The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress

Those two words stilled the easy smile on her lips, replacing it with the cold hand of dread. ‘London? But you can’t go to London.’ What about us? ‘What about your Masters?’

‘It will have to take a back seat. I can finish it in my own time, but for the moment my future calls.’

She was trembling. She had banked on having him around for a few more months, at which point she would be able to cross the inevitable bridge. That bridge was now staring her in the face. Maybe, she thought, desperately salvaging the best possible take on the situation, they could carry on a long-distance relationship? It wouldn’t be ideal, but it could work. A few hours on the train every other weekend, and then there were the holidays…

‘When?’

‘Immediately.’ Alessandro allowed the finality of that word to settle between them like a rock sinking into deep, uncharted waters. It hurt to look at her distraught expression.

‘Immediately…as in immediately…?’

‘Just time to pack up my belongings—what little I have—and put my past behind me for good.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ she whispered. Thoughts and fears were whizzing around in her head and she was beginning to feel sick. ‘What…what about us…?’

Alessandro didn’t answer, and the silence stretched between them until she could almost hear it vibrating in the air.

‘We…we can still carry on seeing each other, can’t we? I mean, I know London’s a long way away, but loads of people have long-distance relationships. It might be romantic! Who knows? We could…um…meet up every so often…’ Her babbling trailed off into silence. More silence.

‘It wouldn’t work,’ Alessandro said flatly.

‘Why not? Wouldn’t you even be willing to give it a try?’ Desperation had crept into her voice, and she searched his face for the smallest sign of comfort. But she was looking at a stranger. His expression was closed and hard.

‘There’s no point, Megan.’

‘No point? No point? How can you say that, Alessandro? We’ve practically lived together for the better part of a year! How can you say that there’s no point in trying to stay together? I…we…Alessandro, I love you. I really do. You’re the guy I gave myself to…you know how much that meant to me…’

Alessandro flushed darkly. ‘And I cherish that gift.’

He said it as though their relationship had already been consigned to the memory box.

‘Then tell me that you won’t walk away.’

‘I…I can’t say that, Megan.’ He embraced the room in one sweeping gesture with a look of distaste. ‘This…this was a chapter in my life, Megan, and it’s time for me to move on with the book.’

‘What you’re saying is that I’m a chapter in your life. You had your fun but all good things come to an end.’

‘All things do come to an end. And your life is here, Megan. Here with your family, with your teaching job out in the country. You know you hate the city. You’ve always said that. You told me that the only reason you ever ventured into Edinburgh in the first place was because your cousin had dragged you there, and that the only reason you kept coming back was to see me… If you think Edinburgh’s city living, then London is in a league of its own.’

‘You’re twisting everything I said to you! My life could be anywhere with you!’

‘No.’

He almost wished that she would cry. A crying female he could deal with, because crying females had always irritated the hell out of him. But she wasn’t a crier.

‘You’re a country girl at heart, Megan, and you would be miserable if I—or anyone else, for that matter—removed you from the open fields you enjoy. That aside…’ He paused, because he wanted to be completely honest with her. That much she deserved. ‘This step of my journey I must take alone. I’m about to devote myself to my career. I literally wouldn’t have time to spend…’

‘…taking care of a hopeless country bumpkin like me?’ Megan finished for him.

She stared down at her bare feet. The bright red nail polish she had applied to her toes earlier in the day was already beginning to flake. She would have to get rid of it. She actually hated bright red nail polish anyway. She had only put it on because it matched the Marilyn image she had wanted for her stupid, childish surprise cake gimmick.

‘Taking care of any woman.’ But maybe, he thought, there was some truth in her statement. Falling out of a box in front of three of the country’s top finance gurus might seem a bit of a joke to her, but this was going to be his life, and falling out of boxes just wasn’t going to cut it.

