The Devil to Pay (4 page)

Yes, Daniel Bracchi was cold and serious. He was also a bit rude, and probably arrogant with it once you got to know him, but there was no denying he was also heart-stoppingly beautiful. And if this was the only night of her life she would spend an evening with a man like him, then this was it. A flash of excitement shot from her heart to her throat. Nothing would stop her making the most of it before her trial in Italy. She just hoped her frock was up to the job.

She moved away from the window and lifted her case onto the bed, her heart skipping a beat. If the garment wasn’t creased beyond recognition from being in the suitcase, she’d have nothing to worry about, and if it was a mess, she’d just nip below stairs and borrow an ironing board. He’d given her an hour, after all. Rianna flipped the catch and quickly took it out from the top layer of packing, giving it a feverish shake as she did so. Panic over—polyester could take quite a pounding.

She smoothed the black material out carefully on the opulent cover of the four-poster bed, noticing how the dress smelled like home and then suddenly realised its high street cheapness would scream “impostor” in an establishment like Titherly Hall. A sick lump lodged in her throat, but it would have to do. It was all she had. The hand towels in the bathroom probably cost more than her pitiful rag she reckoned and looked up toward the intricately plastered ceiling with a sigh.

She hoped she wouldn’t disgust him too much. The two of them were like diamonds and coal, the same thing essentially, carbon, but with a timing difference, a quirk of fate, that cast them into different worlds entirely. She rubbed at her brow, hoping the tightness she was feeling didn’t explode into a full-blown headache when, like a gift from a friendly angel, she suddenly remembered the necklace. Of course it wasn’t of any value, it was costume jewellery if anything
,
but
—

Rianna lunged for her handbag and pulled out the black box. Taking the delicate strand of beads in one hand, she let it fall onto the black shift dress spread across the bed like a cheap tart. She smiled. Gran was right, the beads not only “went”, they lent a magical quality to the low-cost fabric of her one and only dress. They shone brighter than stars. They
became
the night stars in the silence of the room as the storm raged outside. If she kept her cool, this could actually turn out okay...

****

“Dio
! Can’t anyone out there cope without me in the loop?” Daniel smashed his fingertips against the keyboard. As he sent the last reply to email number fifty-two, the sum total for the last hour he’d been unable to get a proper internet signal in the car. An unusual reaction, he realised with irritation. He
liked
having his finger on the pulse, making every little decision, being in total control.

He couldn’t focus properly and he knew exactly why, even if facing the truth annoyed him. It was
her
. The woman he had been forced to take to Italy with him had been dominating his thoughts ever since he’d been splattered with detergent, and to top it all, he had then risked making a complete fool of himself by trying to get a date afterwards. What was it with her? What was it with
him
?

Women...

He let out a hollow laugh. The fairer sex had become ten a penny for him over the years. Dozens of them still clamoured for his attention, supermodels, heiresses, voluptuous hedge-fund managers... So why was he so inexplicably drawn to this Welsh wench? It had to be as simple as pure lust. Yes, that was it—the only explanation—a primal drive from his subconscious, a powerful and sweetly toxic urge that could threaten to make him lose control momentarily,
just
momentarily, but in the most intensely pleasurable way. No wonder she was bloody pregnant all the time...

Daniel scraped his fingertips across the bristle appearing on his jaw as he continued to analyse his momentary lapse in performance. He had allowed this woman to distract him from his intensely focussed world of business and muddle his mind with sexual reverie. If he could narrow her allure down, find the barbed hook that had landed him, then he could prepare a defense, and put her to the back of his mind. He had much more important things to do, after all.

Was it the way her dark eyelashes fluttered like sparrow’s wings over the ice-grey of her eyes, drawing him to the lush pout of her lips? Could it be every word she spoke made him imagine what it would feel like to be in that soft, inviting mouth? Or was it her slim hipbones, jutting against the tight fabric of her skirt and the heavy swell of her breasts... For God’s sake, she didn’t
look
pregnant!

