His Rules: Ludlow Nights - Book1 (A Ludlow Nights Romance) (19 page)

Anastacia didn't remember paying the taxi driver.

A taxi driver who'd anxiously asked her if she was
'Okay, Luv?'

She didn't remember hurrying up the steps to the converted mansion house and frantically ringing T.C.'s bell. She didn't remember her friend running down the stairs to let her in after Anastacia had wept into the intercom. And she certainly didn't remember T.C. phoning Danni and telling her that it was a
'fucking emergency'
or T.C. placing a large glass of wine in one hand and a tissue in the other as her besties listened to every bewildering and confuddled utterance Anastacia had to say.

Except she still hadn't told them about the letter, supposedly from her father, burning a hole in her bag. She just couldn't seem to find the words. She just couldn't seem to stop crying.

"You're much better at dealing with all this shit than I am," a desperate T.C. said to a pale Danni. "This relationshippy stuff is too fucking heavy for me."

Danni moved to sit beside Anastacia and gave her a hug.

"It sounds to me as if you've just realized that you have deep feelings for Olivier and you thought he cared for you. And I think that scared you, but that you were moving past fear and in your head you were giving him a chance. And then when you saw him with this other woman, you panicked and ran here. At least, I think that's what I heard you say."

Anastacia sniffed pitifully as her eyes filled in a way that seriously pissed her off. What the hell was she doing sitting here weeping over a
man
? What was wrong with her? She hardly knew the guy. Let's face it, she had more important things to worry about.

T.C. poured herself a large glass of Pinot Noir, moved to a huge beanbag made of fluffy white sheepskin and made herself comfortable.

"Basically," she said. "He fucked your brains out the other night and you did him, too. After your experience with Jake that was a big step forward for you. I'm proud to know you, Ana Banana. Plus, it was supersonic sex, which I'm insanely jealous about by the way. He wants more than you think you're prepared to give. And if you say that he and this little beeeeeitch have the hots for each other, then I believe you believe what you thought you saw."

When Anastacia opened her mouth, T.C. took a breath and held up a finger for silence as she gulped her wine before continuing,

"However, you are not dealing with the facts, Missy. You're dealing with your
feeeeeeelings
and with what you
thought
you saw. This is not good juju, Banana. You need to talk to him and find out what the fuck is going on before you decide to put him in hospital for treating you and your
feeeeeeelings
with disrespect."

The remarks about her feelings hit the spot and for a split second Anastacia wondered if perhaps she'd overreacted? But then she remembered the look on Olivier's face and that same look in his companion's face, too. She'd made a hugely successful career out of reading people and she trusted and went with her gut on this one.

Anastacia shook her head.

"I know what I saw. On both sides there was love, T.C. A whole lotta love."

T.C. nodded.

"Okay. Whatyagonnado?"

Good question.

What was she going to do?

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"Sure you can. What about work clothes and stuff?"

Danni leaped to her feet.

"I'll sort that. I've taken delivery of a couple of pieces from the legend that is VB. They'll be perfect for a shoot. And you can show Olivier that you are absolutely fine with whomever he has in his life and that the show will go on and that it's business as usual. A cliché is a cliché for a reason. If you need to, you can fall apart later."

Anastacia dropped her head in her hands, grabbed her hair and pulled.

"God, I'm already falling apart." She lifted her head and stared with genuine bewilderment at her best friends. "How is it possible that I care so much for someone I hardly know? How?"

T.C. shrugged, took another belt of her wine.

"How the hell should I know? I don't believe in all that love-at-first-sight shit."

Anastacia's face went too pale, she actually felt the blood drain from her head.

"Who said anything about love?"

Danni patted her hand in a there-there gesture.

"Honey, you've not been the same since you set eyes on him. And I'd put real money on it that he's in the same state."

Love?

Not possible.

No way.

Panic licked up her spine, made her voice high.

"That's just crazy talk. And anyway, I'd never fall in love with a footballer."

T.C. gave her the stink eye.

"I'd be very careful bandying about the
'never'
word, Banana. The Universe is always listening. As soon as we say
never
about anything, we're basically screwed, babe. Screwed."

Ain't that the truth?

Talking about footballers, Anastacia bit her lip as she reached for her bag and brought out the lawyer's letter and handed it to T.C.

