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'Because...because... ' Because he knows the history between us. But that was the trouble. Rupert didn't. No one did. Not really. They had kept it pretty much hidden, and afterwards she certainly hadn't confided that there had been a proposal of marriage. She suspected that they would have looked at her as if she was crazy to turn a man like Cesare down.
So she had locked it away, thinking that the less said, the sooner it would be mended. And in theory it should have worked. A summer squall of a love affair should have just blown over—but Cesare's legacy had been to leave an inerasable memory of him stubbornly lurking in her mind.
'Rupert wouldn't have done something like that without asking me first.'
'Are you sure, cara?' he questioned cynically. 'I suggest you ask your brother.'
Sorcha's throat dried, because there was something in his eyes which told her that he was telling the truth. And she knew then that her instincts had been right after all. He hadn't just shown up at the wedding to join in the celebrations, hand over an exquisite present and say hi to all his adoring fans. 'No’ she whispered.
'Yes’ he said grimly. "But why?"
'Is that a serious question?' he demanded. 'Surely you must know that if something is not done soon, then Whittakers will cease to exist.'
Sorcha shook her head. 'That's not what I mean, and you know it. I don't believe you're operating out of the goodness of your heart. This can't just be because you've seen an ailing company and you want to increase its profitability.'
"Why else could it be?'
'Because... ’ She thought of the way he'd been looking at her, the things he'd been saying to her, the sense of something dark and sensual and unfinished between them. 'Because I think you want to sleep with me.'
He laughed softly. 'Oh, Sorcha,' he murmured. 'Of course I do. And how refreshing of you to acknowledge it so early on. I've heard of performance-related bonuses, but this puts a whole new slant on the subject!' He started laughing. 'Tell me, cara—are you offering me what in business terms is known as a golden hello?'
Her fingers were itching. She would have liked to rake them down his rugged olive cheek or to curl them around a glass of sticky liqueur and hurl it all over his pristine white shirt.
He glanced down at them. 'Don't even think of it,' he warned quietly. "We don't want a scene at your sister's wedding, do we? Or do you want to grapple with me in order to get me to kiss you?'
He rose to his feet and looked down at her with eyes which had suddenly grown hard as jet, and Sorcha stared at him, realising that beneath all the civilised veneer there was nothing but coldness in his face.
'You're going?' she questioned, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. 'I'm expecting a call.'
'Don't you know it isn't done to just disappear from a wedding breakfast before the toasts?'
'Thanks for the etiquette lesson/ he said softly. 'But I've squared it with Rupert. Just make sure you're in the office tomorrow morning first thing. Eight o'clock. I like to start early, so don't be late.'
Sorcha wanted to say something cutting and brilliant—to tell him that he had no right to order her around as if she was his subordinate. But he was right—they didn't want a
scene at her sister's wedding. She was forced to endure the sight of him leaving, while the brunette in yellow made an unseemly scramble to her feet and followed him out of the marquee.
CHAPTER FOUR
"What do you mean you had no alternative?' demanded Sorcha, raking her fingers distractedly through her hair, which was already rumpled.
She turned to face Rupert, the morning sun bright on his face as it flooded into the boardroom which was lined with framed posters advertising the famous Whittaker Sauce. Each one featured an apple-cheeked old lady stirring a steaming pot, a look of satisfaction on her face, and the splash line was: JUST LIKE GRANDMA USED TO MAKE!
Sorcha's green eyes sparked accusatory fire at her brother, but inside she was hurting. 'You mean that someone was holding a gun to your head and telling you that you had no alternative but to hire Cesare di Arcangelo to save the company? ’
'No, of course not—'
"Well, why, then? '
'You've seen for yourself how bad things are, Sorcha. And Cesare has a reputation for turning things around—look what he did for the Robinsons. Their profits went through the stratosphere! I gave him a call, not really thinking that he'd have the time available, and when he offered to come over straight away I couldn't believe it.'
'Couldn't you?' Sorcha shook her head. How naive Rupert sounded—but then he just saw Cesare for what he thought he was, without understanding the complexity of the man's nature or the deviousness of his mind. 'But I'm here, now, Rupes. I came back here specially, to be Marketing Director. Shouldn't you at least have discussed it with me first?'
There was a silence.
'But, Sorcha, you've only just started with the company,' said Rupert gently. "What with the wedding and all—I simply haven't had the chance to tell you before now, that's all.
And there's nothing really to discuss, is there? You know that Cesare's reputation is legendary. So who in their right mind would throw up an opportunity to have him work for them? '
