Reluctant Prisoner Page 8

  He gave a low laugh. 'Neatly observed. Continue. What about the Banuccis? What did you make of them?'

  'Those two are a totally different kettle offish,' Tanya went on, warming to her analysis. 'Giorgio strikes me as an impulsive, impatient sort of guy. He wants every nickel and dime explained to him and justified. He wants to see quick profits. Short-term results in favour of investments that might possibly yield more favourably in the longer term. And that, of course, is where Gabriella comes in. She's the more level-headed of the two, she's not in such a hurry as her husband. I doubt if she would ever oppose her husband in public, of course, but I'd bet that once they get home she'll persuade him round to your way of thinking with no trouble at all. I could see her taking mental notes of everything you said while you and her husband were arguing over the bocchini di vitello. Gabriella is your back-up system when it comes to dealing with Giorgio.'

  'Clever girl!' His hand reached out briefly and patted her knee. Automatically, she winced away. 'I had no idea you were such an astute observer, Tanya. I can see that you and I are going to make a perfect team. Your predecessor wasn't half as smart as you.'

  'Is that why you fired her?' The question was out before she could stop herself. Perversely, his praise had irritated rather than pleased her. And her knee was still tingling where he had touched her. That annoyed her too.

  'I didn't fire her, as a matter of fact. She left.' There was a hard, cold edge to his voice that told her their conversation was at an end. They drove the rest of the way to the lake in chilly silence, and Tanya was relieved when they swept at last through the tall iron portals into the grounds of the Cabrini estate.

  By the time they reached the villa, however, he appeared to have recovered from his flash of ill-humour.

  'I suggest a nightcap.' He motioned her through the hall to the drawing-room, evidently taking her acquiescence for granted. 'I find a drop of brandy helps me to relax after a busy day.'

  Tanya would rather have gone straight to bed, but she felt it ill-advised to make a fuss. Better to end the evening on an agreeable note, she decided. And one little brandy couldn't hurt.

  It was a big, stately room that by day looked out over the terrace to the lawns and flowerbeds and the lake beneath. Now, the heavy silk brocade curtains were drawn and low, silk-shaded table-lamps cast a soft illumination over lustrous, rose-coloured silk-hung walls. The room was furnished with a mix of deep, comfortable modern sofas and warm, well-loved-looking antiques. Tanya settled herself against the cushions of a voluminous wing-backed armchair and watched as he poured two generous measures from a bottle of Remy Martin. Then he warmed the two balloons in the palms of his hands before handing her one.

  He slipped off his jacket and flung it casually over the back of the nearest sofa before seating himself with a sigh in the armchair next to her. 'Well, that's your first day in,' he commented, taking a long, slow mouthful from his glass, then rolling the fiery liquid round in his mouth for a moment before finally swallowing it. 'I hope I haven't tired you out.'

  'Not at all. I'm quite used to working long hours—in spite of what you seem to think.'

  'Is that so?' The dark head inclined at an angle as he surveyed her through amused black eyes. The strongly chiselled features, that could appear harsh and uncompromising in some lights, were somehow softened in the pale glow of the silk-clad lamps. The finely moulded mouth curved in a smile. 'Well, you definitely will be when I'm through with you.'

  She threw him a caustic look. 'God, you really like to gloat. Do you have to keep rubbing it in all the time?'

  If the shot was intended to rebuke, it missed its mark. He continued to smile at her unrepentantly. 'So what shall we talk about instead? Eh, Tanya? Pick a subject. You're in charge.'

  The irony was hardly lost on her. She had seldom felt less in charge in her entire life. She kicked the cream leather pumps from her feet and curled her long, slender legs up under her.

  'Feet hurting?' he enquired wickedly.

  'Not a bit,' she shot back, not quite truthfully.

  'I'm glad to hear it.' Again he smiled.

