‘A stylist?’ she echoed, her gaze flickering uncertainly to her scuffed brown boots.
‘A very famous stylist who’s going to take you shopping.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought you might need a little guidance.’
His condescension only intensified Keira’s growing feelings of inadequacy and she glared at him. ‘What, in case I opt for something which is deeply unsuitable?’
His voice was smooth. ‘There is a different way of looking at it, Keira. I don’t expect you’ve been given unlimited use of a credit card before, have you?’
Something in the way he said it was making Keira’s blood boil. ‘Funnily enough, no!’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘The problem is you! I bet you’re just loving this,’ she accused. ‘Does flashing your wealth give you a feeling of power, Matteo?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Actually, I was hoping it might give you a modicum of pleasure. So why don’t you go upstairs and freshen up before the car takes you into the city?’
Keira put her empty cup down on a spindly gold-edged table and rose to her feet. ‘Very well,’ she said, forcing her stiff shoulders into a shrug.
‘By the way,’ he said as he gestured for her to precede him, ‘I notice you didn’t make any comment about my driving on the way here.’
‘I thought it might be wise, in the circumstances.’
‘But as a professional, you judged me favourably, I hope?’
She pursed her lips together. ‘You were okay. A little heavy on the clutch, perhaps—but it’s a great car.’
She took a stupid and disproportionate pleasure from the answering humour which gleamed from his eyes before following him up a sweeping staircase into a sumptuous suite furnished in rich brocades and velvets, where he left her. Alone in the ballroom-sized bathroom, where water gushed from golden taps, Keira dragged the hairbrush through her hair, wondering what on earth the stylist was going to think about being presented with such unpromising raw material.
But the stylist was upbeat and friendly—even if the store on the Via dei Condotti was slightly terrifying. Keira had never been inside such an expensive shop before—although in her chauffeuring days she’d sat outside places like it often enough, waiting for her clients. A slim-hipped woman named Leola came forward to greet her, dressed in an immaculate cream dress accessorised with gleaming golden jewellery and high-heeled patent shoes. Although she looked as if she’d stepped straight off the catwalk, to her credit, she didn’t seem at all fazed by Keira’s appearance, as she led her around the shop and swished her fingertips over rail after rail of clothes.
In the chandelier-lit changing room, she whipped a tape measure around Keira’s newly abundant curves. ‘You have a fantastic figure,’ she purred. ‘Let’s show it off a little more, shall we?’
‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,’ said Keira quickly. ‘I don’t like to be stared at.’
Leola raised perfectly plucked black eyebrows by a centimetre. ‘You are dating one of the city’s most eligible bachelors,’ she observed quietly. ‘And Matteo will expect people to stare at you.’
Keira felt a shimmer of anxiety as she tugged a blue cashmere dress over her head and pulled on some navy-blue suede boots. What possible response could she make to that? What would the stunning Leola say if she explained that she and Matteo weren’t ‘dating’, but simply parents to a darling little boy? And even that wasn’t really accurate, was it? You couldn’t really describe a man as a parent when he regarded his newborn infant with the caution which an army expert might display towards an unexploded bomb.
Just go with the flow, she told herself. Be amenable and do what’s suggested—and after you’ve been dressed up like a Christmas turkey, you can sit down with the Italian tycoon and talk seriously about the future.
She tried on hip-hugging skirts with filmy blouses, flirty little day dresses and sinuous evening gowns, and Keira was reeling by the time Leola had finished with her. She wanted to protest that there was no way she would wear most of these—that she and Matteo hadn’t even discussed how long she would be staying—but Leola seemed to be acting on someone else’s orders and it wasn’t difficult to work out whose orders they might be.
‘I will have new lingerie and more shoes sent by courier to arrive later,’ the stylist explained, ‘since I understand you’re returning to Umbria tomorrow. But you certainly have enough to be going on with. Might I suggest you wear the red dress this evening? Matteo was very specific about how good he thought you would look in vibrant colours. Oh, and a make-up artist will be visiting the house later this afternoon. She will also be able to fix your hair.’
Keira stared at the slippery gown of silk-satin which was being dangled from Leola’s finger and shook her head. ‘I can do my own hair,’ she said defensively, wondering if dressing up in all this finery was what Matteo usually expected for dinner at home on a weekday evening. ‘And I can’t possibly wear that—it’s much too revealing.’
‘Yes, you can—and you must—because you look amazing in it,’ said Leola firmly, before her voice softened a little. ‘Matteo must care for you a great deal to go to so much trouble. And surely it would be unwise to displease him when he’s gone to so much trouble.’
It was a candid remark which contained in it a trace of warning. It was one woman saying to another—don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. But all it did was to increase Keira’s sensation of someone playing dress-up. Of being moulded for a role in the billionaire’s life which she wasn’t sure she was capable of filling. Her heart was pounding nervously as she shook the stylist’s hand and went outside to the waiting car.
And didn’t she feel slightly ashamed at the ease with which she allowed the chauffeur to open the door for her as she slid onto the squishy comfort of the back seat? As if already she was turning into someone she didn’t recognise.
CHAPTER NINE
THE CLOCK WAS striking seven and Matteo gave a click of impatience as he paced the drawing room, where an enormous fire crackled and burned. Where the hell was she? He didn’t like to be kept waiting—not by anyone, and especially not by a woman who ought to have been bang on time and full of gratitude for his generosity towards her. He wondered how long it would have taken Keira to discover how much she liked trying on lavish clothes. Or how quickly she’d decided it was a turn-on when a man was prepared to buy you an entire new wardrobe, with no expense spared. He was just about to send Roberto upstairs to remind her of the time, when the door opened and there she stood, pale-faced and slightly uncertain.
Matteo’s heart pounded hard in his chest because she looked... He shook his head slightly as if to clear his vision, but the image didn’t alter. She looked unrecognisable. Light curls of glossy black tumbled over her narrow shoulders and, with mascara and eyeliner, her sapphire eyes looked enormous. Her lips were as red as her dress and he found himself wanting to kiss away her unfamiliar lipstick. But it was her body which commanded the most attention. Santo cielo! What a body! Scarlet silk clung to the creamy curve of her breasts, the material gliding in over the indentation of her waist, then flaring gently over her hips. Sheer stockings encased her legs and skyscraper heels meant she looked much taller than usual.
He swallowed because the transformation was exactly what he’d wanted—a woman on his arm who would turn heads for all the right reasons—and yet now he was left with intense frustration pulsing through his veins. He wanted to call their host and cancel and to take her straight to bed instead, but he was aware that such a move would be unwise. He had less than twenty-four hours to get Keira Ryan to agree to his plan—and that would not be achieved by putting lust before logic.