Interview with a Playboy (16 page)

Marco was in his office now, taking his first business phone call in three days. And over dinner tonight she was going to have to broach the subject of their interview.

She’d got to know him during their time together, and she would now be able to write about his phenomenal rise to become one of the most successful businessmen of their times, would be able to discuss his wicked sense of humour, his poverty-stricken background in Naples, the fierce sense of pride that had made him want to make his own fortune rather than rely on his mother’s family for backing.

But she still didn’t know the real reason behind his divorce. All she knew was that when he mentioned Lucinda’s name he sometimes looked unbearably sad, and it made a mockery of her previous suspicions that he hadn’t cared about his marriage.

They were pulling up anchor, Isobel noticed, and the masts were being hoisted up. Suddenly she wished that Marco was beside her—that he would put his arms around her and tell her that everything was going to be all right, that this wasn’t the beginning of the end. But there was no sign of him, and she knew she was being unrealistic—because although they’d shared a wonderful time together there had been no false promises. She knew exactly where she stood.

And this was the end.

When Marco stepped up onto the deck a little while later she was standing at the back of the ship, watching the white frothy wake they left in the water as they forged forward with some speed.

She seemed lost in thought, and whilst she was unaware of his presence he allowed his eyes to move over her, taking in every little detail of her appearance.

The long green halterneck dress that she was wearing was very sexy; it was cut low at the back, showing her honey-gold tan and her long straight spine to perfection. Her hair was twisted up on top of her head, leaving a few tendrils to spill down appealingly onto her shoulder.

Over the last few days he had watched as she had transformed before his eyes into a sophisticated and beautiful woman. Even now when he looked at her he had to do a double-take to remind himself that she was that little mouse journalist.

He moved forward, and she turned and saw him.

‘I thought you’d got lost down in that office,’ she said with a smile.

‘Yes—unfortunately having a few days off has resulted
in an in-box jammed with e-mails and a hundred voicemail messages.’

‘I haven’t dared turned my phone back on yet,’ she admitted with a shrug.

He noticed how she tried to smile, how she looked away from him so that he wouldn’t see the spark of sadness in her eyes.

‘No regrets, though…hmm?’ He put a hand under her chin and turned her so that he could look into her eyes.

‘No…no regrets,’ she admitted huskily. ‘I’ve enjoyed playing hooky with you.’ She made her voice deliberately light. And it was true. She didn’t regret a minute of the time they’d had together, and she knew the score.

‘Me too…’ He leaned closer and kissed her—a long, lingering, passionate kiss that made her melt with desire. ‘Unfortunately I’ve had to move my flight to New York forward, due to a problem in the office over there. Which is the reason we’re heading back to my villa now.’

‘I see…’ She suddenly felt very cold, despite the heat of the day.

‘But we’ve still got tonight. I won’t have to leave until about midnight.’

‘Well…that’s good.’ She tried desperately to keep the tremor out of her voice.

For a while his eyes held hers. ‘I’ve bought you a little something.’ She hadn’t noticed the long narrow box in his hand until he brought it forward with a flourish and handed it to her.

‘What is it?’ she asked with a frown.

‘Well, open it up and see.’

With shaking fingers she did as he asked, and then gasped as she saw the emerald and diamond necklace that lay inside.

‘It’s beautiful Marco…but I can’t possibly accept it.’

‘Of course you can.’

She shook her head. ‘You’ve bought me too much already.
I shall be leaving France with a large suitcase when I only arrived with an overnight bag!’

‘And your problem is…?’

Her problem was that she would trade everything just for one more day with him, she thought, swallowing hard.

‘My problem is that it’s too much.’

‘Nonsense. It’s just a trinket—a token of how much I have valued our time together.’

He reached for the box and took the necklace out to put it on for her. Just the lightest brush of his fingertips made her ache.

‘There…perfect.’ He stepped back to admire the jewellery. ‘I thought the stones would match your eyes and they do.’ He smiled. ‘You have the most incredible green eyes I have ever seen.’

‘And you have the smoothest and most charming lines,’ she said archly, and he laughed.

