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‘All Englishmen are not the dishonourable, womanising bounders you seem to think us,’ he assured her, ‘despite the way we sometimes carry on.’
His expression was penitent, though she noticed there was still an impish glimmer in his eye. The man was incorrigible!
‘Let me prove it to you.’ His tone was cajoling. ‘Let me buy you a drink tonight after the children are asleep. At the hotel, if you feel you can’t leave the premises...or don’t wish to. In the public bar,’ he added hastily, as if to show that he wasn’t still thinking of bedrooms.
As her lips parted, ready with an excuse—or, if that failed, a tart refusal—he touched her arm. ‘Please... Tonight is my last night here in Venice.’
She jumped in instinctive reaction at his touch, light as it was, the fine hairs on her bare skin bristling like a cat in fright. She’d never been so aware of a man’s touch in her life.
Repulsion, she was quick to label it. Indignation. Distaste. Anything but pleasure.
‘I don’t think so,’ she breathed. Remember Nigel, she thought wildly. Remember how charming and persuasive he was...in the beginning. She heard the baby on her back give a whimper. ‘I have to get back!’ she gasped out. ‘I have to feed the baby. G-goodbye!’
‘I’m heading back to the hotel myself,’ he said easily, obviously not getting the message—or not believing she meant it. He steered her through the crowd with his hand at her elbow, making her acutely—in—furiatingly—aware all over again of the effect of his hand on her bare skin.
‘I have to change and pick up my briefcase,’ he told her. ‘I’m meeting some of the other delegates at the Cipriani for lunch before I give my afternoon lecture.’
Which would be the last she would ever see of him, she thought with what should have been immense satisfaction. And relief. And could have kicked herself in disgust when a tiny quiver ran through her instead.
‘Please don’t let me hold you up,’ she said fractiously. ‘Holly can’t walk very fast.’
‘I’m in no great hurry.’ He altered his stride to match hers. ‘So...’ he quirked a dark eyebrow at her ‘...you fly out to Australia at the end of the week, you said. Direct from here? Or will you be going back to London first?’
‘I have to go back to London to pick up the rest of my things but I’ll be on the first available flight from Heathrow after we get back,’ she said curtly, stifling an exasperated sigh. Was there no shaking him off? Why was he being so persistent? She’d made it clear that she had no intention of seeing him tonight. Why bother chasing a girl who’d made it plain that she wasn’t interested? He was good-looking enough, sexy enough and probably rich enough to have just about any woman he chose.
It must be an ego thing, she decided with a disparaging twist of her lips. He wasn’t used to being brushed off, and was determined to foist his macho charm on her until he won her over. And once he’d succeeded he’d promptly lose interest himself, more likely than not, and back off with his precious ego intact.
Well, try your hardest, mate. Her eyes gleamed in fiery challenge. This girl’s immune to brash, charismatic Englishmen.
‘Won’t you at least tell me your name?’
Glancing up at him with cool disdain, she found herself wavering under the electrifying impact of his dark, sun-sharpened eyes. She swallowed. Well, it could hardly hurt to tell him her name. It would be petulant—impolite—not to. After all, they were guests at the same hotel. And he’d be gone tomorrow.
‘Claire.’ She was annoyed to hear a betraying huskiness in her voice. She cleared her throat, her brow puckering in irritation. ‘Claire Malone.’ She didn’t go as far as to ask him his.
He gave it anyway. ‘Adam Tate.’ He paused, then added, ‘I’ll be flying out to Australia myself in a few days. From London.’
‘You will?’ Her heart missed a beat. ‘Holiday?’ The question slipped out. She hadn’t meant to show an interest, to encourage him in any way.
‘Partly work, partly pleasure. I have business interests in Melbourne. And a wedding to attend. I also own a sheep station in the Western District of Victoria, about three hours from Melbourne. I’ll be looking after the property while my manager’s on his honeymoon.’
She had the strangest sinking feeling. A sense of fate, inevitability... almost impending doom. As she gulped, fretfully trying to dismiss it, he asked her, ‘Whereabouts in Australia do you live?’
Heat prickled along her cheeks. ‘Melbourne.’ She grimaced inwardly as she heard the husky tightness in her voice. She’d meant to toss off the answer with a careless air of unconcern, showing him that it was neither here nor there to her that they were both heading in the same direction.
‘Well, what do you know?’ She could feel his eyes boring into her averted profile, feel the wheels turning over in his mind, sense the glow of self-satisfied speculation in his eyes.
