CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The lift stopped at their floor and Marco stepped aside to allow Sapphire to exit first.
‘Apparently, we have the run of the top floor in the presidential suite. I didn’t ask for the upgrade, but the whole hotel is full. There are three separate bedrooms so you can choose the one you would like.’ He shrugged. ‘It was out of my hands.’
‘A suite?’ Oh, God, no. Too intimate. ‘That’s lovely,’ she lied, aware of a sudden pounding in her chest, as if she’d just run up to the top floor rather than endured a rather damp and infinitesimally slow ride in a lift. A lift in which Marco Cavarelli – her boss, she reminded herself quickly, had gazed at her and stood so close that the all-pervading scent of him filled her with unwanted sensations.
She thought she’d seen his eyes full of unspoken desire, although she now wondered if they were just mirroring her own emotions, which she desperately wanted to hide from him. She had thanked God when the lift doors opened, letting fresh air in and pheromones out.
They headed along an endless corridor, her footsteps measured and calm as she mechanically placed one foot in front of the other on the plush carpet. Inside, her emotions whirled as adrenalin and dread pumped through her body; she could have been walking to the scaffold, the way she felt.
Marco slipped the key card in the door and pushed it open for Sapphire, but seeing that it was still dark inside, slid his arm around the door frame to find the light switch. Sapphire, following closely behind, didn’t realise what he was doing and crashed into him. She reeled backwards, almost falling over her wheelie bag.
‘Sorry, I was just …’ Marco’s arms folded around her, stopping her from losing her balance. She righted herself, but still he held her tight. ‘We need to find the key-card slot to make the light work.’ His voice was husky, low, and very close to her ear.
She froze as his breath fanned her neck, his touch electrifying her in the dark, making their position appear more intimate than it was.
‘Did I stand on your toes?’
‘Only a little bit.’ She wiggled her foot, trying not to wince. A heartbeat passed as she remained in his arms. She stilled, became positively statuesque, convinced he was going to kiss her, blinking in surprise and regret when he drew in a breath and cursed. At least, she imagined the Italian expletive was a curse. It certainly didn’t sound like an endearment and the way he shoved her away from him and tutted in exasperation made her totally rethink the kiss thing.
He dug into his back pocket and she heard a click as light flooded the room. He heaved in another breath and shot her a warning glance, which confused her even more. What was that for? And what just happened?
He dumped their bags on the floor, exasperation etched on his brow as he stepped away from her into the main sitting room.
Tuning in to his mood, she stayed silent until her eyes adjusted to the light that streamed in from the window. It was her turn to draw in a breath as she took in the magnificent view through the panoramic bay window. Edinburgh, shrouded in mist, opened up to her like a Grimms’ fairy tale waiting to be painted. The majestic castle stood proud, high up on the hill, half hidden by the low-lying cloud; it was so close that she felt she could reach out and touch it. ‘My God, the castle is wonderful.’ She raced over to the window and pressed her face against the glass.
Marco strolled over to join her after searching for the bathroom to hand her a huge fluffy towel. He passed it to her, saying, ‘You can always guarantee a giant-sized towel in a hotel such as this.’ He stared out at the view. ‘It is magnificent, although I confess to feeling slightly let down that the presidential suite doesn’t seem to impress you.’ He pulled a wry face, mocking himself.
Sapphire hugged the towel to her chest gratefully, too engrossed to immediately get changed. She spun around on her heels at Marco’s words, taking in the stone fireplace complete with real logs, the flock wallpaper, the thick-piled tartan carpet and heavy drapes. It was a replica of a real Scottish retreat, recreated in a top-class hotel.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she agreed, but the pull of the view made her turn towards the window once more. The castle would make a fantastic subject for one of her larger abstracts and her fingers itched to paint it before the soot-coloured clouds either dissipated or totally engulfed the ancient castle, sitting on its rugged bed of black rock.
Instinctively, she checked the angle of shadow to see how long the light would hold out. A shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds and turned the raindrops into magical stars, sparkling through the haze. She picked up her bag and groaned in frustration as her fingers closed around her sketchpad. If she could manage even a sketchy outline it would be better than nothing; she could fill the rest in later. She turned to check out Marco’s whereabouts, almost bumping into him. He was right behind her, watching with interest as she took in the view.
She caught a gentle smile on his lips, his grey eyes, soft and tender for once, distracting her more than they should.
Fighting down an almost unbearable urge to pull out her pastels, she toyed with the idea of letting Marco in on her secret passion, just so she didn’t miss the wonderful opportunity that was fading away before her eyes.
