CHAPTER ONE
LONDON’SSKYLINE, Sebastiano Russo grudgingly admitted, looked spectacular that evening with the soft glow of the setting sun creating a shimmering golden haze around its iconic rooftops. The helicopter he was travelling from Edinburgh in swooped down and landed on one of the most magnificent London buildings of all, the elegant home to the world’s most exclusive private members’ club.
As usual Lazlo, the unobtrusive manager of the Diamond Club, was there to greet him on the roof and whisk him inside.
Being in no mood for small talk and with no inclination to seek the company of the other club members in residence that evening, Sebastiano headed straight to his private suite. Losing a billion euros of his fortune in one fell swoop had a way of making a man not want company, especially when the reasons for losing said billion euros was down to your own mindlessness.
At least here he could switch the world off. The Diamond Club’s facilities and services along with its innate alluring ambience gave him everything he needed when wanting to let off steam during his business trips in London. As the face of Russo Banca Internazionale, image was everything so any potentially scandalous behaviour was kept strictly behind closed doors. For centuries, the Russo family had owned and steered the glamorous private banking institution with discretion and a touch of glamour. Its high-end customers—clients had to deposit a minimum five million euros to open an account—valued the high returns paid out even during world economic turbulence and the faultless, personalised service. Since Sebastiano had taken the helm, he’d prioritised expanding its wealth management arm and enhancing its digital services without losing any of the little touches that made their clients feel so valued. Under Sebastiano’s stewardship, RBI’s profits had doubled in five years. If Sebastiano’s loss should be made public then his reputation and his bank’s reputation would be decimated. Who would trust a man to take care of their wealth if that same man couldn’t take care of his own?
For this one night he would allow himself to brood in solitude. Come the morning, he would summon his core team and talk damage limitation strategies.
It had been three months since he’d last visited the Diamond Club. Three months since he’d thrown that spontaneous party in his suite which had ended in the most unexpected way. It was the longest he’d spent between visits since Raj Belanger had invited him to join the club.
There would be no partying that night. The only company Sebastiano wanted was the bottom of a bottle of bourbon and someone prepared to fade into the background pouring it for him.
Lazlo remained silent until they arrived at the double doors of Sebastiano’s suite. With a respectful nod, a bow of his head and a murmured wish for Sebastiano to have a peaceful evening, he disappeared with his usual unobtrusiveness. This was one of the many things Sebastiano liked about the Diamond Club. It wasn’t just that the staff were all highly trained with discretion practically embedded in their DNA, it was that they all had the ability to judge their guests’ moods with nothing more than a look and adapt their own personas to suit what they intuited was wanted from them. In all his years as a member there, the staff had always intuited his mood perfectly.
Having given pre-instructions that only a bar tender was required that evening, Sebastiano shrugged off his suit jacket in the small reception area of his suite and slung it on the back of an armchair, then ripped off his tie and chucked it on the jacket. The cufflinks were the next to be removed before he headed into the suite’s main living area rolling the sleeves of his shirt up, only to take one look at the bar tender and come to an abrupt halt.
A long beat passed before the willowy dark blonde woman greeted him with a respectful smile. ‘Good evening, Mr Russo.’
Chest tightening, eyes narrowing, he bypassed the pool table and football table that never failed to make a billionaire of any age light up like a child, and pulled up a stool at the long, dark redwood bar. ‘Layla,’ he acknowledged with a taut nod to match the tautness in his voice. ‘I thought you were moving on.’
If he’d known her notice period hadn’t ended, he would have made sure to notify Lazlo of his wish for a different dedicated bar tender.
The last thing he’d wanted was to be confronted by the one member of the Diamond Club’s staff that he’d spent the night with.
She flashed the smile that accentuated her high cheekbones. ‘Still here, just,’ she confirmed lightly, in exactly the same tone with which she always served him. ‘Bourbon, one cube of ice?’
He narrowed his stare again, searching her beautiful features for even a hint of reproach or peevishness but found nothing. Nothing to suggest Layla would behave with anything less than the intuitive professionalism that had led to him requesting she always serve his bar when he was in residence.
‘Forget the ice,’ he said gruffly, ‘and make it a large one.’