‘That’s what I like about you, Izzy—you always try to be oh-so-sensible.’

But not always with success, she thought wryly. In fact sometimes she felt monumentally stupid—because right at this moment she was starting to believe that she was falling in love with him, and that would be the most foolish thing ever.

The thought made her heart race with fear and she quickly dismissed the idea. She wasn’t that stupid! This had only ever been a fling for Marco—she was so out of his league that she might as well have been from another galaxy.

‘And while we are on the subject of being sensible, I have a few loose-end questions for my article.’ She tried desperately to make herself sound businesslike.

‘Well, we can’t have any loose ends,’ he said with that roguish gleam in his eyes that she knew so well.

‘I mean it, Marco,’ she said quickly.

‘And so do I.’ Marco reached for her and pulled her into
his arms. ‘And we’d better tidy all those loose ends away…
later
.’

‘Marco…’ She tried to be strong, but as usual his touch was too hard to resist and she couldn’t pull away.

‘You know what I’d like?’ he murmured, his hand moving to the tie of her halterneck. ‘I’d like to see you wearing nothing other than that necklace.’

When Isobel woke up she was lying in Marco’s arms and the cabin was in darkness.

She wondered what time it was, and a rush of panic went through her as she remembered that Marco was leaving tonight. She couldn’t believe that she had fallen asleep when they had so little time left together! But their passion had been so intense, their lovemaking so frantic, that it had just wiped her out.

‘Marco? Are you awake?’ She sat up a little, looking for the clock.

‘Yes…relax.’ He drew her back down to him and kissed her forehead.

‘What time is it? she whispered, cuddling in against him.

‘Time I was getting up. I was just trying to gather the energy and the willpower to drag myself away from you.’

‘Were you?’ She hardly dared to believe that.

He rolled over, pinning her beneath him. ‘Yes, I was,’ he murmured huskily. ‘Something very strange seems to have happened over these last couple of days. I think you have placed some sort of weird spell over me with your journalistic voodoo, because I can’t seem to get enough of you.’

She smiled. ‘Journalists don’t do voodoo.’

‘Yes, they do. They also speak with forked tongues.’ He kissed her on the lips. ‘But, hell…it’s some tongue…some voodoo…’

‘So why don’t you stay and sample some more?’

As soon as the words left her lips she couldn’t believe
that she had said them. She told herself to make some sort of joke and withdraw the suggestion, but as their eyes held she realised it was too late for that.

So she took a deep breath and continued. ‘It’s just a passing thought…but you could always miss your flight and spend one more night with me.’

He moved up onto one elbow, and for a moment she thought he was considering the option, but then he shook his head. ‘I can’t,
cara
. I have an important deal that needs signing.’

‘Yes…of course.’ She felt her skin stinging with colour as humiliation washed through her. She shouldn’t have asked. What the hell was the matter with her? she asked herself angrily. ‘You’re right—we’ve played truant long enough. I have to get back to London.’

For a moment Marco wondered if he was doing the right thing. She really did look very enticing, he thought idly. He would have enjoyed another night with her… But then he reminded himself firmly that he really was behind with work, and really did need to get to New York as soon as possible. And maybe it was for the best that they drew a line under these last few days, because in the short space of time he’d known her she had started to become addictive—and that was never a good thing. He knew himself well enough to know that it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t cut out for cosy relationships—he’d already proved that to the world.

He looked into her dark green sparkling eyes and remembered how new she was to all of this. He really didn’t want to hurt her. ‘Izzy, you knew I couldn’t make you any promises, and—’

‘Marco, I can assure you I don’t want any promises.’ She pulled away from him, the humiliation inside her intensifying. ‘I was just enjoying being in holiday mode—nothing more.’

She was sitting on the side of the bed, putting on a T-shirt.

‘Have we got time for a coffee, do you think?’ she asked lightly. ‘I don’t know about you, but I really could use one.’

‘Yeah, that would be good.’ He switched on the bedside light as she pulled on a pair of white-cropped trousers. She was still wearing the emerald necklace, he noticed, and it glinted with the same depth of fire as her eyes as she glanced over at him.

