His Rules: Ludlow Nights - Book1 (A Ludlow Nights Romance) (13 page)

He said it casually, Mr. Cool, as if he had all the time in the damned world and with just a ghost of a smile on that sexy mouth, but Anastacia knew he was being absolutely honest with her.

"That's... straight, if nothing else."

"You like straight."

"I do," she agreed. However, he wasn't the only one who could be honest. "I'm not good at relationships, casual or otherwise. And since you like it straight, too, let me say something else... we're going to be working together for a number of weeks on an extremely important campaign. I love my job. I was more than fortunate to get it. And I intend to keep it. Emotions between us are running very high. That means our personal feelings will, and I'm utterly certain about this, interfere with our professional judgement. So as the person with ultimate responsibility, I have absolutely no intention of having a short and sweet fling with you."

"Short?" Olivier repeated, studying her with watchful eyes. Eyes that saw too damned much. Had she really thought he'd been all muscle and no intellect? That'll teach her. And he wasn't finished, "Have your past relationships been short and sweet? I would have thought you regarded yourself a little more highly than that. I do not believe for one second that you are not a romantic."

Romantic?

Where on earth had that come from?

Was he for real?

"Do you seriously believe I give a toss what you think?" she shot back, wrong footed and hating every moment of it. "At least you know where you stand."

"Oh, I know where I stand,
piccolino
." Olivier nodded in agreement. He was starting to get a handle on her. "You are so frightened of how I make you feel, so scared of the issue, you are using avoidance tactics."

"No, I'm not!" Temper roared in those fabulous blue eyes and he thought she looked magnificent. "I'm telling you to your face that I'm not interested. I'm sorry if that bruises your enormous ego, but you'll just have to get over it."

She went to breeze past him, but he caught her, and none too gently hoisted her onto her toes. His face was in hers. Olivier knew he was on the edge so he kept his tone low and easy.

"You are the most impossible woman I have ever met. You drive me crazy. I cannot remember the last time a woman drove me crazy."

"Color me not surprised." Anastacia yanked out of his hold, rubbed her arms where his fingers had dug too deep. "They fall at your feet as soon as you turn on the Latin charm. What flesh and blood woman could possibly resist?"

"You are so worried about protecting your own heart, you do not care about hurting anyone else."

Anastacia sucked in a too fast breath, as if she'd been slapped hard across the face.

Face white, eyes swimming, she stared at him before she thrust him away to race to her bedroom.

Olivier caught her before she'd taken two steps.

And he kept his touch light as he turned her to face him.

"Sore spot?" he whispered, feeling a combination of understanding and a deep regret. He could count on one hand the number of times in his life he had hurt another person badly enough to justify a prompt apology. Eyes wide with distress, Anastacia stared him down. "I am deeply sorry I upset you."

"Let go of me," she said through gritted teeth, but she couldn't stop the way her chin trembled.

"Anastacia." The need to give her a hug was an overwhelming one, but he realized she wouldn't have it. Not from him. "I am truly sorry. I do not make a habit of hurting someone I care about."

After staring at him for an endless moment, she nodded.

"Okay. Apology accepted."

But he could see by the way she trembled in his arms how much it had cost her to forgive him. Her blue eyes were filled to the brim with a courage that made him fiercely proud of her.

Brave girl.

He released her.

"Do you think we can get through the rest of the weekend without fighting?"

Someone or something had hurt her.

And now Olivier puzzled over how great the hurt was.

And how long it might take for her to confide in him.

Those big blue eyes were wary now. "I don't know..."

Her reluctance told him that if he didn't repair the damage he had caused, she might never learn to trust him.

"Go on." His hip bumped hers. "Do not hold a grudge."

She frowned as her eyes held his. For a moment, he thought he had put his foot in it again. But then her eyes cleared.

"Okay."

"I have never been on a riverboat on the Thames," he said.

She answered the excitement in his voice with a smile before she knew it.

"We wouldn't get two feet before you were recognized."

He moved to his bag, rummaged through until he found a peaked cap and wraparound sunglasses. He slid on both. "I am the master of disguise."

"All right, but you're buying lunch."

He took her hand, linked her fingers in his.

"Whatever you want," he said, supposing she'd get her revenge and sting him for champagne and oysters in an up market bistro.

And right on the heels of that thought, she surprised him again.

"I adore MacDonalds."

His eyes went wide with something like horror.

"You cannot be serious."

"Watch me."

