The Shock Cassano Baby
Auteur·e
Andie Brock
Lectures
16,4K
Chapitres
13
Chapter One
ISOBEL STARED AT the figures on the screen one last time. The initial stages of the business plan had been implemented successfully; target forecasts were all on course. Yes, she was confident that the board of Cassano Holdings would be satisfied with the progress she had made so far. More than satisfied, even.
After closing the lid of her laptop Isobel zipped it into its case. She was ready. She glanced at her watch. There was just one more thing she had to do before she could leave for the board meeting in the city.
Rising to her feet, she smoothed down the skirt of her navy business suit and crossed the few steps to the sofa to pick up her handbag. Her heart was thumping now, her hand shaky as she slid it inside to retrieve the small packet in its chemist’s bag.
Giving herself no more time to think she headed for the bathroom. There really was no going back.
* * *
‘Any other business?’
Orlando Cassano leant back in his chair, the gold pen in his hand catching the light as it was slowly rotated by strong, olive-skinned fingers.
With a negative murmur the board members started to gather together their papers, opening briefcases and stowing away their electronic devices.
‘Isobel?’ The dark sweep of his eyes now focussed directly on the young woman seated on the opposite side of the wide glass table. ‘Is there anything else you want to add?’
‘No.’ Isobel shook her head. ‘I think we have covered everything.’
If only that were true. Looking around, she forced herself to smile brightly at the assembled group of directors, accountants and marketing officers that comprised the UK division of Cassano Holdings. But there was no way she could meet the eye of the company CEO himself, whose piercing dark stare had been all over her ever since she had entered this boardroom and now, two hours later, still scorched across her skin. As if this wasn’t hard enough, it seemed Orlando Cassano was intent on making it a whole lot worse.
‘Bene. Then I think we can wrap this up for today.’
Orlando offered her a smile that knifed into her guts.
‘You have done well, Isobel. I’m confident that this will be a rewarding partnership.’ He paused, his brows knotting together as he watched the colour drain from her face.
‘You’ve made a sound start, Ms Spicer, no doubt about that.’ The chief financial officer gave a nod of agreement. ‘It’s early days, but if you can replicate this performance I can see us renegotiating your contract sooner than anticipated.’
‘That’s good to know.’ Isobel held on to her smile with grim tenacity. Six weeks ago, when she had signed the contract with Cassano Holdings, this news would have seen her skipping down the street. But now... Now it felt as if the world had tipped sideways and she was left clinging on to the edge.
Six weeks ago it had felt like a real gamble, signing over sixty per cent of her business to this massive corporate enterprise. But Spicer Shoes was expanding so rapidly it desperately needed a large injection of cash—and fast—and this was the only way Isobel had been able to think to do it.
She had been proud of her negotiating skills—securing the right to buy back twenty per cent of the shares and regain the all-important majority shareholding once the profit margins showed they could sustain it. In fact it had been easier than she’d thought.
But then so had falling into bed with the stunning Orlando Cassano.
Now, as she stared through the glass tabletop at the red suede ankle boot jiggling on her foot, she knew what a massive mistake that had been.
‘Well, thank you, everybody.’ Pushing himself away from the table with the palms of his hands, Orlando waited, chivalry preventing him from standing before Isobel and the only other female present—a scarily efficient PA called Astrid—had done the same.
Finally the board members were filing out of the room, shaking Isobel’s hand and politely congratulating her, their thoughts no doubt already turning to lunch.
And suddenly they were alone. Isobel’s heart took up a thundering beat.
Orlando, tall and silent, stood with his back to the wall of windows, silhouetted against the London skyline. He looked dark and brooding and impossibly handsome, the elegant cut of his suit accentuating his considerable height and broad shoulders, the shirt white against his tanned skin. Isobel felt her throat go dry, her skin tighten against his imagined touch.
This was Orlando Cassano—a formidable businessman, a harder, colder, altogether more dangerous man than the one she had first met on the island of Jacamar. This was the man she had been prepared to meet when she had flown to his private Caribbean island to make her pitch for his company’s investment in her business.
She had been such a bag of nerves then, but excited too, full of enthusiasm and ideas. Her business plan had been honed until it shone, her speech practised to perfection. Orlando Cassano was a tough nut to crack—everybody knew that. Legend had it that beneath his urbane good looks there lurked a heart of steel. But having secured the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to meet him, through a client who happened to know him, there had been no way Isobel was going to mess it up.
