heart seemed to stand still.

He was surrounded by people who were trying not to look as if they were jostling for his attention, but that was exactly what they were doing—especially some of the women were circling him like a pack of glossy predators.And you are
not
going to join their desperate ranks, she told herself calmly.

Gianluca glanced up and saw her and something about her quiet poise captured his attention. She was wearing a simple pink silk dress—with a pair of plain pearl studs her only adornment. She gave him a small, polite nod of recognition and he felt his fingers tighten around his glass of champagne as she began to walk towards him.

Over the last few weeks he had found himself thinking about that night in Umbria. Wondering if her behaviour that night had been a bizarre one-off—something completely out-of-character, which would never be repeated. Or if maybe she was a game-player—knowing that a man of his experience liked nothing more than a challenge. Had she read one of those books which advised women that the best way to hook a powerful man was to keep him guessing?

‘Aisling,’ he murmured as she approached. ‘You made it.’

She met his eyes. ‘Did I have a choice?’

He gave a quick, hard smile. ‘No.’

Aisling forced herself to look around because anything was safer than gazing into his eyes. ‘It’s certainly crowded.’

‘You like cocktail parties?’

She shrugged. ‘Not really. They’re an occupational hazard, aren’t they?’

‘Like plane journeys, you mean?’

‘Well, yes. Or meetings with the bank manager.’

‘Ah, but I have someone else do those for me.’

‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one!’

Now their eyes met. ‘Sì,’ he murmured. ‘Aren’t I just?’

‘Gianluca!’

A woman’s voice shattered the air like a stone being hurled through a window, but Aisling was grateful for the interruption. Her heart was hammering and she felt positively weak. How could a few meaningless words seem so … so
significant?

Because you want them to be significant. Because he’s experienced and you’re not, that’s why. And if you allow him to flirt with you, then you’re playing with fire.

‘Gianluca!’
said the voice again and Aisling found herself elbowed out of the way by a blonde with astonishingly green eyes and gravity-defying breasts.

She needed to get away from him—because she didn’t
want
to stand there, companionably sharing similar views on cocktail parties and air-travel. Soon she would start thinking that they were compatible—and they
weren’t.
She took a step back. ‘Look, I mustn’t monopolise you any more, Gianluca. You will excuse me, won’t you?’

With something approaching shock, Gianluca realised that she was actually walking away. In fact, she was smiling at a couple of people
en route
and had begun making her way towards the wall of glass at the other side of the room, which overlooked the view of the river
Thames. Leaving him with the kind of woman he could see was going to display all the staying power of a leech.

‘I went to Italy once and absolutely fell in love with it!’

His eyes narrowed as he realised that the blonde was talking to him, but he’d barely heard a word she’d been saying. He stared at her, as if she had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Didn’t she realise that if a woman thrust her breasts into your face it was like being offered a meal when you had just eaten?

Abruptly, he excused himself, but then bumped into a visiting Italian opera star he hadn’t seen for years and was then introduced to a Minister of State. Every time he tried to break free, another VIP was foisted upon him, and all the time he was watching Aisling out of the corner of his eye, noticing the way she was networking.

What was it about her that made him unable to tear his eyes away from her tonight? Was it simply because she was frustrating the hell out of him?

The party was beginning to fold by the time he walked towards her pink-clad back, wondering if he should shake off this sense of persistence and put the whole thing down to experience. If he left now—would he really care? If he never had sex with her again, surely it wouldn’t matter. Wouldn’t the next woman wash her from his memory?

Yet his eyes were drawn to her neck, its long, slim column exposed by the severe chignon, and he found himself wanting to whisper his lips all the way down it. To bite the soft lobe of one of those perfect ears and whisper into it that he wanted her.

‘You seem to make a habit of turning your back on me,’ he observed acidly. ‘Why didn’t you stay?’

Aisling kept her expression bland as she faced him. ‘By your side?’ Her eyes travelled over his shoulder to where the blonde was staring rather disconsolately in his direction. ‘You looked like you were fully occupied.’

‘That isn’t the point,’ he said softly. ‘You’re supposed to be here tonight, working for me.’

‘And that’s exactly what I
have
been doing! If you really want me to give you my opinion of how I think the hotel is being run these days, then I can certainly accomplish it better by working the room on my own. Rather than being constantly watched by the spectators,’ she added, glancing across the room to where the blonde had been joined by a popular soap actress, ‘who seem to be following your every move.’

Gianluca smiled. ‘Jealous?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

‘The irony is that I don’t usually need to,’ he said coolly. ‘But I take your point,
cara
—and you must have seen enough by now. So let’s go and have dinner. I’ve booked the Starlight.’

He saw her lips part but he shook his head. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘Because the more you fight me, the more determined I become to get my own way.’ He let his gaze drift over her flushed face. ‘If it was anyone else but me, then you’d agree to dinner straight away—because that’s the sort of business you operate in. You can’t make exceptions just
because
it’s me,
cara.
And you really shouldn’t sleep with your clients if you feel that it is going to compromise your ability to do your job properly.’

‘That’s a bastard thing to say,’ she whispered.

He felt a heady thrill at her reaction. ‘And I don’t think calling your boss names in public is setting a very good example, do you?’

‘Whereas issuing veiled threats is textbook behaviour, I suppose?’ she retaliated.

Better and better! ‘If it’s the only way of getting what I want,
cara,
then I’ll do it. So be nice.’ He reached out and touched his finger to the tip of her nose, seeing her blue eyes grow startled.