She glanced at him, considering it. No, she couldn’t tell him. Ever since her school days, when anything she did seemed to be fertile ground for teasing, she had been used to keeping her own counsel. She let her sketchpad drop back into her bag and turned away from him uneasily, hoping her inner thoughts were not transparent. She sighed as she turned back to the mesmerising view and formed a furtive square with her thumbs and forefingers, imagining the size and perspective of the picture she could make.
Marco coughed politely and she let out a breath of irritation, her hands falling to her side. She turned away from the view and only half attempted to conceal her frustration.
‘That certainly held your attention. For a moment there, you disappeared.’
Sapphire turned on him. ‘Am I not allowed my own thoughts?’ Even as she said the words she knew she was being unfair; it was her problem that she felt as if she’d been caught out misbehaving, not his.
He held his hands up in surrender. ‘Of course. I’m just trying to get a handle on what makes you happy – what makes you who you are.’
‘You don’t need to find out what makes me happy, and anyway, I thought you’d already labelled me as damaged goods.’ Her hackles were up, when only seconds ago her mind had been thinking dreamy thoughts of Marco.
‘And you are blaming me for that?’
‘Here we go again.’
He shrugged. ‘You brought the subject up, and since you did, I was the focus of your intentions, remember?’
‘Actually, I can’t; remember, that is. Not much anyway. You appear to remember enough for both of us, though, so feel free to keep judging me and taking the moral high ground. My integrity, or lack of it, against your God-like virtue, yeah?’ She knew she should just shut up, knew she was pushing the boundaries of their uneasy relationship, but right at that moment, the emotional see-saw that he constantly forced her to ride with him was reaching tipping point. ‘And actually, who are you to judge?’ she demanded, warming to her theme. ‘You’ve been through God knows how many lovers yourself, if Finbar is to be believed, and you’ve managed to lose a wife along the way.’
Marco’s head snapped up as if he’d been punched under the chin. His eyes clouded and his jaw tightened. ‘You have no right to bring that up and you know nothing about my circumstances.’ He spoke with controlled anger as he glared at her.
She was shocked by his reaction; she’d said too much, it was clear. It was just that he unnerved her so much, and she was sick of second-guessing him.
Marco shook his head. ‘What just happened here, Sapphire? Why are you so angry with me?’
‘I’m not … I don’t know, just stop trying to get inside my head.’ She raised her palms to warn him off.
He seemed to get the message and changed the focus. ‘Why don’t you have a warm shower, get changed and have a rest? You must be tired.’
Ashamed of her outburst, but still feeling affronted, she shucked off his jacket, throwing it on the sofa. ‘Good idea,’ she said brusquely. She clutched at the towel again having momentarily forgotten about her see-through dress.
He picked up his jacket and draped it carefully over a chair, which irritated her and she wondered if, after all, she was a bit overwrought.
‘The bedrooms are that way, I imagine.’ He ran his fingers through his hair looking agitated and all but dismissed her, lifting his chin in the direction of the corridor.
‘Thank you.’ She picked up her overnight bag and began to walk towards the bedrooms, hating herself for her behaviour. She stopped and turned. ‘I’m sorry.’
He smiled weakly. ‘I have booked dinner at seven with Tom Edwards, the owner of Hopper; I hope, of course that you will join us.’ Marco was back in boss mode. ‘Do you have a cocktail dress?’
She shook her head looking down at the dress that clung to her contours, noting Marco’s eyes scan her body briefly. He was nothing if not a gentleman though, and she felt a stab of disappointment that he didn’t seem to find her body irresistible.
For one mad second, she considered asking him to help her disrobe. She’d seen it played out on films enough times – where the heroine couldn’t quite reach the zip at the back of her dress and before you knew it the sultry hero was kissing her neck and helping her with more than just her dress. She’d probably just have a fit of the giggles and the zip would get stuck, or even worse, Marco would refuse to help her. Oh, how embarrassing would that be?
While she stood there debating, Marco reached for his wallet and pulled out a wad of notes. ‘When you’ve rested, buy something suitable for this evening. The shops are minutes away.’
Sapphire was touched by the gesture, until he added, ‘Don’t forget it needs to be sophisticated – maybe it will help you to act like a lady.’
She eyed Marco and the proffered notes, her momentary gratitude evaporated. He didn’t even seem to realise he’d just insulted her – again.
‘It will be marked as expenses, so don’t think of it as anything else,’ he added, misreading her reaction.
She snatched the notes out of his hand. ‘What’s the real reason for all of this, Marco? Only I’m struggling to understand why you’re including me in your business dealings at all, when you clearly don’t trust me to behave. Are you hoping I’ll be your eyes and ears at work? Grass on my colleagues if you butter me up enough?’
