CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sapphire headed into the first department store she came across and managed to get the attention of a sales assistant, who stuck closer than a limpet on a rock when she realised her customer was going for the whole works: shoes, bag, dress and makeover.
“Call me Gemma” persuaded her to buy a fitted red jersey dress that was beautifully fluid, draping around her body as she moved. Sapphire couldn’t help admiring herself in the mirror, wondering why she’d thought red wasn’t her colour. An elegant sparkling necklace and high wedges with contrasting bag was added to the ensemble, and at the last minute she added some diamanté hair jewels to twist into her hair. It was all carefully wrapped by Gemma while Sapphire had her make-up done at the beautician’s counter.
The make-up artist went a bit overboard with the red lipstick, Sapphire thought, although having said she was going for the vampy look, what else should she have expected? She blotted the gash of bright red that was her lips as soon as she left the store, but thought the soft grey eyeshadow and coral blusher suited her colouring.
She was pleased with the look and felt good as she walked back to the hotel, half hoping that Marco would fall immediately in lust with her, just so that she could rebuff him.
Unfortunately, he was asleep on the sofa when she let herself back into the room, which rather diluted the whole, ‘Oh, my God, how come I didn’t realise how beautiful you are?’ effect that she’d been hoping for. A newspaper, flat on his chest, fluttered in the breeze from an open window. He had showered, by the looks of his damp hair – and the fact that he only wore a T-shirt and boxers. His features were softened in sleep and she gazed at him, a deep ache filling her chest. He was infinitely more beguiling when he wasn’t bellowing down the phone over some misdemeanour or frowning over an inflated invoice.
She smiled to herself, her own features relaxing as she watched him. Quickly she took out her pencil to sketch him, her eyes sweeping over his body. She took in his perfection; from an aesthetic point of view he was an artist’s dream. His long legs were firm and his T-shirt showed off his impressive abs. She drew in his face, deftly colouring in his closed eyes and spiky, long lashes and used charcoal to shade in his heavy eyebrows and sharp cheekbones. His lips didn’t look severe when he was asleep, they looked soft and generous, and as she sketched them on her pad she felt a tiny pull of something in her gut; a small twisting like a flutter of tenderness.
He stirred in his sleep and she flipped the page on her sketchpad, hiding the charcoal image while backing away from him, in case he woke up and caught her spying on him. He remained blissfully unaware of her, though, and she watched his chest as it rose and fell in time with his steady breathing. She ached to touch him, but knew she wouldn’t – couldn’t. Just imagine his reaction if he woke up to find her fondling his face; it didn’t bear thinking about. She paced the floor a bit, her earlier tension returning.
Her mouth twisted at the irony of her situation. Here she was, dressed up to the nines, watching Marco sleep, with no more than the urge to stroke his face, while he believed she was a wanton hussy who would have sex with any man who crossed her path.
As Sapphire protectively watched over this handsome man who, against all odds, she was beginning to like very much, she wondered why he had such a deep need to be a perfectionist and what it was that impelled him to be a ruthless businessman. She knew deep down that there was another side to him – a caring side that he didn’t like to show – but she hadn’t exactly tried too hard to find it, had she?
The tug happened again, deep down: a sharp, sweet, aching feeling that almost hurt as she fought the desire to smooth his hair and trace the lines around his eyes. She snuck a few inches closer. His face looked so much softer in sleep, the resolute Marco banished for the moment.
He opened his eyes and Sapphire almost fell over her feet in her haste to distance herself from him. She expected him to snap at her – she was so conditioned to feeling wrong-footed – but he smiled a lazy, sleepy smile and she returned it, spontaneously.
‘Hi, I must have dozed off.’ He stretched and pushed himself upright, sending the newspaper scattering to the floor. He blinked and screwed his eyes up, focusing on Sapphire. ‘Wow. Who stole Sapphire and replaced her with a movie star?’
She’d momentarily forgotten that she was dressed to kill and was wearing enough make-up to sink the Titanic. Marco propped himself up on his elbow and looked her up and down approvingly, and this time she didn’t find it rude or patronising.
‘Very nice – lovely in fact,’ he continued. She couldn’t resist doing a twirl, but his nod of approval was curt and she felt slightly disappointed. What did she expect? Did she want him to sweep her off her feet and tell her she was the only one for him? Unfortunately, she rather thought she did.