She felt an overwhelming urge to cut him off at the knees. If he imagined she was going to give him her address...agree to see him back in Australia...
‘I’m needed back home urgently.’ Her eyes were cool, her tone brusque. ‘I’m going to have my time cut out for me when I get back.’
‘Er...family problems? Illness?’ he ventured.
‘It’s my—’ She broke off with a frown. Her sister wouldn’t relish having her personal affairs discussed with a complete stranger. She’d hate it.
Poor Sally hadn’t even wanted to discuss her marital woes with her—her own sister. For months she’d denied even having any problems, making all the excuses in the world for her husband’s wild, selfish excesses. Until they’d become too difficult to hide or to bear. And by then Claire had been half a world away, working in London, only able to help by sending money—enough to save the power and phone being cut off—and offering support from a distance.
‘Do you mind if we talk about something else?’ Or not talk at all, her eyes told him with a frosty glare.
‘By all means.’ He didn’t even miss a beat. ‘You’ll also be looking for a new job when you get home...you said? An accounting job.’ He paused. ‘You can’t go back to your old firm?’
She drew in a deep, quivering breath. ‘No.’ Nigel had made that impossible. Even though based in London, Nigel, as a partner of the prestigious international firm, would be visiting the Melbourne office from time to time. He could even be transferred there for a spell, as she had been to London. Only she hadn’t lasted in the London office for her planned six months... thanks to Nigel.
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,’ she said rather snappily. It might be hard to find another job with a major accounting firm in Melbourne. Especially if Nigel got nasty and spread the word around that she wasn’t reliable—couldn’t hold down a job. He was capable of it. He saw himself as a suitor scorned. Closing his mind to the fact that he’d been unfaithful to her. ‘The girl didn’t mean a thing to me,’ had been his pathetic defence. It was obvious that neither had his brand-new fiancée.
She was relieved when the hotel came into view at last. Never had the deep pink walls and canvas awnings looked more welcome.
‘Have a good trip back,’ she said carelessly as she bundled Holly through the glass doors, which Adam Tate sprang forward to hold open for her. She didn’t mention his visit to Melbourne, hoping he’d take the hint that she had no wish to see him again.
He was far too full of himself. Far too good-looking. Too sexy. Too charming. Too disgustingly complacent. He was just like Nigel. He thought himself irresistible.
The baby was crying in earnest now. If Adam Tate had an answering comment, she didn’t hear it as she dashed across the hotel lobby and up the stairs, not wanting to wait around for the lift and give him a chance to catch up with her.
She had absolutely no wish in the world to see him ever again.
It was that same night that everything blew up in her face.
After putting Holly and the baby to bed and waiting for a while until both were sleeping peacefully, she seized her chance to slip up to the rooftop garden to breathe in some fresh evening air before returning to her own room next door to theirs.
There was a stunning sunset. The graceful spires and domes of Venice rose in stark black outline against the blood-red sky. It reminded her of what the dark-eyed Englishman, Adam Tate, had said—You should be watching the sunset with a man...
She stirred restlessly. And wished suddenly that she’d never come up here...wished in the next breath that she’d never met him. He was everything she despised in a man. And yet—
She heard a sound behind her. The hairs at her nape lifted. It couldn’t be...him?
‘Claire! I thought I might find you up here.’
A familiar English voice...but not his. She swung round, her lips parting in surprise as she saw a bulky figure take shape in the gathering dusk.
It was Holly’s father, Hugo Dann. Her employer. Still dressed as he’d been when he and his wife had sallied off earlier to a cocktail party and dinner at the Gritti Palace. Except for his jacket, which he’d discarded somewhere on the way up.
She flicked her tongue over her lips. ‘Mr Dann! Did—did you forget something? The children are asleep,’ she added quickly, in case he thought she was neglecting her duties.
‘I know—I just looked in on them.’ He sauntered closer. ‘I decided not to stay for the dinner because I wanted to go through some notes before tomorrow. My wife’s coming back later with friends.’
Her skin prickled. She had the feeling that he was telling her about his wife for a reason. To let her know they weren’t likely to be disturbed? She swallowed. All men are not like Nigel, you fool. But the way he was looking at her...and she could smell whisky on his breath.
‘I’d better get back to my room,’ she said a trifle breathlessly. He’d never try anything there—her room was right next door to the children’s room. And she could lock her door.
‘Wait! Don’t go...’ He caught her arm as she tried to slip past him. ‘Don’t let me frighten you away, Claire. Stay and enjoy this glorious sunset.’
