Interview with a Playboy (2 page)

No Italian woman would be caught dead in a blouse like that…especially with it buttoned right up to the neck! Her waist was small, and she appeared well endowed. That blouse would definitely benefit from being unbuttoned a few notches, he thought distractedly.

Isobel suddenly noticed his sweeping assessment of her appearance, and as his dark eyes moved boldly back to her face she found herself heating up inside with consternation. Why was he looking at her like that? It was almost as if he were weighing up her desirability.

The thought made her heat up even more.

Hell, she was blushing! How embarrassing was that, when she disliked Marco so intensely? She wouldn’t be interested in him if he was the last man left in the universe, and she knew damn well that Marco would never be interested in her!

Maybe he looked at every woman like that—or maybe he was trying to distract her from their conversation. Now, that was a possibility.

‘So, are you trying to tell me that you have no interest in buying Sienna Confectionery?’ She sat up a little straighter in her chair.

Marco smiled slowly. He had to admire her tenacity, but it was time he reined her in. ‘I take it you want to make this a business interview?’ he murmured smoothly.

‘No!’ Her skin flared with even more heat as she imagined the hullabaloo at the paper if she ignored the brief they’d given her. ‘I was just saying that…I know what is going on.’

His lips curved in an almost derogatory smile. Then he
reached for the phone on his desk. ‘Deirdre, arrange for my limousine to pick me up outside in ten minutes.’

Isobel could feel her heart thudding nervously against her chest. ‘Are you going to bail out on me because I dared question you on a subject you don’t want to discuss?’ She forced herself to hold his gaze, but inside she was suddenly terrified. Hell, if she mucked up with this interview she could find herself out of a job! The paper was desperate for an exclusive—in fact every paper in the land was desperate for an interview with Marco. Her kudos as a reporter would be out of the window if she messed this up.

Marco didn’t answer her straight away, and her nerves stretched as she thought about the hefty mortgage she had taken on when she had moved apartments last year. She needed this job.

‘Look, Mr Lombardi, I’ll be honest with you. I’d rather do a business interview—because that’s what I do. I’m a business correspondent. But the
Daily Banner
, in its wisdom, has sent me here because you’ve done a deal with them. You said you’d give the paper an exclusive glimpse into your life. So how about it? Because if I don’t get this story… Well…’

‘You’re in trouble.’ He finished her sentence for her and smiled. ‘Why, Ms Keyes, are you throwing yourself on my mercy?’

He knew damn well that she was in a predicament—because
he’d
placed her in it, she thought furiously. With difficulty, she tried to remain calm. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

He noticed how the husky admission almost stuck in her throat, and one dark eyebrow lifted mockingly.

‘Did you bring your passport?’

‘My passport?’ The question caught her off guard, and she stared at him in apprehension. ‘Why would I need that?’

‘I offered your paper an exclusive glimpse into my life, Ms Keyes—and I travel quite extensively.’ As he was talking to her Marco was packing away his papers into a briefcase. ‘I
have meetings in Italy and in Nice tomorrow, and I’m leaving in just under an hour. So if you want your story you’re going to have to tag along with me.’

‘Nobody told me that! I was told you were inviting me into your home—’

‘I am. My home is in the South of France.’

‘But you have a place here—in Kensington!’ Her voice rose slightly. ‘Don’t you?’

Marco closed his case and looked over at her. ‘I also have houses in Paris, Rome and Barbados, but I’m based on the Riviera.’

‘I see.’ She swallowed hard on a tight knot of panic. ‘Well, unfortunately I haven’t packed for a trip to France, and I have no passport with me.’

Marco almost felt sorry for her—almost, but not quite. Because she was a journalist, and as far as he was concerned journalists were the piranhas of this world, feeding off other people’s lives. ‘Seems like you are in a bit of a bind, then, doesn’t it? Your editor will be disappointed.’ He noticed impassively that she seemed to lose all colour from her face at that.

‘Look, if you could drive to the airport via my apartment it would take me fifteen—maybe twenty minutes tops to throw my stuff together,’ she suggested in desperation.

‘I don’t have twenty minutes to spare,’ Marco told her tersely as he rose to his feet and reached for the jacket of his suit. ‘But in the interests of goodwill I’ll give you five.’

