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‘It’s easier not to get emotionally involved when it’s only one night,’ he said stiffly.
‘Well, we couldn’t have emotional involvement, could we?’ she said sarcastically.
He almost laughed at that; she saw the quirk to his mouth and the flash in his eyes. ‘The less expectations, the better. I don’t want to hurt anyone.’
‘How considerate of you.’
‘I like to think so.’ A low purr, filled with that old arrogance.
She angled her head and pulled the strap of her bag more tightly to her shoulder. ‘Of course,’ she said conversationally, ‘I wouldn’t say that it was because you don’t want to hurt anyone.’
‘No?’
‘I’d say it was because you don’t want to be hurt yourself.’
‘No.’
‘No, you don’t want to be hurt? Or no, I’m wrong?’
‘You’re wrong.’
‘I’ve been wrong about many things, but I’m not wrong about this.’ She cleared her throat. ‘You’re afraid of intimacy.’
He laughed outright at that. ‘Not sex,’ she sighed. ‘IN.TIM.ACY. Letting someone in your life. Trusting someone. Being brave enough to rely on someone. You can’t do that. And the work thing is just the excuse you give. You don’t want to commit to anyone. You even admitted that once. And the reason is because you’re too scared.’ She snuck a breath, starting to get upset. ‘But don’t make excuses with me. Don’t come back and bother me. Don’t do that to me.’
‘I bother you?’
Of course he bothered her. She hated him for it. For not loving her the way she wanted him to. But she could be okay with it, she could get over it, so long as he stayed away. ‘All I’ve ever been is another prize for you to win. And once you’ve won, you’re done—’
‘You were never a prize to me,’ he suddenly shouted. ‘You were always—’ He broke off, closing his eyes. ‘Perfect.’ His eyes flashed open again, serious and wide and riveted on her. ‘You were the prettiest woman I’d ever seen. And the sexiest. The way you looked at me? And then I really saw you. Got to see and know the person you are. The way you did things for everyone. You cared so much for everyone. I wanted you to care for me. You were so lovely. You’re still so lovely. Not a prize, but the most precious thing. And hell, yes, I feel scared around you— when you only have to look at me to pierce through to my bones. You have always mattered to me.’ He paced away from her, then spun on his heel.
‘I never wanted to care about what people thought of me. I already knew what they thought of me and where I came from.’ He shook his head. ‘But I knew that was irrelevant to what I wanted. I’m proud of the way I’ve made a success of my life. And I won’t ever give that up—those wins are mine for ever. And I’ll keep winning. But I knew I didn’t fit in. Frankly I didn’t care. Then I met Oliver and he didn’t care at all about my background. No looks or comments. This from a guy who came from a background of such privilege—not just money, but family. He invited me to his home—the first real Christmas I’d ever had. Snow and everything—a fairy tale. And there was an angel there too. A porcelain doll with green eyes and blonde hair and her heart on her sleeve. Sweet, compassionate, caring. And when she looked at me? It wasn’t disapproval or distrust that I saw. It was desire. Raw, adult desire.’ He swallowed. ‘I wanted her. I wanted everything she had to give. Like I’ve never wanted anything from any other person before.’
The pain in Victoria’s chest spilled over. ‘Did you want her? Or was she just a symbol of it all—the family, the Christmas—that whole scene that you’d never had?’
‘I just wanted her. And I gave up what I’d found—that brotherly friendship—to try to have her.’
‘No, you didn’t. You didn’t take what you could have taken. You said it yourself—you didn’t seduce me. All you did was ask a question and I was too scared to answer it honestly.’ She shook her head. ‘I was supposed to be perfect,’ she said sadly. ‘I thought I’d lose everything. And then I lost everything anyway.’ She sighed. ‘So I’m not what you thought I was. I’m no angel. I’m not some perfect thing to be put on a pedestal. I make mistakes. I can be mean. I can’t be perfect.’ She couldn’t live up to whatever image he had of her in his head. She’d only disappoint him.
‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I know you. And I just want you all the more.’
Victoria drew a shaky breath. ‘Other women had wanted you.’
‘Yeah.’ He smiled. ‘Other women had. But you were different. You were genuine. You had a softness in you. You were so attuned to other people. So empathetic. So aware of how they were feeling. You care about how other people are feeling. You want people to be happy.’
‘It’s a weakness. I put off things that I wanted for fear of what other people might say or think or if they might treat me differently. You’re so fearless. You don’t give a damn.’