Marco instead swung his legs off the sofa and walked over to the kettle, flicking on the switch. ‘Shall we have a cup of tea? You can tell me a bit about yourself while we have some time to kill so that Mr Edwards doesn’t think I’m paying for you by the hour.’
She narrowed her eyes, but he didn’t seem to be aware that he was blatantly insulting her again. ‘No thanks.’
He laughed in surprise. ‘No thanks to which bit, the tea or the talking? Most people cannot say enough about themselves – and most English girls do not refuse tea.’
‘What do you want me to tell you?’ She sat, unenthusiastically on the sofa that was still warm from Marco’s body. She glanced up at him, her gaze straying to his muscled thighs and then upwards towards the boxer shorts before she snapped her eyes resolutely back to his face. Was she really having a conversation with her boss while he walked around in his pants and a T-shirt? He certainly didn’t seem as affected by her new vampy look as she was by his semi-naked state, as he folded his arms and leaned against the wall waiting for the kettle to boil and for Sapphire to talk.
‘This isn’t an interrogation, Sapphire, I’m just hoping to get to know you better – so we are comfortable with each other.’
His tone was gentle enough to convince Sapphire that he had no sinister motive, so she took a steadying breath and prepared to tell Marco a little about herself, albeit reluctantly. ‘Finbar is a good friend, as you probably know, and I have a cousin in London who I am close to. She rescued me from the Dominican nuns, as she likes to say. That’s about it.’
‘You needed rescuing?’
‘I suppose I did. I was twenty years old and was doing little more than teaching the children at the convent, unofficially, as I had no other income and nowhere to go. I was existing, rather than living. Suzie brought me to England. She knew Mr Clarke and got me a job.’
‘I like the sound of this Suzie.’
‘Yes, she’s the only family I have – that I’m in contact with, anyway. She makes jewellery and sells it in a gallery in London that also sells art and artefacts. I go over there and help out sometimes when I have a few free days.’ She stood up and dusted down her dress. ‘Okay?’
‘What? We’ve only just scratched the surface. Sit down.’
She balked, but sat again when he added please to his demand.
‘Tell me about one of your pets, you must have had a pet when you lived in South Africa.’
‘You know I lived in South Africa? That’s not on my CV.’
Marco put two teabags into mugs and poured boiling water over them while she watched, warily, as if he was going to try and slip a truth drug into her mug.
‘I make it my business to find out about my staff,’ he said, as he took milk out of the mini fridge and popped the lid.
Her mind raced as she realised the extent of his efficiency had included background checks on her life. She wasn’t pleased. Her past was for her to know and no one else, and she wanted it to stay that way.
Marco, however, didn’t appear to notice her reluctance to share; he simply stirred the tea and fished out the teabags from the mugs.
‘A horse,’ she said eventually, smiling at the memory, even as she resented his probing. She looked at the floor as her memories surfaced, before gazing back at Marco. ‘He was more than a horse to me– he was my soulmate. I’d ride him for miles and miles to beautiful, secluded places where exotic plants and twisting trees concealed animals you’d never normally see. They weren’t afraid of me and I felt safe, too.’ She checked Marco wasn’t laughing at her and accepted a mug of tea before continuing. ‘I would take my stepmother’s dog, Tubby, to my …’ She swallowed and bit her lip, finding it inexplicably hard to continue.
Marco straddled the arm of the sofa and waited, his serious eyes fixed on hers, as she struggled to finish the sentence. She couldn’t tell him about the shelter she made to escape from the real world; it was too ingrained in her to keep such things to herself. She could, however, glower at him for being so intrusive – then maybe he’d stop quizzing her.
‘Do you still have your horse?’
‘Yeah, he’s parked right out back next to the Porsches and Ferraris, swishing his tail at the ladies and wowing them with his stud history.’
‘I don’t mean here.’ He smiled gently, but she didn’t want to smile back, the memories were too painful. She stared into her mug, her mind in a different time, a different place.
‘No, my father wouldn’t pay for his upkeep once I hit eighteen and refused to go home to visit him and his wife. As far as I know he was given to a neighbour. I never really found out.’
‘That’s a hell of a story.’
‘You think I’m making it up?’ Her head shot up and she flashed hurt and angry eyes at him.
‘No, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, that is really not …’ He raised his hands to placate her. ‘What was your horse’s name?’
‘Star.’
