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‘It wasn’t a suggestion, Kate. It was an order.’
‘And my answer wasn’t a suggestion either. It was a statement of fact.’ She sighed. ‘I’m very fond of George. He’s been good to me, and I want him to know that I’m here for him and his wife. Whatever the outcome of your...talk with him.’ She paused and looked at Alessandro’s averted profile. His beautiful eyes were veiled.
He turned to her before opening his door. ‘Stubborn.’
‘Yes, I can be.’ She stuck her chin out defiantly, prepared to go all the way into an argument, but there was no argument as he shrugged and stepped out of the car, waited for her to join him.
She wished she could reach into his head and see what he was thinking. She had the strangest urge to rest her hand on his forearm in a gesture of comfort, although she had no idea what she would be comforting him for—unless it was just for getting something wrong, for showing himself to be fallible like the rest of the human race.
She didn’t imagine that he liked being wrong. She thought that he had probably never been wrong about anything in his entire life—at least not when it came to business. In business—and this was a business matter after all—his judgement would always have been faultless.
‘Stubborn can sometimes be a good thing,’ he mused, glancing down at her.
‘What...what do you intend to do?’ she ventured, half running to keep up with him and longing for a bit of cool, because she was beginning to overheat in her outfit.
‘I intend to play it by ear...’
‘Can that sometimes be a good thing?’
‘I’ll let you know later. Can’t say it’s something I’ve ever done before.’
They entered the cool foyer of the hospital, and after that everything seemed to happen very quickly.
Alessandro commanded attention. How did that work when he wasn’t Canadian, wasn’t a doctor and had no connections to the hospital? It just did.
Within half an hour they knew where they could locate George, and after an hour and a half—during which time they sat in a very modern, very nice restaurant in front of cups of coffee, with Alessandro working via his smartphone and Kate pretending to be hard at it in front of her tablet—George came to meet them.
A wearily resigned George, who had obviously sussed why they had landed up in Toronto and at the hospital.
Kate’s heart went out to the older man. He was in one of his usual trademark brightly coloured outfits. She had always smiled at that. Even when he was in a suit his shirt was always jolly, his tie was always patterned, his hankies were always ridiculously gimmicky. He had told her once, laughing, that his wife chose his shirts, his daughter chose his handkerchiefs and his grandchildren chose his socks. So what chance did he ever have of looking debonair?
He seemed to have shrunk—or maybe she was only noticing that now because he looked so weary.
‘I know why you’ve come,’ were his opening words as he sat opposite them with a cup of coffee. He looked at Alessandro with resignation. ‘Of course I was going to be found out. I’d hoped that somehow I would have managed to start repaying what I... I want to say what I borrowed, but I realize, Mr Preda, that you probably won’t see it that way...’
‘You have no idea how I’m going to see it, George. So why don’t you start from the beginning and leave nothing out...?’
* * *
It was after six by the time their day was done. And every second of it had been spent at a high-voltage pace that had left Kate breathless, barely able to keep up.
Now, as she tripped along in Alessandro’s wake, she ran her fingers through her hair, which had unravelled, been scooped back up again, and then unravelled again—so heaven only knew what she looked like now. Not the consummate professional, she was betting.
‘Alessandro...’ she breathed, only realizing afterwards that it was the first time she had addressed him by his Christian name without feeling awkward.
Alessandro stopped en route to his very patient driver, who had been on call throughout the day and was probably as exhausted as she was.
He shot her an expressive and very wry look. ‘Well? Get it over and done with...’
‘What?’
‘A tender-hearted comment about my soft side... Have I turned into one of those, caring, sharing touchy-feely types who do foot massages for their loved ones every evening before running them a hot bath and cooking them a slap-up meal?’
‘I have seen a different side to you...’
‘Same side as always,’ Alessandro told her drily. ‘You’re just choosing to interpret it in a different way. There would have been no point prosecuting George.’
‘You did more than just not prosecute him,’ she pointed out.
But she wasn’t going to run away with a long explanation of exactly what had transpired over the past few hours. He might tell her that he had been as tough in his dealings as he always was, but he hadn’t.
George’s granddaughter was ill. Tears had sprung to his eyes as he had described the speed of little Imogen’s disease and their dismay when they had discovered that the prognosis in the UK was not favourable.
They had scoured the internet—searching for hope, really—and it had come in the form of a revolutionary breakthrough treatment in Toronto. But it was treatment that came at a price, and hence his dipping into money that didn’t belong to him. Because he had already used all his savings—every scrap of money that had been put aside for his retirement—on the initial consultations and the first lot of treatment.