‘I’m full of fear. And I do give a damn. Both are related to you.’
‘This can’t work,’ she whispered. ‘You said yourself relationships don’t work with your lifestyle. And you can’t change, you can’t stop doing something that you love because of me. I couldn’t live with that.’
‘I’m not going to stop, I’m going to adjust. I want to set up a sailing school. I actually want to settle. If I’m with you. But I don’t want to hold you back. I know you’ve held back because of other people in your life. I know you didn’t do things because of your parents and what happened with your sister, and Oliver. I don’t want you doing that because of me. But, Victoria, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ve found myself in tricky situations before—we can find a solution to this. But you have to tell me what you want. Don’t say whatever you think I want to hear. Be honest. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. If you want me to stay, I can stay. Whatever, wherever you want.’
‘I want to work.’ She blinked back tears. She couldn’t give up her job. She needed the stimulation, the security. But she also needed love. ‘And I want to be with you. I want you. I love you too.’
His arms wrapped tight around her, pulling her in close. Noses bumped before lips touched and clung and her tears fell. He leaned back against the wall, taking her with him, so they both rested against the solid structure. The most incredible feeling of relief swept through her. Relief—and disbelief too.
‘I understand you don’t want to move.’ He spoke fast, his warm breath stirring her hair. ‘I have money. We’ll get an apartment with a nice view of the river.’
Left Bank? She pressed her face against his tee before pulling back to shake her head and laugh—albeit a bit watery. ‘I’d prefer an apartment with a view of the sea or the ocean. Whichever one.’
He frowned. ‘But what about your work?’
‘It’s transportable,’ she admitted. ‘I just need a workspace with good light and an Internet connection and a post office nearby.’ She looked at him. ‘I don’t want to lose you again either.’
‘You never will.’
She curled her fingers into his tee. She nearly had lost him again. But he’d come after her. He’d held onto her.
His heart pounded against hers. She felt his tension, realised that he truly had been afraid. As vulnerable as she. She leaned closer into him and let him soothe her with the gentle strokes of his hand down her back, the light kisses he pressed into her hair.
‘It’s taken us so long to get here,’ he said softly.
‘I can’t regret it. I won’t. I don’t. I’m not the girl I was when I first met you. I couldn’t have handled you then. I can now.’ She lifted her head and looked at him, brushed her fingers on his jaw. ‘We weren’t right for each other then.’
‘You agree we are now?’ He pulled her closer. ‘I’m not letting you go again. Not ever.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Don’t doubt it.’ He shook his head. ‘There was always something about you. There was always just this. Just us. You make me want everything.’
He kissed her. Exquisite tension built between them—delicious torture, free of undercurrents and uncertainties. Nothing forgotten, but now, there was nothing forbidden, nothing hidden. Glorious desire surged as pure happiness filled her. She loved him. And he loved her.
She leaned closer, positively clinging. His hands clamped on her hips, an iron grip, stopping her instinctive circular sway against him.
‘We need a room. Now.’ He groaned, muttered a short swearword or three. ‘I can’t breathe for wanting you.’
She laughed, enjoying the heated agony in his eyes. ‘Don’t stop breathing.’
He frantically dug a hand into his pocket. ‘I’ve got an app on my phone.’
She lifted her brows and teased, ‘Another one?’
‘Hotel finder.’ He swiped and tapped at the screen. ‘I’m locating the nearest.’
‘Liam,’ she chuckled. ‘We’re leaning against the wall of a hotel right here.’
‘We are?’ He glanced up at the flag hanging on the corner of the building. ‘Thank God. Let’s get in there.’ He peeled away from the wall and took her hand in a death grip—but she was the one who led the way.
‘Together.’ She turned her head back to smile at him.
He stopped, tugging on her hand so she stopped too. He planted a kiss on her lips and then whispered, ‘Finally and for always.’
BOOK TWO (#ulink_2af7e6a6-fc6d-52a4-b9fb-2031e0622381)
ONE (#ulink_382231d6-fa96-5ae0-b114-b6c529fb568b)
‘No. No, no, no, no, no.’ Vivi Grace shook her head at the woman who owned every minute of her existence.
‘Too bad,’ Gianetta growled, stretching out her hand, her fingers crab-snapping. ‘No option. She’s throwing one of her worst.’
No kidding. The current hissy fit would be heard three streets away and Vivi was only five feet from ground zero, her ears basically bleeding. Gritting back a helpless giggle, Vivi unclasped her bra and wriggled the straps out from the sleeves of her shirt. Good thing she stayed out back—she’d never be seen in public without boob containment. ‘The things I do for you.’ And for the spoilt brat who was the bane of her life.