"What's that?" asked Danni.

"A letter from a dead man."

***

After Anastacia had told her story, T.C. raced across the room to a huge desk that held a PC and her laptop.

"Talk about burying the fucking lead, Banana!"

"What are you doing?" asked Anastacia.

T.C.'s fingers flew over the keys.

"Googling Christopher Rucker. We need to know what he looks like and everything about him." She stared hard at the screen and then at Anastacia. "Here he is."

She brought the laptop to the sofa.

Heart beating too fast in her throat, Anastacia laid her eyes for the first time on the man who said he was her father.

The man on the screen was good looking, mid-forties, with black hair sprinkled with grey. He had a long and lean face with razor sharp cheekbones, a long nose and a firm mouth, a strong jaw. But it was the eyes that held hers.

"We don't know for certain that he is my father. This whole thing could be a terrible misunderstanding."

"He has your eyes, Banana," whispered a tearful Danni.

While Anastacia and Danni simply stared at the face on the screen, T.C. was busy at her desktop PC.

"He's been married for twenty-two years. Wife's name is Maria. Two daughters, Chloe, 20, and Tanith, 19. God, Banana, you've got half -sisters."

Danni sprang up to look over T.C.'s shoulder.

"What do they look like?"

Anastacia just sat on the sofa, torn between shock, excitement, and a bone-deep fear. Her life was good. Her life, until Olivier Conti had entered it, had had zero complications. A father, a step-mother and two half-sisters sound pretty complicated to her.

"I don't know what to do. And I don't want to be alone. Thank you for letting me stay."

T.C.'s baby blue eyes went wide.

"My pleasure. What about Olivier?"

"What about Olivier?"

"Come on, Ana, you did the dirty deed with him
and
he slept over. It's serious."

"Tonight he's out with a beautiful brunette."

"He adores you," said Danni, giving the Devil his due. "Have a little faith. I bet there's a simple and logical explanation."

Her friend was right.

"Maybe there is. But I'm not up to hearing it tonight. I don't need any more bloody drama."

"Okay, we hear you," agreed T.C. "We need food. Chinese or Indian. Choose. Then you need a nice long bath and bed. You'll feel much better tomorrow."

At one-thirty in the morning, Anastacia was wide awake and her brain was spinning.

Everything she'd learned about Christopher Rucker was all positive. He was a well-respected businessman. And he'd been a well-respected footballer, too. He wasn't a sociopath. He was a loving husband and father. More importantly, Nico Ferranti vouched for him. So far, so good.

She just wished the jumpy nerves tap-dancing in stomach would give her a break.

Again, she read the letter clutched in her fist.

Dear Anastacia: I understand that you will be shocked to hear from me.

The hand holding the letter trembled and so did her heart, her belly.

It has taken me many days of soul-searching to work out the best way to approach you. A telephone call may have been wiser, but I was advised by Nico and by my wife, Maria, that you would need time. Writing you a letter will give you a choice and time to weigh up your decisions.

Your mother told you I was dead. I wish I could have spared you the pain of knowing that she lied. I'm not going to speak ill of the dead. What is done is done and cannot be undone. Please know that I never stopped searching for you. Never. The last time I saw you, you were nine months old. Over twenty-two years have passed, and you are a grown woman and no longer a baby. It's my belief that you have a right to know your father is still alive. I can only pray that you welcome the news. No matter the outcome, I will never regret contacting you.

If you want to meet me, if only to have many questions that need answers, please be certain in the knowledge that you are welcome in my home and in my family. I live at The Manor, outside of the town of Old Ludlow in Suffolk. The invitation does not have a time limit or conditions attached to it. If you decide to accept I want you to know that myself and my family would be pleased to have you stay as long as you need to.

If you do not contact me, I cannot deny that the decision would be a blow, but I will understand that you do not wish to engage in a relationship. But I hope that the willingness to right a terrible wrong done to both of us may persuade you to pick up the phone and talk to me.

Your loving father,

Christopher Rucker.

He had written his telephone number at the end of the letter.

Without giving herself time to change her mind, she grabbed her cell and keyed in the number.

The phone was answered on the first ring.

"Christopher Rucker?"

He had a deep and powerful voice, but it was the nerves in it that had her respond.

