CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Marco opened the door quietly and turned on the low lamp by the television as he threw off his jacket and undid his tie, convinced that Sapphire would be in her room. He took in the spectacular view from the window, soon turning away, anxious to make amends. However, as he looked around the suite he realised there was no sign of her; no kicked-off shoes and no handbag slung on the table. His blood ran cold; the signs were ominous.
He put his ear to her bedroom door, but couldn’t hear anything. Was she asleep? Could he check on her or would that be overstepping the mark? Instinct told him she wasn’t in and he suddenly didn’t care about overstepping the mark. He rapped on the door, turned the handle and headed inside.
Her dress was crumpled up on the bed as if she had undressed in haste, her tiny clutch bag sat on top of the drawers and her heels lay askew on the carpet. He checked the wardrobe, relieved to see her overnight bag at the bottom of it. So, she hadn’t checked out; that was something, he supposed, but he would never find her if she was wandering the streets of Edinburgh.
A single woman in a city at night was asking for trouble, especially one looking as ravishing as Sapphire tonight. He went cold at the thought that she might binge drink the way she had in Florence. Dear God, she could be raped or murdered. He’d been on the receiving end of her drinking sessions and not every man was as much of a gentleman as he was.
He picked up her discarded dress, testing the feel of the soft fabric between his thumb and fingertips, trying not to imagine how it would be to run his hands over her body while she wore it. He brought the fabric to his nose and breathed in, before quickly dropping it back on the bed. This would not do; he was not behaving appropriately.
For a brief moment, he was back in his hotel in Florence kissing her, caressing her skin, cupping the roundness of her bottom. He groaned. He would have to find her. He would also have to stop thinking about her in such an unprofessional manner. Two things that right now seemed rather too challenging.
He tapped his fingers impatiently on the metal handrail as the lift creaked its way to the ground floor. His first port of call, the hotel bar, found no more than a gaggle of girls fuelling up for the evening, sipping lurid-coloured drinks while a couple of bored-looking businessman leered at them. There was no sign of Sapphire and he wasn’t prepared to wait any longer. He tapped out her number on his mobile phone.
She answered at the third ring. ‘Mr Cavarelli?’
He sighed. She was plainly pissed off with him. ‘Where are you?’
There was a pause before she answered. ‘I’m not sure. Is something wrong?’
‘Yes, I can’t believe you went to a bar.’ He tried to contain his anger, convinced that he could hear glasses chinking, and the babble of people in the background.
‘Yes. Drunk as a skunk.’ She blew out a long, drawn-out exaggerated sigh.
‘I’ll come and get you. Stay where you are.’
‘I’m joking, Marco.’
The silence lengthened. He dragged in a deep breath, trying to remain calm. ‘Can you come back to the hotel, please?’
‘I suppose so. I thought you were talking business and I was surplus to requirements.’
He sighed. ‘We shall talk on your return – if that’s okay with you.’ He ended the call, hoping she’d pick up on the sarcasm. Glaring at his phone as if it would gauge her state of mind, he felt disgruntled, despite knowing he was being unfair. He had practically demanded that she leave the restaurant and now he was demanding that she return. He paced the foyer, waiting.
He was sure she looked guilty as she walked towards him, the annoying oversized satchel she took almost everywhere banging against her hip. He gripped her arm. ‘You silly woman – have you no sense, going out this late at night?’
Sapphire’s chin went up. ‘What? Where are you, Mr Cavarelli – in some kind of Victorian time warp? There is nothing lacking in taking in the sights. Am I supposed to have a chaperone or something?’
‘Don’t you know what can happen in a big city at night?’
She looked stunned. ‘What, worse things than spending a week in the outback on my own?’
Marco hardly listened as he propelled her out of the foyer and towards the lift.
She twisted out of his grasp as he pressed his palm to the small of her back and continued the steady march along the length of the marble floor. ‘I was enjoying the street shows – it’s festival week. No one should be stuck indoors.’ She looked totally puzzled, he had to admit.
‘You didn’t go to a pub?’
‘No, I just said that to wind you up.’
‘Oh.’ His facial muscles relaxed. ‘Good.’ He knew he had overreacted at her disappearance, but he was still too annoyed to concede that she was right.
‘So, tell me, what did you think would happen to me?’ Her voice rose to match his. ‘Did you think the zombie apocalypse would finally kick off tonight, drawn by the magnitude of tasty, arty luvvies – was that it? Or maybe the Vikings are back, ’cos it’s been some time; they must be missing all that haggis and porridge. Nice bit of rape and pillage to see them right for the evening.’ She pushed him away and flung her hands up in the air. ‘Just let go of me, will you?’ She stormed on ahead, her bag bashing her hip as she walked.
