‘Okay. About eight? Oh, and Nico?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Do you drive your motorbike very fast?’
He frowned. ‘That’s the whole point of having one, Gabriella. I’ll see you later.’ And he hung up.
She opened up the wardrobe, trying to be enthusiastic, but it wasn’t easy. It was all very well, defiantly bringing only the barest minimum of clothes here, but she was going to have to wear some things twice if she stayed beyond a week. And he had already seen her in the black dress!
She stood beneath the jets of the power shower. Not that she would need to stay beyond that, she told herself firmly. She had conceived a simple idea to put to Nico, which she was certain would work—and then she could go. Before she did something really stupid, like starting to care for him.
But you do care for him, mocked an inner voice.
She switched the shower off with a flourish, and wrapped herself in a fluffy white robe.
She did not care for him. She was attracted to him sexually, that was all.
But you don’t do sex on its own, Ella, taunted that infuriating voice again. You know you don’t. And you’ve never done sex like that before.
She had a white broderie anglaise dress that she had been saving—though she wasn’t quite sure what she had been saving it for. So after much deliberation, she put it on. It was sweet and feminine, with tiny cap sleeves that she could just about get away with. She was tempted to plait her hair, but in the end she decided against it and wore it loose—she didn’t want to look as though she was auditioning for a part in The Sound of Music!
She was ten minutes late, and he was waiting for her downstairs, seated casually on a plush leather sofa. A man with a suspiciously bulky jacket was positioned conspicuously close by. As the lift doors opened the normal chatter of the foyer died to a hush and Nico rose to his feet.
People were watching him—either openly or not quite so openly. Women, some standing with their husbands, positioned themselves so that they could be seen at their most flattering angle—pushing their breasts out and sucking in their already concave stomachs. But he was not looking at the women.
He was looking at her.
She saw him give a brief, barely discernible nod to the man, and was vaguely aware that faces were now turn
ing in her direction, their expressions slightly incredulous. And she realised how cheap her dress must look in comparison to their designer finery.
What happened next was like some smooth, well-practised machine whirring into action. Subtle signals must have been given, for a pathway was magically formed, leaving their exit clear just as a long, low car purred to the front of the building, with a chauffeur behind the wheel.
She realised that she had never met him anywhere quite so public before—that would explain the high-profile security.
‘Is it always like this?’ Ella asked, as she wriggled onto the back seat and the door was slammed shut on them.
He turned to her, thinking how shining and fresh she looked in her simple white dress. ‘Like what?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘So choreographed. As if everything has been planned right down to the last second.’
‘Not quite the last second,’ he commented wryly. ‘Since you were late.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’ He smiled.
‘Do you like it—all the fuss?’
‘It’s just the way it is. What I cannot change I have to accept—or my life would be intolerable. I escape it whenever I can.’
‘Like on the motorbike?’
‘The motorbike, yes—you seem to be obsessed with my damned motorbike! And, yes, before you ask—the jet-ski, too! You know what they say—big toys for big boys.’ His eyes glittered as he saw the faint rush of colour to her cheeks. ‘Now, stop asking me so many questions and tell me how you got on today.’
‘Not bad. I’ve got a few ideas.’
‘Such as?’