Chapter Six #2
Crushing the desire to feast his eyes on her flushed body, he rose quickly from the bed and went over to the mullioned window, where the scene outside resembled the set of one of those old-fashioned Hollywood movies.
But the snow machine must have stopped working during the night, he thought, because not a single flake was falling from a sky coloured bright blue instead of deepest grey.
The ground was coated with snow which glittered like diamonds in the sunshine and Vito was rewarded with the sight of water dripping slowly from a laden branch, on which a robin sang lustily.
‘It’s melting,’ he said, spotting a wide space of accessible white land in the distance. ‘Eccellente,’ he murmured. ‘I see no reason why they won’t be able to get a helicopter here.’
Flora tried to look enthusiastic as Vito turned around, his face alight with relief.
He obviously couldn’t wait to get on his way.
Which was exactly how it was supposed to be, she reminded herself fiercely.
He’d told her from the start that this was a one-off and she had agreed.
Just because he had shown her she was capable of giving and receiving more pleasure than she’d ever thought possible, that didn’t change anything.
What did she think was going to happen? He wasn’t going to suddenly ask her to Milan to go on a date, or to join him on his ski trip!
It was time to step up to the plate and play the part expected of her. Not the writhing sensual Flora of last night but his usual sensible secretary who was prepared to forget her brief indiscretion.
Let him remember you as a cheerful person and not someone who’s all needy and clingy.
With a monumental effort Flora slanted him a smile, trying to ignore the fact that he was completely naked, determined to make some normal-sounding conversation before they went their separate ways. ‘So who’s going to be on the slopes with you?’
‘Two friends from way back—Alessio Cardini and Marco Pallotta. We often go away at this time of year—usually to Gstaad—to escape from the inevitable nightmare of the holidays.’
Flora remembered when he’d arrived in London. The way he’d torn through the Verdenergia building demanding the removal of all decorations. The way he’d shuddered when he’d seen the giant conifer here in the lodge. ‘Why do you hate Christmas so much?’ she questioned.
‘How long have you got?’ His jaw tightened with contempt. ‘It’s nothing but a charade, maintaining the total myth of the happy family. And the whole damned world colludes.’
‘There must be some happy families,’ she said lamely.
‘Not in my experience, and all the stats back it up, don’t they? That’s why I’m never planning to join the ranks of the majority. I don’t want marriage and I don’t want children,’ he growled, fixing her with a piercing stare. ‘What about you, Flora? Was your childhood “happy”?’
‘It was…unconventional.’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t know my dad, and my mum died on a mountain.’
‘Tough,’ he said tersely. ‘How come?’
‘Because she was a rock climber and that was her first love.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Selfish,’ he observed.
‘That’s one way of looking at it. Fathers are allowed to have passions but not mothers, it seems,’ Flora commented acidly. ‘It was just me and Amy for a long time but I like to think we made the best of it.’
‘My parents fought like cat and dog until they were divorced,’ he said slowly, a note of bitterness in his voice. ‘And then they fought even more, until my mother died.’
His face had suddenly darkened and as Flora automatically uttered words of sympathy for his loss, she knew him well enough to recognise that the subject was now closed.
And even though she would have liked to find out more about what really made Vito Monticello tick, she accepted it was not her place to ask.
She didn’t want this extraordinary night to end on a bad note.
She was supposed to be all grown-up and cheerful, wasn’t she? So do it!
‘Anyone else going on this ski trip?’ she enquired sunnily.
‘Is that a coded way of asking whether we’re taking any women with us?’
‘No! Well, maybe a bit,’ she admitted, blushing a little as his gaze bored into her.
‘Do you really think I’d have slept with you if I had another bed partner lined up for the holidays, Flora?’ he demanded. ‘Do you think I’m one of those men who trawls from woman to woman, who can’t keep it in his trousers?’
All she’d been doing was trying to put their casual hookup in the correct pigeonhole and now he was making it sound as if she were impugning his honour!
‘There’s no need to be so touchy,’ she said.
‘I am not being touchy!’
For a moment they glared at each other across the traditional room and Flora found herself wondering how many other couples had rowed in this room, over the centuries.
But never in circumstances like this, she surmised as, disappointingly, he turned away and headed off towards the bathroom.
And somehow she wasn’t surprised when he returned a short while later, fully dressed, right down to his cashmere coat and shiny handmade shoes, which he must have retrieved from the fireside.
‘I’m going up to the main house to use the phone,’ he announced.
‘They’re bound to have some sort of signal there.
I’ll need to speak to my pilot about getting us out of here, and also about making sure there’s a connecting flight to take you on to London.
With a bit of luck, you should be back before too long. ’
Flora looked at him hopefully. ‘Shall I get dressed and come with you?’
‘No.’
The curtness of the word echoed around the room as he picked up his watch from the nightstand and slid it onto his wrist. ‘Why don’t you stay here?’ he suggested, his gaze encompassing the rumpled bed-linen. ‘Tidy up a little maybe, hmm?’
It was probably the most insulting thing he could have said in the circumstances, and not just because he was reinforcing stereotypical roles and putting her in a subservient position, and sounding just like her boss again.
He seemed to be forgetting the fact that they were lovers. Had been lovers, she corrected herself as she forced herself to confront the bitter truth.
He doesn’t want anyone to know what we’ve been doing, she recognised painfully. I’m obviously supposed to remove any sign that two people might have spent the night here having mad, passionate sex.
Perhaps he was worried about the sensibilities of the Laird’s young niece she thought, but without any real conviction.
And perhaps he was doing her a favour by reminding her of the huge divide between them, lest she have the temerity to forget that she was nothing but a humble secretary and he was the powerful boss…
That was all they were.
All they were ever intended to be.
‘Sure,’ she said, with an easy smile, as if she didn’t really care, one way or another, and she turned away before he could see the prick of tears in her eyes. ‘I’ll see if I can find a pair of rubber gloves.’