Mistress to a Millionaire Page 11

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘DAISY. You look wonderful.’

  She was halfway down the stairs when Slade’s dark, smoky voice from the hall below almost made her miss a step; she hadn’t noticed him sitting waiting for her to one side of the magnificent staircase.

  ‘Thank you.’ She recovered almost immediately and even managed a fairly cool smile which was the best bit of acting she’d ever done. Slade looked pretty wonderful himself. The big lean body was clothed in dark charcoal trousers and a blue silk shirt, open at the neck, but it was the way the clothes sat on the male frame that made them so eye-stopping.

  But she looked good herself—she did—and she could handle this. She had dressed quickly in the coffee-coloured dress and gold leather sandals with studded ankle straps, teaming the outfit with long gold earrings and a lacy gold bracelet, and then spent some ten minutes on her hair. She had put it up in a high knot on top of her head, securing it with a gold clip, before teasing out masses of silky curls about her face and the nape of her neck to soften the severe look. Until the new hairstyle of a few weeks before she had always worn her hair long, almost to her waist, but her shoulder-length cut meant it was free to curl much more naturally now the weight had been taken off.

  Her make-up hadn’t taken long—just a smidgen of brown eyeshadow and mascara and a dusting of silky powder on her face, along with a rich red lipstick—but when she had finished and glanced at the tall, elegant woman staring back at her from the depths of the mirror she had had to blink to make sure it was her. And then a pleased smile had spread over her face.

  She looked sophisticated! She really did; she looked sophisticated and chic and positively cosmopolitan, she’d told herself excitedly, and she’d blessed Stephanie and the gorgeous dress again as she’d picked up her matching bucket-style gold bag with studded shoulder strap and made for the stairs.

  ‘Isabella has fixed us an avocado and Parmesan salad with cold meat,’ Slade said easily as she reached his side. ‘And I thought we’d open a bottle of champagne to toast the evening. What do you say?’ The dark eyes smiled at her.

  ‘Champagne?’ Daisy stared at him rather doubtfully before she remembered her new image and managed a cultivated smile of acceptance. ‘How lovely.’ She nodded brightly.

  In actual fact she rarely drank anything more potent than the odd glass of wine, two being her limit, and if they were going to the party afterwards… But she was going to eat now as well as drink, she comforted herself quickly as Slade took her arm and they walked towards the dining room. And he had said there would be food at the party; she would just have to make sure she ate first and then kept her alcohol intake to the absolute minimum, or she could even have soft drinks? Yes, that was what she would do. And if ever she had needed a drink to fortify her it was right now, and champagne seemed to fit the bill perfectly somehow. It was just a good superior wine after all.

  Slade’s champagne was very superior. Even Daisy, with her limited knowledge of the pale-straw-coloured liquid, recognised she was drinking something out of the ordinary. And it was delicious, utterly delicious, she decided after her second glass. In fact she couldn’t remember when she had enjoyed a drink more.

  By the time Mario drove them into town for the concert Daisy was relaxed and fully determined to enjoy herself, like an excited child at its own birthday party. It didn’t occur to her that the last eighteen months had taken the sort of toll on her mind and her body that no twenty-four-year-old should have to bear, and she would have dismissed the thought had it occurred. Nevertheless, along with the champagne and the new dress and the prospect of the evening in front of her had come an almost devil-may-care exuberance that spoke volumes to the tall, dark man at her side about Daisy’s stress level.

  The concert was wonderful, the elegant domed building in which it was held fascinating, and even more so the other concert-goers—at least for Daisy. The men were dressed in an assortment of clothes from evening dress through to jeans as Slade had said, but most of the women present had dressed up, more than one Gucci and Armani outfit being evident at the party afterwards.

  Everyone seemed to know Slade and everyone wanted to speak to him, Daisy noticed, especially the female contingent, although to be fair Slade didn’t appear to be aware of the sometimes quite overt attention he was attracting. Was his indifference genuine? Daisy glanced at him from under her eyelashes as a sleek, beautiful redhead in a strapless black cocktail dress which left nothing to the imagination brushed up against him. The black eyes didn’t even flicker but she was still sceptical.