Under a red sunshade, they lounged at an action packed fast-food joint on the banks of the river Thames with skinny metal chairs and even skinnier tables. It wasn't McD, and for that Olivier was eternally thankful. If his coach caught him deviating from his rigid diet, he'd be fined a week's wages. And a week's wages amounted to a big chunk of change. Sounds of people chatting, music blasting from the riverboats that cruised up and down the river drifted over them. Anastacia loosened up when she scarfed down food, Olivier discovered. He watched her, with increasing fascination, tuck away enough fries to feed a family of four. And couldn't help but wince when she tossed more salt on the mountain of fries and dug a couple into a lake of tomato sauce. He wondered if she was aware that she let down the barriers when she ate. Would she, when she sat at a top restaurant with attentive service, elegant silver, linen napkins, fine wine, eat delicately prepared food with the same enjoyment? Something told him she would. He found himself using a napkin to wipe ketchup from the edge of her mouth before handing her a wedge of paper napkins. Always a man to seize the moment when one presented itself, Olivier reckoned there would never be a better opportunity to do some careful digging.

"Did you grow up in London?"

"Nope." Anastacia sucked more soda through her straw. "It must have been wonderful to grow up in Italy."

"
Si
, I love my culture." He realized he was dealing with a consummate professional in the assimilation and deflection of information, an expert at dodging or switching the theme of a conversation. Olivier hung on in there. "Why did you move to London?"

"It's busy," she said straightaway. "It's noisy and the streets are truly paved with gold."

"Do you never wish for peace and quiet?"

"I'll get plenty of peace and quiet when I'm dead. What does your family feel about you selecting soccer over applying yourself after gaining a business degree?"

Little witch.

His mouth twitched as he enjoyed fencing with her.

"They were always supportive, especially when I became a success. My
madre
is very proud and is happy that I have something to fall back on. What do your family think of your success?"

She didn't flinch.

Instead she went very still, but he got the distinct impression he'd hurt her.

Anastacia placed the paper cup containing her drink very carefully on the table.

"I don't have a family."

The steady stare as her eyes met his, the tilt of her chin, told him she was being incredibly brave. And there was something else in those blue eyes, something that gave him pause. A stubborn pride, he realized, and that pride urged him to take a big step back.

He ignored the advice.

"No grandparents, aunts or uncles?"

She sent him a cheery smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Nope."

In a hurry, she began to wipe her fingers with the napkins, moved to stand.

Olivier's hand covered hers, squeezed.

"Did you end up in the care system?"

Those blue eyes went wide. "How is that any of your concern?"

"You are a beautiful, intelligent woman who fascinates me. A woman I want to know a lot better before I take her to my bed and make wild and passionate love to her."

She shook her head, even as her blue eyes flashed with temper.

Then she picked up a plastic knife.

"You are a piece of work, Conti. If you're fond of that hand, let me go."

The fact she'd threatened him, even if it was with a plastic knife, and the fact he could tell she was prepared to use it, made him watch her carefully.

"Why do I frighten you,
piccolino?
"

She chuffed out a laugh, but he wasn't fooled. His hand squeezed hers. Again temper flashed in her eyes. Her hand tightened on the plastic knife.

"Get over yourself," she shot back, evading the question and tossing in an insult to deflect his attention and to annoy. "I can't seem to stand you for more than an hour without wanting to beat you over the head with a club."

Olivier had to laugh.

"Right back at you. Although I would not use a club. I was thinking more of you over my knee for a thorough spanking." She scowled in a way he found absolutely adorable. And he found her flush of mortification adorable, too. "You cannot say that together we are boring."

"Nothing wrong with boring," she muttered under her breath, totally ignoring his reference to spanking. Interesting. He waited until her eyes met his before he gave her a slow knowing smile. This time her face went nuclear.

"
Bambino
, I would never, ever hurt you."

"You don't know me. I don't know you."

He nodded, absolutely delighted to have backed her into a tight corner, exactly where he wanted her.

"You are correct. I am happy to tell you anything you want to know. So tell me, who is the real Anastacia Morgan?"

She tossed her head, beaned him with stare that seared right through him.

"She's whoever she wants to be."

"
Si
. Do you want to know what I see?"

"Not particularly," she snapped, not giving an inch.

Dio
, he adored her.

"You are a self-made woman who works too hard. Independent. Strong. Ambitious. Funny. Focused. Loyal to her friends. I know this because Nico and Bronte adore you. You are quick to anger and quick to forgive, but maybe not... forget." He grinned as her eyes went wary, her mouth all sulky. He was so tempted to kiss her, but didn't want to chance spoiling a very precious moment. One false move and he might lose her and never get her back. "I like you very much. You intrigue me."

Anastacia knew she'd never in all her life met a man quite like him. One minute she wanted to jump him and the next minute she wanted to kill him. And there was no getting away from the fact that she liked him, too.

To hell with it. What harm would there be in giving him a little bit of what he asked? It wasn't as if her past was a big secret. In six weeks he'd be out of her life for good and she'd never see him again.

Anastacia stared unseeing over his shoulder at the river.

