His Rules: Ludlow Nights - Book1 (A Ludlow Nights Romance) (21 page)

"Nico Ferranti won't want your gratitude. He tends to Hoover up loners. And he has a regrettable tendency to match-make."

Blue eyes twinkled into hers.

"Ahh, you mean Olivier Conti?"

"There's nothing going on between Olivier and me. It's a fling..."

Now Christopher's face went stony.

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

Anastacia's eyes went wide.

Seriously?

"No. It's not Olivier who wants no strings, it's me."

He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it in a hurry.

"I apologize, I have no right to..."

Touched, and slightly unnerved that a man she'd met for the first time today was prepared to go into battle for her, she reached out to pat his arm.

"I'm a big girl. I just need time to assimilate everything. We'll talk again. Go home to your family, and I promise to keep in touch."

She reached up to whisper a kiss on his cheek, as much a sign of acceptance as to get him out of her office.

Once she was alone, she fingered the photographs spread out on her desk, gathered them up and slipped them into her bag.

All in all, it had been a very interesting day.

She'd discovered Olivier was not a two-timing scumbag, and she'd found a father.

There were times when it was right for a woman to follow her instinct.

Anastacia's instinct took her right to Olivier's door.

He might have invited her, but he'd no idea when she was coming and there was a certain amount of freedom in that. She hadn't bothered to change since, knowing him, he'd have her naked and under him within minutes. She was big enough to admit she couldn't wait.

Just as she raised her hand to knock, the door opened.

Black hair damp from the shower, he wore soft jeans and a pale grey shirt rolled up at the sleeves. A shirt that had seen better days. Unsmiling, Olivier simply stared at her. His jaw had a five o'clock shadow. He looked so gorgeous, her heart did its usual bumpity bump.

Before she could utter a single word, his eyes still fixed on her face, he grabbed her hand and pulled her in. Her bag was dropped to the floor as he held her face between his hands and stared hard into her eyes.

"What is it? Why are you upset?"

Anastacia tilted her shoulder in a shrug and started to move away. With firm hands on her shoulders, Olivier kept her still.

"Anastacia, stop trying to push me away," he said softly. "You did it to me in bed and I won't let you do it now. Tell me why you were crying when we made love. I need to know."

She started to object, but the calm, steady look in those dark eyes for her told her he meant every single word.

"You mentioned Wilfred."

He blinked.

"The lizard upset you?"

She shook her head.

"No. At the time it just hit me that Wilfred was all I have left of my family... And you were being incredibly kind and sweet to me," she finally said. "I'm just not used to men being kind and sweet."

Olivier lifted a brow, not at all keen on being called 'sweet'.

He let it go because she looked terribly pale and sort of... fragile.

It was that fragility that made him want to hug, to protect.

He knew if he touched her it wouldn't stop at a hug.

Burying his frustration, he kept his voice soft and low.

"Okay, that was then and this is now. You have been... distracted, all day. Why are you upset?"

With a sigh, Anastacia moved away. This time he let her. She pulled the pins, the hair tie, from her hair and massaged her scalp to ease the tension tightening her skull. "The last couple of days have been... hard. To be honest, I don't know where to start." She shrugged her shoulders again, and her tumbled hair dropped down her back.

He caught her hand in a gentle grip and towed her to the couch, pushed her to sit.

"Have you eaten?"

She shook her head, let it drop on the back of the couch and closed her eyes.

For an endless moment, he simply stood and stared down at her.

The dark circles under her eyes told him the girl was exhausted.

Without a word, he turned to step into the kitchen and assembled a selection of fruit, cheeses, and slid a bottle of Pinot from the cooler. By the time he'd set the plates and drinks on the coffee table in front of the couch, he could see she was dozing peacefully. In spite of the little voice telling him to leave her be, he gently squeezed her leg above the knee making her jump.

Her eyes flew to his and he read emotions brimming too near the surface.

Something was very wrong.

And he hoped to hell it had nothing to do with him.

"Eat, drink, talk, and then you can sleep."

They ate in a companionable silence.

She sipped her wine, scoffed juicy slices of mango, and nibbled cubes of smoked cheese and slid brie onto slim crackers.

Eventually, she reached for her bag and brought out the letter from her father and handed it to Olivier.

He read it twice before his eyes found hers.

"
Dio mio
, you have met him?"

She nodded.

"I received it yesterday and I met him in my office tonight."

He placed the letter on the table, rose and crossed to her to pull her into his arms.

As she sat on his knee and let him cuddle her, Anastacia closed her eyes and just let herself accept the affection, the support.

"How do you feel?" asked Olivier.

"Shaky. Weird. And guilty that I might not be able to give him what he wants."

His hand stroked her hair.

"What do you think he wants?"

"For me to slip into his family in The Return Of The Long Lost Daughter." She turned her head to inhale the scent of him. "I know nothing about him, or his family. I have a simple life. My life. And I don't want people in it that I don't want in it. Does that make me an utterly selfish bitch?"

She lifted her head to look him in the eyes.

He shook his head.

"To receive such a thing has been a huge shock. There is nothing wrong with being wary. I am happy to tell you that in the world of sport your father is a well-respected and well-liked man."

Her hand slid up his torso, her fingers fiddling with the button on his shirt.

"Yeah, but he comes with a wife and two daughters."