‘Star! You’re kidding me.’
‘What’s wrong with Star?’ She threw him a warning look. If he carried on the way he was going she’d tell him to shove his dinner date and get straight into her pyjamas to binge-watch the soaps all night. That or she’d start walking home.
‘There’s nothing wrong with the name Star. Sorry.’ He sipped his tea and prodded the thick pile of the cream carpet with his toes, looking thoughtful.
She glared at him, her chin jutting out. It was bad enough that he made her return to a part of her life she wanted to forget, without him laughing about it into the bargain.
‘It’s just not a very original name.’
She shrugged wearily. ‘Ava, our maid, bought me a hamster and I called him Hammy, so I probably don’t think too deeply about such things.’
‘I had a duck called Puddleduck, so perhaps I am not much better.’ He smiled again, and this time she returned it.
‘See how easy a conversation can be?’ Marco said. ‘I already know you had two pets and your maid was your only friend.’
She looked down at her tea, willing him not to dig deeper, but it seemed he wasn’t letting up. ‘So, you stayed on the farm in Africa until you went to school? Were you happy at home?’
‘I was until mum left and she moved in, then I went a bit wild.’ She looked at her nails, trying to tamp down the spark of anger that used to fire her up at the unfairness of how her life changed. She swallowed. ‘I was sent to boarding school in Ireland, where my father grew up. It was a convent school for young ladies. I was thirteen – far too old to make proper friends and far too young not to care. Not making friends seems to be a habit I’ve found difficult to break.’
‘Was school better than home?’
She shrugged.
Marco raised an eyebrow in encouragement.
She looked at him bleakly, knowing that he expected to hear that maybe life was better away from her stepmother. Finally, she said, ‘I was a wild redhead with a weird accent and a penchant for keeping stray animals hidden in my room. You tell me.’ She sipped her tea, hoping the cross-examination was almost over.
Marco stayed silent and she peered at him from under her lashes, trying to read what he was thinking. He sounded almost emotional when he spoke. ‘I cannot imagine a life so different from my own upbringing, filled with love and nurturing.’
‘Yeah, well don’t brag about it too much, you’re not exactly sorted out in the life department, if everything in the society magazines is true.’
‘Ouch. I suppose I asked for that.’
‘You did. And now it’s your turn, if we’re going through with this touchy-feely bonding experience.’ She settled into the squashy sofa, tucking her legs neatly by her side. ‘Pets are optional.’
He looked at his watch. ‘Is that the time? I’d better get ready.’ He drained his tea and took Sapphire’s mug from her hand.
‘Nice one,’ Sapphire said. ‘Wish I’d tried that move,’ she called after him as he headed towards his bedroom door.
Marco turned and winked at her. ‘I’ve had more practice.’ He stopped and motioned a hand in her direction. ‘I honestly didn’t mean to offend you, Sapphire, when I offered to buy you a dress. You really must let me reimburse you.’
‘That’s okay, I needed one anyway.’ She grinned lopsidedly.
‘You’re such a bad liar.’ He took a step towards her. ‘I’m sorry we seem to rub each other the wrong way, Sapphire, but I am trying.’
‘Yeah you are; very trying.’ She grinned at her weak joke.
Marco raised his hands. ‘Walked into that one, didn’t I?’ His eyes crinkled endearingly as he smiled, and she felt a warm glow start at the pit of her stomach when he said, ‘You will outshine everyone tonight, Sapphire. You are a beautiful woman.’
‘And I hope you appreciate how much trouble I’ve gone to, so don’t try to upstage me with your glitzy connections and your magazine smile.’
‘I will go just as I am, trust me.’
‘I hope not – boxer shorts tend to be frowned on in posh restaurants, and it would give you an unfair advantage over me. There’s bound to be a pap lurking around somewhere, to put you on the front page of his crappy newspaper.’ She grinned and nodded towards his bare legs, his T-shirt only just covering his boxers. If she hoped to embarrass him, she was sadly unsuccessful.
‘Ah, I miss being at home in the mountains where everyone wears shorts.’
‘I’d like to visit the Italian mountains.’ Sapphire could have bitten off her tongue as soon as she said it, realising that it sounded as if she was angling for an invitation.
Marco gave her a measured look before saying, ‘It’s the best place in the world. It is where I intend to live for good, one day.’ He placed the mugs side by side on the service tray and walked into his room.