Far From Perfect (6 page)

He had the grace to look perplexed for a microsecond, but when he answered, his tone was as unabashed, unrepentant.

“Busted.” He put up his hands in a quick, graceful gesture of surrender.

“Why, Nick? Why spy on me?” she murmured, leaning back to let one of the hired waitresses take her barely touched plate.

“What you so dramatically call spying is merely concerned interest, Anna. Don’t you follow the course of my life too? You admitted yourself that you’re an avid reader of magazine articles.”

Heat blossomed in Anna’s face. If Lydia had revealed to him the extent of her obsession with the celebrity press, and the way it so often featured him, there was little point in denying it.

“I never said ‘avid’, and I only read those things because the mind boggles, wondering whatever you’re going to get up to next. Or who you’re going to get up to it with. There doesn’t seem to be a single high-profile woman on two continents that you haven’t been linked with.”

“Oh, that again.” He gave a cool little shake of his shining head. “It seems to me that you’re far more interested in my love life than I am myself.”

By rights, it should have been Anna’s turn to say busted and backtrack gracefully, but she couldn’t.

“The whole world can’t help but follow your love life, Nick. Those pictures at the Cannes Film Festival with Maria Rossi all over you like a rash…well, they were borderline pornographic.”

And those photos had hurt. Seeing Nick with Italy’s hottest and most beautiful young actress entwined around him had been a shock, inducing a reaction that Anna didn’t want to think about.

Nick remained unfazed.

“You’re exaggerating, Anna. And anyway, Maria is Italian, and we Italians tend towards the demonstrative. Don’t you and your
adorato
Johnson ever show affection to each other in public?”

Red mist floated in front of Anna’s eyes, and she wanted to say a very bad word and tell him it was none of his business. He’d hit a particular nerve with stinging accuracy. Martin was reserved and a little old-fashioned, and not prone to demonstrating his feelings. It was one of the main reasons she’d come to the conclusion they were completely unsuited, should go their separate ways and both be happier and better off. She longed for a touch, a possessive kiss that others might see, and unfortunately, much as she tried to deny it, her heart knew from whom she wanted those touches and kisses. Worse, she knew that if Martin had been anything like Nick, nothing on earth could have stopped him from publicly proclaiming she was his, almost caveman style.

Don’t go there!

Drawing in a deep, invisible breath, she searched for a calm centre. The only thing for it was a radical change of tack.

“Why did you offer to invest in my business, Nick?” she questioned in an undertone, “Looking for a way to get control over me or something?”

“God, you’re a cantankerous woman, Anna.” There was a silvery edge of exasperation in his voice that made Anna feel aggressive and guilty, yet at the same time a tiny bit pleased with herself. So, the mighty Niccolo Lisitano wasn’t completely unflappable after all. “Can’t you just believe that I wanted to help you? Without strings?”

“No. I can’t.”

Doggedly, she glanced around to make sure that curious ears were not tuned their way, “You’re devious, Nick, and you’re a power-tripper. And I know you’re not averse to underhanded tactics if they’ll get you what you want.”

Nick took a sip from his water glass before he replied. “And I’m not the only one,” he said, soft and low and sexy, his eyes darker now, full of sensuality and thrilling masculine threat.

Anna’s silver fork clattered onto her plate and everybody did look their way.

Was he never, ever going to let her forget that night? Was she going to have to suffer to the end of her days for once being young and foolhardy and head over heels in puppy lust with him?

It seemed that way.

“I’m sorry,
cara
, but you asked for it.”

Dripping with double meaning, his silky tone seemed to vibrate through Anna’s nerves as he reached for her hand and held it. The contact was feather-light, but infinitely unsettling.

“When I offered to invest it was a genuine offer of help. There was no agenda.” His fingertips moved, ever so slightly, and Anna felt butterflies the size of golden eagles cavorting around in her chest. “What kind of a man do you think I am that I would try to leverage you that way?”

The butterflies, and her heart, bashed wildly against her breastbone. Maybe she had misjudged him? Maybe she was overreacting? Summoning her courage, she met his gaze boldly, searching for clues.