As Isobel looked up at him she saw the gleam of amusement in the darkness of his eyes, and she realised that he’d never had any intention of leaving her behind. He was playing with her as a cat would play with a mouse before pouncing for the kill.

She suddenly wanted to run a million miles from him—because this didn’t bode well for her interview.

‘When you’re ready,’ he grated impatiently as she made no move to stand up.

Hurriedly she got to her feet. What else could she do but go along with this?

A
S
I
SOBEL
followed Marco out of the Lombardi offices, a group of waiting paparazzi across the road sprang into life. There were insistent shouts for them to look over towards the cameras, and calls for Marco to answer questions. They wanted to know where he was going, who Isobel was, if he had spoken to his ex-wife recently.

Marco seemed unfazed by the situation and made no comment, but the intrusion took Isobel by surprise. She wasn’t used to being on this side of press attention, and the flash photography and the unrelenting questions felt aggressive. She was almost glad to reach the seclusion of Marco’s limousine, with its smoked glass windows.

‘Friends of yours?’ Marco asked sardonically as he climbed in behind her and took a seat opposite.

‘No, of course not!’ The question startled her. ‘I have absolutely nothing to do with them! They’re like a pack of hyenas.’

‘Your point being…?’

She was starting to get used to that derisive dry edge to his voice. ‘My point being that is not
my
style of journalism.’

‘Ah, yes, I forgot—you are a serious reporter, only interested in business.’

She raised her chin slightly. ‘And I’m good at my job—well, I must be, mustn’t I? It’s the only reason you’ve agreed to give my paper an exclusive.’

‘I hate to burst your bubble,’ he drawled, ‘but the main reason I’ve decided to give the press an exclusive is because of incidents like the one you have just witnessed, where I’m constantly pestered by reporters who want to know everything about me down to what I’ve had for my breakfast.’

Isobel had to agree that the situation had been unpleasant. She glanced out of the window and noticed that even though the chauffeur had pulled the limousine out into traffic the paparazzi were following on motorbikes.

‘And then there are the important business deals that have been wholly jeopardised by unwarranted press attention and ill-timed sensationalistic reporting,’ Marco continued sardonically. ‘Ring any bells?’

She frowned. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting—’

‘I’m not suggesting anything.’ He cut across her firmly. ‘I’m telling you why I’ve taken the decision to give a one-off in-depth interview—I’m hoping it’s going to be an interview to end all interviews. And that I shall get some peace and quiet after it.’

‘And you just happened to offer this opportunity to the
Daily Banner
?’ she asked archly.

‘I did my homework. And surprisingly your name has cropped up quite a few times over the last say…eighteen months. There was your report about my deal with the Alexia retail group…a few less than flattering columns about my takeover of a supermarket chain, and a very scathing article about my—I quote—“domination of the Rolands Group”. Shall I go on?’

‘No, you have no need to go on, I get the picture,’ Isobel muttered hastily. OK, she
had
singled his business out for some in-depth coverage last year, but only because he had done a lot of buying and selling, and she had always done her research. ‘I never said you had done anything wrong or illegal. Nothing I’ve written has been untrue.’

‘But it has verged on scaremongering.’

‘I’m a business correspondent. It’s my job to report to the public about what is going on.’

He nodded. ‘And now it is your job to follow me around and report on that.’

She stared at him. ‘Like a kind of punishment?’ The words fell from her lips before she could stop them.

Marco stared at her, and then he laughed. ‘I feel I should remind you at this point that every journalist in the land would probably love to change places with you right now.’

His arrogance was extremely infuriating—and so was the fact that he was probably right. ‘Yes, I do realise that.’ She glared at him. ‘And I’m not complaining. I’m just saying—’

‘That you are a serious journalist who would rather write about my business ventures than my dietary requirements?’ he finished for her, his eyes glinting with amusement.

‘Yes, exactly. I mean, let’s face it, the world hardly needs another celeb interview, does it?’ She spoke impulsively. and then hastily tried to correct the mistake. ‘That doesn’t mean I don’t
want
to interview you—because of course I do!’

