A minute later there was a brief knock, the door swung open and Rita showed a woman in. Designer sunglasses hid her eyes and a scarf covered her hair; her clothes were an explicit demonstration of her status. Clearly expensive, without being flamboyant, they combined power with chic. White blouse, long-sleeved and V-necked, tucked into a dark checked skirt that emphasised her slender waist and long legs. Cool, sleek, professional.
Liam rose and headed round the desk as Rita made a discreet exit. ‘Liam Rourke,’ he said.
Before he could hold out his hand the woman deftly removed her sunglasses, dropped them into her shoulder bag, then swiftly tugged off the scarf to reveal long glossy corn-blonde hair that fell in perfect waves to frame a heart-shaped face. But what arrested him most were her eyes. They were an extraordinary colour, a luminous amber flecked with copper. To his chagrin his jaw dropped of its own volition. There was no need for her to identify herself. This was definitely Ava Casseveti and she was stunning. Little wonder that a few years back she’d taken the modelling world by storm. He blinked and forced his brain cells to regroup.
‘Ava Casseveti,’ she said and held her hand out—long-fingered and elegant, silver rings on the first finger of her right hand and the middle of her left, perfect nails a pale brown. Liam shook her hand, registered the smooth silk of her skin and a sudden little zing shot through him at her touch. Whoa. His gaze met hers and for a fleeting second he saw a flicker of shock in the amber depths and he knew she’d felt it too.
Time to focus, however surreal this felt. But it was hard because in some strange way Ava had always been a part of his life, both a nemesis and a motivator. Hadn’t he wanted to prove to his father, to himself, that he would succeed despite what James Casseveti had done? Driven to do better than James Casseveti’s daughter.
All of which explained that jolt and presumably also explained why their hands were still intertwined. As if she too realised that fact she moved backwards and disengaged her clasp, inhaled deeply and met his gaze. ‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice. Before I explain why I am here, can I ask if your father ever mentioned my father?’
The words tumbled from generous lips outlined in the reddest of reds and the sheer irony of the question nearly startled a bitter laugh from him. Instead he merely inclined his head. ‘Yes. He did.’ On a daily basis. The story of James Casseveti’s betrayal had been the equivalent of Liam’s bedtime story, the tale of how Terry Rourke’s best friend had used their business idea to leapfrog to fame and fortune. And that act of treachery had destroyed his father’s life, his marriage, his job...the success of Dolci had broken Terry Rourke. And broken his family with it.
Pulling himself to the present, he gestured to his desk. ‘Why don’t you sit down? Then you can tell me why you are here.’
CHAPTER TWO
AVA MOVED TOWARDS the chair Liam had indicated, tried to use the time to regroup, refocus, settle the thrum of her nerves. Wished she could figure out what the hell was going on. Quit kidding yourself, Ava. She knew exactly what was going on. For some inexplicable, unfair reason her hormones had decided to awaken from dormancy and fix their attention on Liam Rourke.
To be fair the man was gorgeous. Thick coppery brown hair, a face that held strength and determination in its clean planes and angles, firm lips and a body that combined lithe muscle, breadth and length and... And jeez what was she doing? An inventory? This was not what she was here for. She sank onto the state-of-the-art chair, prayed he hadn’t noticed her practically measure him up with her eyes and pulled her thoughts together into the carefully rehearsed words.
‘I want you to know that during his lifetime my father never mentioned your family to me. Not once. However he left me a letter to be opened after his death. In it he explained that he did your father a moral wrong. Apparently they discussed the idea for a company like Dolci together and therefore he felt it was morally incorrect of him to set up Dolci without any reference to your father.’ She paused and continued, kept her voice even. ‘I would like to stress that there is no legal obligation at play here. There was no partnership, no agreement and no legal need for my father to involve yours.’
‘So why are you here?’ A hard edge of anger lined his words and she couldn’t blame him. ‘Given legal obligations clearly trump moral responsibility.’
‘I didn’t say that. I’m here because my father did feel a moral responsibility, but I’d be a fool not to safeguard my company. I want to be clear I’d like to offer compensation without prejudice. I’d like to carry out my father’s wish to make amends.’
‘How noble of him.’ Liam made no attempt to hide the sarcasm. ‘Unfortunately he is too late. My father died ten years ago and the damage was done.’
‘I’m sorry.’ And she was, she had hoped against hope that Terry Rourke had been unaffected by her father’s actions, but the anger, the bitter twist of Liam’s lips belied that hope. Showed her the utter inadequacy of her words.
In an instant, though, his face donned a mask of cool neutrality. ‘An apology won’t help my dad now—you cannot compensate for what your father did.’
‘There must be something.’
‘Such as?’ The question was cold and tinged with contempt.
Yet it was imperative she carried out her father’s wishes; she knew she couldn’t just slough this responsibility off. Knew she didn’t want to. ‘What about the rest of your family? Is there anything I can do for them?’
‘No.’ The syllable was instant and absolute and she saw a shadow cross his eyes ‘My mother has remarried and she is happy—I will not let you charge in and dredge up old memories to make yourself feel better.’
‘That is not why I am doing this.’ Now anger surfaced and she glared at him, saw the clench of his jaw. ‘I want to do something to atone for what my father did. That is what he wanted.’
‘Then why didn’t he do it?’
It was a good question and one she didn’t want to answer. Truth be told her father had always been morally weak. He would have intended to make amends but he would have easily talked himself out of it, put it off, procrastinated. ‘That is irrelevant now. He asked me to act for him and that’s what I want to do.’
‘You can’t. Accept it. And accept that I don’t want your bounty—because nothing can atone for that betrayal. His perfidy broke my father. He felt cheated and bitter, a bitterness that pervaded and corroded his life. He began to drink heavily, he lost his job, his marriage fell apart as he watched your father climb the scale of success and fame. I understand that he could have made different choices, but the choices he made were put into play by your father.’
Ava winced, felt her face scrunch, her body braced in an attempt to reject his words even as she recognised their truth and realised the impact this must have had on Liam. Then for a second she saw something flash across his face. A sudden shaft of sympathy that vanished before she could be sure it was there. ‘I... I... I don’t know what to say.’
‘Then say nothing. This is not your fault—I understand that.’ He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and exhaled. ‘But there is nothing you can do to “right the wrong”. The man your father wronged is gone. This is too little too late. The best thing you can do now is leave.’
Ava nodded, realised that her very presence must be dredging up memories for him. She rose and he followed suit, walked round the desk to usher her towards the door. Halfway there she stopped. ‘Hang on.’ Ava turned, reached into her bag and pulled out a card. ‘Here. This...’ The words dried up, and they both seemed to freeze. Her feet felt stuck as his sudden unexpected proximity assailed her. The scent of his aftershave with its woodsy overtone tantalised her, and for one moment her gaze snagged and held on his lips, the firm etched outline of them. What was she doing? Gritting her teeth, Ava tucked a determined tendril of hair behind her ear and then continued, annoyed that the slightest of wobbles tremored the words. ‘This has my details on it. I know I can’t make up for what my father did but if I can ever do you a favour, please get in touch.’
Not that that was likely to happen. ‘I mean it.’ She held the card out, saw his hesitation, wondered if he was as unsettled as she. Carefully he took the card, but despite his care his fingers brushed hers and there it was again, a frisson, and this time she was sure he felt it too, saw awareness jolt in the depths of his cobalt eyes.
‘Sure,’ he said, though she suspected he’d bin the card as soon as she left.