But just what
did
he want? Aisling wondered dazedly as they left the ballroom and headed towards the lift. She felt he was playing games with her—as a cruel kind of sport, perhaps? And the trouble was that she didn’t know how to respond to them because the boundaries between them of work and play had become so blurred.

The Starlight restaurant was aptly named—an awardwinning circular room of windows at the very top of the hotel. Outside, the crescent moon looked close enough to pluck from the night sky and below them lay the goldenbathed Houses of Parliament and the glittering snake of the river as it wound its way through the capital.

It was one of the most breathtaking views in London and Aisling stood for a moment, just staring down at it.

‘Ever been here before?’ he asked.

‘Once. A long time ago.’

But back then she had been excited and impressed by the magical setting of the twinkling stars and the chance of spotting someone famous. Tonight was different. With Gianluca sitting opposite her, it was difficult to concentrate on anything and the richly romantic setting seemed to mock the curious nature of her brief affair with him. How did other women cope in such situations? she wondered. Did they instinctively know what to do—or, deep down, were they all flailing wildly and making up the rules as they went along?

Gianluca watched her studying the menu-card as if it were an examination paper, flickering his eyes over her bent head with a slight ache of amusement—realising that this was the first time in a long, long time that he had been forced to endure a dinner for the sake of propriety. ‘What would you like?’

‘Oh, I don’t know—whatever it’s best known for. Isn’t there some kind of signature dish?’

He spoke to the waiter in French, ordered them both some fish and wine and waited while their drinks were poured. Then he leaned back in his chair and studied her. ‘You do realise that you’re still a complete mystery to me? That I’ve known you for almost two years, we’ve had sex together and yet I don’t even know where you live?’

‘Gianluca!’

‘Doesn’t that strike you as strange?’ he questioned, ignoring her protest.

‘There’s never been a reason for you to know,’ she said. ‘There isn’t really one now.’

He watched as she picked up her glass of water with a hand which wasn’t quite steady. ‘Being evasive won’t work,’ he said evenly. ‘I’m curious.’

‘Do you always interrogate when you’re out on a date, Gianluca?’

‘Is this a date, then,
cara?’

Oh, but he managed to twist everything she said!

In the circumstances, it seemed bizarre to give him a potted life history—it seemed the wrong way round, really. They’d done the bed bit, without any of the getting-toknow-you stuff. But how else were they going to endure a whole meal together, if he was determined to find out and
she was equally determined not to tell him? It would simply become a battle of wills, which she suspected he would win. ‘I live in Putney.’

‘By the river?’ he observed. ‘You must be doing well.’

‘I’m actually about ten minutes’ walk from the river and it’s only a one-bedroomed apartment—but I love it. I’ve been trading up ever since I got a foothold on the property market.’

‘And when was that?’

‘As soon as I could afford to. I saved up like mad for a deposit. I hadn’t really …’

Her words tailed off and he pounced on the rare chink in her armour. ‘Hadn’t really what?’

Surely if she made herself
sound
vulnerable, then she would make herself
seem
vulnerable? And what would
he
understand about savings, and deposits? Gianlucawasn’t just rich, he had been born rich—everyone knew that. How could a man like that possibly relate to her story? ‘I’d never lived anywhere that wasn’t rented before,’ she said reluctantly.

He raised his dark brows. ‘Not even as a child?’

How few people had experienced it in the world she now occupied, she thought wryly. These days, in the UK, home ownership was seen as a right rather than a privilege, and Aisling gave a brittle smile. ‘No, not even then,’ she agreed, glad that the waiter chose that moment to bring a basket of bread, and hoping that Gianluca might let it go.

But he didn’t.

‘That’s unusual for this country,’ he said slowly.

‘Not that unusual,’ she contradicted. ‘It’s just that a lot of people never get out of the poverty trap and I was lucky that I did.’

‘What happened?’

She hesitated. ‘My mother was a single parent, without a proper career of her own.’ ‘And your father?’

‘I never knew my father. He left before I was born.’ He frowned. ‘So no stable male influence when you were growing up?’

‘No.’

He filed the fact away. Was that why she didn’t flirt and dress up like most women—because she didn’t trust men, or she just didn’t know how they operated? ‘You never felt the need to trace him?’

‘Never. I couldn’t see the point. There.’ She looked at him defiantly. ‘End of subject.’

‘That must have been hard for you,’ he observed slowly.

But shewasn’t asking for his sympathy. ‘Put it this way—a few knocks on the way didn’t do me any harm. It’s what fed my ambition and my determination to be self-sufficient. And it’s made me what I am. An independent woman.’

He affected a look of horror yet inside he felt an admiration for how she had coped, more than coped—succeeded—in a tough world by making a go of her own business. ‘Don’t you know how terrifying a man finds it when a woman describes herself as independent,
cara?’
he murmured.

‘I can see it might bother a certain
type
of man.’

‘What type?’

‘Mr Macho,’ she said flippantly.

He laughed. ‘You can be outrageous,’ he murmured.

And so could he. Her blue eyes challenged him. ‘Look, Gianluca, fascinating as it is to discuss my life story, I thought you’d brought me up here to talk about business.’

Was she being deliberately naïve about his intentions, he wondered—or just playing a game? ‘And maybe I’ve changed my mind. In truth, I’m a little distracted by the mass of contradictions you seem to be, Aisling. Maybe I want to get to know you a little better.’