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered and raked his hands roughly through his hair before glancing at his wristwatch. “Damn, it can’t be—”

It had already been an hour since they’d gone their separate ways, so his time was up and he’d not even had a chance to shower. But Daniel Bracchi and punctuality were one and the same, so a quick scramble for his discarded tie would have to do. He quickly adjusted its tangled knot and made his way down the curving staircase, his long legs easily taking two steps at a time.

As Daniel strode into the bar, the barman poured a large slug of whisky into a crystal tumbler. “Your usual, Signor Bracchi. A busy day?”

“You could say that,” he replied and glanced back toward the grand staircase just outside. He’d made it down first. Excellent.

“I’d like the table by the window in the Orangery tonight, Marco. I have company this evening.”

“Certainly, sir. I will see it is ready for you,” the barman replied with the quirk of a smile appearing on his lips. “Your
company
is quite stunning if I might be so bold as to pass comment.”

Daniel shot him a warning glance. “It’s work,” he replied brusquely and took a large mouthful of the amber liquid. It wasn’t just him then? She was quite a head-turner, and he put the hot lurch in the pit of his stomach down to the path of raw alcohol, nothing more. Certainly not a burst of adolescent-like jealousy at the other man’s interest in his employee. He chose to ignore Marco’s knowing grin and frowned into the swirling citrine of his drink.

And when he glanced up, there she was.

Standing just a few feet away, she illuminated the dark wooden archway with the wide-eyed silver glitter of her eyes and the moonstone glow of her skin. His gaze quickly took in the slender lines of her black shift dress and how it clung in all the right places, in all the places a man was likely to look first at least. Her bare arms were long and delicate, and he noticed her fingers trembled as she fiddled with the necklace curving beneath the hollow at the base of her throat.

“A drink, Miss Peters?” He gestured for her to approach and noted she was wearing the same black shoes she had been wearing in the car, worn at the base of the stiletto heel.

****

“Marco is just seeing to our dinner reservation,” Daniel said. “But he won’t be long. What would you like when he returns?”

Rianna leant nervously against the bar in an unconscious attempt to mirror all six-foot-two of his effortless ease and looked frantically along the optics. What did sophisticated career women drink on these occasions? Not Brains bitter, that was for sure, and she’d seen the way he looked at her when she’d first come downstairs, assessing her from head to toe, taking in every cheap shabby thread. She clearly wasn’t as polished as the women he usually took to dinner. His expression had made it perfectly obvious

She glanced quickly at the tumbler in his hand. “A gin and tonic would be perfect.” Then her heart leapt into her throat as his dark head jerked back and his upper body stiffened.

“Do you think that’s wise, Miss Peters?”

“Wise?” Panic sparked through her. She must have made a huge and grotesque faux pas in her choice of drink.

Daniel leant forward and lowered his voice. “Considering your condition.”

Rianna’s eyebrows drew together into a frown. “My
condition?”

“It’s none of my business, I know, Linda, but there
is
evidence to suggest drinking during the early stages of pregnancy—”

“What?”

“I’m sorry to be so intrusive, but when I went back to the supermarket they told me everything. You obviously haven’t told anyone at the quarry yet but,”—Daniel tilted his head to one side, issued a paternalistic smile and patted her on the shoulder—“you can’t be too careful this early on can you?”

Rianna shook her head, struggling to assimilate what had just been said. “I think there’s been a major misunderstanding, Signor Bracchi.” An urge to laugh bubbled up deep inside her body as, gradually, the fuzzy pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. He’d called her
Linda...

“Oh, God, the badge!” A ripple of laughter escaped, and her voice rose a pitch with the heady ridiculousness of the situation. “I’m not
Linda
! She left before I even joined KostKrunch, but when I started, I had to use her old badge—an insurance requirement, or something—before I could legally go out on to the shop floor. And then the lady who makes the new badges was on holiday so—”

“So what the hell
is
your name?” Daniel wrenched his large frame up and away from the bar and glared down at her, his eyes blue flame.

