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She stiffened. He was used to calling the shots, wasn’t he? ‘Then fetch my bag from the communal garden, will you?’
‘You stashed your bag in the garden?’ He sent her an astounded look, ignoring her attempt at a commanding tone to match his. ‘You really are a cat burglar.’
‘Bet you can’t find it.’ She smiled at him coyly.
He sent her another look—a lowering one. ‘I know what you’re doing.’ But he left the room anyway.
Amused, Kitty crossed the library, opened the window and leaned out of it to watch him. He glanced back up to the building, somehow knowing she’d do exactly that. She could feel the heat of his glare across the distance, but then he turned his back on her to study the garden for a few minutes and unerringly went to the bush where she’d hidden the bag.
At that point Kitty flounced away from the window.
A few moments later he returned, triumphantly brandishing her bag. ‘You don’t have much with you.’
‘Because I wasn’t planning on staying long.’ She snatched it from him and stalked from the room.
‘You won’t need much anyway...’ His sensual laughter followed her down the hall.
Kitty locked the bathroom door and showered quickly, briskly soaping herself and ignoring her hyper-sensitised skin and still trembling legs. She was crazy to have accepted this arrangement when he could make her want him so easily.
But chemistry could be ignored. And a week or so spent here was a chance to say goodbye to her home. A chance to keep her head high the next time she saw those society wenches. And a chance to prove Alejandro wrong—he wasn’t going to get everything he wanted. He wasn’t going to get her.
As long as she kept her distance from him. No more touching. No more kissing.
She’d been truly hurt by the end of her engagement to James, but she doubted that Alejandro could ever understand the concept. He was total Teflon. Indestructible and impervious to any pain—of feeling any deep emotion, for that matter. As far as she could tell, life was all a party to him. It was all about the next affair while wheeling and dealing the rest of the time. Well, he wasn’t having an affair with her, no matter how good he kissed. She refused to be yet another easy conquest.
When she emerged refreshed she found he’d showered again too and changed into a suit. It was navy with a crisp white shirt but he wore no tie with it and his hair was damp; he looked so sharp her eyes hurt. Her resolve wavered. Did she really think she could resist? That unholy smile lurked in his eyes as he watched her walk towards him and she straightened. Of course she could resist. She wasn’t an animal.
A car was idling for them just outside the house, an enormous, luxurious thing with a suit-and-sunglasses-clad giant sitting behind the steering wheel.
‘You might get away with this kind of ostentatiousness in New York, but it’s really not the done thing in London, you know,’ she offered faux helpfully once they were ensconced in the back seat. ‘Better to take a taxi next time.’
‘I prefer to rely on my own driver, but thanks for the advice anyway,’ he replied blandly.
The car stopped outside a beautiful old building and Alejandro insisted she went inside with him. Only the subtly placed logo near the heavy wooden door clued her in—this wasn’t the kind of bank that had tellers behind security grilles and queues of impatient people. This was exclusivity and discretion to the max. The private banker didn’t bat an eyelid when Alejandro insisted he issue Kitty a card then and there, preloaded with his wads of cash.
‘Show off,’ Kitty murmured as they returned to the waiting car less than twenty minutes later.
Alejandro smiled, but she sensed his attention was flicking from her; his expression had become serious and distant—he was entering ‘work mode’. A few minutes later the car pulled in again.
‘Paolo and the car are at your disposal all day. Get yourself whatever you need,’ he said as he looked out of the window at his new office premises. ‘Be there when I get home.’
‘Or?’
At her tone he turned back to face her and she realised she’d been wrong about his slipping attention. In this moment, she was the sole object of his searing focus. Her toes curled in her shoes; she was almost melting on the spot.
‘Until tonight, sweet fiancée.’ He didn’t bother replying to her question; he knew he didn’t need to.
For a breathless second she wondered if he might take his part too far and kiss her again. But she’d be ready for him this time, right? She’d resist the temptation to slide into his sensuality.
But he didn’t lean closer, he didn’t kiss her. He just got out of the car.
And that wasn’t a kernel of disappointment she was feeling. Alejandro waved her off with such a smug, knowing look in his eye that Kitty didn’t wave back. The infuriating creature seemed to know everything she was thinking.
‘Where would you like to go, Miss Parkes-Wilson?’ Paolo asked politely.
Right now? The moon.