Her brief smile this time was sympathetic, as if she’d peeped into his mind and seen the colossal mistake that had blighted his day and had the potential to blight the rest of his life.
She poured his drink and placed the crystal tumbler before him.
He drank it in one swallow. ‘Another.’
The process was repeated. Only once he felt the liquid start to work its soothing magic did he slow his pace and sip his third glass. Rolling his taut neck, he said, ‘Music. Anything of your choice but no jazz.’ A cousin had once bored him for an entire Sunday afternoon with a lecture on jazz appreciation. If there was anything to appreciate about it, Roberto’s monotonous, droning voice had put Sebastiano off for life.
‘Something upbeat?’
Layla’s musical voice could never be described as monotonous or droning, he thought, taking another large sip.
He nodded.
She tapped on a tablet and within moments rhythmic beats pulsed lowly through the vast room.
In the two years Layla had worked at the club she’d proved herself the most intuitive of all the staff to his needs and wants, and as the bourbon, helped by the music, continued to soothe the edges of his angst, the tightness in his chest that had formed at seeing her manning his bar loosened a little too.
Post-coital promises were never meant in the way real promises were, he told himself. Everyone knew that. Layla was an adult and there was nothing in her body language to suggest she was upset at his failure to call her. Now that he was a little more settled and a bit more clear in his thinking, the only impression he was receiving was that of a woman pleased to see him.
Well, it had been a great night that they’d shared together. The kind of night that lingered.
Relaxing even more, he raised his glass at her. ‘Join me?’
Something sparkled in her forget-me-not-blue eyes. Pretty white teeth grazed the bottom lip of a wide mouth with a cupid’s bow in the top lip and which three months ago had trailed kisses over every inch of his skin. ‘Maybe later.’
He raised an eyebrow at the suggestiveness in her tone and the sweep of her long eyelashes.
She didn’t miss a beat, arching her own eyebrows in return.
A frisson raced through his veins.
He recognised that look. It was one they’d shared three months ago in the hours before he’d thrown his guests out of the suite.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to forget his troubles in a bottle or two of bourbon after all, he mused as anticipation roused. There were other, far more pleasurable ways to shake off a bad mood and if there was a pleasure greater than Layla wrapping her long legs around his waist and scraping her nails down his back while he plunged deep inside her, he was yet to experience it.
The sparkle deepened into a gleam and she leaned over the bar to top up his glass. For a moment her smart black, V-necked top gaped open, giving him a glimpse of the small, high breasts that had fitted perfectly into his mouth.
As she saw the direction of his stare, her mouth quirked in the corner. When she leaned over the bar again, this time resting her chin on her closed fist, and murmured, ‘Can I get you anything else?’ there was no doubt in Sebastiano’s mind that the gape allowing him to see her black lace bra was deliberate.
The frisson deepened. He was close enough to smell her soft, subtle perfume, his mouth filling with the remembered taste of those perfect breasts, tongue tingling to remember the texture of her large raspberry-coloured nipples. Gazing into her eyes, he murmured back, ‘Maybe later.’
Her lips widened into the lopsided smile that was her only flaw. And it wasn’t even a flaw. Without it, her face would just be jaw-droppingly beautiful. Her smile turned her beauty into something spectacular. And sexy. It was a smile that promised erotic, hedonistic nights and by God had the reality matched up to the promise. To breathe in her perfume and the heat of her skin and to know that very soon those long legs could be wrapped around him again...
‘How come you’re still working here?’ he asked after taking another long sip of his bourbon.
She gave the lightest shrug. ‘My plans changed.’
‘So you’re staying?’
‘No.’ Another lopsided smile and sweep of the long lashes. ‘This is my last shift.’
Now he was the one to sweep his gaze, taking another open peek at the small breasts wrapped in black lace before meeting her stare again and raising his glass. ‘Then fortune is shining in my favour.’
Her elbow inched a little closer to him. ‘It didn’t look as though you thought fortune was on your side when you walked in here,’ she observed.
Her intuition really was exceptional.
‘Trust me,’ he said ruefully. ‘Today has been the day from hell.’
Sympathy brimmed. ‘Want to talk about it?’
‘No.’ In his next breath he said, completely unbidden, ‘I lost a billion euros.’