  It was infuriating the way he always seemed to have the upper hand with her. Alone in his presence she felt gauche, uncertain of herself and vulnerable. And there was no logic to it. She loathed the man, detested him, and yet he seemed to wield an uncanny sort of power over her, a power that scared and thrilled her at the same time, yet a power she was utterly determined to resist.

  He was still watching her, long legs stretched out easily in front of him, his tie now discarded and the top few buttons of his shirt undone, exposing a tantalising triangle of powerful, sun-darkened chest. Broad shoulders moved sinuously against thin silk as he rolled the cognac contemplatively around in his glass. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

  Tanya took a quick mouthful of her drink and felt the liquid burn a trail of fire to her stomach. He continued to wait. The silence between them was beginning to unnerve her slightly. She pillaged her brain for something inconsequential to say—and found it. 'Have you lived here long?' she asked, and cringed inwardly. Well, you couldn't get more trite than that!

  He smiled a small smile, sensing her unease, no doubt.

  'Since I bought it—almost seven years ago.'

  'Bought it?' she responded, taken by surprise. 'But I thought it had been in your family for generations.'

  He threw back his head at that and laughed, a rich, deep laugh of genuine amusement. 'Not at all, Tanya. Don't let the coincidence of name mislead you. The Barons Cabrini who owned this estate for centuries were no relatives of mine. Unlike you, I have not a drop of blue blood flowing through my veins.' And he paused as her cheeks flushed at his words. 'Renata told me of your noble lineage.'

  Tanya shifted defensively in her chair, uncertain whether he was making fun of her or not. 'They were only very minor members of the Russian nobility. Not exactly Romanovs.'

  But the dark eyes that met hers for once held not a trace of mockery. 'You should be proud of them. They were your mother's family.' He smoothed his dark hair with one hand. 'My forebears were poor Italian peasants—until my grandparents emigrated to the United States. Strange, isn't it, how history shapes the destiny of the individual? Your grandparents were forced to flee from the country of their birth because of a revolution, mine because of poverty.'

  She waited as he smiled a low, wry smile and drained his glass—and secretly hoped that he would go on. In spite of the antipathy she felt for him, she was curious to know more about the man.

  He smiled as though he were reading her mind. 'The land of opportunity, that's where they went. And my old grandfather grabbed every opportunity that was going with both hands. Within a generation he'd built the foundations of a thriving little industrial empire. Farm machinery—that was what he started with—then radios, refrigerators. It was all very basic and unsophisticated at the time, of course, but it made him a fortune all the same.

  'Then my father came along and moved into electronics at just the right time. When my grandfather died, just over twenty years ago, my father decided to move the bulk of the family's interests back to Italy. Milan. In some ways he was a bit of a romantic, my father. Though not in others. Certainly not as far as his wife and children were concerned.'

  He paused and gazed into his empty glass, and Tanya watched him without saying a word. Just for a moment then, with that almost resentful reference to this father, he had seemed to let his iron-clad defences down. For an instant, he had appeared before her naked, vulnerable, human. But, as though it had never happened, the moment passed. 'I was about fourteen years old when my father returned to Italy,' he continued, totally composed again. 'Renata and I remained in the States with our mother. She was a third-generation New Yorker with absolutely nothing to bring her to Milan— certainly not my father. Then when she died ten years ago, I came over to join my father. It was curiosity as much as anything, I suppose—or maybe I'm a bit of a romantic too.' He shot her a smile that warn
ed her not to take that last remark too literally. Not that she was in any danger of doing that.

  'As it turned out I discovered that I liked it here. I decided to settle. Then when I heard that old Baron Cabrini had died and his estate on Lake Maggiore was up for sale, I decided to buy it. My great-great-grandmother once worked as a washerwoman on the estate. Let's just say the irony appealed to me.'

  There was a short silence, then Tanya ventured quietly, 'So the conversion of the old wash-house must have a special meaning for you.'

  'I suppose it does.' Cabrini laid down his empty glass and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. 'But we've talked enough for tonight, Tanya. Time for bed.'

