Deal With the Devil--3 Book Box Set

‘I don’t think she’ll have to try very hard,’ Carly answered lightly. ‘They seem very much two of a kind.’

So why was she suffering such a wrenching pain at the thought of them together?

It was physical frustration, that was all, she reassured herself as she continued to ignore Ricardo, keeping her back turned towards him. Because after the pang of longing that had come through her when she had seen him striding towards her she didn’t trust herself to be able to look directly at him.

From the table where he was sitting at a café opposite the harbour, Ricardo had an uninterrupted view of the D’Argents’ yacht and the activity around it being orchestrated by Carly.

It was true that last night he had been too enraged and frustrated to think analytically about the way she was likely to react to his denunciation of her, and it was also true that, had he done so, it certainly wouldn’t have occurred to him that she would retreat behind a screen of icy politeness and professionalism. On the one hand meticulously making sure that he was provided with ample opportunity to witness every aspect of the preparations for the upcoming event and ask whatever questions he wished, and yet on the other managing to convey to him very clearly that she loathed and resented every second she had to spend in his company.

As a portrayal of an affronted woman whose morals were beyond reproach it was very impressive, he admitted. Unfortunately for her, though, he knew she was no such thing. So she was wasting her time.

It was irritating that Prêt a Party’s financial year-end meant that the only figures available for his inspection were virtually a year out of date. He had given instructions that he wanted more up to date financial information, but that, of course, would take time as it would have to be acquired discreetly. He certainly did not want anyone else alerted to the fact that he was considering it as an acquisition.

He picked up the local newspaper a previous occupant of the table had left and opened it. Italian was his first language, but he was fluent in several others, including French. He was idly flicking through the pages when a sentimentally captioned photograph on one of them caught his eye. Frowning, he studied it in disbelief.

An ‘angel of mercy’, the paper fancifully described a young woman holding out sandwiches to a group of beggar children. The photo accompanied a piece on the best ways to help street children, and the woman was quite definitely Carly, even if she had been photographed with her back to the camera. He also recognised the airport location, and the suitcase on the ground behind her—although not the outstretched male hand that was just in the shot, grasping it.

He closed the paper, his mouth grim.

Okay, so maybe—just maybe—her suitcase had genuinely been stolen. As for her act of charity…He hadn’t missed the way she had reached out to the smallest and weakest of the children, making sure that he received his fair share of the food she was handing out. As a boy he had had first-hand experience of what it was like to have to beg for food.

A large limousine drew up in front of Carly and several people got out and started to walk towards her. One of them she recognised as the current ‘in’ classical violinist who had been hired to play as the guests came on board.

Immediately she went to greet him and introduce herself to him and his entourage. The violinist, unlike the catering staff and the florist, had been invited to mingle with the guests later in the evening, and had been given a room in a St Tropez luxurious boutique hotel, paid for by the D’Argents.

Naturally he wanted to know where he would be playing, and dutifully Carly set about answering his manager’s questions.

Inside she was still feeling sick with shock and misery over Ricardo’s accusations, but she was here to do a job, not indulge her own feelings. And besides, she had a long history of having to hide what she was feeling and the pain and humiliation others had inflicted on her.

Her adoptive parents might turn to her for financial assistance, but it had been their own daughter to whom they had given their love, not Carly.

Ricardo got up and came towards Carly.

‘I’m going back to the villa shortly. Presumably you will wish to go back yourself at some stage, in order to get ready for this evening. Should you want a lift—’

‘I don’t,’ Carly told him curtly, without looking up from checking one of the invoices in front of her.

‘Cut out the hard-done-by act, Carly,’ Ricardo snapped, equally curtly. ‘I’m not taken in by it.’

‘I don’t wish to discuss it.’

‘You thought you’d fooled me and you don’t like the fact that I caught you out.’

‘No. What I don’t like is the fact that I was stupid enough to think there was anything remotely desirable about you.’

‘But you did desire me, didn’t you?’

‘You must excuse me, Mr Salvatore. I’ve got work to do.’

She didn’t turn to watch him as he walked away from her, but nevertheless she knew immediately when he had gone.

‘How’s it going?’

Carly gave Sarah, the PA, a slightly harassed smile.

‘Okay! So far there’s only been one major fall-out between the chefs.’

Sarah laughed. ‘You’re lucky,’ she announced, ‘You can add a zero to that so far as the D’Argent’s are concerned. Not that they fall out so much as she falls out with him! Did you manage to find something to wear for later?’

Carly shook her head. ‘I haven’t had time,’ she told her truthfully.

‘Would these be any use, then?’ Sarah asked her, pointing to the overstuffed bin liner she had just put down.

‘It’s some stuff Mariella told me to get rid of ages ago. Look at this—it would be perfect for you for tonight,’ she announced, whipping a mass of silk black fabric out of the top of the bin liner. ‘It’s a sort of top and palazzo pants thing, all in one.’

The fine silk floated mouthwateringly through Carly’s fingers. ‘Are you sure that Mariella won’t mind?’ she asked Sarah worriedly.

‘I doubt she’ll even notice. Not once she hits the champagne and cocaine,’ Sarah answered bluntly.

‘It’s very sheer…’ Carly hesitated.

‘You can wear a body underneath it—although Mariella didn’t. Oh, and you’ll need a pair of high heels—you should be able to pick something up at the market whilst they’re having dinner. And if you can’t get away you can use my cabin to shower and get changed in.’

&nb

sp; Carly gave her a grateful look of relief. ‘I was wondering how one earth I was going to manage to make time for that,’ she admitted. ‘I daren’t leave the chefs alone together for too long, and I’ve promised Jeff I’ll make sure no one touches his box trees!’

Sarah laughed and shook her head. ‘When is my prince going to come and take me away from all this?’ She sighed.

CHAPTER SIX

‘HERE they come…’

Carly gave Sarah a slightly distracted smile as they both watched the long line of limousines queuing up to disgorge the D’Argents’ guests.

Carly had changed into the black outfit Sarah had given her, and was self-consciously aware of how very suggestively revealing it was. Not even the flesh-coloured body she was wearing beneath it could totally offset the effect of the layers of sheer black fabric floating around her body, revealing with every movement the sensual gleam of her skin beneath the silk.

If she had had something else to wear she would have done so. Sarah had intended to be kind, Carly knew, but no way was this outfit, with its tight-fitting top and hip-hugging palazzo pants bottom, suitable as discreet ‘work wear’. But the other outfits had been just as bad.

Already as people approached the gangway they were looking at her—especially the men, some of whom were giving her openly lascivious glances.

Two over-chunky and businesslike dinner-suited bouncer types were checking the invitations before allowing guests to step forward into the open-fronted enclosure, where uniformed staff were waiting to offer welcome glasses of champagne cocktail. The glasses were arranged on white trays, whilst the cocktails were a steel-grey colour.

‘What on earth is in them?’ Carly had whispered to their own maître d’.

‘Champagne, liqueur and colouring,’ he had told her dryly. ‘Mariella D’Argent was insistent that they had to be grey!’

Prior to the D’Argents’ return Carly had made a swift inspection of the yacht’s receptions areas, to check that everything was as it should be. Privately she felt that the glass floor over thousands of small white lights was a bit OTT, but she had been assured that it was nothing compared with what some people asked for.