She had a fleeting vision of Adam Tate’s face nodding sagely, his eyes glinting with laughter... mocking her. It piqued her no end.
‘I—I’ve seen it! It—it was much better earlier...’ She looked pointedly down at his hand. Why didn’t he let her go? She tried to pull away. ‘Please, Mr Dann,’ she begged, when his grip tightened. ‘I want to go.’
‘You’re a very sexy woman, Claire.’ His voice, she noted in dismay, had thickened. ‘You shouldn’t tempt a man by being so...alluring.’
She gasped. He was blaming her for his pathetic weakness? How like Nigel he was! ‘I couldn’t help it, Claire. She was such a seductive little witch. Any man would have been tempted. It didn’t mean a thing...honestly. A moment’s stupid weakness, darling. It won’t happen again.’ Until the next time. She hadn’t given him the chance.
‘Would you kindly let go of my arm?’ She grated the words, her face twisting in contempt, to show him that she was deadly serious.
‘Just one kiss, Claire, love.’ His whisky-tinged breath assailed her nostrils, causing her to catch her breath in repulsion. ‘It won’t hurt anyone. Venice is the city of romance, remember...and you’re here all alone. It’s not fair. I can’t let you go home without at least a—’
‘No! Please, Mr Dann...’ She was angry—disgusted—rather than scared. She knew that anyone could come up to the rooftop at any moment. And he must know it, too—and wasn’t the least concerned about it. It was only his wife he was concerned about, and she was safely out of the way at the Gritti Palace.
Incredibly—ridiculously—she found herself wishing that Adam Tate would appear. He might not be her ideal knight in shining armour—in fact, he was far more dangerous, as far as she was concerned, than her tipsy, wife-fearing employer—but at least he would save her from Hugo Dann’s clutches, and while he was sorting the drunken sot out she could make her escape from both of them.
‘Gosh, Claire, you’re beautiful! You’re simply irres-irresistible!’ Suddenly he jerked her into his arms—none too gently—and clamped his open mouth down on hers, cutting off her indignant protests.
She tried to struggle free but he had her arms pinned, her lips imprisoned, and he was much stronger than she was. She tried in vain to kick him, squeaking in protest—sickened by the moist heat of his slack lips and the strong smell of alcohol on his breath.
As the clumsy assault continued she went limp in his arms, hoping that if she stopped struggling and became passive the repulsive kisses would end all the sooner. Then she could give him a sharp kick in the shins and make her escape, leaving him to repent at leisure when he sobered up.
He’d probably be begging her forgiveness in the morning, shamed and horrified at what he’d done and petrified that she would walk out on them—or tell his wife.
‘Hugo!’
That one harsh squawk achieved instantly what her struggles had failed to do. His hands dropped away, his head snapping back and spinning round.
‘Sonia...’ After an initial shocked stare he seemed to sober up as if by magic. He pushed Claire away from him, almost stumbling as he stepped back and wheeled round to face his wife. ‘Darling...Thank heaven you came! The little vixen threw herself at me!’
As Claire gasped in disbelief he gabbled on, his face noticeably puce even in the gloom.
‘I came up to see where she was. She didn’t seem to be in her room and I was worried about the children. I found her up here, mooning over the sunset. Lonely, I dare say, poor girl. Missing her boyfriend. When she saw me she fell into my arms...just like that. I’m sure it wasn’t even me she was kissing... more likely her boyfriend back home. We must be cool and calm about this, darling,’ he babbled on, ‘and try to forgive her. Blame Venice. Blame the sunset. Blame the magic of the evening...’
‘Forgive her? Are you crazy? If I can’t trust my babies’ nanny...’ Sonia slewed round to confront Claire, sheer venom in her sharp green eyes. ‘You’ll pack your bags and leave first thing in the morning! And you’ll leave with nothing, you understand? No more money from us, no air fare back to Australia—nothing but your return ticket to London, which you already possess! You can find some other way to get back to Australia... and good riddance!’
‘Darling, you can’t!’ Hugo bleated as Claire’s heart plunged to her toes. ‘We need her.’
‘I’ll pay someone from the hotel to watch over the children for the rest of the week. Or you can stay with them. She goes!’
‘But—but you can’t send her away with nothing. We promised to pay her air fare back to Australia—’
‘Are you taking her side?’ Sonia’s head jerked round, her green eyes stabbing him. ‘Maybe she wasn’t the one who instigated this shoddy little scene after all. Maybe you threw yourself at her.’