The Diamond Club’s staff were the best in the business, from the level of service they provided, to their discretion, to showing no reaction whatsoever at any of the snippets of gossip or state secrets they became privy to in the course of their work, but even Layla’s forget-me-not eyes widened at this.
He swallowed what was left in his glass and wiped his mouth with his thumb. ‘Want to know how?’
Straightening, she reached for the bottle. ‘Only if you want to tell me.’
What the hell? Layla had proved herself an excellent sounding board over the years. The best sounding board. What he told her went in one ear and out of the other. ‘A company I’m the majority shareholder of in a personal capacity went into administration last night. On paper, I am now one billion euros poorer.’
She made an ‘ouch’ face and refilled his glass.
He drank with a grimace. ‘I should have sold. The warning signs were there.’
After a day spent berating and raging at himself for his idiocy, he was still none the wiser as to where the lethargy in his brain that had prevented him acting on his instincts had come from. Anyone with an ounce of nous had known to sell and dissociate from a company that had turned toxic.
‘I’m not used to screwing up,’ he added after another drink.
‘You’re human,’ she said softly. ‘Screwing up happens to the best of us.’
‘Not to me.’
She stared at him meditatively then put her elbow back on the bar and her chin back on her fist. ‘Want to know what I think?’
Surprised—Layla rarely commented on the stuff he confided in her—he stared back and then shrugged. He supposed there was a slim possibility that a bar tender who doubled as a waitress was capable of an insight into his psyche that he hadn’t considered. ‘Sure.’
‘I think you work too hard.’
‘I have a lot of responsibility.’ An understatement.
‘I know, but when did you last take a break?’ she challenged, eyeballing him in the sexiest manner imaginable.
‘I take plenty of time off,’ he said eyeballing her right back.
She leaned a little closer. ‘I mean a proper break. A holiday, something like a trip around the Med on your yacht but without your PA, lawyer and accountant in attendance... I bet if you were to call them and order them here, they’d be knocking on the door within minutes.’
He couldn’t help grinning at how on-the-nail her observation was, and was rewarded with another of her sexy lopsided smiles.
‘I doubt you ever fully switch off,’ she continued, her musical voice pitched low and sensuous. ‘I bet you even check your emails on Christmas Day.’
‘Think how much more money I’d lose if I didn’t check them every day,’ he riposted.
‘You could afford to lose a billion euros a day for a month and still have billions left over.’
‘I’d like to keep all my billions, not be left with scraps.’
‘Then take my advice and take a break. A proper break. Recharge your batteries.’ Their faces were now only inches apart. ‘You know another thing that’s good for stress?’
‘Bourbon?’
She gave a short, soft laugh and leaned closer still. A lock of her silky hair tickled against his cheek as she whispered, ‘A deep tissue massage.’
‘Hmm... Now that sounds like something I’d be up for.’
‘I just bet you would,’ she said knowingly before another gleam lit her eyes. ‘Shall I call the spa?’
He tilted his face. Their lips were a whisper away from brushing together. The sweetness of her breath filling his senses only added to the intoxication firing through his veins. Spearing his hand into the mass of thick, wavy tresses, he murmured, ‘I can think of someone else I’d rather do it.’
Her lips parted against his. The sweet tongue that had explored him with the same passion as her mouth flickered against his lips but before he could mould his mouth to hers, she’d slithered back and out of reach. The hair he’d been holding fell like a waterfall around her shoulders.
Eyes full of cat-like sensuality, she gave her lopsided, oh, so sexy smile. ‘I’ll get some massage oil. Go and make yourself comfortable in your bedroom.’
Sebastiano stripped his clothes down to his briefs, hot blood pumping hard through him.
This was not an outcome he’d anticipated when he’d decided to end his day from hell by drowning his sorrows at his private club. The only outcome he’d anticipated was a banging hangover.
The last time his blood had pumped this hard was that night three months ago.
He’d fantasised about Layla for two years.
Her beauty had blown his mind from the first look. The tall, willowy blonde who could have graced the cover of any glossy magazine had entered his suite carrying a box of champagne for a small party he’d been hosting, and when she’d smiled at him all he’d been able to think was that there could be no sexier creature on the planet.