"It's Anastacia."

The next morning found Anastacia dressed in loose palazzo pants of black silk. And a black and white polka-dot sleeveless top, scooped at the neck and caught with a big black silk bow at the back. The outfit was fun, funky and professional, too. Black heels finished off the whole ensemble. Danni had very kindly styled her hair in a complicated twist. Strangely enough, after speaking to Christopher Rucker, she'd slept well in T.C.'s guest bedroom. Later today she'd meet her father for the first time, on her turf, in her office, and learn hard truths. And she'd deal with a man who was the lowest form of pond life that had ever crawled through a septic bog, Olivier Conti.

So this morning she was ready for anything that life was prepared to throw.

Little did she know that life was about to throw her more than one thing to deal with this morning. Life threw the kitchen sink in, too.

Ed Brookes strolled in with his team.

His cell was clamped to his ear and from the one-sided conversation, Anastacia deduced Ed's wife was having Braxton-Hicks contractions. Fair enough. She just hoped Ed's wife hung on for three more days. Linda arrived, plugged in their laptops and got right down to work, including supplying her fearless leader with a strong black coffee.

Mimi was next to come in, looking smug.

She whispered in Anastacia's ear she'd had, "Awesome morning sex."

Anastacia told her she was very pleased for her, but maybe it was too much information.

And while Mimi was cackling like a witch, Olivier strolled in hand in hand with the girl from the night before.

The red haze of fury that hit Anastacia, hit her hard.

She'd just opened her mouth to give Olivier a mouthful about bringing a bimbo to work, when said bimbo released him and made a beeline straight for Anastacia.

Anastacia's chin jerked.

Bring it on, Sista.

"You must be Anastacia," the Bimbo said in a beautifully lilting Italian accent. "My
fratello
has been telling me all about you. It is so lovely to meet you. I am Michelle, Olivier's sister."

Anastacia's jaw hit the floor, she felt it at around the time her eyes bugged from her head.

His sister?

As she stared at the girl the resemblance was more than obvious. The same hair, the same eye color, build.
Siblings
. Why on earth hadn't she seen it?

Now she turned to find an unsmiling Olivier standing with his feet apart and his arms folded, watching her with a look on his face that would scare small children and puppies.

Shitty, shit, shit
.

He looked a little bit tired.

As if perhaps he hadn't slept well.

And why hadn't he slept well? a voice wanted to know.

She cleared her throat.

In the meantime, Michelle, his
sister,
was chattering away like a little bird about how wonderful London was and how she'd surprised her brother
and how she'd broken up with her
bastardo
of a boyfriend.

"My
sister
," Olivier said in a silky voice that made Anastacia cringe inside. "Is interested in watching the filming today. I told her that it was up to you, since you are
il boss
and in control of all things. Is that not right, Anastacia?"

She was just about to respond, when the cavalry arrived in the shape of Ed who bustled up. "Right," said Ed. "Let's get this show on the road. I was thinking if we have time, we might do a gym shot. Olivier Conti working out in the state-of-the-art leisure facilities. We'd use shorts and a tight T-shirt, show off those pecs."

"Okay," Anastacia agreed, relieved to have dodged the bullet. For now. "He's got good legs, so we can focus on those. Muscled. Lean. Long. Nice legs."

For the next hour Olivier watched her, listened to her as his hair, his face, the way he moved, was picked apart again and again. And he found it hard, very hard, to be patient and long-suffering of the way Anastacia spoke about his body, his posture, his facial expressions. Again he found himself more than irked that they regarded him as a product. However, there was something... off, with her today. She was saying all the right things and doing all the right things, but it was as if she was going through the motions, as if her mind was not one-hundred-per-cent focused.

The discussions ran back and forth with Linda and even his sister's opinion on his hair style being analysed to death. He should be used to this sort of thing. After all he dealt with it on a daily basis by his coach and the technical team at Milan who analysed the way he moved, the way he played after every match. Plus, the sports press always had plenty to say, too. But he wasn't enjoying this. When Anastacia mentioned his legs again, he'd shot her a lethal side-look, which although she caught it, she ignored it. Even across the room he could smell her unique perfume. A subtle and sexy scent of the essence of woman. A scent that was driving him crazy.

