Secret Heirs: His One Night Consequence

CHAPTER TWO

‘WHO is this?’ Carys’ voice emerged as a raw croak.

It couldn’t be.

Not here. Not now.

Not after she’d finally convinced herself she never wanted to see him again. Fate couldn’t be so cruel.

Yet some wayward self-destructive impulse sent a buzz of excitement skimming along her nerves. Once she’d longed for him to make contact, to come after her, tell her he’d been wrong. Tell her…no, she wasn’t so credulous as to believe in such fantasies any more.

What did he want? Her hand tightened like a claw at her throat. A premonition of danger filled her, icing her blood.

‘You know who it is, Carys.’ Just the way he pronounced her name with that sexy Italian accent turned the word into a caress that melted her insides.

He’d always threatened her self-control. Carys remembered murmured enticements in that dark coffee voice and how he’d persuaded her to give up everything she’d worked for just for the privilege of being with him.

Fool!

She shivered and sat up straighter, berating herself.

‘Please identify yourself,’ she said tersely.

It couldn’t be him. He’d never follow her to Australia. He’d made that clear when she’d left with her tail between her legs.

But the memory of the stranger tonight at the ball, the masked man who’d made her think of him, battered at her disbelief. Wildly she shook her head, trying to clear a brain overloaded by exhaustion and stress.

Was she going mad? Seeing him, even hearing him, when she knew perfectly well he was ensconced in his oh-so-exclusive world of rich, elegant, aristocratic friends. Of high-flying business deals and blue blood and glamour.

Where people like her only provided brief amusement.

‘Don’t pretend not to know me, Carys. I have no time for puerile games.’ He paused as if waiting for her to rush into speech. ‘It’s Alessandro Mattani.’

Silence throbbed as she clutched the receiver. Her heart crashed against her ribs. She would have slid to the floor if she hadn’t already been sitting.

‘Alessandro…’

‘Mattani. I’m sure you recognise the name.’ His voice was sharp as a razor.

Recognise the name! Once she’d even hoped to share it with him.

A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to explode from her stiff lips. Carys slapped her palm across her mouth, concentrating on deep breaths. She needed oxygen.

The room spun crazily and dark spots whirled in her vision.

A clatter jerked her back to full awareness, and she looked down as if from an enormous distance to see the phone had slipped from her nerveless fingers onto the table.

Alessandro Mattani.

The man she’d loved.

The man who’d broken her heart.

A sound caught her attention and Carys looked up, suddenly aware again of her surroundings. The last of the staff were leaving and waving goodnight.

Belatedly she lifted a hand in acknowledgement.

Dazedly she looked around. The stage was set for tomorrow’s fashion show. Enormous jardinières with arrangements of exotic orchids and jungle greenery had been strategically positioned as she’d instructed. The lights were dimmed and she was alone.

But for the voice on the other end of the line. The voice of her dreams.

Tentatively, as if reaching out to touch an untamed animal, Carys stretched her fingers to the phone. She lifted it, and a deep voice barked in her ear.

‘Carys?’

‘I’m here.’

Silence, but for the impatient hiss of indrawn breath.

‘No more games. I want to see you.’

Well, bully for him. She was past the stage of worrying what Alessandro Mattani wanted.

Besides, she wasn’t foolish enough to go near him again. Even now she didn’t trust her hard-won defences against the man who’d only had to smile and crook his finger to get what he wanted from her. She’d surrendered her job, all her plans, even her self-respect to be with him.

Carys stiffened her spine and braced her palm on the table beside her.

‘That’s not possible.’

‘Of course it’s possible,’ he bit out. ‘I’m just twelve floors away.’

Twelve floors? Her heart galloped faster. Here, in Melbourne? At the Landford?

Her gaze swerved to the edge of the dance floor, instinct and disbelief warring.

‘That was you tonight? At the ball?’ If she’d been less stunned, she might have cared about how much her strained voice revealed. But she was battling shock. She had no thought to spare for pride.

He didn’t answer.

Heat sparked low in her abdomen and washed through her like a flood tide. It had been him. He’d held her in his arms.

How often had she yearned for his embrace? Despite what she’d told herself about forgetting the past.

He’d held her and she hadn’t known him?

But she had, hadn’t she? Despite the new cologne, the paleness of his once-golden skin, the scar.

Fear jolted through her, stealing her breath.

He’d been hurt! How badly? Urgent questions clamoured on her tongue.

Shakily Carys gathered the tattered remnants of control. She ignored the unspoken questions, opting for the most important one.

‘What do you want?’ Her voice sounded stretched too thin, like beaten metal about to snap under pressure.

‘I’ve already told you.’ Impatience threaded his words. ‘To see you.’

She couldn’t prevent a snort of disbelief at his words. How times had changed.

Finally pride came to her rescue.

‘It’s late. I’ve had a long day and I’m going home. There’s nothing more to say between us.’ Tentatively she slipped her feet to the floor, waiting to see if her legs would collapse under her.

‘Are you sure?’ His words, soft and deep like the alpine eiderdowns they’d once shared, brushed across her senses. His voice was alive with erotic undercurrents.