He wanted to reach for her but he forced himself not to. Instead he made himself get out of bed. ‘I’ll have a shower and see you up on deck.’

It was a relief to get out of the cabin—to stand on the deck and take deep shuddering breaths of the night air. What was wrong with her? she asked herself fiercely. She knew the score—why was she making a fool of herself by wanting more?

Marco was never going to be serious about her…they were a total mismatch. He went for beautiful models or famous actresses, and he detested journalists.

She wondered if he would have opened up to her more if it hadn’t been for her job, and for the first time in her life she wished she did something else…

Trying to pull herself together, she made her way over towards the galley. She noticed they were moored by Marco’s villa, and she couldn’t help but remember the first night, when she had come running down here in her dressing gown. That seemed like a lifetime ago. She felt like a different person now—and certainly not one driven by her career any more, she thought wryly. In fact she had hardly given her interview a second thought over these last few days.

Surely Marco realised that…didn’t he?

But whether he did or not it seemed to have made little difference. The only difference was that when she got back to London without her in-depth story she might find herself out of a job, she told herself angrily. And she really,
really
should care more about that.

There was no one in the galley—in fact, looking around,
it seemed that most of the staff had left the yacht. So Isobel made coffee herself and carried it up on deck.

Marco appeared a few minutes later. He was wearing a dark business suit with a blue shirt, and he looked so handsome she felt her senses flip.

‘I bet you haven’t really got time for coffee, have you?’ she said huskily, noticing how he glanced at his watch as he walked over to join her.

‘I do need to be leaving soon.’ He took a sip of the drink and then put it down. ‘I’ve arranged for a member of staff to pack your clothes and bring them up to the house for you. I think it would be better if you slept up there tonight.’

He sounded so crisp and businesslike. A million miles away from the way he’d been with her over these last few days. She’d thought she’d been gradually getting closer to him, but that had just been an illusion, she told herself fiercely. This was reality.

‘Fine…’ She shrugged, not really caring where she spent the night now. ‘I’ll arrange a flight home first thing tomorrow.’

‘I’ve taken care of that for you. My chauffeur will pick you up at ten.’

‘You’ve thought of everything.’

Everything except how difficult it was to leave her, Marco thought suddenly. With a frown, he glanced again at his watch. ‘Come…walk up to the house with me.
cara
.’

He reached and took hold of her hand, and she wanted to pull away from him, to angrily tell him not to touch her. But she didn’t…because she just didn’t have the willpower.

They walked in silence for a while through the darkness of the gardens, following a winding path up through the lemon trees. She could smell their fresh scent mingling with rosemary and the wild honeysuckle that climbed over the arbour leading to the patio.

‘There are some photos in the top drawer of my bureau
in the study,’ Marco told her suddenly. ‘They might help you with your article, so I want you to take them.’

‘OK…what are they of?’ she asked curiously.

‘There are some wedding snaps of Lucy and I in the Caribbean. We managed to escape the glare of the press, so no one has seen them before. There are also some photos of my parents on their wedding day.’ As they reached the top of the path he turned to look at her. ‘And just for the record, Izzy, I
did
love Lucy very much.’

‘Yes…I kind of gathered that.’ She shrugged, and something made her add softly, ‘So couldn’t you forgive her?’

‘Forgive her for what?’

‘For…’ She paused and wished she could see the expression on his face, but the patio was in darkness and he was standing in the shadow of the trees. ‘I assumed she was the one who had an affair…’ Isobel shrugged. ‘She was an actress, and—’

‘And therefore it follows that she had to be unfaithful?’ He cut across her fiercely. ‘You journalists are all the same, aren’t you? Jumping to conclusions to the last.’

‘I don’t deserve that, Marco!’ she snapped. ‘I’ve gone out of my way not to judge—not to ask painful question, and not to intrude! Is that how you think of me? As—as just another journalist?’

The question lingered between them in the darkness, and when he didn’t answer immediately she turned away, running up the steps, wanting to get as far away from him as possible.