‘Sonia, no! I didn’t!’ Hugo spluttered. ‘I wouldn’t!’ The pathetic denial made Claire’s mouth twist in contempt but neither of them noticed or cared about her. Hugo was too intent on trying to save his own neck and Sonia on removing her from their lives.
‘I’ll ring the airport first thing in the morning and change the girl’s flight to the first available one back to London,’ Sonia spat back. ‘I’m not having her flying back with us at the end of the week. She goes tomorrow. And I’m damned if we’re going to finance a water taxi to the airport either. She can catch a waterbus to the railway station and get a train to the airport.’
Hugo’s teeth tugged at his lips. ‘Dear... we can’t let her go without paying her something. How about just her salary for the two days she’s been here in Venice with us...?
‘No! She doesn’t get a penny more than we’ve already given her for the children’s expenses and her food and accommodation. If she kicks up a fuss I’ll cancel her air ticket back to London as well and she can pay her own way back.’ Sonia’s lip curled. ‘She’ll manage. I’m sure she’ll soon find another rich male to latch onto.’
Claire cast her a withering look but it was spoilt when Adam Tate’s laughing dark eyes flashed back into her mind, bringing a swift flush to her cheeks. He was also leaving for London tomorrow. If the Danns found her a seat on the same flight she would have to face him again.
Well, there was no way she was going to latch onto him! Or any other good-looking Englishman. Rich or poor. She’d had it with Englishmen...once and for all!
CHAPTER TWO
CLAIRE came down to breakfast on her own, for the first time without the children. She’d already packed and had been told by a tight-lipped Sonia Dann that she was booked on the one o’clock flight back to London and to leave the hotel immediately after breakfast since it would take some time to get to the airport via waterbus and train.
‘We’ll look after the children this morning, inconvenient as it will be,’ were Sonia’s parting words, and Claire had bitten back the retort on her lips, tempted as she’d been to say a few words about mothers who found it inconvenient to have breakfast with their own children.
Her heart skipped a beat when she walked into the pretty garden courtyard where a selection of breakfast foods and drinks were spread out on tables at one end, and saw Adam Tate, sitting alone at a small table for two. He waved and beckoned.
She hesitated, inwardly cursing the erratic way her heart was leaping around in her chest. There was absolutely no reason for it. None! Should she simply ignore him? Or just wave back and head for a table of her own?
She tightened her lips as he beckoned again, more urgently this time. She would have to go over, for a second at least.
‘You wanted me for something?’ she asked, her tone lukewarm and her grey eyes cool. Cooler than she felt.
He was wearing a smart cream shirt this morning with a trendy stand-up collar, unbuttoned at the top to reveal a tantalising glimpse of brown skin. And I bet he knows how sexy he is, she thought sourly, schooling her expression to show no reaction.
‘Where are the children this morning?’
“They’ll be coming down with their parents. Later.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m leaving Venice this morning. As soon as I’ve had breakfast.’
‘Leaving? I thought you were here for the whole week. You’re all leaving?’
‘No. Just me.’ She pursed her lips. He might as well know. He was bound to hear it from someone on the staff. Sonia Dann would make sure everyone knew: ‘I’ve been relieved of my duties,’ she said shortly.
‘Oh? Making a pass at the husband, were we?’ he quipped. ‘Only joking,’ he said hastily as she speared him with a malignant glare. His dark eyes probed hers as she stood stiffly, anxious to make her escape. ‘Jealous wife syndrome would be closer to the mark, would it?’ he asked slowly, a knowing look in his eye.
She let her gaze flicker away. ‘Do you mind if I go and get myself some breakfast? I have to leave shortly.’
‘Sorry. Why don’t you grab some cereal and orange juice and join me? Silly to both take up tables when we’re here alone. Besides, I want to talk to you.’
Well, I don’t want to talk to you, her eyes told him. But politeness held the words back and returned her to his table a few moments later. Besides, it would be petty to sit at a table all by herself now that they knew each other.
‘You wanted to talk to me about something?’ she asked, her expression and body language anything but encouraging. Without waiting for an answer, she dug her spoon into her bowl of muesli—her eyes fixed to the spoon in her hand.
‘I’m leaving Venice today myself,’ he reminded her. ‘I’ll be on the BA flight at one p.m. What flight are you on?’
‘The same,’ she mumbled, without looking up. Was there no getting away from him?
‘Ah...good. You haven’t already booked a water taxi, have you?’
‘I won’t be taking a water taxi. I’ll be going by waterbus and train.’
