A Pawn in the Playboy's Game

A thousand erotic images flashed through Laura’s head. Her mouth went dry and she knew that her whole body was aroused beyond belief. Moisture was dampening her underwear, pooling between her legs. It was somehow all the more of a turn-on because he was still keeping his distance. She felt giddy.

‘No...’ she managed, in a voice she didn’t recognise.

‘Sure? Because if you do...just say the word...’

‘I’ve had one narrow escape when it comes to flinging myself into something...something...wrong...’

Alessandro shrugged. ‘Like I said, there would be no wrongs or rights, because I’m not in it for the long haul.’ Her body was so exquisitely provocative, especially as she seemed oblivious to that. He was holding himself back by sheer willpower but he had to. There was no way he intended to coerce anyone into bed with him, even if he knew that she wanted him.

She either came to him or she didn’t.

His eyes darkened when he contemplated the possibility of her walking away. If he ended up being denied the promise of touching and making love to that glorious body, which he couldn’t seem to get out of his head, he would have to instil a rigid regime of cold showers.

Never had the outcome of any encounter with any woman been so precariously balanced and he wondered whether that was why he could scarcely contemplate the thought of her turning her back on him for airy-fairy, woolly reasons that made no sense, because they were both adults and they both fancied each other. End of story.

‘And I won’t be using persuasive arguments to try to convince you that what we have needs to be...sated...’

‘This is crazy!’

‘When does your grandmother return from her holiday?’

‘Huh?’

‘We’ve covered the subject of sex,’ he imparted with a wave of his hand, ‘so, before you go, I want to arrange a time and a place for me to meet her.’

Laura’s brain seemed to be lagging behind. It seemed to have snagged somewhere between him asking her whether she wanted him to kiss her all over again and telling her that she just had to say the word.

Now he was moving on and that in itself said it all about the way he could compartmentalise sex, put it into a box that was quite separate from emotions or feelings or thoughts of the long-term.

She landed back down on earth and focused on him. ‘Right. Yes. My grandmother.’ Deep breath in, deep breath out. ‘She’s back on Friday. I’m going to pick her up from the airport. She could get a taxi back but, you know, she always thinks that taxi drivers are hell-bent on ripping her off by taking long, unnecessary detours...’ She knew that she was babbling but she couldn’t help it. And she wished he would stop looking at her like that, with his head ever so slightly inclined to one side, as though he was thinking all sorts of stuff that had nothing to with what she was talking about.

‘In that case, Saturday. You and your grandmother can come here.’

‘For tea? A drink?’

‘Dinner. Maybe I’ll do our digestive systems a favour and give Freya the evening off...fly my guy in. He could stay for the weekend.’

‘Fly your guy in?’

‘I have someone I can call on who cooks for me if I happen to eat at home.’

‘Your father may have lots of money,’ Laura said, ‘but I don’t think he would be happy with that situation.’

‘No.’ Alessandro gave her one of those slow, amused smiles that could knock her for six. ‘I think he’s so accustomed to Freya’s challenged cooking that he might be confused if anything too edible came his way.’

‘That’s unkind.’ She didn’t want to, but he could bring a smile to her face without trying.

‘Seven?’ Alessandro asked, and she nodded.

Meeting her grandmother would be the last thing he would want to do when it came to finding out about the life his father would be leaving behind, the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle.

Laura couldn’t imagine him kicking his heels in Scotland for much beyond that, even though he had sorted out an office for himself and appeared to be working quite efficiently.

‘We’ll be there.’

* * *

‘No need for you to have arranged all this nonsense!’ Roberto glared at his son from the stiff-backed chair where he sat, unhelpfully critical of the evening’s arrangements.