Alessandro could have listened and stuck to the programme: You ripped me off and you’re out—save your excuses for the judge.
Even at her most optimistic she’d thought he might have acquitted George of blame, understood the extenuating circumstances and been sympathetic when it came to a repayment scheme.
Instead, he had not only heard the older man out and absolved him of having to repay the debt, but he had taken charge of everything. He had dealt with the bank, set up an account for George’s daughter, then spoken to the hospital, assured them that the treatment would be covered whatever the cost. He had also—and this had made her heart constrict—informed George that he would not have to see out his old age in penury.
Alessandro Preda, a hard man in the world of finance, a guy who was ruthless in his business dealings, had gone beyond the bounds of duty.
‘True,’ he agreed, stepping aside so that she could precede him into the car. ‘And of course he should have spoken to me before he did what he did...’ He sprawled back against the door, facing her, his handsome, lean face amused and speculative.
‘But all’s well that ends well...’ Kate inserted hurriedly. ‘Although we didn’t get to visit your client. Will that be on the agenda for tomorrow?’
‘Tell me you’re not about to stick on your business hat after the day we’ve had?’
Kate licked her lips, nervously aware of his eyes fastened to her face. She had completely forgotten throughout the course of the day that she had to be careful when she was around him. She had seen another side to him and had been swept away by the revelation.
Which didn’t change the fact that she still heartily disapproved of him on a number of fronts...
‘Because I’m too tired to start thinking about cutting deals...’
‘Of course.’
‘And I’m surprised you don’t feel the same.’
‘I suppose I could do with a little downtime...’
‘Splendid. Because tonight we’ll go out for dinner, do a little city exploring. We can both knock business on the head for a couple of hours—wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Dinner...? City exploring...?’ she asked, dry-mouthed.
‘Or you can call it “downtime”. Whatever you prefer. And you’re not going to be wearing a suit.’
‘But that’s pretty much all I—’
‘Then use the company account to buy something more suitable to wear. You have got a company account, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Then it’s settled. Today has been a day full of surprises,’ he murmured, in a soft voice that was as devastating to her senses as a caress. ‘I’ve surprised you. Now it’s your turn to surprise me... Be someone more than just the prim and proper busy little bee. Do you think you can do that? Or is it too much of an ask...?’
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u29a44239-142c-584d-bdfb-84b94218c41c)
“IS IT TOO much of an ask?”
If he had just insisted on dinner, ignored her protests, basically commanded her to relax in his company, then reluctantly she would have agreed, because she would have had no choice. And she would have donned one of her various suits because it was vitally important to maintain the boundary lines between them.
Boundary lines that, yet again, were in danger of being breached.
But that amused, mocking, “Is it too much of an ask?” question had got her back up.
How buttoned up did he think she was? Did he imagine that she was incapable of ever letting her hair down? Did he think that she was such a dull Miss Prim and Proper, glued to her tablet, that she quailed at the prospect of shedding her work clothes and taking time out to be a normal young woman?
Or maybe he thought that she just quailed when the shedding of her work clothes threatened to take place in his company. The man might have shown her a side that was curiously empathetic in his dealings with George, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still the arrogant guy who took what he wanted from women and chucked them out when he decided the time had come to move on.
But if he insisted that she go shopping—that she use the company account to buy stuff she probably would never wear again—then why not?
Toronto was full of wonderful shops. Shops that lined the streets or were packed into malls.
It was still so hot outside that she opted for the Eaton Centre. She had no idea what she intended buying. It wouldn’t take long. She loathed shopping. It was just one of those things that needed doing now and again, under duress.
Her mother had been a shopper. Kate could remember being dragged from shop to shop, spending money they could ill afford on garish outfits. By the age of eleven she had grown accustomed to sitting outside changing rooms, her head firmly planted in a book, while her mother tried on clothes. It had been toe-curlingly embarrassing. She had so desperately wanted her mother just to...tolook like all the other mothers. How hard would that have been? Plain trousers? Tops that didn’t cling or have plunging necklines? Shoes that didn’t have five-inch heels and were never, ever worn with tight white jeans? How hard would it have been for her just to avoid wearing bright red?
Her mother had never complained at the little digs she had thoughtlessly inflicted over the years. The not-so-gentle hints that maybe she should tone it down. She had laughed and told her to loosen up a little—had tried to get her out of her jeans and baggy jumpers into the occasional dress. Shirley Watson might not have been good when it came to all the stuff Kate had considered crucially important, she might have failed to take the appropriate level of interest in parents’ evenings and homework projects, but she had never tired of trying to dress her up.
Kate had resisted all those efforts, and had continued doing so even when her mother had no longer been around, trying to steer her in a different direction from the one she wanted.
