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‘That’s not an answer.’
‘You don’t do romance or commitment. You’re not entitled to any more of an explanation,’ Flora told him loftily.
Angelo gave her a look that had the pure cutting edge of a steel blade. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. You must see that you can’t leave. What about Mariska? And your health?’
Her brain suffered from overload when he mentioned the little girl that she loved and her pregnant state in one loaded and unnecessary reminder. Turning her back and leaving Angelo might feel doable in the rawness and pain of being confronted by his true opinion of her, but the concept of walking away from Mariska straight away threatened to tear Flora apart. She closed her eyes tightly, shutting him out completely, and she didn’t move again until she heard the door close on his departure.
Angelo might be a whizz at the realistic stuff, but there was nothing practical about the powerful emotions engulfing Flora. She had fallen head over heels in love with Angelo and now she had to get over him again, detaching herself from both love and sexual hunger. And, as even looking at Angelo’s lean bronzed darkly handsome features sent a dizzy jolt of craving through her that she despised, recovering from that weakness promised to be a big challenge. The bottom line was that Angelo van Zaal had hurt her badly and inside she felt deeply hurt and foolish.
What sort of a man had chosen to believe a tabloid scandal about her rather than seek out the truth? Of course, how had the investigator chosen to represent that particular episode? Probably with his own assumptions wrapped up as facts. And hadn’t Peter, who had supposedly loved and known her through and through, chosen to disbelieve her side of the story as well? That old ‘no smoke without fire’ cliché had certainly not worked in her favour. Peter and his family had been appalled by the sleazy tabloid stories depicting her as a woman scorned out for revenge and their engagement had died on that funeral pyre of suspicion and embarrassment. Although, if she was honest, Flora ruminated wryly, her relationship with Peter had been under strain even before that.
When they had first met at university Flora had been firmly set against premarital sex and live-in relationships and determined to protect herself from that kind of potential disillusionment. Her mother, after all, had lived with her father for years before he reluctantly deigned to marry her and his unwillingness to be bound by one woman had enabled her father to cause havoc in many female lives.
Peter, who had studied accountancy while Flora had studied business at university, had come from an old-fashioned family and her uncompromising views had impressed him. His loyalty was soon stretched thin, however, when Flora won a job that paid more than twice what he was earning as well as offering the prospect of substantial bonuses. His mother and sisters had made snide comments about what a career woman Flora was turning out to be.
Unhappily for Flora, that high-flying job had swiftly turned into a nightmare. The only woman on an all-male team, Flora had found herself working for a despotic boss, who demanded that she work impossible hours and who cracked smutty jokes and made continual embarrassing comments about her figure. She had tried hard to be one of the boys and laugh his behaviour off, but the comments had ultimately led to inappropriate touching and sexual suggestions. A married man in his thirties, Marvin Henshall had had considerable success with such tactics with other female staff and Flora’s resistance had only made her a more desirable target.
When the pressure Henshall was putting her under became unbearable, Susan, one of the women in the administration office, had confided that she had been subjected to a similar campaign. Together the two women had made a complaint about Marvin to Human Resources and, from that moment on as their grievances gathered pace through official channels, Flora’s life in the office had become intolerable, with the other male staff ignoring her while Marvin ensured that her most successful client accounts were gradually parcelled out to her colleagues.
Peter had pleaded with her to find another job, but there had been nothing offering a commensurate salary and Flora’s pride had refused to allow Marvin Henshall’s victimisation, bullying and sexual harassment to go unpunished. Unhappily, however, her tribunal case had come badly unstuck when Susan backed out on her at the last possible moment and Marvin made up a sordid if credible story that was difficult to disprove. Humiliatingly, Flora had lost the case.
Her reputation destroyed by the amount of mud flung at her in the newspapers, Flora had bitterly regretted not just leaving her employment and seeking out another job. That Angelo should tax her with that tribunal case and the ludicrous accusations laid against her outraged her sense of justice and resurrected her need to be independent. She would never look at another man again, she promised herself fiercely, for sooner rather than later every man she let into her life let her down.