‘I don’t believe you.’ Megan held her ground stubbornly, determined to wade through every inch of pain until the picture was totally clear in her head. ‘You just don’t think that I’m good enough for you now you’re about to embark on this wonderful jet-setting career of yours. If I had been an…accountant, or…an economist, or someone more serious, then you wouldn’t be standing there, airbrushing me out of your life as though I’d never existed!’

‘What do you want me to say, Megan?’ He finally snapped, furious that she was making this already difficult situation even more difficult by demanding answers to hypothetical speculations. ‘That I can’t see myself in a permanent situation with someone who will probably still be fooling around and singing karaoke when she’s thirty-five?’

If he had extracted a whip from his back pocket and slashed it across her face it couldn’t have hurt more, and she stared at him mutely.

‘I apologise,’ he said brusquely. ‘That remark was entirely uncalled for. Why can’t you just accept that there are limitations to this relationship and always have been?’

‘You never mentioned anything about limitations before. You let me give you my undivided love and you never said a word about me not fitting the bill.’

‘Nor did I ever speak to you about a future for us.’

‘No,’ Megan agreed quietly. ‘No, you never did, did you?’

Alessandro steeled himself against the accusatory look in her big blue eyes. ‘I assumed you were aware of the differences between us as well as I was—assumed you knew that my intention was never to remain in Scotland, playing happy families in a cottage somewhere in the middle of nowhere.’

‘I assumed you cared about me.’

‘We had fun, Megan.’ He spun round and stared out of the grimy window to the uninspiring view two floors down. In the rapidly gathering dark the strip of shops opposite promised fish and chips, an all-you-can-eat Indian buffet every lunchtime, a newsagent and that was about it—because the other three shops were boarded up.

‘Fun?’

Alessandro ignored the bitterness that had crept into her voice. When he had first made love to her, had discovered that she was a virgin, he had felt a twinge of discomfort. In retrospect, maybe he should have walked away at that point, rather than allowing her to invest everything into him, but he had been weak and—face it—unable to resist her. He was now paying the price for that weakness.

‘You’re better off without me,’ he said roughly, as he continued to stare outside. ‘You have all you need right here. You’ll teach at that school of yours, only a short distance away from all your family, and in due course you’ll find a guy who will be content with the future you have mapped out.’

Megan had thought that the future she had mapped out for herself had included him!

‘Yes,’ she said dully. He wasn’t even looking at her. He had already written her out of his life and was ready to move on. ‘Why did you make love with me just now if you intended to get rid of me?’ she asked. ‘Was it a one-last-time session for poor old Megan before you sent her on her way?’

Alessandro spun round, but he didn’t make a move towards her. ‘It was…a…mistake…’ And never again would he allow his emotions to control his behaviour.

He gripped the window sill against which he was leaning and reminded himself that, however much she was hurting now, she was still a kid and would bounce back in no time at all. She would even thank him eventually for walking away from her—would realise in time to come that they were worlds apart and whatever they had had would never have stayed the course of time. It was a reassuring thought.

Megan couldn’t bear to look at him. She stood up, staring at the ground as though searching for divine inspiration.

‘I think I’m going to leave now,’ she said, addressing her feet. ‘I’ll just check the bedroom. See if there’s anything of mine that I should take with me.’

He didn’t try to stop her rooting through his stuff. The lack of anything belonging to her now seemed ominous proof of her impermanence in his life. He had never encouraged her to leave any of her things at his place. Sure, she’s forgotten odd bits and pieces now and again, like the clothes she was currently standing in, but he’d always returned them.

The only things she had insisted on leaving were some of her CDs. She was voracious when it came to modern music, whereas he preferred more chilled sounds. Easy listening to the point of coma, she had teased him. Yet another example of those differences between them, which she had stupidly failed to spot but which he had probably noted and lodged away in his mind somewhere, to be brought out later and used in evidence against her.

Without looking in his direction, she quietly gathered her CDs and stuffed them in a plastic bag.

‘I think that’s about everything.’ Some CDs, a toothbrush, some moisture cream, some underwear. Precious little. ‘Good luck with the new job and the new life, Alessandro. I really hope it lives up to expectations and I’m sorry about the mess from the cake. You’ll have to get rid of that yourself.’