She frowned and found his fingers under her chin to tilt up her face so he could look into her eyes.

"Step-mother and step-sisters?"

"Yeah, all the perfect ingredients for a modern day Cinderella," muttered Anastacia.

His wide grin popped the dimple in his cheek.

He wiggled his brows. "And I am cast as the handsome prince who rescues you?"

She punched him on the shoulder, but there was no heat behind it.

"I don't need rescuing. I have serious ninja skills."

He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth for a tender kiss.

"You do." He studied her belligerent face, those big blue eyes, and knew he'd fallen for her, hard. "Maybe I could come with you when you meet them. In the interests of moral support."

Her eyes went wide.

"You would do that for me?"

"
Si.
"

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

Now her eyes and mouth went sulky in a way that made his heart, and another part of him, ache.

"Stop answering a question with a question. How the hell do I know why? What am I, a mind reader?"

It was too soon to tell her how he felt about her.

She had enough on her plate.

So instead he went with a pale version of the truth.

"I care for you. I like you and I am your friend. Right now you need a friend."

"I've plenty of friends," she shot back.

"
Si
, but I am a footballer, like your papa. We talk the same language. My presence might make the meeting run smoother. Think about it."

"Okay."

He linked his fingers through hers, and squeezed.

Her eyes went wide at the gesture.

And just like that the whole atmosphere in the room changed.

It became hot, and... edgy.

"I really, really don't want to fall in love with you," the words tumbled out fast. Her stunned expression was comically surprised. Her eyes went wide with disbelief, then she slapped a hand over her mouth as if to stuff the words back in her mouth.

But it was too late.

"
Si
? Is that right?" He didn't smile as his hands cupped her hot face and forced her to meet his eyes. Something was scurrying inside his belly like an animal skittering around an iron cage.

"What I mean is..."

"I know what you mean. You are afraid of love." He stroked the back of his hand down her burning cheek. Her response was a tiny shiver as she closed her eyes tight. "Why? Why should a beautiful and caring girl fear to love?"

"Because love hurts!" she said in a trembling voice. A voice directly at odds with the fire and temper in her eyes.

"Who hurt you,
piccolino
?"

"Me! I did the hurting. I didn't mean to." She pushed a hand through her hair, gripped and pulled. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anyone. I can't do this just for the sex, Olivier. This isn't working."

She tried to move to stand, but he held her tight.

No way in hell was he letting her go.

Not now he'd made a break-through.

"We are having more than sex, and you know it."

She sent him a dark look. This wasn't the sweet and nice man. This was Olivier Conti, a man at the top of his game. A winner. A warrior. She lifted her chin. "Let me go, I'm leaving."

His response was to fist her blouse and pull her close.

"No way."

Anastacia lifted her chin, absolutely furious, and perhaps more terrified than she'd ever been in her entire life. She wondered if he could hear the way her heart was jack hammering against her ribs. Then he smiled, that slow and deadly and sexy smile that reeled her right in. No matter how hard she fought, he reeled her right in again and again. The dimple flashed.

"I am crazy in love with you."

He said it without inflection, so easy, that it took her mind a second to comprehend his words.

"You can't."

His brows rose. "I can't love you?" he wondered, watching her closely. "Or I can't tell you I love you?"

"It's not funny." She slapped her hands on his chest and pushed. It was like pushing solid rock.

"You are right. Do I look like I am laughing?"

Anastacia shook her head. Since the moment she'd met him, she'd done everything to ensure that they didn't get too close, too intimate. And she'd failed. Spectacularly. Even her friends had seen them fall. How on earth had this happened? Something like panic snaked up her spine.

He grabbed her cold hands and linked their fingers and squeezed.

"Do you want to know when I fell for you?" Now he brought her hands to his mouth and nibbled her fingertips. "It was in hospital. You were sitting there battered and bruised. Bare feet, sulky mouth and a bad attitude. And I was so furious with you I could hardly speak. When you'd passed out laying on the pavement, I was terrified. My heart stopped beating. Literally. And I knew, right then, that I was in trouble. Because you, Anastacia Morgan, are nothing but trouble."

He dipped his head until his mouth was a whisper from hers.

"That's exactly what I thought about you when I first saw your photograph. Trouble with a capital T. And I was right."

"Like attracts like," he said and took her mouth.

The kiss destroyed her. Although it was hard and ruthless and demanding, he was not in a hurry, there was no pressure. He had her trapped on his knee. His arms like steel bands holding her tight. Dimly she thought about struggling, thought about putting up a fight. But now the stress and strain of the day was leaking out of her, to be replaced by a sense of wonder, a sense of rightness. Dear God, she was loved.

Olivier felt her relax as she gave him... everything.

He pulled back. He knew that he could take, but he'd never make her his if he did. Then her arms were around his neck as she pressed her breasts into his chest, her mouth nuzzling under his chin in a sign of affection and, maybe, finally, of trust. It was, he decided, a good beginning.

"Say it again," she whispered.

Sitting on the couch, he leaned back against fat cushions and took her with him, all the while running a hand down her hair. "I love you, Anastacia."

The deep sincerity in his fabulous deep voice, the wonderful Italian accent, had Anastacia step off the cliff. She lifted her head, took his face in her hands and stared hard into his eyes.

"I love you, Olivier," she whispered.

And burst into tears.