  She sighed, suddenly realising how tired she was. She got to her feet with a guarded glance at the seated figure just a matter of inches away. For some reason his revelations had left her feeling even more confused. The monster had assumed a face. No longer the arrogant automaton she had believed he was. From now on, he would not be quite so easy to hate. The knowledge disturbed her.

  He had risen from his chair and was watching her. 'What are you waiting for, Tanya?'

  'Nothing.' She wanted to move away, but still she hesitated. His nearness, the raw male power of him seemed to hypnotise. She wanted to say something to break the spell, but could not think what. She felt foolish, helpless, utterly appalled at herself. But still she could not move away.

  Then it was too late. He reached out and grabbed her roughly by the arm, pulling her to him in a vice-like grip so that she felt the hard length of his lean, male body pressing against her. 'Is this what you were waiting for, Tanya?' he demanded gruffly as his mouth sought hers, his free arm clamping firmly round her waist as she sought belatedly to back away. Her feeble gasp of protest then was lost in the thrilling savagery of his kiss. A kiss that was hard, demanding, masterful, stunning her senses, sending bittersweet Shockwaves of excitement coursing through her body.

  Still she wanted to pull away, but she could not. And it was not just the hard, constraining strength of him that held her there. Some treacherous demon inside herself was urging her achingly to submit to his assault. And more than just submit. Respond. Then as his mouth began to force her lips apart so that he could deepen his kiss, a sudden panic gave her strength. But he released her almost before she started to pull away.

  Her limbs were trembling and her hand flew to cover her bruised and swollen mouth. 'You bastard!' she spat. 'You had no right to do that!'

  The dark eyes were cool, expressionless. No sign of the passion that had raged there just a moment ago. His lips curved in a cruel, sardonic smile. 'I suggest you go to bed now, Tanya. Unless you want more.'

  Speechless with fury she turned and stumbled for the door.

  'Goodnight,' he called after her on a mocking note. 'Sweet dreams.'

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tanya scarcely slept at all that night and the dreams that tormented her when she finally did manage to drop off, shortly before dawn, were far from sweet.

  The events of the previous evening haunted her. It had all started out so civilly. The dinner with Cabrini's clients in Milan had been entertaining and enjoyable, the only jarring note the brief appearance of the blonde woman in the purple catsuit. And that had had nothing to do with her! The drive back—apart from that brief lapse when she had unwisely raised the subject of his former secretary—had been pleasant enough. Even their conversation over brandy in the drawing-room, for once, had been perfectly harmonious. So why had everything suddenly gone wrong? Unless, of course, she told herself suspiciously, he had planned that little seduction scene right from the start.

  But immediately she brushed aside the idea as absurd. What had happened last night could hardly be described as seduction. A physical assault, more like. A punishment. There had been no tenderness whatsoever in his kiss, just raw, animal aggression—and afterwards, when he had let her go, only cool, amused contempt in the dark eyes. It was almost as though he had been trying to teach her a lesson. And certainly not a lesson in love.

  And she shuddered and felt herself colour at the memory. For the most disturbing part of all of it, the part she could only barely bring herself to recognise, was that she had actually wanted him to kiss her—and to go on kissing her. And shame swept through her as she recalled what clamour of sensations that kiss of his had aroused in her. Sensations she had never experienced before. Strange sensations that had scared her with their raw intensity, stampeding aside all reason, stripping her soul, inflaming a hunger she knew she could never dare to satisfy.

  She awoke the following morning with one certain resolution in her mind—that what had happened the night before must never, never happen again. Nothing in her past experience had equipped her to cope with anything like this. Sexually, she was a near-total innocent. The relationships she had known had been little more than friendships, safe and unthreatening. Fausto Cabrini, she knew with total certainty, was in an altogether different league.

  As luck would have it, she didn't even set eyes on him that day till after lunch. She arrived at her desk at eight that morning to find a pile of letters and reports to type, along with a warning note that he would be tied up on the phone for the next few hours and did not wish to be disturbed. Be grateful for small mercies, she told herself with a sigh of relief as she settled down at her typewriter.