She jerked upright.

Flame licked that secret needy place deep inside her, the place that had been cold and empty ever since she’d left him. The realisation drew her anger.

No, she wasn’t sure. That was the hell of it.

‘I’m in the presidential suite,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’ll expect you in ten minutes.’

‘You have no right to give me orders.’ Belatedly she found her voice.

‘You don’t wish to meet me?’ Incredulity coloured his tone.

Had he never had a knock-back from a woman?

Certainly not from her. She’d been putty in his elegant, powerful hands from the instant she’d fallen head over heels for him.

‘The past is the past.’ At the last moment she prevented herself saying his name. She didn’t want the sound of it on her lips. It was too intimate, evoked too many memories.

‘Perhaps so. But I wish to meet you.’ His tone made it clear that he wasn’t about to go down on bended knee and beg her forgiveness.

Carys rubbed her forehead. The very thought of Alessandro, darling of the jet set, commercial power-broker and hundred percent red-hot macho Italian male on his knees before any woman was ludicrous.

‘You have ten minutes,’ he reiterated.

‘And if I don’t come?’

He took his time responding. ‘That’s your choice, Ms Wells.’ His formality in that silky smooth voice held more threat than any bluster. Or was that her imagination?

‘I have personal matters to discuss. I thought you’d prefer to do that in the privacy of my suite. Of course, I can see you instead during business hours tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘I understand you share an office with colleagues? Presumably they won’t be inconvenienced by our conversation.’

He left the sentence dangling and Carys bit her lip, imagining how her workmates would react to Alessandro and his personal matters.

‘No doubt your manager won’t mind you taking time off to deal with a private matter,’ he purred in that outrageously delicious accent. ‘Even though I understand you’re only here on an extended probation?’

Carys’ jaw dropped. He’d had her records investigated! How else could he know about her long probation period since she’d been employed without completing her qualifications?

Those employment details were supposed to be confidential.

Her defensive hackles rose as the old sense of inadequacy surfaced. Of not being good enough. Not making the grade. And more, of being cornered, facing an implacable, unstoppable force that threatened to overpower her.

Defeat tasted bitter on her tongue.

Or was that fear? Fear that, despite his initial rejection, Alessandro had come to take Leo from her.

Her shoulders tightened.

‘Ten minutes,’ she confirmed.

Alessandro stood at the full-length window, staring across the Yarra River to the lights of Melbourne’s cityscape.

He didn’t see them. Instead his brain conjured an image of blue-grey eyes, wide and apparently guileless.

He shifted as heat shot through his body straight from his groin at the memory of her soft body nestled against him.

From the moment he’d sighted her across the ballroom, he’d known. The awareness he’d experienced looking at her photo was nothing compared with tonight’s instant gut-deep certainty.

This woman was his.

Alessandro tossed back the espresso his butler had brewed, feeling the shot of caffeine in his blood.

His earlier flash of memory told him they hadn’t parted amicably. Hell, she’d walked out on him! No other lover had ever done that.

Yet he knew with absolute certainty there was still something between them. Something that accounted for the nagging dissatisfaction that had plagued him since the accident.

Why had they separated?

He intended to discover everything about the yawning blankness that was his memory of the months preceding his accident.

He refused to let her escape till he had answers.

From the moment he’d held her, the sense of unfinished business between them had been overwhelming. Even now he felt the low-grade hum of awareness, waiting for her.

There was more too. Not just the immediate sense of connection and possessiveness. There was an inner turmoil that surely must be long-dormant emotions.

He’d watched her, listened to her, and been dumbstruck by the intensity of his conflicting feelings.

Alessandro had harnessed all his willpower to drive himself to recover from his injuries and turn around the faltering family business. He’d blocked out everything but the need to haul the company from the brink of disaster. Everything else had been a pallid blur.

Until now no one had come close to breaking through his guarded self-possession. Not his step-mother, not the many women angling for his attention. Not his friends.

Despite his wide social circle, he was a loner like his father. The old man had isolated himself, focusing only on business after his first wife’s betrayal and desertion.

As a result Alessandro had learned the Mattani way early, concealing his boyish grief and bewilderment behind a façade. Over the years that façade of calm had become reality. He’d developed the knack of repressing strong emotions, distancing himself from personal vulnerability.

Until tonight. When he’d come face to face with Carys Wells. And he’d…felt things. A stirring of discontent, desire, loss.

He frowned. He had no time for emotions.

Lust, yes. He was no stranger to physical desire. That was easily assuaged. But the disturbing sensations churning in his belly were unfamiliar, caused by something more complex.

A knock sounded on the door. Grateful for the interruption to his unpalatable thoughts, Alessandro put down his cup and turned as the butler crossed the foyer.

Alessandro was surprised to register his shoulders stiffening, locking as tension hardened his stance.

Since when had he, Alessandro Mattani, experienced nerves? Even when the specialists had shaken their heads over his injuries, referring to complications and a long convalescence, all he’d felt was impatience to get out of hospital. Especially when he’d learned the impact his accident, so soon after his father’s death, had caused.

