The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress

She shook it out, frowning. A man’s jacket, and an expensive one. She could tell immediately from how the fabric felt in her fingers, even with dust covering it. Charcoal-grey, with a deep navy silk lining.

Of course she knew who it belonged to. She knew even before she reached into an outside pocket and extracted one of the business cards with Alessandro’s name on it. His name, the name of his company and the various telephone numbers on which he could be reached.

Just looking at his name in elegant black print made her feel shaky.

At a little before ten in the evening there was a high chance that he would be at his fiancée’s house. She could, she supposed, always wait until morning, because not even a high-powered, self-motivated, money-making tycoon such as he was needed a jacket at ten in the evening, but she dreaded making the call and would have a sleepless night if she knew that it would be awaiting her in the morning.

She strolled into the sitting room with the business card in her hand, and before she could start convincing herself that she would be better off pretending never to have found the damned jacket, she dialled his mobile number and waited.

The man must have had his phone glued to his ear, because he answered on the second ring, his voice reaching her as though he was standing next to her in the room.

‘I have your jacket.’ Megan decided straight away that there was no point with pleasantries. ‘It’s Megan, by the way,’ she added.

‘I know who it is.’ Alessandro pushed back the chair in his office and extended his long legs to rest them on the desk.

He had had an enjoyable Christmas lunch. The food, as expected, had been superb, but the atmosphere had seemed limp after Megan’s drinks party. He had met Victoria’s mother once before, and she had been as charming as he remembered, but he had found it difficult to concentrate on her conversation, and matters hadn’t been helped by Dominic, who had insisted on listing all of the football coach’s outstanding qualities, which largely consisted of a willingness to spend limitless time explaining the rules of football to him. He had also offered to take him to a proper match, which apparently constituted reasons for immediate sainthood.

The signed football had even accompanied them to lunch, and had been placed reverently on the table next to Dominic, as though expecting to be served turkey with all the trimmings.

Every time Alessandro had looked at it, which had been often because it had been impossible to miss, he’d thought of the man kissing Megan. And every time he’d thought of that, he’d wondered whether she was considering taking him as her lover.

All in all, he had been relieved when, at six, he’d been able to make his excuses and leave.

Victoria had given him a wallet, and he had made all the right noises, but it now lay forgotten in his coat pocket. He would put it in his drawer in the morning, but doubted he would ever use it. He was attached to the one he used, which harked back to his university days. His Megan days.

He hadn’t remembered the jacket until now. He had worn his coat over the jacket, and had been in such a hurry to leave that the lack of the jacket hadn’t been noticed.

‘Where was it?’ The computer in front of him was reminding him of the report he had been in the middle of writing, and he swivelled it away from him.

‘It must have fallen. I’m afraid it’s a bit dirty, because it got stuck behind our umbrella stand.’

‘Have your guests all gone?’

‘Of course they have, Alessandro. Have you seen the time? Anyway, I won’t keep you from your Christmas Day. I just wanted to tell you that I have your jacket, and you can collect it whenever you want.’

‘Now might be an appropriate time.’

‘Now?’ What, Megan wondered, could be so important about a jacket that he would want it right at this very second?

‘I don’t like putting things off. You know that.’ He also knew that he had at least twenty other jackets hanging in his wardrobe, hand-tailored, silk-lined, mega-expensive and totally disposable. ‘My driver isn’t available at the moment, but I will send a taxi to pick you up. You and my jacket.’

‘No, Alessandro. For starters, I don’t see why I have to be the one to bring you your jacket. It’s your jacket; you can come and fetch it yourself—and anyway, it’s too late now. I’ve spent the past two hours clearing up this house and I’m tired. I want to go to bed.’

She fingered the business card, rolling her thumb over the indented letters of his printed name. She had told herself that she never wanted to lay eyes on him again, that she wouldn’t let him ruin her peace of mind, but now, hearing his voice, she was once again reduced to helplessness.