The following morning, Flora’s breakfast was served to her in bed. She had suffered a restless night and just to remind her that she was still not back in full control of her pregnant body she was horribly sick. What remained of her strength was sapped from her by the shower she took. Fully dressed, but weak of limb and bathed in perspiration, she lay back down on the bed to recover. Her spirit as feisty as ever, though, she used the opportunity to rearrange her thoughts and fine-tune them, because she was determined to resolve her situation with Angelo and find a viable alternative to their current living situation.
She found Angelo much more easily than she had expected in so spacious a household. With Mariska tu
cked comfortably below one arm, he was standing in front of a portrait on the wide galleried landing and talking in Dutch to the little girl.
‘Flora …’ Breathtakingly handsome in well-worn denim jeans and an open necked shirt, Angelo swung round to settle azure-blue eyes fringed by luxuriant black lashes on her.
As heat formed low in Flora’s pelvis and her nipples pinched to tingling tightness, warm colour blossomed in her cheeks. In spite of the fact that she was still angry with him, that rush of sexual response was unnervingly strong. Her niece beamed at her but continued to cling to Angelo and Flora tried to be a bigger person and not mind the fact. She joined them in front of a large gilt-framed picture of an elegant lady. ‘Who is she?’
‘My late mother. I can’t show Mariska a portrait of Willem’s mother because my father didn’t commission one.’ His wide sensual mouth quirked. ‘And even if he had, I wouldn’t have given it wall-space!’
Flora glanced at him. ‘You didn’t get on with your stepmother?’
‘She was a shrew, always picking fights with friends and family. She bullied poor Willem unmercifully. People avoided her. Sadly my father didn’t have that power.’
‘Why on earth did he marry her?’ she asked on their passage down the gracious staircase.
‘He was very happily married to my mother, who died when I was ten. He assumed that he would be equally happy in a second union and remarried hastily without truly knowing Myrna. He was very unhappy with her,’ Angelo confided grimly. ‘I still believe that the stress of living with that woman brought on the heart attack that killed him.’
‘Bad marriages can damage and hurt the children involved,’ Flora conceded, entering the drawing room, which overlooked the lush gardens and rejoiced in an array of inviting seating. ‘I’ve told you about my history and Julie’s.’
’Sí, her mother was your father’s girlfriend.’
‘But only one of them. Dad spread his favours far and wide,’ Flora admitted wryly and she reached out to accept Mariska, who was by now holding out her arms in welcome to her aunt. She smiled as she received an enthusiastic hug and stroked the little girl’s soft cheek with warm affection as she settled down on a sofa with her.
Angelo viewed them with veiled eyes. ‘I was planning to offer you a tour of the local sights today.’
Flora froze, thinking that only Angelo would dare to try and ignore their explosive and bitter argument the night before and move on so smoothly. ‘Not just at the minute. I think I should take it easy after all the travelling I did yesterday.’ Seeing renewed tension enter his lean masculine features at that refusal, Flora continued awkwardly, ‘About last night.’
‘Lying doesn’t come naturally to me,’ Angelo remarked drily. ‘I’m too accustomed to the freedom of speaking my mind.’
Flora stiffened, for it was clear that he had no regrets about having admitted his reservations about her as a person. But then, who would ever have dared to call him to account over his bluntness? She could well imagine that women eager to please the very rich and very handsome billionaire had let even the most wounding candour slide past without protest. Being labelled a gold-digger had, however, left Flora in an unforgiving mood and she had no desire to placate him. ‘I now know where I stand with you and I can’t regret that. I think I know how we can work this out.’
For a big powerful male Angelo moved with extraordinary grace, but at that assurance he stilled by the window, his simmering tension obvious in his stance. His dazzling blue eyes were bright as peacock feathers between the ebony fringes of his lush lashes. ‘How?’
