Innocent in the Ivory Tower

He’d put it down to the ego-stroke of having a woman more interested in his attention than his bank balance, but he knew he had to put matters on a more fiscal level. Once he was keeping her the whole aura of romance would dissolve, and the little touches of sweetness, her insecurity about his feelings, would be smoothed over by regular cheques.

Hell, the sheets upstairs were barely cool and she was planning a shopping trip. Maisy was a sweet girl, and she was heat itself between the sheets, but at the end of the day why should she be any different from anyone else? And why was he even entertaining notions of what it would be like if she was?

Feeling as if she had run an emotional marathon, Maisy came down the main stairs, checking her purse. Credit card, passport, the Italian currency she had bought yesterday. She was all set to go shopping, and she wouldn’t be a card-carrying woman if the thought of a few hours looking at clothes didn’t pique her interest. The added bonus of a little pampering this afternoon put a smile on her face.

Alexei had made an appointment for her in a spa in the hills at two, giving her a few hours to trawl the shops. Andrei would be driving her, which was the best news she’d had. All Maisy wanted to do was prop herself up at a window, watch the scenery drift by and daydream like a teenage girl about Alexei. She knew it was silly, but she hadn’t been able to think of anything else but him since he’d burst into that kitchen at Lantern Square. Now her thoughts had a vivid sexual imagery that scorched her cheeks but kept a little smile triggered on her lips.

She was smiling as she reached the mezzanine and Carlo Santini came out of nowhere. She hadn’t realised he was even on the premises, but given the size of the place that was probably a moot point.

‘Miss Edmonds?’

Maisy tried not to look worried.

‘Alexei asked me to pass on these items to you. This is the security key that gives access to all areas of the villa. If you ever require a motor car, as you do today, there will be a driver always at your disposal. Just phone through to the house office and it will be arranged. Here is the number.’

He held out a smart phone and unwillingly she took it. She had no idea how to use it.

‘An account has been opened in your name. Here are the details, and your cards.’

‘A bank account?’

‘Si.’ He smiled at her then, and she didn’t like his smile. ‘Did you think you would not be paid, signorina?’

Maisy’s whole being ground to a halt. She remained silent. His smile was definitely not pleasant. She hadn’t imagined that.

‘Now is your chance to spend up, Miss Edmonds. Mr Ranaevsky is a very generous man.’

Maisy stayed where she was a long time after Carlo had left her, the smart phone heavy in her hands. She looked at the clear plastic wallet of cards through a blur of tears.

It was stupid to be angry, stupid to be hurt. This was how he did things. This was what she had agreed to. But knowing that and really understanding that she wasn’t special, she was just part of the way he ran his life—his empire—bit hard.

He was showing her very clearly the terms.

But Carlo Santini had looked at her as if she were some sort of woman to be paid off.

Those weren’t her terms.

Shoving everything into her handbag, she barrelled down the remaining flight of stairs. She’d show him. She wouldn’t spend a cent of his stupid money.

Four hours later Maisy was blissfully prone under the experienced hands of a masseuse, all the knots and tension in her muscles worked away. She hadn’t realised how much she had needed this—not just the massage, but time away by herself. And she didn’t feel guilty—not about leaving Kostya, who was in safe hands, nor about this morning and what she and Alexei had done in that big bed. Twenty-four hours ago she would have had a hard time disrobing for a massage, but now she was lying naked on her belly, a towel draped discreetly over her lower body, content to be pummelled and oiled and taken care of.

What a difference a day made—or rather a very satisfying morning.

Bundled in a white robe, her hair wrapped in a treatment, Maisy thumbed through a pile of glossy magazines, her thoughts on what she should wear home from her new purchases. She wanted Alexei to see the full impact of the results all this pampering yielded, but mostly it would be so lovely to just feel beautiful. There hadn’t been much time or space in the past two years for feeling beautiful.

She flipped a page in the social events section of a glossy US magazine and her thoughts came to a stuttering stop.

It was Alexei. He was on a boat, at a party, his arm around the waist of Tara Mills. Maisy didn’t have to read the caption to recognise her face. It had been on a billboard at Naples airport when they’d flown in. More than a model, she was a brand.