Alessandro nodded. He didn’t say anything because there was nothing left to say, and for the first time in his life he didn’t trust himself to speak.

Megan turned away, and was half-disappointed, half-relieved when he didn’t follow her. There was an emptiness growing inside her, and her throat felt horribly dry and tight, but there would be time enough to cry. Once she was back in her little room at college. Just one last look, though. Before she left for good. But when she turned around, it was to find that he was staring out of the window with his back to her.

CHAPTER ONE

MEGAN stooped down so that she was on the same level as the six-year-old, brown-haired, blue-eyed boy in front of her. Face of an angel, but spoiled rotten. She had seen many versions of this child over the past two years, since she had been working in London. It seemed to be particularly predominant at private schools, where children were lavished with all that money could buy but often starved of the things that money couldn’t.

‘Okay, Dominic. Here’s the deal. The show’s about to start, the mummies and daddies are all out there waiting, and the Nativity play just isn’t going to be the same without you in it.’

‘I don’t want to be a tree! I hate the costume, Miss Reynolds, and if you force me then I’m going to tell my mummy, and you’ll be in big trouble. My mummy’s a lawyer, and she can put people into prison!’ he ended, with folded arms and a note of irrefutable triumph in his voice.

Megan clung to her patience with immense difficulty. It had been a mad week. Getting six-year-old children to learn and memorise their lines had proved to be a Herculean feat, and the last thing she needed on the day before school broke up was a badly behaved brat refusing to be a tree.

‘You’re a very important tree,’ she said gently. ‘Very important. The manger wouldn’t be a manger without a very important tree next to it!’ She looked at her watch and mentally tried to calculate how much time she had to convince this tree to take his leading role on stage—a role which involved nothing more strenuous than waving his arms and swaying. She had only been at this particular school for a term, but she had already sussed the difficult ones, and had cleverly steered them away from any roles that involved speech.

‘I want my mummy. She’ll tell you that I can be whatever I want to be! And I want to be a donkey.’

‘Lucy’s the donkey, darling.’

‘I want to be a donkey!’

Tree; donkey; donkey; tree. Right now, Megan was heartily wishing that she had listened to her friend Charlotte, when she had decided to leave St Margaret’s and opted for another private school. Somewhere a little more normal. She could deal with normal fractious children. She had spent three years dealing with them at St Nick’s in Scotland, after she had qualified as a teacher. None of them had ever threatened her with prison.

‘Okay. How about if we fetch your mummy and she can tell you how important it is for you to play your part? Remember, Dominic! It’s all about teamwork and not letting other people down!’

‘Donkey,’ was his response to her bracing statement, and Megan sighed and looked across to where the head of the junior department was shaking her head sympathetically.

‘Happened last year,’ she confided, as Megan stood up. ‘He’s not one of our easier pupils, and fetching his mum is going to be tricky. I’ve had a look outside and there’s no sign of her.’ Jessica Ambles sighed.

‘What about the father?’

‘Divorced.’

‘Poor kid,’ Megan said sympathetically, and the other teacher grinned.

‘You wouldn’t be saying that if you had witnessed him throwing his egg at Ellie Maycock last Sports Day.’

‘Final offer.’ Megan stooped back down and held both Dominic’s hands. ‘You play the tree, and I’ll ask your mummy if you can come and watch me play football over the vacation if you have time.’

Forty-five minutes later and she could say with utter conviction that she had won. Dominic Park had played a very convincing tree and had behaved immaculately. He had swayed to command, doing no damage whatsoever, either accidental or intentional, to the doll or the crib.

There was just the small matter of the promised football game, but she was pretty sure that Chelsea mummies, even the ones without daddies, were not going to be spending their Christmas vacation at home. Cold? Wet? Grey? Somehow she didn’t think so.

