Rome's Revenge

‘I can’t argue with that.’ Matt handed him an elaborately embossed card from the folder. ‘A ticket in your name for a charity ball at the Park Royal Hotel tomorrow night. She’ll be there. He won’t. You can look her over at your leisure.’

There was a tap at the bedroom door, and Kit Sansom appeared with a tray of coffee.

‘We shan’t need that,’ her father said. ‘Because Rome is leaving. He’s got some serious thinking to do.’ His smile was almost malicious. ‘Haven’t you—boy?’

Rome hadn’t spent all the intervening time thinking, however. He’d attempted to make contact with some of the financial contacts on his list, but without success, no one wanted to know him, he realised bitterly. Matt Sansom had done his work well.

And now, for Montedoro’s sake, he was committed to the next phase of this war of attrition between two megalomaniac old men.

He groaned, and tossed down the rest of his whisky. If ever he’d needed to get roaring, blazing drunk, it was tonight.

As he walked back inside to refill his glass, someone knocked at the door of his suite. A porter faced him.

‘Package for you, sir. Brought round by special messenger.’ He accepted Rome’s tip, and vanished.

Frowning, Rome slit open the bulky envelope. He realised immediately that he was looking at a complete dossier on Cory Grant—where she lived, how she spent her spare time, where she shopped, her favourite restaurants. Even the scent she used.

No detail too trivial to be excluded, he acknowledged sardonically.

But it was chillingly thorough. Matt must have been planning this for a long time, he thought. And the screwed-up land deal was just an excuse.

He poured himself another whisky, stretched out on the bed and began to read.

‘You made me look a complete idiot,’ said Philip. ‘Walking out like that.’

Indignation added a squeak to his voice, Cory thought dispassionately. And who needed a man who squeaked?

She kept her tone matter-of-fact. ‘I didn’t think you’d notice I was gone.’

‘Oh, come off it, Cory. I told you—I ran into some old friends—lost track of time rather. And I’m sorry if you felt neglected.’ He paused. ‘But I’ll make it up to you.’ His voice became chummy, almost intimate. ‘Why don’t we have dinner? I promise I’ll give you my undivided attention.’

Cory gave her cordless phone receiver a look of blank disbelief.

She said politely, ‘I don’t think so, thanks. We don’t have enough in common.’ Except, she thought, that your father is one of Gramps’s main sub-contractors, and you realise you may have rocked the boat.

‘Look, Cory.’ He sounded hectoring again. ‘I’ve apologised. I don’t know what else you want me to say.’

‘Goodbye would do quite well.’

‘Oh, very amusing. Know something, Cory? It’s time you got off that high horse of yours and came down to earth, or you’re going to end up a sad old maid. Because I don’t know what you want from a man. And I suspect you don’t know either.’

She said, ‘It’s quite simple, Philip. I want kindness. And you just don’t qualify.’

She replaced her receiver, cutting off his spluttering reply.

She should have let her answering machine take the call, she thought. She simply wasn’t up to dealing with Philip’s efforts at self-justification after her disturbed night.

And she wasn’t up to dealing with the reasons for the disturbed night either.

With a sigh, she went into her tiny kitchen, poured orange juice, set coffee to percolate and slotted bread into the toaster.

Gramps would be next, she thought, eager to know how the evening had gone, and she’d make up a kindly fib to satisfy him.

Only it wasn’t her grandfather who rang almost at once, but Shelley.

‘Cory—are you there? Pick the phone up. I have news.’

Cory hesitated, frowning slightly.

Her ‘hello’ was guarded, but Shelley didn’t notice.

‘I’ve found your mysterious stranger,’ she reported happily. ‘I did a quick check, and he bought one of the last tickets. His name’s Rome d’Angelo. So, the ball’s in your court now.’

‘I don’t see how.’

Shelley made an impatient noise. ‘Come on, babe. You won’t find many men with that name to the square acre. I’d start with directory enquiries.’

‘Perhaps—if I wanted to find him,’ Cory agreed, her lips twitching in spite of herself.

‘I thought he’d made a big impression.’

‘But not one I necessarily wish to repeat.’ God, Cory thought, I sound positively Victorian. She hurried into speech again. ‘Thanks for trying, Shelley, but I’ve made a major decision. If I get involved again, I want someone kind and caring, not sex on legs.’

‘You could have both. Isn’t this guy worth a second look?’

‘I doubt if he was worth the first one,’ Cory said drily. ‘I’m sorry, love. I’m a hopeless case.’