‘Relax—I know exactly what you mean. And I’m more than happy to talk about my businesses and my rise to the top of the financial markets. In fact, that is what I would like to focus on.’

Isobel was sure any business information he gave her would be very one-sided, and she wanted to say,
Yeah, right
in a very derogatory tone, but she didn’t dare.

‘Well, I wouldn’t worry about it,’ she said instead. ‘Because it turns out that most people are only interested in your lovelife.’

‘Is that so?’ His dark eyes held with hers.

‘Yes… Bizarre, but there it is.’

Marco smiled. He was starting to like Ms Isobel Keyes. Had he hit the jackpot and engaged the one journalist who wasn’t interested in digging the dirt on his marriage?

‘So what exactly
is
the story with your divorce?’ she
asked suddenly, her green eyes narrowing. ‘Because everyone thought that you and Lucinda did seem like the perfect couple.’

No—he hadn’t hit the jackpot, he berated himself. Like every other journalist she was a breed apart—a sub-species for whom no subject was too personal to have a good dig around in.

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Ms Keyes,’ he said coolly.

Was it her imagination, or was his expression suddenly shuttered? Certainly the gleam of amusement in his voice had disappeared. Strange… She had expected that reaction when she talked about his business dealings, not his relationships.

Maybe he just didn’t like the fact that the press knew he was a womaniser? Maybe that was another reason he had agreed to this interview—to try and reinvent himself?

Well, if he thought she was going to fall for that he had a shock coming, she thought fiercely.

The limousine was slowing down. And as she looked out she realised they were pulling up outside her flat.

‘OK, I won’t be long,’ she murmured as the chauffeur got out and opened the passenger door for her.

One of her neighbours was walking past, and the woman almost fell over in surprise when she saw Isobel getting out of a limousine, closely followed by Marco Lombardi.

‘Don’t you think it might be better if you waited in the limousine?’ Isobel said nervously as he walked with her towards the front door.

‘No, I don’t. What’s the matter? Are you frightened there might be gossip about us?’

‘Of course not!’ She slanted a look up at him and noticed that the amusement was back in the darkness of his gaze. Yes, he probably thought that was oh-so-funny. As if anyone would seriously think that he would be interested in her when he had his pick of the world’s most glamorous women.

The paparazzi had roared into the road now, and the usually quiet cul-de-sac was suddenly chaotic as once again they started to take photographs, shouting for Marco to look over.

Isobel was so flustered that she could hardly get her key in the lock fast enough, and calmly Marco reached to take it from her. The touch of his hand against hers was a shock to the system, and she jerked away from him abruptly.

‘There you go.’ He pushed the door open for her and looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. ‘Are the press rattling you?’

‘No, of course not.’ The truth of the matter was that the paparazzi weren’t bothering her half as much as he was.

‘After you, then.’

‘Thanks.’ What on earth was wrong with her? Isobel wondered angrily as she stepped past him into the hallway. It was as if her senses were all on heightened alert around him.

And she had never felt more nervous in all her life as he followed her up the stairs to her first-floor flat.

She supposed it was just the strangeness of the situation. She’d disliked this man for so long from a distance, and now here he was stepping into her sitting room, acting as if he had every right to be here. In fact, his presence seemed to dominate the small flat.

Isobel watched as his gaze moved slowly over his surroundings, and for some reason she found herself looking at the place through his eyes.

The rooms weren’t what you would call spacious, and her second-hand furniture looked shabby in the cold grey light of the afternoon. She was willing to bet that Marco’s designer Italian suit had cost more money than all her possessions lumped together.

The thought brought her back to reality. OK, she didn’t have a lot of money, but that was no reason to feel embarrassed or ashamed. She’d had no helping hand in life—she’d
come from a poverty-stricken background and worked hard to get to where she was now. What was more, she had always treated people fairly along the way—which was more than Marco could say.

He’d practically bankrupted her grandfather’s business, until the old man had been forced to sell out to him because he just couldn’t afford to compete with him. And then as soon as Marco had taken over the firm he’d lost no time in restructuring—which had basically meant firing most of the staff. Isobel’s father had been amongst the people in the first wave of redundancies.