“Rianna.
Rianna
Peters.” She grinned broadly and tapped her fingernails playfully over the dark sheen of the bar top. “And I am
definitely
not pregnant!”

Daniel glowered at the barman who had slipped quietly back into the room and judging by his wide-eyed expression, had heard the tail end of their conversation. “A large gin and tonic for the lady and the same again for me, Marco,” he barked, taking Rianna firmly by the elbow toward a discreet alcove. “We’ll take it over here.”

Rianna pulled herself free as they reached the table and rubbed crossly at her arm. “Was that really necessary?”

“I wanted some privacy to finish this conversation, Miss
Rianna
Peters.” He gestured brusquely that she should sit down. “I apologise for the misunderstanding. I made assumptions, and,”—he looked down at his fingertips, which were spread wide along the edge of the table—“I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“No. No, you didn’t hurt me at all.” She lifted her chin, but refused to reassure him with a smile as Marco delivered their drinks and then scuttled off before Daniel could blast him with another subzero stare. “We all make mistakes.”

“I don’t,” Daniel ground out and frowned into the middle distance before continuing. “Do you have any more surprises for me this evening? You’re not an undercover VAT inspector or something? A roving reporter setting me up for the scoop of a lifetime?” He emitted a cracked laugh that did nothing to mask his irritation. “You’ll be telling me those two children aren’t yours either next.”

“They aren’t.” She took a long, deliberate draught of her drink as she registered the chill of his expression. “They’re my brother’s.”

Chapter Three

Daniel silently brooded over the cocktail menu he had snatched up. He had begun to feel at a distinct disadvantage when they’d been at the bar. But
now
he felt completely foolish and he didn’t like it. How could he have got all this so spectacularly wrong? He
hated
making mistakes. He rarely did! And to make things worse, he’d been caught out, too. He was tempted to haul Human Resources over the coals for this, but it wasn’t their mistake. It was his and to do so would be unreasonable. God, he felt unreasonable right now. In the future, he’d personally vet all employees in the company. Such an outrageous case of mistaken identity could never be allowed to happen again.

“I think our table is probably ready,” he announced flatly and stood, gesturing impatiently for her to do the same. He watched as Rianna followed the guiding arm of the mâitre’d, sweeping them toward the stuccoed portals of the Michelin-starred restaurant. Daniel knew it was unlikely she was laughing at him, but he was still irritated. He was used to being in total control, being the leader, the man with his finger on the big red button, with everything, but especially with work and women.

Her revelations had been intensely annoying, but he suddenly realised there was an upside to all this. Focusing intently on the delicious sway of her hips as her stilettos clicked on the marble floor, Daniel felt a surge of excitement rush through his body, softening the anger and frustration knotting the muscles in his neck.

She wasn’t the woman he had thought she was.

Rianna Peters was clever, childless, desirable and, as far as he was concerned, ripe for seduction. There
was
the issue of never mixing work with pleasure. He hadn’t forgotten that. Sexual liaisons with employees had been the downfall of many men in his experience, and were to be avoided at all costs, but this was different. The quarry was just about dead in the water financially so within the year it would inevitably be sold off and he would never have to cross paths with her professionally again. Perfect!

There was also no moral reason for him to rein in the sexual desire for her that had been simmering since their first meeting. They were both unattached, consenting adults, weren’t they? And she was bound to consent of course. It wasn’t just arrogance convincing him of that. He’d never been turned down by a woman before, so it was unlikely to happen now. He gave himself permission to relax.

His gaze followed her sleek progress through the restaurant, and he smiled at the thought of her writhing in his bed, beckoning to him with wanton hunger in her eyes. He’d melt this ice maiden’s frosty veneer now he’d set his sights on her. He always
got his woman. It was just too easy most of the time. And it was high time he had a flash of colour and excitement to mediate the dreariness of this trip.