‘No,’ Shelley said. ‘You just think you are. So, if you’re not going man-hunting, what do you plan for your day?’

‘I’m doing the domestic thing.’ Cory narrowed her eyes to stare at a ray of watery sun filtering through the window. ‘And I may go over to the health club for a swim later.’

‘Well, take care,’ Shelley advised caustically. ‘Too much excitement can be bad for you. I’ll call you next week.’ And she rang off.

As Cory replaced her own handset, it occurred to her that the unknown Rome d’Angelo was almost certainly that kind of excitement. Bad for you.

And best forgotten, she told herself dismissively.

The health club was rarely very busy on Saturday mornings, and today was no exception. Cory found she had the pool virtually to herself. She had always loved swimming, finding her own grace and co-ordination when she was in the water, and she could feel the tensions floating out of her as she cut through the water.

Afterwards she relaxed on one of the comfortable padded benches set back around the pool, and read some of the book she’d brought with her, but to her annoyance she found her concentration fragmenting.

In spite of herself, she kept thinking of the previous evening, and that brief, disturbing glimpse she’d had of Rome d’Angelo.

She found herself trying the name over in her mind, silently cursing Shelley as she did so.

I really didn’t need to know his identity, she thought. He was easier to keep at bay when he was an anonymous stranger.

Although she’d been aware of a connection between them, as powerful as an electric current.

Suddenly, shockingly, she felt her body stir with excitement, as if she’d been touched. As if her mouth had been kissed, and her breast stroked gently to pleasure. Beneath the cling of her Lycra swimsuit her nipples were hardening to a piercing intensity, her body moistening in longing.

Cory sat up, pushing her hair back from her face.

It’s time I took a shower, she thought, her mouth twisting. And maybe I should make it a cold one.

The changing rooms on the floor above were reached by lift. The women’s section was beautifully equipped, with mounds of fluffy towels, gels and body lotions and other toiletries, hairdriers, and a selection of all the popular fragrances in tester bottles for the clients to try.

Cory didn’t linger today as she usually did. She showered swiftly, then dressed in her usual weekend uniform of jeans and a plain white tee shirt.

She’d have some lunch at the salad bar on the ground floor before it got busy, she decided, as she shrugged on her leather jacket and picked up her tote bag. She was on her way out when she swung round, went back to the vanity unit, and sprayed her throat and wrists with some of her favourite ‘Dune’.

And why not? she demanded silently as she made for the wide central stairway.

She was two thirds of the way down, head bent, moving fast, when she suddenly felt her warning antennae switch to full alert, and glanced up, startled.

She saw him at once, standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her.

Recognition was instant, sending her pulses into over-drive.

She felt her lips frame his name, then stiffened in sudden, almost violent negation. Because he couldn’t be here—he couldn’t be…

Her foot caught the moulded edge of the step, and she stumbled. As she fell, she grabbed at the rail and managed to check her headlong descent, but she couldn’t prevent herself sliding down the last half-dozen steps on her hip, and landing in an untidy huddle at his feet.

She lay for a moment, winded, hearing a buzz of comment, aware of shocked faces looking down at her. Of one face in particular, dark and coolly attractive, with vivid blue eyes fringed by long lashes, a high-bridged nose, and a mouth redeemed from harshness by the sensuous curve of its lower lip.

She realized too that he was kneeling beside her, and she was lying across his knees, his arm supporting her.

His voice was low and resonant with a faint accent she could not place.

‘Don’t try to move. Are you hurt?’

‘No.’ The denial was swift, almost fierce, and she pushed herself up into a sitting position. ‘I’m fine—really. It was just a stupid accident.’

She was going to have the mother of all bruises on her hip, but she’d deal with that tomorrow. At the moment, her main concern was getting out of the club with what little remained of her dignity.

But his hand was on her shoulder, forcing her to stay where she was.

‘Maybe I should take you to the nearest casualty room—get you checked over.’

‘There’s no need for that. No damage has been done.’ She hunched away from him. She felt dazed, her body tingling, but instinct told her that had more to do with his hand on her shoulder than the tumble she’d just taken.

‘Then perhaps you’d take me instead.’ His face was dead-pan, but there was a glint in those amazing eyes. ‘I’m not used to having girls fall at my feet, and shock can be dangerous.’

‘Oh, really?’ Cory glared at him as she hauled herself painfully upright. ‘Now, I’d say you’d spent your adult life stepping over recumbent women.’