After his sister had poured her heart out about her latest romantic disaster, Michelle was a magnet for the wrong type of man, he'd tried unsuccessfully to contact Anastacia last night. Finally giving up after Linda had informed him she'd no idea where Anastacia was and her phone was turned off. Of course he knew what had happened. As the taxi had driven away, he'd turned and seen Anastacia standing absolutely still with a stunned look on her face as she'd watched them. She'd seen him with Michelle and put one and one together to make two and assumed that his sister was a girlfriend, or worse. Instead of giving him a chance to introduce his sister to her last night, she'd ignored his calls, his texts and run. Why she'd run was a question he'd tormented himself with all night. Did it mean that she cared enough about him to be hurt if she thought he had another woman in his life? He didn't know whether to be happy or want to throttle her that she could have for one minute considered he was a two-timing fucking dog. That he was the type of man who would treat her with disrespect. Then he'd reminded himself, at three thirty in the morning, Anastacia hadn't had a chance to get to know him. Not properly. Maybe she could be forgiven for assuming the worst. But after what he'd seen today, the way her face went radioactive with sheer temper when she'd seen him arrive with a stranger, and then the way it had paled when she'd found out Michelle was his sister, he knew Anastacia seriously believed he would cheat on her with another woman.

How
dare
she?

Olivier promised himself that Anastacia Morgan was going to find herself in fucking deep water at the end of the day.

Three hours later, he managed to drag a very reluctant Anastacia out into the corridor.

"I hate the way you all talk about me as if I am a thing instead of a human being."

Her blue eyes were wary and puzzled all at the same time.

"You are the product."

"No. The Ferranti Boutique hotels are the product," he snapped.

Her smooth brow creased.

"Okay," she said in a reasonable tone that made him want to strangle her. "I suppose it's a matter of perspective. From yours, from ours, from our target audience, the hotels
are
the product. From the perspective of Ferranti Communications, Ed Brookes and everyone who's involved in producing the ad campaign,
you
are the hook that sells the product. If you didn't look good, sound good and move well then we'd sell nothing."

Olivier understood the sense of it, but that didn't mean that he had to like it. "I do not like feeling like a piece of merchandise."

"You are a piece of merchandise every time you step onto the pitch, every time you score a goal, every time you wear your sponsor's watch, your kit. Don't be so self-righteous about something that is actually very simple."

"I think we can agree to disagree over how we view my role in this endeavour."

He watched the wary look and something like concern enter her eyes.

"I told you that working together and seeing each other would not be easy."

His eyes stayed on hers, recognizing the signs of a barrier being erected. Now he lifted his hand to gently brush his knuckles down her hot cheek. Her tiny quiver of response pleased him. It pleased him a lot. "I told you I am not looking for easy." Then he lowered his head and whispered a kiss over her soft mouth. "Maybe we both have a point. Will you join Michelle and me for dinner?"

Her blue eyes were still wary when she nodded, but the concern had gone.

"I can't."

"Work?"

The hesitation and the way her brow creased made him study her carefully.

"No. It's personal."

Olivier decided personal could mean many things, including a man.

"Hot date?" he shot back.

Her chin lifted.

Those blue eyes flashed with temper. "Nothing romantic. It's strictly personal. And it's none of your business."

Fair enough.

But something told him she was avoiding him.

"Okay, after your dinner... meeting, we will get together."

She folded her arms, cocked her hip.

"I don't know when we'll finish."

Yep, he recognized an avoidance tactic when he saw it.

"No problem. Tonight you will be sleeping in my bed."

Anastacia jerked her chin higher.

"You're too damned sure of yourself, Olivier."

"What I am, thanks to you, Anastacia, is sexually frustrated. And we are going to have a very long talk about why you ran away last night."

Her eyes went wide, then sulky.

"But, I..."

"I saw your face from the taxi. You ran. Do not deny it."

Her sulky mouth matched her sulky eyes.

And just like that all annoyance with her simply drained away.

How could he remain angry with a woman he adored?

Now he wondered how he was going to make her his.

At every turn she challenged him and never gave an inch.

As they moved to rejoin the rest of the team, he grinned.

When had Olivier Conti ever failed to get his heart's desire?

Never.

Anastacia didn't stand a chance.