‘You’re paid ridiculous amounts of money to do them.’ Gia took the bra and glided across the room in her inimitable hovercraft style.
Vivi watched, grinning at the woman’s élan. Impossible as it was, Gia was more mesmerising and unique than her million-dollar creations. But what she’d said was true and, not only did Vivi need the money, she was driven to nail every aspect of this job. It might be completely crazy at times, but she loved her work. And given her relative youth and inexperience, Vivi still felt compelled to prove herself. She had to be better than brilliant and she worked hard to be—twenty-four/three-sixty-five.
So if the brat wanted to wear Vivi’s bra, she’d wear her bra. Definitely one of the more mortifying things Vivi’d been asked to offer up in the last four years, but no real surprise. For the biggest events of the season—New York, Paris, London and this, Milan—she did whatever it took. Tonight Alannah Dixon, global supermodel du jour, would wear the ultimate haute couture design of Gianetta Forli, supreme fashion queen and Vivi’s ‘every-minute-you’re-breathing’ boss. It was the grande finale of the most fab collection and not a thing would go wrong. Not on Vivi’s watch.
As Gia handed Alannah the bra Vivi was unable to stop herself from stating the obvious. ‘You’ll need to sew it or something, I’m way wider round the ribs.’ She really shouldn’t apologise. Only an eight-year-old starving orphan would be narrower.
‘The point is you’re fuller,’ Gia muttered, already working a needle. ‘The dress needs breasts.’
So why had Gia designed it for boobs when she’d known it would be ironing-board Alannah wearing it? Vivi bit back the bitchy thought. ‘Got some stuffing?’
‘Plenty.’ Gia growled. ‘You’ve lost weight, Alannah.’
‘I couldn’t help it,’ Alannah whined as Gia deftly sewed a few last stitches into the fantasy frock. ‘I couldn’t eat last week.’
Vivi rolled her eyes. It was a guy. Alannah had lost her heart and her appetite with it. Again. She was master of the ‘crush from afar’, actors or musicians her favourite objets de lust, but when she actually met the guy in question, she was invariably disappointed in the reality. As a result, the world knew she was impossibly hard to please—which made her all the more attractive to many, many successful and overly assured men. Alannah the Unattainable.
If anyone bothered to think about it, they might call Vivi unattainable too. She didn’t do crushes, flings or full-blown affairs. She didn’t do anything. Definitely not during Milan Fashion Week. And she’d not eaten that much these last few days either, she’d been wired on nervous energy and a ‘to do’ list centuries long.
Braless and feeling as if she were bouncing all over the place, she stepped out to the main changing area to ensure everything else was going to plan. Some of the stylists saw her and immediately straightened and moved faster.
Good.
As Gia’s personal secretary she had serious kudos. She was the person responsible for organising absolutely everything and everyone knew it. If anyone wanted to get to Gia, to impress Gia, even talk to Gia, they had to get through Vivi first. She was Girl Friday, Bouncer, Therapist, Exercise Buddy, Travel Agent, Punch Bag, Publicist, Chauffeur, Cook, Calendar, Cleaner, Censor, Enforcer, Enabler, Receptionist and more, all rolled into one.
Vivi turned away from the hordes of hairdressers and stylists, mentally preparing for the clean-up and post-show party mayhem. She rolled her shoulders, uncomfortable without her bra. Not physically, but because she worked hard to maintain her scary ‘fail-me-and-you-die’ persona. There was only success or failure and she ensured all staff and contractors knew it—from her attitude, speech and image. Her crisp white shirt and tailored black skirt reflected her all-business approach. Inoffensive, unobtrusive, efficient—it wasn’t her job to look outrageous. Although just this second Vivi wished she’d worn some scarlet lace number that would’ve shown through the dress. But Gia knew Vivi always wore skin-coloured support under her starched exterior. She was nothing if not reliable.
Right now A-listers lined the front row, trying not to rip into the goody bags Vivi had ordered. She always had her pick of gifts to include; many companies sought an affiliation with Gia’s label. Most were rejected. Only the elite were accepted—ensuring they became even more sought after. For another company, getting Gia’s nod was like striking gold. Vivi didn’t go to watch their glee, she stayed out back, clipboard, laptop and phone in hand—one eye on the security screens, one eye on the models before they went to Gia for final inspection, one eye on the technicians, one eye on the clean-up already. Yeah, she needed a lot of eyes, a few ears and several extra arms as well.