Oh, God, she thought, appalled. What am I doing? I can’t believe I just said that.

His brows lifted. ‘Appearances,’ he said softly, ‘can be deceptive. Something I also need to remember,’ he added quietly as he, too, got to his feet.

Cory was almost glad to see one of the physiotherapists hurrying towards them. She answered his concerned questions, declined having her ankle examined, and agreed to fill out an accident report.

‘But later.’ Rome d’Angelo took her arm, and apparent control of the situation. ‘Now the lady needs something to drink.’

Cory hung back, trying not to wince. She was altogether more shaken than she’d realised, but the fall was only partly responsible.

Now she needed to get away before she made an even bigger fool of herself.

She said, controlling the quiver in her voice, ‘I’m really all right. There’s no need for you to concern yourself any more.’

‘But I am concerned,’ he said softly, as the crowd began to melt away. ‘You threw yourself, and I caught you. And I’m not prepared to put you down yet. So, are you going to walk to the coffee shop with me—or do I have to carry you?’

Cory heard herself say, ‘I’ll walk.’ And hardly recognised her own voice.

CHAPTER THREE

THIS is lunacy, thought Cory, and I should run out of here and have myself committed immediately.

But she couldn’t. For one thing, she was too sore to run anywhere. For another, her wallet and keys were in her tote bag, which Rome d’Angelo must have rescued after her fall and which was now hanging from one muscular shoulder as he waited at the counter in the coffee shop.

So, she said, perforce, to stay where she was, perched in rigid discomfort on one of the pretty wrought-iron chairs at the corner table he’d taken her to.

Round one to him, it seemed.

And all she had to do now was ensure there wasn’t a round two.

Because every instinct she possessed was warning her yet again that this was a man to avoid. That he was danger in its rawest sense.

Anyone with a year-round tan and eyes like the Mediterranean was out of her league anyway, she reminded herself drily. But the peril that Rome d’Angelo represented went far deeper than mere physical attraction.

It’s as if I know him, she thought restlessly. As if I’ve always known him…

She felt it in her blood. Sensed it buried deep in her bones. And it scared her.

I’ll drink my coffee, thank him politely, and get the hell out of here, she thought. That’s the best—the safest way to handle this.

She was by no means the only one aware of his presence, she realised. From all over the room glances were being directed at him, and questions whispered. And all from women. She could almost feel the frisson.

But then, she certainly couldn’t deny his eye-catching potential, she acknowledged unwillingly.

He was even taller than she’d originally thought, topping her by at least five inches. Lean hips and long legs were emphasised by close-fitting faded denims, and he wore a collarless white shirt, open at the throat. A charcoal jacket that looked like cashmere was slung over one shoulder, along with her tote bag.

He looked relaxed, casual—and powerfully in control.

And she, on the other hand, must be the only woman in the room with damp hair and not a trace of make-up. Which, as she hastily reminded herself, really couldn’t matter less…

Pull yourself together, she castigated herself silently.

She saw him returning and moved uneasily, and unwisely, suppressing a yelp as she did so.

‘Arnica,’ he said, as he put the cups down on the table.

‘Really?’ Her brow lifted. ‘I thought it was café latte.’

‘It comes in tablet or cream form,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘It will bring out the bruising.’

‘I think that’s already escaped,’ Cory admitted, wincing. She eyed him as he took his seat. ‘You know a lot about herbal medicine?’

‘No.’ He smiled at her, his gaze drifting with deliberate sensuousness from her eyes, to her mouth, and down to her small breasts, untrammelled under the cling of the ancient tee shirt, and then back to meet her startled glance. ‘My expertise lies in other areas.’

Cory, heart thumping erratically, hastily picked up her cup and sipped.

‘Yuck.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘This has sugar in it.’

‘The recognised treatment for shock.’ Rome nodded. ‘A hot, sweet drink.’

‘I fell down a couple of steps,’ she said. ‘I’m sore, but hardly shocked.’

‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘But you didn’t see your face just before you fell.’ He paused, allowing her a moment to digest that. ‘How did you enjoy the ball?’

Pointless to pretend she hadn’t noticed him, or didn’t recognise him, Cory realised, smouldering.

She managed a casual shrug. ‘Not very much. I didn’t stay long.’

‘What a coincidence,’ he said softly. ‘Clearly, we feel the same about such events.’

‘Then why buy a ticket?’

‘Because it was in such a good cause. I found it impossible to resist.’ He drank some of his own coffee. ‘Don’t you like dancing?’