Then she had met him...and all those preconceptions had vanished in a skyward-soaring heartbeat. Because the man she’d discovered on Jacamar had not been what she had been expecting at all. Arrestingly handsome, yes. But also relaxed, charming, funny. Not to mention deeply, bone-meltingly sexy.
She had noticed him straight away—how could she not have? From her seat on the little motorboat full of chattering staff she had watched the tall, commanding figure on the rickety landing stage coming closer into view. He’d been wearing faded board shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, the breeze ruffling his dark curls, his feet bare on the sun-bleached wood. But even though he’d appeared to be someone who could undoubtedly rock the beach-bum look, Isobel had known immediately who he was. The confidence in his stance, the easy grace as he had stretched to catch the rope, the twinkle in his eye as it had caught hers—all had told her that this had to be the man she had come to see: billionaire businessman Orlando Cassano.
Isobel had waited as the other passengers disembarked, listening to their warm greetings as Orlando had helped them ashore, had assisted them with their parcels and packages, until finally it had been her turn. As she had wobbled to stand he had reached forward to take her hand, and the feel of that warm, firm grip against her skin had spread through her body like a bush fire. And it had burned there ever since...
‘So, Ms Spicer.’ Now, folding his arms across his broad chest, Orlando spoke. ‘You are a surprisingly difficult woman to get hold of.’
His voice was low and deep, with just enough of an Italian accent to reveal his heritage and curl around Isobel’s heart. But today there was no warmth to it.
‘Why do I get the impression you have been avoiding me?’
‘Not avoiding you.’ Lifting her chin, Isobel took a second to bite down hard on her lip to stop it giving her away. ‘I’ve just been busy, that’s all. I thought that was what you wanted.’
‘Busy is good. Too busy to answer my calls and emails, less so.’ Moving away from the window Orlando strode over to the door to the outer office, closing it with a soft click before returning to stand a few feet in front of Isobel. ‘I was beginning to worry.’
Isobel scanned his self-assured face for signs of this so-called worry. Nothing. But she was about to change all that.
‘Well, I hope the figures have shown you that everything is on track.’ The slight tilt of his head, coupled with his narrowed eyes, suggested this was not the answer he was looking for, but Isobel pressed on. ‘Full production is due to start in the factory in Le Marche very soon, and...’
‘I’m not talking about the factory, Isobel, or the business—as well you know.’ He closed the gap between them, his voice lethally calm. ‘I’m talking about things on a more personal level. How about we start with my invitation to dinner that you have totally ignored?’
Isobel flinched. He was too close now, and she was faced with a besuited wall of taut muscle and towering height. He was messing with her ability to think clearly, to form sensible sentences.
It was true that she had ignored the email he had sent her last week. Well, ignored was hardly the right word—she had stared at it long and hard, trying to formulate a suitable reply, before eventually giving up. In any case, she strongly suspected that after she’d told him her news he would have a severe loss of appetite. She knew she did.
But it seemed that by failing to leap at the chance of spending an evening with him she had ruffled his feathers. In front of the board members he had been polite, professionally charming. Now that politeness had turned to interrogation, and a cold stillness had settled over his handsome features—nothing like the impish devilment and sexy grin of the man she had known on Jacamar. No doubt somewhere there was a dent in that pristine pride of his—not that he would ever let her see it.
‘I didn’t reply to that email because I didn’t think there was any point.’
Orlando’s eyes narrowed further as he took a step closer to her. ‘Go on.’
Isobel swallowed down the knot in her throat. ‘I think that what happened on Jacamar...what we did... I mean...’ She faltered beneath the mocking innocence of his gaze. ‘I think from now on we should keep our relationship strictly professional.’
‘Do you, indeed?’
Another step closer and the small space between them had vanished completely. Isobel felt her knees start to wobble.
‘Yes—yes, I do.’
‘And why is that, Ms Spicer?’
He placed his hands on her shoulders, warm and firm, nailing her to the ground. Now there was no escaping the physical, sexual tidal wave that was Orlando Cassano. No mistaking the raw throb of desire that pulsed between them, nor the answering roar of blood in her ears.
Isobel held herself very still, her arms by her sides, determined to fight the intense feelings that were sweeping through her body. It would be so easy to raise her arms, link them around his neck, let herself be pulled against the taut strength of his body and satisfy the hunger she felt for him. But that way disaster lay—in fact it already had. No, she would take a second to compose herself, and then she would move away, do what she had to do.