The moment of dark, sexual threat seemed to be gone. His smile was open, guileless, almost gentle.

And yet…and yet… Surely he knew what effect the touch of his hand was having on her? All the time he was playing his Mr. Sincerity act, he was employing the dirtiest of lowdown tactics to confuse her and slyly impose his will on her.

“I don’t know what kind of a man you are, Nick.”

Her response was slow, and she was worried that the faint, almost reedy note in her voice gave her away. She had to pull herself together and not let him get to her. “In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever known. I thought I did once, but then you confounded me. I…I…” She turned away, longing to snatch back her hand, but unable to.

Back to that night again
, she thought in despair. Would its thousand-mile shadow ever lift from her life and let her forget?

“I was wrong. I admit that,” Nick said quietly, “Can’t you forgive me? Let it rest? So we can start again now and do something worthwhile?”

His voice was so beguiling that Anna felt her defenses disintegrating. Then a second later, there was the purest shock as he spoke again, his voice crisp and decisive. “Let’s talk later. This is Clive’s party. It’s neither the place nor time to debate the past…or the future.”

Anna’s head shot up and she snatched a glance at him. And saw him looking not at her, but at the table beyond. One or two of the other guests were still observing them, clearly straining their ears to the limit to follow their exchange. Even though she and Nick had kept their voices low, their body language must have been semaphoring the conflict between them.

“Of course.”

Reacquiring her bright smile and nodding to one or two people before returning her attention towards Nick, she continued quietly, “You’re right. This isn’t the place.”

With a quick squeeze, Nick released her hand, and against everything that was good sense, Anna felt instantly bereft.

“But we will talk.” His tone was hushed, but he was making a statement of intent, not asking a question.

Oh yes we will, unfortunately
, thought Anna as she nodded, not relishing the prospect of stirring things better left unstirred.

Chapter Three

At last the party was over and Anna tried to relax and reflect on the general success of the evening, but Nick’s words “we will talk” tolled in her head like a Gothic church bell in an old black and white horror movie.

At least he was back at the Savoy now, and the talk would be postponed for a few hours. Grateful for time to regroup, Anna found herself physically gasping with relief, and then told herself not to be such a ridiculous drama queen. For Carlo’s sake, she had no option but to give Nick a quick answer, but at least she had a few hours tonight to gather her wits.

The raft of post-party chores proved distracting and Anna bade farewell to the catering staff, tipping them lavishly for a job well done. She also insisted, despite strong protest, that their housekeeper, Mrs. Brewster take a paid day or two off to compensate her for her Herculean efforts during the run up to the party.

Less easy to deal with was Anna’s promise to give Lydia a full and frank report on “the Nick situation”.

Luckily, her aunt’s partiality for champagne had got the better of her, and the way Lydia shambled uncertainly into a taxi, with a vague and giggly good night, gave Anna just the respite she needed on that score too. Grinning wryly, she had a distinct feeling that Lydia would be a no show at Traditional Temps in the morning.

Finally, with the house empty, Anna returned to the front hall, planning to pop in on her father while he took his customary nightcap in the library.

But the hall yielded a shock.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, no!

Still hanging on the coat rack was a rather beautiful and unmistakable black cashmere overcoat, and on the floor beside it, a discreetly expensive overnight case had materialized from somewhere.

Why are you still here?

As if in answer, the sound of convivial male conversation drifted from the library. One voice was Nick’s, deep, assured, ever-confident—the other was her father’s, sounding almost boyish with happiness and excitement.

Uh oh, why so chipper, Dad?

A sneaking sense of dread clutched at Anna’s heart, making her feel disorientated.

No! He couldn’t have! Not without “the talk”. Not without consulting her first.

For a moment, genuine faintness gripped Anna’s entire body, but then she squashed it down ruthlessly, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists. Righteous anger boiled away the final fragments.

You always get what you want, don’t you, Nick?

Tamping down her inner comparisons of the various methods of murder and dismemberment, she strode towards the doorway.
Once you only wanted to get rid of me, and you did it without turning even one hair on your shining, arrogant head. Now, you expect me to fall in with your schemes without a single proviso of my own. And you’ve launched a pre-emptive strike so I don’t have choice in the matter!