  ‘What have I done now?’ Slade’s voice was silky smooth.

  ‘What?’ The start she gave sent half her fruit juice—she had decided halfway through the concert when she’d felt her consonants blurring that she had drunk enough alcohol for one night—slurping over the side of her glass.

  ‘I know censure when I see it, I just don’t know what it’s for,’ Slade said quite pleasantly, his eyes unreadable. ‘So perhaps you’d care to enlighten me?’

  ‘Censure?’ She tried not to blush but it was a lost cause.

  ‘Censure,’ he affirmed flatly. He manoeuvred her into a corner as he spoke, moving his big body in front of her so he effectively screened her from the rest of the noisy throng. ‘So, I repeat—what have I done?’ he asked softly, watching her face.

  ‘You haven’t done anything, Slade; don’t be silly.’

  ‘You make me feel silly.’

  It was so unexpected and so un-Slade-like that Daisy’s mouth fell open in a little gape before she shut it with a snap.

  ‘Silly and perplexed and at a loss,’ he murmured softly, ‘and I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.’

  She stared at him to see if this was some kind of strange joke and then realised it wasn’t. He meant every word.

  ‘I don’t see how I make you feel like that,’ she said stiffly. ‘I haven’t said anything, have I? So how do I?’

  Hell, how he wanted to touch her. Slade kept his expression purposely blank as he looked at the lovely uplifted face. She was soft and sweet-smelling and so fresh, but there was a thread of sheer steel under that marshmallow exterior.

  ‘Because all the time I feel you are waiting for me to do something abominable,’ he said with devastating directness. ‘You look at me sometimes as though I am a nasty smell.’

  ‘I don’t!’ She was terribly flustered now and tried to glance over his shoulder but he was too tall. ‘Shouldn’t we be talking to people…?’

  ‘I’m talking to the only person I’m interested in talking to,’ he returned smoothly. ‘Now, I can accept you’ve had a rough ride over the last few years but the whole male sex isn’t tarred with the same brush as your husband, you know. Some of us actually think with our brains rather than that other essential part of our anatomy.’

  ‘Slade!’ If anyone heard them…!

  ‘And it’s no crime to notice that you are a very beautiful and very desirable woman; in fact any man who doesn’t notice that is either in his dotage or of a different sexual persuasion.’

  She stared at him but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  ‘I make no apology for the fact that I would like you in my bed, Daisy,’ he continued in an almost conversational tone of voice, ‘but that doesn’t mean I would try to trick you there or force you against your will. There’s a spark between us, something very powerful, and don’t deny it because you have felt it every bit as strongly as I have, but it takes two to tango and each partner should be absolutely sure of what they want.’

  She couldn’t believe she was having this amazing conversation. She swallowed hard and then said weakly, ‘There’s nothing between us; I work for you, that’s all.’

  ‘Now that really is being silly.’ He moved his body slightly, just enough for one hard, brawny thigh to touch hers, and she felt the contact like an electric shock, her eyes opening wide. ‘See?’ he said in a satisfied murmur.

  He was the most eg
otistical, smug, arrogant, presumptuous man she had ever met, Daisy told herself helplessly, but he was also right. Not that she would ever admit it. She would rather walk through blazing coals of fire first, but this…awareness between them had been there from the first moment they had laid eyes on each other. It was a relief to admit it at last, although she had felt safer when she had been trying to convince herself the attraction was only on her side.

  But then she had been physically attracted to Ronald too, and he to her, and look what a colossal mistake sexual desire had led her into then.

  ‘Sexual attraction means nothing.’ She had spoken her thoughts before she had time to consider their portent.

  ‘Now I’m sorry, but I would have to disagree with that,’ said Slade expressionlessly. ‘I admit it’s only part of an overall relationship between a man and a woman, but without it I’d say a couple would be struggling.’