‘Could you just drive for a bit while I decide?’ She pressed a hand to her hot cheeks.
She needed to come up with a decent plan for the next few days—Alejandro was too confident, but she didn’t blame him, only herself. She needed something to combat his intensity.
She’d had no intention of spending a penny of his money when she’d made such a drama about her clothes, but now she felt like making him pay in some small way for his intolerable arrogance.
Maybe she should buy the most outrageous couture item she could find? Maybe she should go for something totally off the wall and appalling that she’d never normally be seen dead in. Amused at the thought, she asked Paolo to take her to the flagship store of a high end designer. But, once she was inside, she was almost immediately distracted by a simple black number hanging on a polished rack right near the door. She moved to take a closer look, inwardly grimacing when she saw there was no price tag.
‘Would you like to try it on, madam?’ A soft-spoken, impossibly groomed man stepped forward to offer assistance.
‘Um...maybe?’ she mumbled doubtfully, feeling like a fraud.
She was so used to her ‘work wardrobe’ of black on black—three-quarter-length trousers and long-sleeved sweaters—she was going to feel weird in anything else. She might have long limbs, but there was so much else required to carry off clothing like this.
One summer in her mid-teen years she’d been scouted by a modelling agency. Not to model swimwear, of course, given her pallor and lack of curves, but high-end fashion. At the time she’d been pleased to get the attention and for a few blissful days had actually believed someone thought she was pretty. But then she’d seen the completed booking sheet with her name on it:
Freak chic. Angular, androgynous, tall with red hair, pale skin. Freckles.
She’d filled out a bit since then, but there was no denying she was still the ‘freak’ and there was no ‘chic’ about it. After that dose of reality she’d covered up and come up with her own year-in-year-out version of starving artist attire.
‘I believe it would suit you, madam.’
He was clearly paid to say that, but she let him lead her to the changing room anyway.
She straightened her shoulders and followed his example of confident posture. She’d never be considered conventionally pretty, but maybe she could wear the damn designer dresses anyway. A dress like this would be like armour, hiding the weaknesses—the imperfections—underneath. Protecting her. She was so tempted.
‘I need some statement pieces,’ she confided to the attendant as he waited at the entrance to the spacious private room. ‘Some dresses that scream exclusive.’
‘If I may suggest, nothing screams exclusive more than subtlety,’ he replied with a quiet courtesy that had her believing him. ‘You go ahead and try this on and I’ll be back with more in a m
oment.’
Kitty quickly stripped and then stepped into the dress, blinking as she regarded her reflection in the gleaming mirror. The dress was beautifully cut and sat perfectly on her waist, but it didn’t reveal vast quantities of skin. Maybe the man was right about subtlety?
‘Madam—?’
She opened the door and saw the saviour of a salesman had returned with an armload of other options for her to try. But now he paused and studied her with a critical eye.
‘Yes.’ He nodded as she stood in front of the mirror and she felt as if he actually meant it. ‘Our dresses never date,’ he informed her confidently. ‘And they never lose their value.’
Didn’t they? She could well believe that, given they were beautifully tailored and had that sleek sort of design that was recognised the world over. And if they didn’t lose their value, then perhaps, as soon as these few weeks were over, she could auction any dresses she bought and then give the proceeds to charity?
That would definitely work. She’d be making Alejandro pay, but for her own benefit—not ultimately. And if she did that, then she could spend every last penny of his ridiculous ‘budget’ just to serve him right. She turned to the assistant, inspired and more enthusiastic about shopping than she’d ever been in her life. ‘Then let’s see what else you have.’
Somehow four hours flew past. After the dress purchases, she succumbed to the temptation of some lacy lingerie. Sure, she couldn’t exactly auction those pieces, but the dresses needed the right level of support and discretion—no visible panty lines or bra straps. It wasn’t as if there was any chance of Alejandro seeing her in the lacy smalls...
And then there were shoes—but she chose only a couple of pairs to see her through.
Lastly she ducked into a beauty parlour and spent a little of her own money on a spot of personal grooming. Again, if she was going to look the part, she needed to feel it.
Six and a half hours later she got Paolo to return her to Parkes House, guiltily figuring she’d better get on with her actual ‘job’. To be honest, she didn’t quite know where to begin. There were so very many boxes, frankly she wouldn’t blame Alejandro at all if he decided to just send the lot to the rubbish dump. But she had to start somewhere—and she had to get it done.