"I never knew my real father, he died when I was a baby and my mother refused to talk about him. My life was normal, happy enough I think, until I was six. That's when the man who brought me up as his own, my step-father, died of pneumonia. My mother fell apart, drowned her sorrows in wine and then the hardcore stuff that eventually killed her. I was ten. I was small for my age, sickly with asthma. So I was never one of those lucky few chosen for adoption. But I did enter foster care. Some homes were okay, some not okay." Her eyes now focused on his, stayed steady. "Lucky for me I was bright, the deputy headmaster at high school made sure that I got the support I needed to go to university on a scholarship. He and his wife gave me a home until I was twenty, no charge. A single act of kindness that changed my life. Not many orphans who are bright kids are supported as they should be. When they're eighteen the system kicks them out. I don't look back at that time because yesterday cannot be changed and tomorrow hasn't happened. I live in the here, in the now, in the present."

Olivier knew the ache in his heart for her, in his gut, was the very last thing she needed.

"How did you end up working for Nico?"

Her eyes filled so fast he wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"The deputy head and his wife were killed in a car accident. Totally random. I found myself homeless, walking the streets looking for work at the height of the recession. I'd done my marketing thesis on the structure of Ferranti Enterprises. Knew that Nico invested in people. So armed with my degree I walked into that office and demanded to see him, as if I was important. He just happened to be walking past and heard me giving the poor girl on reception an earful. Next thing I know I'm being grilled for hours and offered a job that he said I could make my own. Nearly two years later and here I am. At the same time Nico gave me a chance, a firm of solicitors tracked me down. The deputy head and his wife had named me as the beneficiary of their estate. My luck turned again. I just needed to lose the best people in the world for it to happen. And if that's pity on your face..."

Olivier shook his head.

"I thought losing my
padre
was hard..."

"Of course losing your father was hard. Grief is supposed to be hard. But look at what you've achieved? You didn't let grief destroy your spirit. We all have choices to make in life. Seems to me you've done exactly what you set out to do. Can't ask for more than that. What?"

"You humble me."

Her full mouth curved. "That'll be the day."

"Nico reminded me that I may only have another four years at the top."

Her brows winged into her hairline. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. You'll only be, what, twenty-nine?"

"Many soccer players suffer from depression when they leave the sport, especially when they are injured, or off their game. The suicide rate when they give up the game is high."

"Have you...?"

"No. But my father did. He suffered a knee injury that put him out of the game. Four years later he was addicted to painkillers. He killed himself."

She didn't say anything, but the look of support in her eyes for him spoke volumes.

For many minutes they didn't speak, just held hands.

"Do you ever relax?" he wondered.

"Sure. I workout, jog, see friends."

"I was thinking more along the lines of sun, sea and sand."

"Working for Nico I get to visit the Ferranti resorts, test the services. It's a pretty good deal."

"That is work."

"Dream job, pal. Dream job."

He had to laugh at the mischievous look on her face.

"Talking of Nico. I've been invited to The Dower House for dinner tonight and you are coming with me."

"Do they know I'm crashing their dinner party?"

"
Si
. I was instructed to bring you along. Bronte says it has been a while since she has seen you."

"'Kay. Then we'll need to stop at that wonderful little toy store in town and pick up something for the kids. Luca will never have enough dinosaurs, and Sophia can't have enough weapons of mass toilet destruction."

Olivier tipped his head back and roared with laughter.

"
Si
. I heard about how she flooded the bathrooms. She is a pistol."

"She's an incredibly bright little girl with an unremitting interest in how things work."

"Takes one to know one," he muttered. "When our work on the campaign is done, I am going to take you to my villa in Tuscany." Out of the blue he moved into her and pressed a kiss that was unashamedly possessive on her surprised mouth. Then his finger touched her lips as she began to talk. "No arguing. We have a truce," he reminded her.

They got up to leave.

"Olivier," she said in a quietly serious voice that stopped him in his tracks. "I told you the truth about relationships. I'm not good at them."

"That is fine. I
am
good with relationships."

She heaved a heavy sigh.

"Olivier," she said louder, the irritation in her voice crystal clear. "I'm not playing games."

He couldn't help but grin at that pouty mouth.

"Too bad. I love games and I always play to win."

Taking her hand, he pulled her along.

"Stubborn, boneheaded..." she muttered under her breath. "So, what are you going to do with the rest of your life when you step away from the football field? Relax and sip cocktails on a beach surrounded by leggy blondes?"

He gave her that quick flash of his signature smile.

"No. I will have a very successful business to run."

"Seriously? What business?"

He took her hand to his mouth, nibbled her fingertips.

"The hotel business."

He wiggled his brows as his dark eyes danced into hers.

Her searching eyes held his for a breathless moment.

When her jaw dropped he knew she'd guessed.

"No way. The Ferranti boutique hotels?"

"
Si
. I am a partner."

Now her scowl was back.

"But... but... that means..."

He threw back his head and roared with laughter, then he grabbed her and smacked a kiss right on her pouty mouth.

"
Si
. I am the boss."