  ‘That’s so typical of a man,’ she shot back defensively, whilst admitting to herself she was trying to steer the conversation into general rather than personal terms.

  ‘I can’t speak for other men, only myself, but I make the statement from experience,’ Slade said so matter-of-factly that for a second the import of what he was revealing didn’t dawn on her. And then she stared at him in amazement.

  Daisy expelled a long breath. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked blankly, drawn against her will to ask. She didn’t want to know anything more about this deeply disturbing and complex man; she really didn’t. Everything she did find out was drawing her further into his all-consuming orbit and that was not how she wanted it to be. Every time she saw him with Francesco, was witness to his gentleness with the boy and his love for the child, it unsettled her, and his attitude to his staff, his kindness and utter lack of pomposity—none of it was doing her any good. She needed to dislike him. In fact it was becoming more and more essential.

  Slade turned slightly, his profile to her as he said, his voice very even, ‘I had a younger brother, Giuseppe. When my father died and my mother returned to Italy he became very much more Italian than English and his great friend was Luisa’s—my wife’s—twin brother, Lorenzo. The pair of them were dare-devils, you know? Always encouraging each other in foolhardy ventures. Whether it was a result of some foolishness I don’t know but they were killed mountaineering when they were both just twenty years of age. Our families were devastated.’

  ‘Oh, Slade.’ She stared at the grim profile in horror. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘Luisa came from a large family; besides she and Lorenzo there are six other children, but probably because they were twins she took her brother’s death particularly hard. Giuseppe was my only sibling; I too was in distress. We comforted each other—friendship, nothing more at first, but Luisa became very attached to me.’ His voice was almost expressionless and tight.

  This was difficult for him. She could see it in the tense jaw and narrowed mouth as well as hear it in the purposely blank voice.

  ‘When I realised how Luisa felt I tried to end the attachment and remain friends but she became virtually suicidal. Her father was having health problems at the time, which was an added strain for her, and she had never really been close to her mother. So…’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I allowed myself to be governed by what I now see were misplaced emotions, such as pity and duty. I liked Luisa, we got on well and she was desperate to be my wife. Marriages have been built on less solid foundations and gone from strength to strength.’

  ‘But yours didn’t?’ she asked carefully.

  ‘Luisa was happy.’

  It was no answer. ‘And you?’ There was a long pause and then, as he turned to face her fully, she read the answer in his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, Slade.’ And she was.

  ‘Don’t be.’ He made an irritable movement with his head and she sensed he was regretting making himself vulnerable by revealing so much. ‘There were no almighty rows, no hard times, not really. It could have been a lot worse.’

  ‘Do you miss your brother?’ she asked gently.

  Emotion thickened his voice. ‘There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of him,’ he admitted. ‘My mother found his death very hard to come to terms with. Giuseppe was close to her—as close as I was to my father; we used to joke about it at times, say it was our parents’ choice of names that had caused it. I was named after my English grandfather, Giuseppe after my mother’s father. But we were a happy family; there was never any unhealthy rivalry or conflict between us as with some siblings. We had some good times together,’ he finished simply.

  And then his father had died unexpectedly and a few years later his brother. It must have made the shock of Luisa’s accident and Francesco’s injuries doubly hard to come to terms with, she thought intuitively. So many goodbyes in such a short time.

  ‘Let me get you another drink.’ She had been sipping her fruit juice as she had listened to him and now she handed him the empty glass without a word, watching him as he weaved in and out of the crowd who were now beginning to spill out into the garden of the lovely villa where the party was being held, which was in the same street as the concert building. A small band was beginning to play in one corner of the shadowed rectangle of lawn and the warm evening air was heavy with the scents of magnolia flowers and recently cut grass as Daisy stood by the open French windows.