But Orlando had other ideas about how to spend that second, and before she knew it his hands had moved to the back of her head, his fingers plundering the softness of her hair as he tipped her face up to his, seeking her lips with his own. His face blurred out of focus as he lowered his head to claim her, and suddenly he was kissing her, wasting no time before increasing the pressure and using the heated, erotic slide of his tongue to open her up to him.
It was a kiss full of heat and possessiveness and deep sexual need. A kiss that left no doubt as to where it would lead, if circumstances would let it. Isobel felt her eyes close against its force, her body instantly surrender to its power.
Orlando altered his position, sliding his leg against her thigh, pressing his arousal to her groin. ‘I’ve missed you, Isobel.’ He pulled his mouth away just far enough to groan the words against her swollen lips before angling his head in order to kiss her more deeply. Then, drawing in a deep breath he continued hoarsely, ‘And I hope you have missed me too.’
‘No!’
That split second of space was enough to bring Isobel to her senses and, bracing her hands against Orlando’s chest, she used its rock-hard strength to push herself away. The look of surprise that flashed in his eyes cut through her like a blade.
‘We have to stop this.’
Taking a step back, and then another, she fought to control the heaving of her chest, to stem the river of lust that was snaking its way to every part of her body.
‘I mean, it’s over—finished...’ Her voice tailed off with the effort of dragging the reluctant words up from her body. From the absurdity of trying to reject the only man she had ever truly desired. ‘We can’t do this any more.’
* * *
Orlando tugged loose the tie that was suddenly unbearably tight around his neck and, shrugging off his jacket, hurled it behind him where it hooked limply over the back of a chair. It seemed nothing was going his way at the moment.
He had been looking forward to seeing Isobel again today—had been surprised, actually, just how much. Reacquainting himself with the lovely Ms Spicer was supposed to have been the one bright spot in what he knew was going to be a frustrating and depressing few days. Now it seemed even that pleasure was going to be denied him.
He’d allowed himself an extra day in London before he had to fly to Italy to sort out his late father’s affairs. His business in the UK could be concluded pretty quickly, and the thought of spending some free time with Isobel had been a very attractive one. But, judging by the look on her face now, it was time that wasn’t going to be needed. He might as well fly to Italy this evening, get it over with, then head back to New York as fast as his private jet would take him.
But it was a grim prospect. If he had his way he would never set foot in his home town of Trevente ever again. The ancient Italian town, sited between the turquoise waters of the Adriatic and the snow-capped Sibillini Mountains, had all the picture-postcard beauty you could ask for, but it certainly held no charm for Orlando. And as for the castello that looked down on the town, and the estate and the wretched title that went with it—Marchese di Trevente—well, he wanted none of it. Even if it was his rightful inheritance.
Some inheritance. Orlando felt a fresh wave of anger roll over him. Passed to him on the recent death of the miserable lowlife of a creature who had called himself his father, the once noble and profitable estate that had been in the Cassano family for countless generations had been brought to its knees, the vineyards neglected, the farms uncared for and the many properties virtually in ruins. And that included the majestic Castello Trevente.
This was his father’s legacy—a legacy Orlando couldn’t wait to get shot of. Finding out that he had to go to Trevente in person to do just that had only fuelled his rage. But despite putting his legal team on to it there appeared to be no way of circumnavigating the ancient Italian laws—no getting out of climbing the twisty stairs to the stuffy office of the family solicitor, shaking hands with notary, or the mayor, or whoever else had to witness his signature in this archaic system.
Only then would he be able to arrange for the sale of the whole damned place and finally walk away—wash his hands of his heritage for ever.
Now Orlando’s eyes scanned the defiant figure who stood before him. So he was being dumped. There was a novelty value there, to be sure, but that didn’t compensate for the sharp sting of rejection, the virtual slap on the cheek. Not to mention his disappointment that he was going to be denied a brief period of escapism with this lovely young woman.
The sensible thing would be to take Isobel’s words at face value. Shake her hand and say goodbye. But his body was far from sensible where Ms Spicer was concerned. It had been from the very first moment he had seen her arrive on his Caribbean island, wobbling to stand up in the motor launch. Even now it was refusing to accept what he had been told, and the tightness in his groin was showing no sign of abating. He realised he wanted answers, needed answers, before he could walk away.
Isobel had retreated further from him now, deeper into the room, and she stared at him with something like mutinous rebellion. He watched as she pushed back her shoulders, tucking her glossy chestnut hair behind one ear. Her cheeks were stained with twin streaks of colour, her wide green eyes unnaturally bright. Something was going on here. And she wasn’t leaving until he had damned well found out what it was.