But she was staff. Not his staff, but still staff, paid to serve and cater to his every whim, part of his world but not of it. To seduce her would have been an abuse of his power. That didn’t mean he couldn’t request that she always tend his bar when he was in residence and enjoy feasting his eyes on her. Enjoy her company. Enjoy being able to unwind and confide things about his life with her and enjoy the sensation that she was listening because she was genuinely interested and not just because she was being paid. It helped that he doubted she retained much of what he confided.
The frisson that accompanied their talks when they were alone together was, he’d long been certain, mutual. And then she’d told him while lining up the glasses in preparation for the party he’d been throwing three months ago that it would probably be the last of his parties she worked at because she’d handed her resignation in.
The look that had flowed between them at those words...
Sebastiano’s intention to party until the sun came up had been thrown out of the window, as had all his guests when midnight struck and he’d sent them home. He’d sent all the staff out too. Everyone except Layla.
There had been no doubt about what would happen the moment they were alone together. The last of the guests couldn’t have left the corridor before she was locked in his arms. It had been the most thrillingly sensuous night of his thirty-five years, so thrilling that he’d taken her number and promised to call after his meeting and arrange a proper date. At the time he’d even meant it.
Which was why seeing her behind his bar had at first been such an unwelcome surprise.
Enough time had passed that he’d thought it right to assume he would never see her again and now, with anticipation burning so brightly inside him, he could barely remember why he’d changed his mind about calling her.
One more night with the woman who’d spent two years weaving through his fantasies...
He was sitting on his bed propped against the headboard wearing only his black briefs when she appeared in his open doorway holding a small bottle of massage oil.
Pressing her cheek against the door’s frame, she slowly, unashamedly, swept her stare over his naked torso, all the while grazing her bottom lip with her teeth. It was enough to send the blood straight into his loins and relight his arousal.
With the face of a Hollywood siren in its golden age and the body of a supermodel, Layla wasn’t hot, she was scorching and when she moved from the frame and stepped out of her heels, moisture filled his mouth.
Honey-blonde hair spilled around her shoulders, she walked seductively towards him, her short black skirt displaying her long, toned golden legs for his delectation, hips gently swaying. When she reached the foot of his bed she lightly ran her fingers over his calf.
‘Turn over,’ she murmured.
He obeyed, resting his cheek on a pillow. Anticipation thudded through him.
Why the hell hadn’t he called her?
The light was dimmed. The mattress dipped. Air moved as she made herself comfortable beside him. The shock of cold oil poured down his spine. His flinch was automatic. Her musical laughter was soft.
It was the single most erotic moment of his life.
Her knees pressed against his side, she spread her palms and smoothed the oil over his back and shoulders, and then she got to work, kneading at his muscles with the whole of her hands, gripping the bicep closest to her and stretching his arm out so she could work her magic on his forearm too. So damn good did it all feel that if her breasts hadn’t made the occasional brush against his back when she stretched herself to massage his other bicep, he might have relaxed enough to fall asleep. As it was, Sebastiano found himself caught on the cusp between pleasure and pain: the pleasure coming from her clever hands, the pain from his unrelenting arousal.
The deepening of Layla’s breaths as she worked on him told Sebastiano that he wasn’t the only one aroused.
Lips brushed the nape of his neck.
He groaned, would have twisted round onto his back if she hadn’t pressed the tips of her fingers into his skull and kissed the rim of his ear before whispering, ‘Close your eyes and don’t move.’
Used to being the seducer, he found the novelty of being the seduced heightened the eroticism, heightened the thrums of desire pulsing through him.
He’d had no clue that the worst day of his life would end in such glorious eroticism. It was almost worth losing a billion euros for.
He heard a rustling beneath him but there was no time to wonder what she was doing for now she was straddling his lower back, mouth hot in the arch of his neck.
‘Keep your eyes closed,’ she commanded seductively. ‘No moving.’
With her incredible body draped over him and the heat of her breath dancing sensation over his skin, Sebastiano had no wish to do anything but continue to obey.
Hands smoothed up his right arm. A breast covered in too many layers whispered against his cheek. He groaned again, resisting the compulsion to open his mouth and—
A shock of cold metal wrapped around his wrist. In the split second it took for him to open his eyes, Layla had leapt off him and parked herself at the foot of the bed.
It took another split second for him to register that she’d handcuffed him to the bed post.