  Around quarter to one, just as she was beginning to wonder about the arrangements for lunch, he buzzed through to her office. 'I'm waiting for a call from Kuwait,' he told her in a detached and businesslike tone of voice. 'Feel free to have lunch whenever you want. Emma will have something prepared.'

  So lunch together on the terrace, she was extremely relieved to learn, was not going to be a regular affair. Though she should have known, of course. Fausto Cabrini was not a man to do things by numbers or follow any strict routine. He had already demonstrated that pretty conclusively.

  Emma had indeed prepared something for lunch—a delicious sformato di legumi, a sort of super-sophisticated soufflé stuffed with mushrooms and tomatoes and aubergines. Tanya gulped it down hungrily—all this hard work was giving her an appetite! Then she settled back with a tiny cup of thick, black espresso to survey her surroundings with tranquillity.

  The enormous terrace where she sat ran the entire length of the villa, with doors opening on to it from both the dining-room and the sitting-room. Tubs of riotous geraniums in every shade of red and pink were spaced along the waist-high parapet, drawing the eye outwards over the immaculate lawns and down through the trees towards the lake. Tanya sighed as she drank in the heady spectacle of it all. It was perfect. Well, almost.

  A tall, lean figure in a blue tracksuit had suddenly appeared at the far end of the lawn beside the trees and was jogging now across the grass towards the terrace. Tanya had no need to look twice. She would recognise that figure anywhere. She gulped back her coffee and debated whether or not to exit hastily, but decided reluctantly to stay. He was so close now that he had almost certainly seen her, and she had no desire to make herself look like an idiot. So she sat tight, feigning nonchalance and silently cursing herself for not having noticed him before.

  He came up the stone steps to the terrace two at a time and paused at the top to grin at her. The dark hair was ruffled and a fine film of sweat shone on his brow. She felt an involuntary quickening in the pit of her stomach at the sight of him, suppressed it instantly and shaded her eyes with one hand as she somewhat self-consciously returned his smile. 'That looks like a rather energetic way to spend your lunch hour,' she observed.

  'You should try it some time, Tanya. There's nothing like a bit of physical exercise for sharpening the mind.'

  In which case, Tanya observed without humour to herself, he had little need of exercise. His mind was already more than adequately sharp.

  He crossed the space between them in a couple of strides and, without waiting to be invited, lowered his muscular frame into the vacant chair at Tanya's side. 'I've been meaning to g
ive you these.' He pulled what looked like a set of car keys from his tracksuit pocket and laid them on the table in front of her. 'The blue Alfa. It's in the garage at the back of the villa. Feel free to use it whenever you like.' He leaned back and smiled a tantalising smile. 'I wouldn't like you to feel you were being treated like a prisoner.'

  Tanya threw him a withering glance. 'What's the matter? Is your conscience bothering you?'

  He ran one sun-browned hand over his hair. 'I have no conscience, Tanya. I thought that was something you would have realised by now.' There was taunting amusement in his eyes.

  She gave a dismissive little shrug. 'I confess I wouldn't find that terribly difficult to believe. But your conscience, or the lack of it, like everything else about you, I'm afraid, is really not of the slightest interest to me.'

  'Really?'

  'Yes, really.'

  He was sitting far too close to her, not touching, yet distractingly near enough to touch. And she was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the hard male contours of his body beneath the thin tracksuit—and her body burned again, remembering that shameful kiss. She swallowed, aware that her throat had suddenly gone dry.

  'Then why are you so curious to know about my secretary?' he said. 'Why did you go to the trouble of asking Emma why she left?'

  Tanya felt herself blanch and hastily lowered her eyes from the disturbing dark gaze. She had been right to consider that exercise for the sake of sharpening his mind was really quite superfluous. The wretched man was capable of figuring out far more than was good for him. Or her. 'What makes you think I did?' she bluffed.

  'I know you did.'

  'Emma told you, I suppose.'