‘I don’t think it likes me,’ she said ruefully. ‘I have this tendency to stand on peoples’ feet, and no natural rhythm.’

‘I doubt that.’ Rome leaned back in his chair, the blue eyes faintly mocking. ‘I think you just haven’t found the right partner.’

There was a brief, seething silence, and Cory’s skin prickled as if someone’s fingertips had brushed softly across her pulse-points.

She hurried into speech. ‘Talking of coincidences, what are you doing here?’

‘I came to look over the facilities.’

‘You live in the area?’ The question escaped before she could prevent it.

‘I plan to.’ He smiled at her. ‘I hope that won’t be a problem for you.’

Cory stiffened. ‘Why should it?’

‘My appearance seems to have a dire effect on you.’

‘Nothing of the kind,’ she returned with studied coolness. ‘Don’t read too much into a moment’s clumsiness. I’m famous for it. And London’s a big place,’ she added. ‘We’re unlikely to meet again.’

‘On the contrary,’ he said softly. ‘We’re bound to have at least one more encounter. Don’t you know that everything happens in threes?’

Cory said shortly, ‘Well, I’m not superstitious.’ And crossed her fingers under cover of the table. She hesitated. ‘Are you planning to take out a membership here?’

‘I haven’t decided yet.’ His blue gaze flickered over her again. ‘Although, admittedly, it seems to have everything I want.’

‘And separate days for men and women,’ Cory commented pointedly, aware that her mouth had gone suddenly dry.

‘Except for weekends, when families are encouraged to use the place.’ His tone was silky.

Cory played with the spoon in her saucer. ‘And is that what you plan to do? Bring your family?’

His brows lifted. ‘One day, perhaps,’ he drawled. ‘When I have a family.’ He paused again. ‘I’m Rome d’Angelo, but perhaps you know that already,’ he added casually.

Cory choked over a mouthful of coffee, and put her cup down with something of a slam.

‘Isn’t that rather an arrogant assumption?’ she demanded with hauteur.

He grinned at her, unabashed. ‘And isn’t that a defence rather than a reply?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Cory said, feeling one of those hated blushes beginning to warm her face. Oh, no, she appealed silently. Please, no.

He said, ‘Now it’s your turn.’

‘To do what?’ Fall over again, send the table crashing, spill my coffee everywhere?

‘To tell me your name.’

She said with sudden crispness, ‘I’m grateful for your help, Mr d’Angelo, but that doesn’t make us friends.’

‘I’d settle for acquaintances?’ he suggested.

‘Not even that.’ Cory shook her head with determination. ‘Ships that pass in the night.’

‘But we didn’t pass. We collided.’ He leaned forward suddenly, and, in spite of herself, Cory flinched. ‘Tell me something,’ he invited huskily. ‘If I’d come down to the ballroom last night, and asked you to dance—what would you have said?’

She didn’t look at him, but stared down at the table as, for a few seconds, her mind ran wild with speculation, dangerous fantasies jostling her like last night’s dreams.

Then she forced a shrug, only to wish she hadn’t as her bruises kicked back. ‘How about, “Thank you—but I’m here with someone.”?’

Rome’s mouth twisted. ‘He seemed to be doing a great job.’

‘That’s none of your business,’ Cory fought back. ‘Will you please accept, Mr d’Angelo, that I don’t need a saviour, or a Prince Charming either.’

‘And your circle of friends is complete, too.’ He was smiling faintly, but those incredible eyes glinted with challenge. ‘So what is left, I wonder? Which of your needs is not being catered for?’

Cory’s face was burning again, but with anger rather than embarrassment. She said, ‘My life is perfectly satisfactory, thank you.’

He was unperturbed by the snap in her voice. ‘No room for improvement anywhere?’

‘I have simple tastes.’

‘Yet you wear Christian Dior,’ he said. ‘You’re more complicated than you think.’

Suddenly breathless, Cory reached down for her tote bag, jerking it towards her. Then rose. ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ she said. ‘And for the character analysis. I hope you don’t do it for a living. Goodbye, Mr d’Angelo.’

He got to his feet, too. His smile held real charm. ‘Until next time—Miss Grant.’

She’d almost reached the door when she realised what he’d said, and swung round, lips parting in a gasp of angry disbelief.

But Rome d’Angelo wasn’t there. He must have used the exit that led straight to the street, she realised in frustration.

Her mouth tightened. So, he liked to play games. Well, she had no intention of joining in—or of rising to any more of his bait.

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