Not that she had any problem with six-year-old Dominic watching her play football. She didn’t. She just didn’t see the point of extending herself beyond her normal working hours. She wasn’t sure what exactly the school policy was on pupils watching their teachers play football, and she wasn’t going to risk taking any chances. Not if she could help it. She was enjoying her job and she deserved to. Hadn’t it taken her long enough to wake up in the morning and look forward to what the day ahead held in store for her?

From behind the curtain she could hear the sound of applause. Throughout the performance cameras and video recorders had been going mad. Absentee parents had shown up for the one day in the year they could spare for parental duty, and they were all determined to have some proof of their devotion.

Megan smiled to herself, knowing that she was being a little unfair, but teaching the children of the rich and famous took a little getting used to.

In a minute everyone would start filtering out of the hall, and she would do her duty and present a smiling face to the proud parents. To the very well-entertained parents—because, aside from the play, they would be treated to substantial snacks, including crudités, delicate salmon-wrapped filo pastries, miniature meatballs and sushi for the more discerning palate. Megan had gaped at the extravaganza of canapés. She still hadn’t quite got to grips with cooking, and marvelled at anyone who could produce anything edible that actually resembled food.

Out of nowhere came the memory of Alessandro, of how he’d used to laugh at her attempts at cooking. When it came to recipe books she was, she had told him, severely dyslexic.

It was weird, but seven years down the road she still thought of him. Not in the obsessive, heartbroken, every-second-of-every-minute-of-every-waking-hour way that she once had, but randomly. Just little memories, leaping out at her from nowhere that would make her catch her breath until she blinked them away, and then things would return to normal.

‘Duty calls!’

Megan snapped back to the present, to see Jessica Ambles grinning at her.

‘All the parents are waiting outside for us to tell them what absolute darlings their poppets have been all term!’

‘Most of them have been. Although I can think of a few…’

‘With Dominic Park taking first prize in that category?’

Megan laughed. ‘But at least he waved his arms tonight without knocking anyone over. Although I did notice that Lucy the donkey kept her distance. Amazing what a spot of blackmail can do. I told him he could watch my next football match.’ She linked her arm through her colleague’s and together they headed out to the main hall, leaving behind a backstage disaster zone of discarded props and costumes, all to be cleared away the following afternoon, when the school would be empty.

The main hall was a majestic space that was used for all the school’s theatrical performances and for full assemblies. A magnificent Christmas tree, donated by one of the parents, stood in the corner, brightly lit with twinkling lights and festooned with decorations—many from the school reserves but a fair few also donated by parents. Elsewhere, along one side, were tables groaning with the delicacies and also bottles of wine—red and white.

The place was buzzing with parents and their offspring, who had changed back into their school gear, and numerous doting relatives. In between the teachers mingled, and enjoyed the thought that term was over and they would be having a three-week break from the little darlings.

Megan was not returning to Scotland for the holidays. Her parents had decided to take themselves off to the sunshine, and her sisters were vanishing to the in-laws’. Playing the abandonment card had been a source of great family mirth, but really she was quite pleased to be staying put in London. There was a lot going on, and Charlotte would be staying down as well. They had already put up their tree in the little house they shared in Shepherd’s Bush, and had great plans for a Christmas lunch to which the dispossessed had been cordially invited. Provided they arrived bearing food or drink.

A surprising number of people had seemed happy to be included in the ‘dispossessed’ category, and so far the numbers were up to fifteen—which would be a logistical nightmare, because the sitting room was small—but a crush of bodies had never fazed Megan. The more the merrier, as far as she was concerned.

She heard Dominic before she actually spotted him. As was often the case with him, he was stridently informing one of his classmates what Father Christmas was bringing him. He seemed utterly convinced that the requested shed-load of presents would all be delivered, and Megan wondered whether he had threatened the poor guy with a prison sentence should his demands not be met.

She was smiling when she approached his mother, curious to see what she looked like. Matching parents to kids was an interesting game played by most teachers, and this time the mental picture connected perfectly with the real thing.