It was no comfort at all that she’d already resolved to go through with the charade for the sake of Carlo. Nick’s high-handed action had removed her last opportunity to lay down her own ground rules first.

Game on, you sneaky arrogant swine!
Lifting her chin, she entered the library and the atmosphere of warm, male companionship and mutual backslapping.

Her father was happily installed in his favorite wing chair, and Nick was lounging on the chesterfield, his suit jacket flung across the back of it and his dark collar and tie casually loosened. Each man had a snifter of brandy to hand on a side table.

“My darling, why didn’t you tell me?” Clive sprang out of his chair with more speed and vigor than she’d seen in him in a long time, and almost threw himself across the room to embrace her. His crushing hug left her in no doubt that her worst fears had been realized.

“You’re such a sly boots, love,” he remonstrated, freeing her, his face ruddy with unadulterated joy. “I didn’t even realize that you and Nick had been seeing each other, and here he is, doing the old-fashioned thing and asking for your hand in marriage.” Clive reached for the said hand and squeezed it passionately, “I’ve said yes, of course, love, so no worries on that score.”

He’s never looked this happy before in his life
, Anna thought, desperately manufacturing a smile commensurate with a joyous engagement. It would be cruel to spoil her dad’s elation with a lack of enthusiasm.

Yet all the time, her attention gravitated like a magnet towards the tall figure of Nick, who’d unwound himself gracefully from the sofa and was walking towards her. Swimming panic lurched around in her midsection, but with a supreme effort, she forced her frozen grin into a facsimile of a loving fiancée’s greeting.

“Oh, you know me, Dad.” It was a battle royal, but she got the words out in a convincing, cheerful fashion. Even though every nerve-end was pinging now that Nick’s left arm had slid possessively around her waist. “I like to keep things quiet until I know for sure.”

The light but insistent pressure of strong male fingertips against her rib cage seemed to impress upon her the need to stay firmly on message.

“But has there ever been any doubt,
cara mia
?” he murmured in her ear, dusting a brief kiss into her hair.

Well, I’ve got mountains of it! Oceans of it!

Anna felt as if she were being crushed by a velvet vise, slowly and inexorably. Clive was clearly ecstatic over the prospect of his new son-in-law. How were they ever going to get out of this one without eventually disappointing him? And Carlo, for that matter? This might be a long, long haul if Nick’s father took time to fully recover.

“Well, it’s a relief to know that it isn’t Martin Johnson!” pronounced her father roundly, retrieving his brandy for a celebratory swig. “Can’t see what you ever saw in him.” He winked. “But that’s just you being a crafty little monkey, I guess. Martin Johnson was just a smokescreen so you could surprise your old dad with the real news.” He beamed so widely that Anna feared his face might split.

“Er…something like that.”

Nick’s
fait accompli
was going to make it even more awkward to effect an amiable break-up with Martin. Guilt engulfed her. For all his faults, Martin was a decent sort of guy and didn’t deserve this pantomime dropped on him like an anvil. At best, he’d think she’d gone off her head.

“But Martin’s really a very nice man,” she continued, her mind whirling as the fingertip pressure on her waist suddenly increased. Five points of fire were burning into her skin through the silk of her dress. A fire that expunged all thoughts of Martin and replaced them with the incandescent image of the beautiful, confident man at her side. “And he’s a good friend,” she added defiantly, trying to edge sideways without her father noticing.

“That’s as maybe.” Clive dismissed Martin with a last sip of his brandy before setting the glass aside, “But the important news is you and Nick, my dear.” He strode forward again, grasped Nick’s free right hand and shook it enthusiastically, then stretched his arms round the both of them and hugged them, “I couldn’t be happier. Really,” he finished gruffly, his eyes suspiciously bright.

Oh hell!

Anna felt teary herself at the thought of Clive’s reaction to the eventual conclusion of this charade. Martin wasn’t the only one in line for an anvil. The iniquity of Nick imposing this insane scheme on them made her want to stomp down hard on his foot and demand to know whether he’d considered
all
its possible repercussions.