  She turned from the brightly lit room and looked out over the scene in front of her, the mauve-tinted dusk mellowing the picture into fairy-tale etherealness. He had said Luisa was happy. Did that mean his wife hadn’t guessed that he didn’t love her as passionately as a man should love the woman he was married to? she asked herself silently. If that was the case he would have had to work hard to make it so. Or perhaps the fact that she had his name, his ring on her finger and, more importantly, his son had been enough for her. Oh, what did it matter anyway? She was suddenly angry with herself that it did matter so much. Luisa had died tragically young, as had her twin—two tragedies of momentous proportions—and if Slade had made her happy in the short time she had been alive that was all to the good.

  ‘Would you like to dance?’ He had come up behind her and now he placed the two drinks he had been holding on an occasional table and took her hand before she could formulate a refusal. ‘Come on, the night is still young.’

  ‘No, I don’t think…’ It was too late, she knew it was too late; they were already halfway across the small patio and approaching the other couples who were dancing closely to the strains of a waltz, the music soft and dreamy.

  ‘Vittorio is not a lover of pop or jazz,’ Slade said softly as he took her into his arms. ‘He prefers Strauss and the classics, and I have to admit there are times when they come into their own. Like now.’

  This was dangerous—he was dangerous, Daisy thought desperately as she looked into the dark eyes which were glittering with warm amusement. And the music was dangerous when it allowed him to hold her so close! But it was wonderful too, heavenly…

  She hadn’t waltzed for years, not since she was a gawky eleven-year-old at a relative’s ruby wedding, and then her partner had been an equally gawky thirteen-year-old who had trodden on her toes and smelt of the salmon sandwiches he had been consuming all night. The experience had been altogether forgettable.

  Slade did not smell of salmon sandwiches; neither did he tread on her toes.

  He had drawn her into his arms gently but firmly and now, as he swept her into the dance, she found he was a superb dancer and it was the easiest thing in the world to follow his lead.

  As the dusk deepened hundreds of tiny fairy lights twinkled on in the trees bordering the garden and Daisy felt as though she was in a dream, a dream where she was floating in the arms of a handsome and gallant knight—albeit a black knight in this case, she warned herself silently, trying to hang on to common sense.

  She had never, ever danced like this in her life, though, she thought dizzily. This was the stuff of fantasies
and daydreams, not real life. But real life told her it was Slade’s muscled strength that was holding her close, his body which was causing a warm, sensuous pleasure to flood her limbs and flush her cheeks. And she didn’t want it to stop, not ever. If they could just dance like this for the rest of their lives, close, their bodies touching and the delicious smell and feel of him all about her, she would be content. No past, no future, just a fairy-tale present where the prince had eyes only for his princess and where she was desired and adored.

  And Slade did desire her. The thought intruded as, in spite of the cool control he was exercising and the command he had over all his movements, his body demonstrated he was very aware of her soft shape against his. And she wanted him. Physically she wanted him very, very much.

  As the music stopped he held her against him for one more long moment and then he carefully put her from him, his voice husky as he said, ‘Let’s get something to eat and a drink a mite stronger than fruit juice, eh? You cannot do full justice to Vittorio’s excellent food with the liquid accompaniment of mere fruit juice; it just isn’t done.’

  ‘No?’ She smiled, trying to match his lightness, but it was hard.

  He was holding her away from him and studying her face, a sexy quirk to his mouth, and it was in that moment that a whole host of warning bells began to clang in her brain.

  ‘No.’ The quirk changed to a grin and then he dropped a kiss—a light, casual kiss—on her lips and took her hand as he began to lead her back to the house, his movements lazy and unhurried.

  She was falling for him. Her heart was thudding and she felt strangely tremulous. And not just physically either. And she mustn’t. She really mustn’t. Ronald had lived a double life and his philandering and last betrayal had killed her daughter. And she hadn’t known. At no point had she known; not even in those last few months they had been together, when she had sensed something was badly wrong, had she imagined he had another woman—that he had had many other women. He had deceived and cheated and fooled her, with his vigorous desire for her body and his smooth, lying mouth. And she couldn’t, she just couldn’t, go through any of that again. She was free now and she had to stay that way.