Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire (6 page)

Surprising himself, he covered her hand with his, as if to reassure her. Tender gestures were not his thing, but there was something about Cassandra...

CHAPTER SIX

T
HE
BIDDING
WAS
over and everyone had left the table. Most of the charming older people had left, Cass discovered when she scanned the glamorous main salon. The networking she'd planned to do wasn't so easy when the people who were left behind didn't want to talk to her, and those who had gone were too nice to touch up for a job. She had just wanted to talk to them and enjoy their company.

Spotting Marco across the room, she thought now might be a good time to ask him to introduce her round. But, contrary to his earlier, sympathetic manner, when she had lusted after the Hockney sketch, his back was like a wall against her when she turned up, as if he regretted his brief display of almost being human, and was once again the aloof billionaire, untouchable and cold.

She hovered for a little while, uncertain. People moved around her as if she weren't there... She wished she wasn't there. This was a world she had avoided and had no desire to become part of again—a world where people said one thing and did another.

She moved into the shadows of a corner where she could observe, without being observed, and that was how, in a brief lull in the general conversation, she heard Marco say, ‘That girl in the blue dress, sitting next to me at dinner? She's no one.'

Shock chilled her, but what he'd said was true. She wasn't anyone—not compared to all these rich and influential people. She was an amateur gardener—an enthusiast who had taken a summer vacation job on Marco di Fivizzano's country estate. When she returned home, she would be back stacking shelves at another supermarket.

Hearing Marco say what he had was actually a welcome wake-up call. She had nothing in common with anyone here. She must have been mad to think she could network.

But then her fiery nature kicked in. What he'd said was true, but he shouldn't have said it to another guest. How would Marco like it if she had dismissed him like that?

Working her anger out, she kept on moving around his guests without stopping to talk to anyone. She'd lost her confidence to speak to anyone, thanks to him. Finally, locking herself in the bathroom, she stared at the face of a stranger in the mirror—a woman with false eyelashes and rouged cheeks...an actress playing a part.

Exactly. She was playing a part. And therefore she could do this. Even if she was no one, on a scale of ambassador to prince, she could still hold her head high and go back to the party to do exactly what she'd been paid for.

And that was what she did. She guessed that the same driver who had brought her here would take her back to the hotel, and meanwhile, as the last guests began to think about leaving, she set about doing what she could to tidy up. She had always felt compelled to tidy up, maybe because the last time she had seen her mother alive, her mother had been stumbling about amidst the squalor of spilled ashtrays, discarded needles and upended champagne bottles. Since then Cass could never leave the debris of the night before until the next morning.

‘What the hell are you doing?'

She froze as Marco roared at her. And then she fired up. His manner was insufferable. Why had he paid her to come here at all? She was a member of his staff, and she saw no reason why she couldn't make a start on tidying up.

‘Leave it!' he insisted. He was at her side in a couple of strides. ‘I have staff to do this.'

‘Are you going to make them work through the night?' she demanded, shaking his hand from her arm.

‘Of course not,' he exploded.

The last thing he had expected was for her to answer back, Cass suspected as they glared at each other.

‘My staff will be here in the morning,' Marco informed her brusquely.

And meanwhile they were alone...the last guest had left. And so far there was no sign of Marco's driver.

‘What are you so angry about, Cassandra?'

She wasn't angry. She had just realised the compromising position she had put herself in. ‘You think you can insult me and I won't feel anything?'

‘Insult you? What on earth are you talking about?'

‘You,' she fired back. ‘You talk about your staff as if they're robots programmed to obey. You promised to introduce me round. You said it would be a great opportunity for me to network, and I thought so too, but you ignored me all night. I'm not sure why I'm here at all.'

‘There were plenty of opportunities for you to network. It was up to you to take them. Everyone was here.'

‘Everyone in your world,' she pointed out, ‘and though I'm usually quite good at chatting to people and introducing myself, they just didn't want to know. An introduction from you would have broken the ice...' She paused. ‘Or was it that you didn't want anyone to know you had brought your lowly gardener to the party?'