Forcing himself to find some of the legendary calm that he was so famed for, Orlando moved over to the table and pulled out two chairs.
‘Sit down, Isobel.’
Isobel hesitated, then did as she was told, crossing her legs and smoothing the short but sensible pencil skirt over her thighs. Seating himself opposite her, Orlando watched her top leg start to jiggle, and immediately his very male attention was drawn to the jut of her knee through the sheer tights, the graceful sweep of her calves down to those ankle boots with their vertiginously high heels.
He’d noticed them as soon as she had walked into the boardroom—as had every other person sitting around that table. Their vivid red colour had flashed brighter than a robin’s breast in the glass and steel setting of this modern office building.
Immediately his thoughts had flown to how he would remove them, sliding down the zippers at the side and inching them off her feet whilst Isobel was splayed across his bed, waiting for his attentions. That would work. Or maybe leaving them on, removing the rest of the clothes from her luscious body and waiting for those long legs to wrap around him, boots and all, with the suede rubbing against his skin, the scratch of the heels down his back.
Hearing Isobel clear her throat, he forced his way back to the present, his eyes back up to her heated face.
‘So...’ He leant back, stretching long legs out in front of him. ‘Am I allowed to ask why the change of heart?’
Isobel shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘It’s not a change of heart.’
‘What, then?’
He could see her struggling to find the right words. Her lips, he noticed, were still swollen from the force of their kiss—a kiss that had affected them both equally, no matter how much Isobel tried to cover it up.
‘This is just for curiosity’s sake, you understand. I will obviously respect your decision, no matter what the reason.’
‘I know that.’
‘So...?’ he repeated.
Goddammit, why didn’t she have the guts just to come out with it? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t worked it out for himself by now anyway.
Impatience, and a possessiveness he didn’t want to acknowledge, made his voice a growl. ‘Perhaps you would like me to make it easier for you?’
At this, Isobel’s green eyes shot up from where they had been watching her hands twisting in her lap. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve met someone else.’ Orlando was surprised by the way just saying those words made him want to go out and punch something—hard. ‘A new boyfriend?’
‘Ha!’
Isobel’s bitter laugh, coupled with the look of astonishment on her face, told him he’d got that wrong and for a fleeting moment relief washed over him.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Orlando.’
Was that so ridiculous? They hadn’t seen each other for over a month. Plenty of time for some young gun to step in and claim Isobel for his prize. But it would seem that wasn’t the case. Orlando’s clenched fists loosened momentarily, before tightening again as another thought took hold.
‘An old boyfriend, then?’ His eyes narrowed, piercingly intense now as he waited for her answer. ‘Perhaps someone you failed to mention when we were on Jacamar?’
‘Of course not!’ Isobel straightened her spine, tossing back her head so that the mane of hair gleamed richly. ‘I would never have slept with you if I had had a boyfriend. What sort of a person do you take me for?’
Orlando shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Isobel, you tell me. Presumably not the same person I knew on Jacamar. Because she appeared to enjoy my company every bit as much as I did hers.’
‘I did!’ Her reply came out in a burst of anguish before she lowered her voice in soft confession. ‘Of course I did.’
She turned her head to one side, but not before Orlando had caught sight of the flush of heat that had flooded her face. He waited, watching with cold interest as she struggled to find her composure.
‘I’m not denying that what happened between us was...mutual.’ The intensity of his gaze demanded more. ‘Was...good, in fact. But that was in the past. Circumstances have changed.’
‘Evidently.’
He didn’t have time for this. Orlando felt what little patience he’d had march out of the door.
Pushing back his chair, he drew himself up to his full height and looked down on this infuriating woman. ‘Look, Isobel, I’m not here to mess about or to play games. I’ve only got a short time in London and I thought it would be nice to spend some of it with you. Even if it’s just dinner. But I’m certainly not going to force your hand.’
Standing with his feet apart he folded his arms decisively across his chest.
‘If you have other plans, or would rather not, that’s fine too. Just say the word.’
‘Two words, actually, Orlando.’
Orlando narrowed his eyes, something about the tortured expression clouding Isobel’s face halting the pumped up pride in his chest, preventing any sharp retort from escaping. Instead he grew very still.
‘Go on.’
Isobel dragged in a deep breath and he found himself willing her to just damn well come out with it. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared him for the words when they eventually came.
‘I’m pregnant.’
