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‘Rafael?’
‘You should go.’ His voice was brusque; he didn’t think he could have gentled it if he’d tried. Anger was coursing through him now, a pure, clean rage. Mancini’s daughter. Did she know what her father had done? Did she realise the blood he had on his hands? Reasonably he knew she couldn’t; she must have been a child when his own father had died.
And yet...she was a Mancini. She missed her father, a man he’d hated. She’d been innocent, and he’d abused it. His feelings were a confused tangle of guilt and anger, shame and frustration. It was all too much to deal with. He needed her out of his life. Immediately.
‘You...you want me to go?’ Her voice was a trembling breath of uncertainty.
‘I’ll call you a cab.’ He reached for his trousers and pulled them on. Then, because she still wasn’t moving, he grabbed her dress and tossed it to her. It fell on her lap; she didn’t even reach for it.
She looked gorgeous and shocked, sitting in his bed, the navy sheet drawn up to her breasts, her hair tumbling about her shoulders, her eyes heartbreakingly wide.
‘But... I don’t understand.’
‘What is there to understand?’ Each word was bitten off with impatience. Innocent she might might have been, but surely she could figure out what was going on. ‘We had a one-night stand. It’s over.’ He paused. ‘If I’d known you were a virgin, I would have done things a bit differently. But as it was...’ He shrugged. ‘You seemed happy enough with how things happened.’
She blinked as if she’d been slapped, and then she lifted his chin, showing a sweet courage that made his emotions go into even more of a tailspin.
‘I was,’ she agreed with emphasis. ‘I may be innocent, but even I can tell when an exit strategy needs some work. And yours sucks.’
‘Thanks for the tip, but the sentiment remains the same.’ Rafael folded his arms, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. Too many emotions had been accessed tonight, too many raw nerves twanging painfully. He couldn’t take any more. She had to go.
Allegra took a deep breath, lifting her chin, blinking back tears. ‘Will you give me a moment of privacy to dress?’ she asked with stiff dignity, and although he could have retorted that he’d already seen her naked, Rafael didn’t have it in him to be that cruel. Her fragile courage touched him in a way he didn’t like, and he gave a terse nod before stalking from the room.
He needed a drink, something far stronger than champagne. This didn’t feel at all like he’d expected it to, needed it to. He’d been looking for satisfaction, and instead he felt more restless than ever. Restless and remembering.
‘All you have is your honour, Rafael. That’s all that’s ever left. Your honour and your responsibilities as a man.’
But he had neither now.
The door to the bedroom opened just as Rafael poured himself a generous measure of whisky. He forced himself not to turn as he heard Allegra’s heels click across the marble floor of the living area. Remained with his back to her as she pressed the button for the lift and the doors pinged open.
‘Goodbye,’ she said, her voice soft and sad and proud all at once, and then she was gone.
Alone in his penthouse suite, Rafael raised the glass of whisky to his lips. He stared out at the unending night and then, instead of drinking, he threw the tumbler against the wall, where it shattered.
CHAPTER THREE
ALLEGRA SAT DOWN in the lawyer’s office, her stomach seething with bitter memory as well as nerves. It was the day after her father’s funeral, and also of the biggest mistake of her life. She’d left Rafael’s hotel suite with her chin held high but her self-esteem, her whole self in tatters, everything in her reeling from his treatment of her.
He’d been so tender, and she’d felt so treasured. Had it all been a lie? Again? It seemed she did have to learn that lesson twice. People weren’t what they seemed. They said and did what they liked to get what they wanted and then they walked away.
And she was the one left, alone and hurting.
Except, she’d told herself last night, staring gritty-eyed at the ceiling of her bedroom in the modest pensione, she didn’t have to be hurt by this. Before it had begun she’d told herself she wouldn’t be. What they’d done together might have seemed meaningful at the time, but he was still a stranger. A sexy, selfish, unfeeling stranger. It wasn’t as if she’d loved him. She hadn’t even known him.