The commercial vultures had begun circling, ready to take advantage of the mistakes his father had made in those last months and of Alessandro’s incapacity.

‘Ms Wells, sir.’ The butler ushered her into the sitting room.

She stood as if poised for flight, just inside the door. Once more that shock of connection smacked him square in the chest. He rocked back on his feet.

Jerkily she lifted a hand to smooth her hair, then dropped it as she caught his scrutiny.

Tension, palpable and vibrating, strung out between their locked gazes.

Carys Wells looked out of place in the opulence of Melbourne’s most exclusive hotel suite. Unless, of course, she was here to provide a personal service to the occupant. Delivering a message or bringing room service.

Alessandro’s thoughts jagged on the sort of personal service he’d like her to provide.

It didn’t matter that he knew any number of more beautiful women. Clever, high achievers who combined chic style, business savvy and an eagerness to share his bed.

Something about Carys set her apart.

Her curves would horrify the perpetually dieting women he knew in Milano. Her dark hair was severely styled, if you could call scraping it back into a bun a style. Her make-up was discreet, and she wore a sensible navy suit that no woman of his acquaintance would be seen dead in.

Yet the way her face had lit with emotion earlier hinted at a more subtle attractiveness. And those legs…The sight of her shapely calves and trim ankles in high heels and dark stockings tugged at his long-dormant libido.

Alessandro’s hands flexed. He wanted to explore further, to discover if her legs were as sexy all the way up.

Instinct—or was it memory?—told him her legs were superb. Just as he knew he’d found pleasure in her neatly curved figure and her deliciously full lips.

Belatedly he dragged his gaze from the woman who’d lured him halfway around the world.

The way she sidetracked him was unprecedented. One way or another he had to get her out of his system.

‘Grazie, Robson. That’s all for tonight.’

The butler inclined his head. ‘There are refreshments on the sideboard should you require them, sir, madam.’ Not by so much as a flicker did he indicate he knew the woman before him to be a co-worker. Then he moved silently away towards the kitchen and the staff entrance.

‘Please—’ Alessandro gestured to the nearby lounge ‘—take a seat.’

For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to accept. Finally she walked across the antique carpet to sit in a cavernous wing chair. The glow of lamps lit her face, revealing a tension around her pursed lips he hadn’t noticed before. She looked tired.

Alessandro flicked a look at his watch. It was very late. He’d become accustomed to working long into the night, fuelled by caffeine and his own formidable drive.

Conscience niggled. He should have left this till tomorrow. But he’d been unable to ignore the edgy frustration that drove him relentlessly. He was so close he couldn’t rest till he had answers from her.

He’d already been stymied once. Alessandro had confronted her at the ball only to find he’d been robbed of composure and even the power of speech by a shocking blast of recognition. He’d frozen, the one thought in his atrophying mind to hold her and not let her go.

The completeness of that instant of vulnerability had stunned and shamed him. Never had he felt at such a loss. Not in business. Definitely not in his dealings with women.

Now he was himself once more. It would not happen again.

Alessandro Mattani did not do vulnerable.

He thrust aside the momentary doubt at his tactics and strode across to the sideboard.

‘Tea, coffee?’ he offered. ‘Wine?’

‘I don’t want anything.’ She sat straighter, her chin hitched high in unspoken defiance. That spark of rebellion brought colour to her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle.

Alessandro paused, watching fascinated as she transformed from drab to intriguing in an instant. Then he turned, poured himself a small measure of cognac, and took a seat opposite her.

All the while she watched him with those luminous eyes that had captivated him the moment he saw her.

What did she see? Was she cataloguing the differences in him? It surprised him to discover how much he wanted to read her thoughts. Know what she felt. Did she too experience this gnawing tension, like an ache between the ribs?

‘I see you’ve noticed my scar.’

The wash of colour along her cheekbones intensified, but she didn’t look away. Nor did she respond.

Alessandro wasn’t vain enough to worry about his marred face. Besides, it was his wealth and position as much as his looks to which women responded. They might say they wanted a man of charm or kindness, but he knew how fickle they were. Neither marriage vows nor ties of blood between mother and child could hold them when they found someone who offered more wealth and prestige.

That didn’t bother Alessandro. He had both in abundance. If ever he wanted a woman permanently he’d have his pick. Some time in the future. Not now.

He swirled the fine brandy in its glass, inhaling its mellow scent.

‘Am I so repulsive, then?’ He shot her a look that dared her to prevaricate.

Repulsive? Carys wished he were. Then maybe she could tear her gaze away. Her heart hammered. She struggled to hide her shortened breathing as she felt the tug of his potent masculine aura.

It had always been the same. But she’d prayed time and common sense would cure her of the fatal weakness.

She met his intense moss-green gaze, recognised the way his thick dark lashes shadowed his eyes. His eyelids dropped as if to hide his thoughts. The familiarity of that expression, as much as its banked heat, made her insides squirm in mixed delight and distress.

‘You got me here to talk about your looks?’ Carys had more sense than to answer his question.