Quickly checking the nearest monitor, Vivi saw the models strutting evening-wear. One second ’til Alannah claimed centre-stage with her Vivi-bra boobs. She walked back to the private dressing room to get ready for the next phase. The monitor in there didn’t capture audio but she could hear the applause thundering through the walls anyway. She paused from her manic paper-shuffling and smiled at the screen as Gia then appeared, owning the catwalk alongside Alannah, taking the adulation.
Vivi frequently pinched herself, still unable to believe she’d had the luck to land a job with Gia and then be promoted to such a coveted position. Hundreds would kill—or worse—for her job. She met amazing people, went to incredible places. But as the applause faded she sat on the leather sofa, more than a little tired. Her post-show crash was hitting too soon.
‘Vivi!’ Gia’s strident tones echoed down the corridor. ‘I need you.’
Naturally. Vivi inhaled deep, hoping for a hit of energy. Gianetta needed her for the most basic things. Not merely organisational skills and people management—being secretary to a creative genius meant hand-holding on a whole new level.
Other voices grew louder. A burst of Alannah giggles was underscored by deep male laughter. Great. Vivi frowned. Guests were coming already too? She glanced round for her jacket but it was nowhere to be seen and her bra was still sewn to Alannah’s dress.
‘We need drinks, Vivi!’ Alannah sang. ‘I’ve found a friend.’
Of course. Vivi shook her head. Time to forget about her boobs’ bounceability. She lifted one of the already opened bottles and filled a couple of the flutes on the nearby tray, briefly wondering about Alannah’s human appetite suppressant. Was he her usual elite A-list actor type, or an extremely wealthy benefactor? To be invited into the exclusive room meant he was someone. But still, he ought to have been vetted by security.
The door opened.
‘Champagne?’ Glasses in hand, she turned to offer one to the latest five-minute-flirt—and nearly fainted with shock.
Oh, no. Oh, definitely no, no, no.
Rigid—to stop her faint—she stared at the tall figure who’d stepped in after Alannah.
‘Thanks.’ Alannah pried one of the glasses from Vivi’s clawed fingers.
Vivi didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She just kept on staring.
‘This is Vivi. She does everything.’ Sweeping past, Alannah didn’t bother to tell Vivi her date’s name—managing to compliment and insult Vivi at the same time. But Vivi didn’t need Alannah to tell her who he was.
Liam Wilson.
Her long-time-ago lover. The one she’d worked relentlessly hard to forget about. Entirely. Yet faster than the burst of a champagne bubble, every memory, every sensation, every sigh, flooded back.
They’d run away together. A reckless, passionate impulse. She’d turned her back on everything—her family, her almost fiancé, her carefully planned future. And for what?
Her affair with Liam Wilson had changed the course of her life. Mostly for the better, right? But it had also brought heartbreak.
He’d broken her heart.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ Alannah purred, walking further into the room and pulling across a small screen that she’d get changed behind. Gia disappeared behind the screen too. Alannah was usually completely at ease with nudity, but never with a possible flirt in tow. She knew how to work mystery.
So Liam was Alannah’s latest crush? That’d be right—because Liam loved nothing more than a challenge. And that was fine. Of course. Because Vivi was so over him—light years over him. She’d not given him a thought in aeons.
But now he was right in front of her, a smile slowly curving his lips. Vivi remembered that smile and it hit her exactly as it had five years ago. Like the loud beat of a bass drum, one stroke set her heart on a new rhythm—led by him. But she wasn’t listening to it this time, certainly not dancing.
She turned, looked at the glass in her hand, tempted to lift the thing and drain it—and then the rest of the bottle. But that would be telling and she wasn’t letting him know how much his appearance had thrown her. Nor was she ever letting him know how badly he’d hurt her—not when he was here chasing someone else. Not when he was looking so, so...fine.
She turned back and offered him the glass. ‘Champagne?’ she repeated, pleased her voice sounded almost normal.
He was still looking right at her and his smile deepened. ‘Thank you.’
The tips of his fingers brushed hers as he took the glass. She suppressed the shiver, turning to pour herself a glass with a slow, careful hand. She took a very small, very controlled sip. She drew a breath but her throat was totally dry—as if the liquid she’d just swallowed had evaporated. Actually it probably had, because she was unbearably hot.
So hot.
It would be rude not to look at him, right? Not to talk. Swallowing, she went back to staring.
