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‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he growled. ‘I’ll get my driver to drop you off at home.’
‘No, honestly, I’ll get the Tube.’
‘Isaid, my driver will drop you off,’ he repeated, with an impatient frown. ‘There’s a chauffeur-driven car at your disposal. Why do you have a problem accepting a simple favour, Nicola?’
Nicola wondered what he would say if she told him. If she explained she was frightened of getting used to this way of living. To his fancy cars and private jets. Tohim. Because wouldn’t that make it harder to deal with when it ended—as end it must? She touched the sleeve of her silk dress, her fingertips whispering over the delicate fabric. So many beautiful garments which had gone unworn because they’d spent almost every moment naked. And he had paid for them, she remembered guiltily. He had clothed her from head to foot. Did that make her beholden to him in some way? ‘What shall I do with the clothes?’ she said.
He frowned. ‘You keep them, of course. What else would you do with them?’ His phone began to ring and, although he didn’t pick up, he gestured towards the cabin door—clearly eager to get away. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
At the foot of the aircraft, he deposited a brief, hard kiss on her lips, before opening the door of one of the waiting cars for her. She turned to see him slide into a second vehicle and lift his hand in a gesture of farewell as it pulled away. But he didn’t look back, she noticed. His dark head was bent. He was already busy with something. A powerful man with more on his mind than a casual, sexual fling.
Despite his insistence, Nicola had the car drop her off at the nearest Tube station, and despite the driver’s protestations that his boss had ordered him to deliver her directly to her front door. But that was the last thing she wanted. Alessio didn’t have her address and that was how she wanted to keep it.
‘I won’t tell if you don’t tell,’ she said with a conspiratorial smile before ducking into the entrance of the London underground. Once home, she changed into jeans and a T-shirt and went round to see Stacey—panicking slightly when her brother’s girlfriend regarded her with dull eyes. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to be all glowing with health, with bouncing hair and bright eyes? The tiny bedsit felt stuffy in the oppressive summer heat and Nicola opened up all the windows before making a pot of ginger tea.
‘I’ve got the money,’ she announced, emerging from the poky bathroom, which she had briefly spritzed.
Stacey’s face was sullen. ‘Can’t I have it now?’
‘The thing is that it’s supposed to be for youandthe baby.’ Nicola smiled encouragingly. ‘So why don’t we go looking for a new place together and you can plan your new home for when Callum is released?’
Stacey shrugged. ‘S’pose.’
In a way, it was a relief for Nicola to get back to work and a routine which didn’t give her a lot of time to think. By day she worked at the gallery and in the evenings she and Stacey checked out accommodation. Some options were way better than others, but by the following week they had found a clean, modern flat close to a nursery and park. With the proceeds of her Tuscan weekend, they bought a crib, bedding and a stack of tiny baby clothes, which were stored in the brand-new chest of drawers which Nicola managed to put together herself, even though the instructions were pretty incomprehensible. She visited her brother in prison and showed him pictures of the new place, and for the first time in a long time she saw him smile. He gave her a beautiful little wooden teddy bear he had carved in one of his rehabilitation classes, and asked her to give it to Stacey.
The relentless activity kept her days filled and she was often so tired when she went to bed at night that she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. But there was only so much displacement therapy she could do before the questions she’d buried in the recesses of her mind started to nag away at her.
Alessio had said he would see her this week and she hadn’t heard from him.
Of course she hadn’t. Was she a complete idiot? The sex had been convenient because they’d been trapped in a remote Italian cottage, but now he was back in his Manhattan playground and able to date his preferred movie star, or model—whywouldhe bother contacting her? It had just been a polite way of saying goodbye.
On the plus side, she sold four paintings in quick succession and Sergio told her she was a genius.
‘Hiring you was the smartest move I ever made,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘And the most incredible thing is that you’re entirely self-taught.’
‘Thanks,’ she answered serenely.
But then, Alessio rang. A number she didn’t recognise flashed onto her screen and every instinct she possessed urged her to let it go to voicemail.
She picked it up. ‘Hello.’
‘Nicola.’
She closed her eyes, an unsteady sigh escaping her lungs. How could that single word—that velvety version of her name—make heat instantly rush to her breasts like this? ‘Alessio,’ she said huskily.
‘Ah! For a moment there I thought you were going to pretend you didn’t recognise my voice.’
‘And why would I do that?’
‘Isn’t feigned disinterest supposed to keep a manon his toes?’ he mocked.
‘Since we’ve already established that the sum of my experience with men could be written on the back of a postage stamp—how do you honestly expect me to answer that question?’
He laughed. ‘I’ll be in London on Friday.’ He paused. ‘Are you going to have dinner with me?’
Oh, God. Just the thought of it was making her pulse skyrocket. She caught a glimpse of her reflection and saw the huge, almost wild darkening of her eyes. Did he have this power overallwomen? she wondered helplessly. Could he make their bodies melt with desire, just by exchanging a few careless words on the telephone?
Tell him you’re busy. Tell him there’s no point.Remind him that you live on opposite sides of a huge ocean.
