Pride After Her Fall

What in the hell was he doing?

He jerked his head towards Lorelei, paused in the door with her bare arms wrapped around herself, avoiding his gaze.

‘Get her inside,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘She’s bloody well freezing.’

He kept walking. Yeah, being single-minded had brought him a long way.

* * *

Lorelei was aware she was talking a little too animatedly in the car, as if the flow of words would stem the rising tide of feeling behind it. Since running into Nash she’d been preoccupied and not much company. Damiano was bringing her home early.

‘Are you seeing him?’

Lorelei didn’t even bother to demur.

‘We only met today,’ she admitted in a low voice. ‘We had arranged to go out to dinner. He cancelled and I—’

‘You phoned me. I’m flattered,’ he drawled.

Lorelei put her hand on his arm. ‘I phoned you because you’re one of my friends and I knew you would be good company.’

‘Will you be seeing him again?’

‘He’s not interested.’

‘For a man who isn’t interested, cara, he has the eyes of a jealous husband.’

Lorelei swallowed, but couldn’t ignore the flutter of excitement that observation engendered in her.

‘A word of advice, Lorelei, from an old friend.’ He gave her a wry look. ‘Nash Blue is not a man for you to play with. He has been ruthless in the past with women a lot tougher than you, cara.’

‘Ruthless?’ Lorelei couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her, although the limousine was climate-controlled.

‘More so than me.’ Damiano gave her a smile that reminded her where his own reputation with women had come from. ‘And somewhat more effective with you, I am thinking.’

Lorelei didn’t know what to say. She sat back and looked unseeingly through the dark window. She knew exactly how she felt about any man who was ruthless with women. She’d grown up with one. But she couldn’t put aside all the sweet things Nash had done for her today. She was almost hugging them to herself.

In all the years since men had started following her with their eyes and making all sorts of empty promises no man had ever gone to so much trouble for her.

She could almost forgive him the cancelled date and the reasons he had given her.

Almost.

She had to ask. ‘He’s a womaniser, then?’

Damiano shrugged. ‘Niente—no more than any other rich and famous man, cara. I do know he’s a man renowned for his self-control. He doesn’t drink or smoke or brawl as far as I know. You say you met him just today?’

‘Oui.’

Damiano threw back his head and laughed.

‘I can’t see what’s so funny.’

‘Si, I know, and that is what makes it even more amusing.’

Lorelei shook her head. She would never understand men. She relaxed a little, but as her turn-off grew closer she could feel the darkness edging in and a great unwillingness for the evening to end, for all the noise and activity to stop, to be alone. To think.

Yet when Damiano turned to her, all smooth Italian charm, and asked, ‘Shall I see you inside?’ she shook her head without giving it a second thought.

‘I’m a big girl and I know where the lights are.’

But as she entered alone the cold, empty weight of the house bore down on her.

She made her way upstairs, trying not to think about her debts and those warning letters and threats and what it would all inevitably mean...and somehow what flashed to mind was, What if Nash Blue followed her home? And if he did—if he drew up in her courtyard in that smart car of his, if his heavy tread disturbed the gravel, if he stood there in the dark and called her name like a sober Marlon Brando—what would she do?

What would she do?

‘Tip a bucket of water on him. That’s what I’d do,’ she told Fifi as she flooded her bedroom with light. It was the only fully furnished room in the place, an Art Deco boudoir worthy of the silent-film star who had built this Spanish villa back in 1919.

Fifi stirred from her place of residence on the bed and trotted underfoot as Lorelei washed her face and undressed and cursed a bit.

‘He thinks I’m media happy and looking for a deep pocket,’ she muttered. ‘Well, we’re neither of those things, Fifi.’