Dominic Park’s mother looked like a lawyer. She was tall, even wearing smart, black patent leather flats, with a regal bearing. Dark hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, and her blue eyes were clever and cool. Despite the informality of the occasion, she was wearing an immaculate dove-grey suit, with a pashmina loosely draped around her shoulders.

She was introduced via Dominic, who announced, without preamble, that this was Miss Reynolds and she had promised she would take him to watch her play football.

‘You must be Dominic’s mum.’ Megan’s smile was met with an expression that attempted to appear friendly and interested but somehow didn’t quite manage to make it. This was a woman, Megan thought, who probably distributed her smiles like gold dust—or maybe she had forgotten how to smile at all, because it wasn’t called for in a career that saw her putting people into prison, if her son was to be believed.

‘Correct, Miss Reynolds, and I must say that I was very disappointed when Nanny told me today that Dominic would be playing a tree. Not terribly challenging, is it?’

She had an amazing accent that matched her regal bearing perfectly.

‘We like to think of the Nativity Play as a fun production, Mrs Park, rather than a competition.’ She smiled down at Dominic, who was scowling at some sushi in a napkin. She took it from him. ‘And you made a marvellous tree. Very convincing.’

‘When will you be playing football?’ he demanded.

‘Ah… Timetable still to be set!’

‘But you won’t forget, will you?’ he insisted. ‘Because my mummy’s a—’

‘Yes, yes, yes… I think I’ve got the message on that one, Dominic.’ Megan smiled at his mother. ‘I’ve been told that I shall be flung into prison without a Get Out Of Jail Free card if I don’t let him watch one of my matches….’

‘Silly boy. I’ve told him a hundred times that I’m a corporate lawyer! And we shall have to discuss Dominic watching your football match, I’m afraid. We’re very busy over the Christmas period, and Nanny won’t be around for three days, so I shall be hard-pressed to spare the time to take him anywhere.’

Megan was busy feeling sorry for poor Nanny, who had clearly been inconsiderate enough to ask for time off over Christmas, when she was aware that they had been joined by someone. The elegant lawyer had stopped in mid-flow, and there actually was something of a smile on her face now as she looked past Megan to whoever was standing behind her.

‘Alessandro, darling. So good of you. I’m absolutely parched.’

Alessandro!

The name alone was sufficient to send Megan into a tailspin. Of course there was more than one Alessandro in the world! It was a common Italian name! It was just disconcerting to hear that name when she had been thinking about him only minutes earlier.

She turned around, and the unexpected rushed towards her like a freight train at full speed, taking her breath away. Because there he was. Alessandro Caretti. Her Alessandro. Standing in front of her. A spectre from the past. Seven years separated memory from reality, but he had remained the same. Still lean, still muscular, still staggeringly good-looking. Yes, a little older now, and his face was harsher, more forbidding, but this was the man who had haunted her dreams for so long and still cropped up in her thoughts like a virus lying dormant in her bloodstream—controlled, but never really going away.

She had never seen him in a suit before. Seven years ago he had worn jeans and sweatshirts. He was wearing a suit now, a charcoal-grey suit, and, yes, a white shirt—so some things must not have changed.

Megan could feel the blood rushing into her face, and it was a job to keep steady, to hold out her hand politely and wonder if he would even recognise her. Her hair was shorter now, but still as uncontrollable as it always had been. Everything else was the same.

She was shaking when she felt the brief touch of his hand as she was introduced.

What was he doing here? Was he Dominic’s father? But, no. From next to her she could hear that cut-glass accent saying something about her fiancé. He was engaged! Wearing a suit and engaged to the perfect woman he had foreseen all those years ago when he had broken up with her.

He didn’t appear to recognise her as he held out the glass of wine to his fiancée, eliminating her from the scene by half turning his back on her.

On the verge of flight, she was stopped by Dominic announcing yet again—this time to Alessandro—that Miss Reynolds would be taking him to a football match. At this, Alessandro focused his fabulous dark eyes on her and said, unsmilingly, ‘Isn’t that beyond the call of duty, Miss Reynolds?’