The Innocent And The Playboy
He's a heartbreaker and should leave a baby like you alone…These words had echoed around eighteen-year-old Rachel's head as she watched Ricky mix with some of the world's most beautiful people at the luxurious Villa Azul. At first he had seemed more approachable than the sophisticated crowd, but she had been deceived: he was no better than the rest. He was nothing more than a playboy, bent on seduction.She had escaped him then, but now, nine years later, Riccardo di Stefano was the head of the multinational empire, threatening to take over Rachel's company. She was no longer an innocent–he had made sure of that–but was he still the consummate playboy?
Читать The Innocent And The Playboy онлайн беплатно
“One night with the last of the all-time playboys?”About the AuthorTitle PageCHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECHAPTER TENCHAPTER ELEVENCopyright
“One night with the last of the all-time playboys?”
Rachel continued wryly, “It had to be a disaster.”
Riccardo drew in a little breath as if she had punched him unexpectedly.
“I see your point,” he admitted levelly. “What I don’t see is why.”
He put a hand on her waist. It felt hot, burning. Suddenly Rachel was having trouble getting her thoughts together.
“Why?” she echoed.
“Why it had to be just one night,” he explained.
Rachel stared at him. Desperately she reminded herself that, however practiced he was, she had the measure of him. She might be shaking, but she had built some defenses in the past nine years. Now she activated them. She pushed at him, head down, outraged.
“Get out of my house.”
He gave ground, but he did not look defeated.
“There’s unfinished business between you and me, Rachel. You know it and so do I. Nothing either of us can say will change that.”
Born in London, Sophie Weston is a traveler by nature who started writing when she was five. She wrote her first romance recovering from illness, thinking her traveling was over. She was wrong, but she enjoyed it so much that she has carried on. These days she lives in the heart of London with two demanding cats and a cherry tree—and travels the world looking for settings for her stories.
CHAPTER ONE
‘I WON’T,’ yelled Alexandra from the staircase.
Rachel cast a harried look at the kitchen clock. The taxi was due any minute and she had not even checked her briefcase. At the table her stepson, Hugh, was munching his way through an enormous plate of toast and blackcurrant jam, ignoring his sister. No help there, then. Rachel sighed and went out into the hall. She looked up the stairs at her grim-faced stepdaughter.
‘Look, I’ve said no and...’
Alexandra’s expression darkened even further. ‘You’ve got no right to say no. You’re not even my mother.’
This was a complaint that was appearing in their arguments more and more. Rachel would have found it easier to deal with, she was sure, if she had not had a stepmother herself. As it was, half of her sympathised totally with Alexandra. The other, responsible half knew that an adventurous fifteen-year-old needed rules of conduct more than she needed sympathy. As a result their arguments tended to be protracted.
Heaven help me, today of all days, thought Rachel. She resisted the temptation to look at her watch but it was tough.
‘I know I’m not your mother, Alexandra. It makes no difference. Any adult would tell you the same.’
‘Theo’s an adult and he thinks I should go.’
‘Any responsible female adult,’ Rachel corrected herself grimly. She hesitated, then, choosing her words with care, said, ‘Of course Theo wants you to go. You’re a very pretty girl.’
She did not add, as she might well have done, And you’re going to inherit half your father’s business in less than three years. She did not need to. It was there between them already. Her stepdaughter had not forgotten a word of the disastrous altercation after her last evening out with Theo Judd. Rachel could see it in Alexandra’s hot eyes.
Her next words confirmed it. ‘You think Theo’s after my money.’
Rachel pushed her hair back wearily. It was too long. It needed cutting. She had kept it short for nine years but during these last hectic weeks she had not had time to get it cut.
‘I don’t know what he’s after, Alexandra, and that’s the truth.’
‘He’s too old for me. Go on, say it.’
‘Do I have to?’
Alexandra almost stamped her foot. ‘You just don’t know what it’s like.’
And that was a problem too. Rachel knew exactly what it was like to be in love when you were too young and the man you loved was too worldly and sophisticated to recognise how vulnerable you were. In fact, she had worked hard at forgetting for nine years. What was more, she would have said she had succeeded, until Alexandra had decided to make a present of her generous heart to a twenty-four-year-old bartender with a line in flash cars and flashier repartee. Trying to induce a little wariness in her stepdaughter had brought back some memories which could still make Rachel wince.
Sidestepping Alexandra’s comment, she said, ‘I do know that I would not be much of a guardian if I let you stay out till all hours, God knows where, with a man who is nine years older than you are.’
Alexandra could sidestep difficult issues too.
‘Dad was twenty years older than you,’ she snarled.
It was true. In spite of her anger and worry, just for a moment Rachel was startled into amusement. ‘You’ve got me there,’ she admitted. She leaned her arm on the carved wooden banisters and looked up at her stepdaughter straightly. ‘Look, Lexy, I know you won’t believe me now, but that really was different. Your father and I had both been around a bit. Fifteen and twenty-four is another kettle of fish entirely.’