Confusion creased Marco’s brow. ‘Is that what all of this huffiness is about?’
She didn’t know why she wanted to hurt him. Perhaps she wanted a reaction that was more than cool disdain; perhaps she just wanted the truth. ‘I’ve been told it’s what you do – get close to one particular person to glean information from them, maybe even try to sleep with them.’ Now she’d uttered the words she realised how unwarranted her accusation was, but it was too late to take it back.
Marco’s nostrils flared slightly and a flash of the old flintiness returned to his eyes. His smile was scathing as he shook his head, slipping his wallet back into his pocket. ‘Priceless, absolutely beyond belief.’
Sapphire winced. ‘So, you weren’t hoping to do – what I just said.’ She trailed off, feeling silly.
‘Sapphire, I have no need to use you in such a way and actually I think you are overstepping the mark to suggest such a thing.’
‘Why, what’s so wrong with me?’ she asked, suddenly defensive.
‘For goodness sake, stop clouding the issue all of the time,’ Marco said in exasperation.
‘But you confuse me. One minute you’re all officious, “don’t forget who is the boss around here,” and the next minute you turn on the warmth and charm. I feel as if …’ She floundered for an explanation. ‘I feel as if you’re softening me up like a … I don’t know, like a crocodile tenderising its victim to eat later.’
He bestowed a tight smile as he inclined his head. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, madam, I have been enticed by the best in the business. And for the record, I would never expect a woman to allow me to make love to her, I always expect a certain level of receptiveness.’
‘I’ll try to remember that.’
‘You will have no need,’ he retorted dismissively.
Her cheeks seared with humiliation as his words sank in. She crumpled up the money he’d given her and threw it onto the table before marching down the small corridor, burning tears of anger brewing behind her eyes.
She grabbed the nearest door handle, praying it wasn’t a broom cupboard or a bathroom, to complete her humiliation as Marco watched her flounce away. Luckily it was a bedroom, and she shoved at the door angrily. How dare he? Tempted by the best in the business! Was that how he viewed relationships – as a business transaction? She’d show him she was as good as anyone. Bloody arrogant bastard.
Adrenalin fuelled, she paced the room, restless in her determination to make him see that she was equal to any woman of his acquaintance. How could she show him, though? And why did she want to – they couldn’t even manage a civilised conversation?
She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around the room: the huge spa bath, thick white towels and silk embroidered eiderdown. It made her want to cry. It was a room for sharing, for laughing and being happy, for making love – not for sitting forlornly on the end of the bed, unhappy and unwanted. Not that she knew much about making love or being happy, thanks to the confines of the convent and that creep Rick with his secret woman.
The contrast with her meagre accommodation in the convent made the opulence of the hotel room seem shameful and brought back the old convent doctrine that humility was the only way to save her soul.
She shrugged off such weighty thoughts, having fought long and hard with her demons and her supposed sinful ways. She would not let her past shape her future. There was one thing she had learned though: if you couldn’t share the good times with someone you cared for, the good times weren’t worth having – apart from getting to eat the free food all on your own, she thought sadly, eyeing the overflowing fruit bowl and chocolates. She picked up an apple and then put it back again. She would rather paint it than eat it. The colours were tempting and aesthetically pleasing, but then, really, it was just more damned fruit.
She had no idea how to fill her time. She wondered whether to have a bath and maybe read her book, but was too wired, especially knowing Marco was just next door.
Settling for unpacking her bag, she arranged her inadequate outfits on the bed in a slow acceptance that she had nothing vaguely wearable for a five-star restaurant. Even though she was cross with Marco, she didn’t want to look dowdy or out of place. The alternatives were to either stay cooped up in her room all night like a naughty girl, or turn up looking underdressed and risk embarrassing her boss. Mulling over the dilemma, she draped her wet clothes over the radiator and turned on the shower.
A bit more positive after washing her hair and thawing out her body, she decided she would, after all, shop for a new outfit. She heaved on her jeans and jumper, slightly resenting Marco for making her do this, even as a small part of her looked forward to dressing up. She would buy a sophisticated dress and amaze him with her impeccable taste and her good manners. No more tea dresses and flowing locks for her. That would open Marco sodding Cavarelli’s eyes.
She grabbed her handbag off the bed and headed for the door. As she passed by Marco she pretended she hadn’t noticed him typing on his laptop, pretended she hadn’t seen his strong forearms as he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, or his feet, now bare and brown as they rested on the thick carpet.
He didn’t even glance up as she sauntered past. Dear God, he was infuriating. She slammed the door on her way out.