So now here she was.
And as she browsed through the shops she saw herself through her mother’s eyes. Always a little drab. Never making anything of what she had been given.
Those were Alessandro’s eyes also.
A streak of rebellion coursed through her, and as she shopped she was guiltily aware that she was enjoying shopping for maybe the first time in her life.
She wasn’t buying clothes to project the image she wanted the world to see. She was buying clothes because she liked the way they looked on her. Two dresses, a skirt that reached to mid-thigh, tops that had no buttons...and shoes that had heels and weren’t black.
Though she still avoided red.
She had no idea where they would be going after the ‘city exploring’ Alessandro had suggested, but she didn’t care.
She took her time soaking in the bath, washed her hair and left it loose, so that it tumbled down her back in a cascade of waves, and wore one of the dresses she had bought—a sleek, pale coral affair that did a little clinging. And she wore the high sandals she had bought too.
As she stared at her reflection in the mirror she could feel her heart beating wildly. Because this was not the Kate Watson she had spent her life cultivating.
This was a young woman who had a life—and an exciting one.
‘Okay...’ She grinned sheepishly at the stranger in the mirror. ‘So we both know that that’s a bit of an exaggeration—but what’s the harm in having a life for one evening? Dispelling the ideas Alessandro has about me? Mum, if you could see me now, you’d be proud.’
On the spur of the moment she took a selfie and sent it to her mother, and minutes later, as she headed down to meet Alessandro in the bar, she smiled at the response she got—which was a series of exclamation marks and smiley faces.
They had arranged to meet in one of the trendier bars in the hotel and it took her a few minutes to locate Alessandro, who was sitting at the back, shielded from view by the crowds of young people milling around.
Some of those young people were turning to look at her. Kate was conscious of that out of the corner of her eye, and it gave her a heady little thrill as she took some time to look at Alessandro...
He glanced up and there she was. For a few seconds Alessandro’s mind went completely blank. He had thrown down a challenge to her—dress like a woman and not like a robot—but he had doubted she would pick up the gauntlet. He had fully expected to see her in yet another tiresome version of ‘The Suit’, complete with discreet blouse buttoned all the way up, just in case a glimpse of her neck made her feel like a tart.
Not for a single passing second had he expected...
A vision.
He had seen her in a pair of shorts and a cropped top, but not even that had prepared him for just how beautiful she was when she stripped off the suit of armour.
She was tall anyway, but her heels escalated her to nearly six foot. Her long brown hair, streaked with shades of chestnut and deep gold, flowed down her back and over her narrow shoulders, and the dress, in some peachy colour that would have made most women look washed out, was glorious against her skin tone.
Glorious, and clinging in all the right places.
A surge of purely masculine appreciation kicked in with force. He watched as she glanced through the crowded bar, noticed as eyes were turned in her direction, realized that he wasn’t the only one in the room feeling a surge of purely masculine appreciation.
He relaxed back, half smiling as she sashayed towards him.
Who would have guessed that she could sashay? But then prissy, starchy suits weren’t conducive to sashaying, were they? Neither were sensible flat black pumps...
But a peach-coloured dress that lovingly cupped generous breasts, clung to a slender waist and fell to mid-thigh with a frilly little kick was definitely the stuff that sashays were made of...
He wondered whether it would be politically incorrect to insist in the contract for her promotion that she only wear clothes conducive to sashaying...
‘I see you went shopping...’ he said, rising to his feet as she approached him. In heels, she was almost at his eye level. Eye make-up. A charcoal colour on her lids that gave her a sultry, sexy look. And just a shimmer of lip gloss, emphasizing the fullness of her lips.
An inconvenient erection was making itself felt, pushing against his zipper.
‘You were right.’ Kate sat down hurriedly. Because, unusual and satisfying as it was to garner stares from other people, her prurient streak was just a little too insistent to ignore for very long. ‘My suits are way too formal and hot for the weather over here, so I’ve invested in one or two things...’
She discreetly tugged at the hem of the dress, which had ridden up and was exposing too much thigh for her liking.
‘Very wise,’ Alessandro murmured gravely. ‘Although you might have gone to the other extreme. If you plan on wearing sexy little numbers like this during the day...it might be a little too dressy...’
Kate’s breathing hitched and her eyes widened at the slow, lazy smile that lightened his features.
‘This is just a normal...er...dress,’ she stammered, mesmerized by the gleam in his eyes. ‘Nothing that any other woman in here isn’t wearing.’
Alessandro made a show of looking around him before resting his dark eyes on her flushed face. ‘But not many of them have the body to pull it off. You must know that.’
‘I...’