‘Don't be so ridiculous. What about the ambassador? You were talking to him. The embassy has beautiful gardens. There was an opportunity for you right there.'

‘I was chatting to the ambassador because I wanted to talk to him. He was a really interesting man. Should I have taken advantage of that? Was I supposed to ingratiate myself with him for no better reason than to persuade him to give me a job?'

‘Why not?' Marco demanded with a dismissive gesture. ‘That's what networking is all about.'

‘In that instance, it would have been calculating, and not very nice.'

‘That's your opinion.'

‘Yes, it is.'

‘It's possible to be too nice, Cassandra.'

‘Is it? Is it really? I had no idea there was such a thing as being
too
nice. I liked the ambassador. We got on well together, and I had no thought of using him for networking, as you suggest.'

‘He could have given you a glimpse into another world—'

‘As you can?' she flashed. ‘Maybe I don't want to see what's in that other world—maybe I already know. You've got no idea, have you, Marco? You live such a privileged life you don't have a clue what it's like to be on the outside, looking in.'

‘You couldn't be further from the truth,' he assured her tensely. ‘I know exactly how that feels.'

‘Do you?' she exclaimed angrily. ‘Do you also know how it feels to be described as a nobody?'

Marco's expression blackened ‘Who said that?'

‘You did!' she flung back at him. ‘Is that how you think of everyone who works for you? Are we all nobodies?'

‘I have no idea what you're talking about.'

‘I heard you say it.' And when Marco looked at her blankly, she spelled it out for him. ‘When one of your guests asked you about me, you said I was no one.'

‘Ah...' Marco nodded his head. ‘Let me explain. The man I was talking to was a major fundraiser for my charity. He's always on the lookout for new sponsors, as he should be—'

‘And, of course, I'm no use to him. I couldn't do anything practical to help your charity, could I, Marco? And what can you do? Write another cheque?'

She had a point, he conceded. ‘I'm sure you could do a lot for my charity, and if my shorthand way of telling a fundraiser that he was wasting his time asking you for money has offended you, I apologise. Maybe you shouldn't be so touchy.'

She shrugged. Her face was burning. Maybe she had overreacted.

‘I agree that I'm no one where the funding side of your charity is concerned, but I could do other things apart from giving money. I could give my time, for instance.'

‘I have no doubt of it,' Marco said, and then he surprised her with the hint of a smile.

It was the fact that they came from two such different worlds that was at the heart of her anger, Cass realised. Marco's world frightened her because she'd had experience of it, and, however many years ago it had been, there were some memories that never faded.

And Marco? Sometimes, when he relaxed like this and showed her a warmer, more caring side, she knew that his pain cut as deep as hers—he was just better at hiding it. They had never really talked, so she didn't know what lay behind Marco's armour. Why would they talk? She was paid to do a job. She was his gardener, briefly on an outing to help him. She was a place-filler, a puppet. ‘You must think I'm stupid, overreacting like that...'

‘Not at all,' he said firmly.

‘But I am naïve enough to allow you to dress me up like a doll, and then expect you to be interested enough to spend all evening with me.'

‘You are an extremely forthright woman,' he remarked with amusement in his eyes.

‘Yes, I am,' she agreed.

‘You did well tonight.'

‘Are you mocking me now?' she asked suspiciously.

‘No,' Marco murmured, the faint smile still in place. ‘I'm very grateful to you. I can't think of anyone who could have pulled this off with such style and grace at such short notice. I'm only sorry I didn't make more effort to...break the ice for you, as you put it. I do know that society here can be very hard to break into.'

Cass slanted a rueful smile. ‘And, I suppose, in fairness, your guests hadn't come here tonight to interview staff for their gardens.'

‘I should have thought of that,' Marco admitted.

‘And so should I.'

‘Then we both got carried away.'

His eyes were deeply unsettling as they stared steadily into hers.

‘Yes, we did,' she said.

‘Truce?' he said.

‘Truce,' she agreed, shaking hands with him.