‘You are technically at work. I thought you were in your room,’ Marco hissed, catching up with her.
‘I am not your bloody puppet.’ She tried to bat him away as she turned to him, her eyes flashing, lips pale. He noticed she’d removed her lipstick.
She clenched her fists. ‘Are you seriously saying that you expect me to do exactly as you say because I’m being paid for this? You are bloody unbelievable.’ She twisted away from his grasp. ‘Leave me alone.’ She pushed him in the chest as he tried to catch her arm once more.
Marco knew perfectly well that she didn’t need his hand to guide her into the lift, but he did it anyway, only letting her go when they were shut safely inside.
He stood rigidly by the door, his fists clenched, trying to work out how to explain that he had been worried about her – though he was pretty sure she was past caring what he thought.
The lift soared to the top of the hotel and Sapphire stared ahead, apparently thinking the emergency information panel was more interesting than he was. He toyed with the idea of quipping that Health and Safety had neglected to include zombie invasions to their checklist, wondering if this might defuse the atmosphere, but he didn’t think Sapphire would see the funny side.
She marched ahead of him until they reached the door of their suite, where she refused to meet his eye as she fumbled with her key card. Marco followed her in and headed for the drinks tray. Without saying a word, he unscrewed the top of a bottle of malt whisky, poured a generous amount into a glass and tossed it down his throat, hoping the burn would help him to rationalise his emotions.
He glanced at Sapphire, regret beginning to fill the place where anger had been. Gulping back another mouthful of whisky, he worried at his temples with his fingertips. He knew he should apologise, but feared that he would be defenceless if such a move led to more emotional outbursts. It might perhaps lead to them comforting each other, which might lead to him kissing her, and that might lead to God knows what. He sighed. ‘It’s late. I have work to do.’
Sapphire’s eyes flashed raw fury. ‘Is that it? You drag me back here looking as if the devil has possessed you and then expect me to put myself to bed like a good little girl?’
Marco pushed down an image of her in his own bed, hair spread out over the pillow, plump lips inviting him. He thumped his glass down. ‘No.’
‘What then? Why are you being like this and what exactly do you want from me?’ she whispered. Her eyes looked over-large in her face, her expression tremulous.
Dear God, what did he want from her? He closed his eyes, briefly. Everything.
‘Nothing,’ he said.
Ignoring the hurt in her eyes, he picked up his laptop bag and dragged out his laptop, banging it down onto the table with enough force to make him fear for its safety. ‘I have work to do.’
She caught her bottom lip in her teeth and made to move towards him, her eyes fixed on his. ‘Mr Cavarelli, I would like to know why you appear to be so upset at the thought that I might be out enjoying myself.’
He took a step backwards; no way was he going to let her close to him. He turned away from her with a click of his tongue, slid his laptop to the other end of the table and opened the lid.
She strode towards his laptop and slammed the lid shut. ‘And why you sent me away when you thought Tom was going to offer to show me the sights.’
She took another step towards him. ‘I hope to God you didn’t think that I would embarrass myself – get drunk and throw myself at him; I’m hoping you know me better than that, by now.’ Marco turned his back on her, but she just twisted around, fixing her gaze on his face. ‘Or was it something else. Jealousy, maybe?’
He met her gaze, seeing only honesty in her eyes, as if she was offering him a lifeline. Maybe, if he accepted her offer he could return to being the Marco he was before: the Marco who loved and laughed and trusted, instead of the Marco whose life was making money and building empires. For a heartbeat he was tempted, but instead of pulling her into his arms and kissing her as he could, as he should, he raised his hand and drew his knuckles softly down her cheek.
They stared at each other for another heartbeat. Sapphire moistened her lips with her tongue and Marco’s gaze lingered on her mouth.
He took a deep breath. ‘Goodnight, Sapphire, I’ll see you in the morning.’ He took hold of her shoulders and pushed her very gently away from him.
Her look was pitying as she took a couple of involuntary steps backwards, her hand fluttering to her throat. She shook her head. ‘You can’t even be true to yourself,’ she said, before swivelling on her heel. She stalked across the sitting room towards her bedroom, her back ramrod straight.
Marco swallowed, almost called her back. ‘I’ll see you at seven for breakfast,’ he tried, hoping she might turn around and he could make amends.
‘I’ll get something at the airport,’ she threw over her shoulder with a toss of her hair.
Hating himself for being so boorish, he exhaled slowly, watching her flounce into her room. He’d managed to resist her and he was thankful for that, even though his hands shook as he pressed fingers to keyboard, typing mindlessly. He sloshed more whisky into his glass. It was going to be a long night.