Lynne Graham - Married For Revenge

While Vitale had risen early, he had let her sleep in and it had been a rush to get dressed and packed ready for the time he had said they had to leave. At first it had pleased her that he was making the effort to personally drive her to the airport, but even the most insensitive woman could not have missed out on noticing how polite and almost distant Vitale seemed to be acting all of a sudden. Zara had never had a one-night stand but it struck her that her vision of how a morning after such a night would feel best described Vitale’s behaviour. The awkwardness in the atmosphere was not solely her fault. And maybe she had just enjoyed a one night stand, she reasoned painfully, maybe this was it for her and Vitale Roccanti.

What were the chances of him trying to conduct a long-distance relationship with her? Did he even visit London in the course of his work? For the very first time she acknowledged that the odds were that she might never see Vitale again.

Her potential client had become a lover and that could well have destroyed any chance of him seriously considering her for the job.

‘Do you still want to see a set of plans for the villa?’ she enquired stiffly.

‘ Sì, of course,’ Vitale confirmed, shooting her a muted glance, his tension palpable as he swept up her case in a strong hand and carried it downstairs for her.

All Zara’s suspicious antennae were on alert. Had Vitale already toyed with the idea of telling her not to bother with the plans? Wouldn’t that provide a neat end to a potentially embarrassing situation? I’m never going to see him again. I’m never ever going to see him again. The conviction cast a pall over Zara’s spirits. She told herself she didn’t care, that it didn’t matter to her, that a few days ago she had never even heard his name before. And while those thoughts whirled round and round in her mind, pride forced her head higher. With brittle efficiency she discussed arrangements for submitting plans for his inspection while ascertaining the exact level of detail he required. As he seemed to have little to say on that score she was convinced that he would reject the plan, but as Blooming Perfect always charged for putting in a basic design her time would not have been entirely wasted.

His lean, strong face set in forbidding lines, Vitale opened the front door and took her small case out to his car. Standing in the porch, she donned her jacket, her delicate features blank as she fought for composure and blamed herself bitterly for having abandoned her professionalism in the first place. This sense of discomfiture, this sharp sense of loss were the payback for her reckless behaviour.

‘Zara …’ And as she looked up she was taken aback when Vitale closed his arms round her and bent his head to kiss her, because the way he had been behaving actual physical contact had to have been about the last thing she expected from him.

But in the emotional mood Zara was in, his carnal mouth had only to touch hers for her hands to delve possessively back into his black hair. In fact she held him to her for a split second before she yanked her arms away again and angled her head back, having finally recognised in some disconcertion that he had offered her more of a peck than a passionate embrace.

But even as she released him it seemed all hell broke loose. She stared in shock and flinched at the sight of two men wielding cameras only yards away from them. The men leapt up from crouching positions, clearly having taken photos of Vitale and Zara in each other’s arms, and tore off into the trees surrounding the property to speedily disappear from sight.

‘Where on earth did they come from? Who are they, for goodness’ sake?’ Zara demanded angrily. ‘Why the heck were they taking pictures of us?’

‘PAPARAZZI. They must’ve staked out the house to await their chance.’ It was the incredible calm with which Vitale made that explanation that first alerted Zara to the idea that something was badly wrong. He didn’t seem surprised by the invasion of their privacy or even particularly bothered by it, which shook her.

‘But what on earth for?’ Zara queried, marvelling at his seemingly laid-back attitude when everybody she knew in the public eye hated the intrusion of muckraking journalists into their private lives.

‘Obviously you know why the paps would find photographing you with another man worth their while,’ Vitale countered with a harsh edge to his dark deep drawl, his intonation cold enough to make him sound momentarily like a stranger.

Taken aback by that tone, Zara frowned up at him. ‘If they were paps, how would they know I was here with you? Another man? What are you saying?’

Vitale quirked a derisive brow, stunning eyes dark as pitch and harder than she had ever seen them. ‘Have you forgotten your Greek fiancé? The fact that you’re marrying Sergios Demonides this summer? In the light of that, proof of your obvious intimacy with me is more than sufficient to sell a grubby tabloid story for a profit.’

Air rasped in Zara’s throat and the muscles there tightened, making it hard for her to catch her breath. She was deeply shaken by the level of his information. ‘You know about Sergios?’

‘Obviously,’ Vitale admitted drily.

‘We’re not engaged,’ she said limply, not really even knowing why she was troubling to make that distinction since it was painfully obvious that Vitale Roccanti had already judged her badly for her silence on the score of her marital commitment. ‘There was no ring, no engagement … it’s not like Sergios and I are in love with each other or anything like that—’

Vitale shifted a silencing hand, his lack of interest patent and like another slap in the face. ‘Whatever—’

‘No.’ Zara refused to be silenced, determined to defend her behaviour as best she could. ‘As soon as I got back to London I was planning to tell Sergios that I couldn’t go ahead and marry him. I wasn’t fooling around behind his back. I’m not like that. I had already decided that I couldn’t go ahead and marry him after meeting you—’

‘It’s immaterial to me—’

‘You knew about Sergios and yet you said nothing?’ Zara pressed, struggling to understand and not linger on that last lethal statement, for nothing positive could be gained from the words, ‘It’s immaterial to me.’ He didn’t care that she was supposedly marrying another man? Didn’t care in the slightest? That was a declaration of towering lack of interest that cut her to the quick.

‘If you’re to make your flight, we have to leave now.’ Vitale delivered the reminder without any emotion at all.

‘I’ll catch a later flight at my own expense,’ Zara fielded with a slight shake in her voice. ‘I’m more interested right now in finding out what’s going on here. I went to bed last night with one guy and this morning it’s like I’ve woken up with his nasty identical twin. If you knew about Sergios why didn’t you mention it?’

Vitale resisted a strong urge to ask her why she hadn’t mentioned it. Why should he care? She was faithless, pleasure-loving. She meant nothing to him, less than nothing. He breathed in deep and slow, suppressing any hint of an emotional reaction. He was keen to be done with the dialogue and it struck him that honesty was probably the best policy in the circumstances. It would draw an efficient line under their entanglement as nothing else could do. ‘I was willing to do whatever I could to ensure that your marriage plans fell through as I believe it will have a detrimental effect on your father’s hopes of selling the family hotel group to Demonides.’