Oh, how good that felt. She was almost disappointed when he let go and moved away.

‘I've got something for you,' he said, turning back to her with a smile.

‘Something for me?' She couldn't have been more surprised. ‘You've paid me more than enough.' But she couldn't pretend she wasn't thrilled at the idea of a small gift—something personal from Marco. She'd keep it always, and long after this night was a memory she would find it and look at it, and think,
He gave it to me...

‘Oh, my word!' She couldn't have been more shocked. ‘What have you done?'

‘Please allow me, just this once, to fulfil someone's fantasy.'

She stared at the Hockney sketch in amazement. ‘But this must have cost you a fortune.'

‘In spite of what you think of me, I do value things in more than just monetary terms. You said you wanted this for your godmother. Well, now you can give it to her.'

‘I can't possibly accept,' she protested.

‘It's not for you, it's for her. You must accept,' Marco said.

‘I don't know what to say.'

‘Well, I do. She must be a very special woman.'

‘She is.'

Marco was still staring at her with eyes turned thoughtful, while her head was muddied with feelings—too many feelings. A few more tense seconds passed, and then, just when she had found the words to form a polite refusal, she saw something flare in his eyes, and the next moment she was in his arms, and Marco was kissing her.

Her world had telescoped into this. Her world was this. Shocked, she resisted him for barely a moment before her body overruled her mind. This explosion of feeling and super-awareness was the very best way to end an argument, though seeing Marco every day and weaving fantasies around him had no bearing on the wealth of sensation flooding her now. He smelled—tasted—felt so good. She had never experienced anything like it. Being pressed up hard against his muscular frame, and having his arms tighten around her, was impossible to describe...not in words; only her body could respond with a burning desire to have not one fragment of space between them.

Breaking free, she was focused and breathless as she stood on tiptoe, pushing his jacket from his shoulders. She had to feel more of him—all of him. The sound of fabric ripping told her that her exquisite blue dress was a
vision
no more.

And now Marco's mouth was on her shoulder, claiming her, kissing her, licking and biting as he drew a cry from her throat by turning to rasp his sharp stubble across her neck. She was crying and laughing at the same time, while her hands worked with real purpose to tug off his clothes. Having managed to open his shirt, she gasped to see the power in his chest, the muscles flexing. He was so hard and tanned, and he was hers to explore.

Passion was running high between them as she ran the palm of one hand over his hot, smooth flesh. He dragged a cry from her throat, taking advantage of this brief distraction to cup her breasts. And he wasn't done with her yet. Taking hold of what was left of the fabric, he ripped her dress from neck to hem.

She was reduced to the flimsiest of underwear. This consisted of little more than flesh-coloured net that revealed every contour of her body in absolute detail. Looking down, she saw her rose-tinted nipples extended impertinently for his appreciation, and the soft mound between her legs, swollen and moist. If she had drawn this scene in one of her fantasies, she might have imagined feeling uncertain, standing practically naked in front of such a sophisticated lover, but the heat in Marco's eyes and the touch of his hands gave her confidence.

‘I'm going to pleasure you,' he growled, angling his chin to stare into her eyes. ‘I'm going to make you beg for more.'

‘Okay.'

Throwing his head back, he laughed at her forthright acceptance of his offer.

Let him laugh. She had no intention of being a docile partner. She had needs too.

Smoothing the palms of her hands across the width of his shoulders, she removed his shirt and let it drop to the floor. Then she turned her attention to the buckle on his belt, and after that his zipper. She held his stare as she pushed his black silk boxers down over his taut, hard, muscular buttocks. Cupping them briefly, she indulged herself for a moment, before studying his erection. Thick and smooth, it was standing almost perpendicular, and her body ached to have him deep inside her. But Marco was the master of delay. Capturing her wrists, he pinned them behind her back, holding her still for him, while his other hand conducted a lazy exploration. Still staring her in the eyes, he protected them both, ripping the foil with his teeth. Anticipation was part of his foreplay, she gathered—and it was working, she would be the first to admit.