Interview with a Playboy (15 page)

She sat with her back to him at the edge of the bed. ‘When he suggested we get married and said that he was OK about waiting to consummate our relationship until our wedding night it sounded…romantic.’ She bit down on the softness of her lip. ‘Anyway, to cut a long story short, I called round to his apartment one night and found him otherwise occupied with another woman. We’d only been engaged a week.’ She flicked a look over her shoulder at Marco. ‘Silly me.’

‘The guy sounds like an idiot,’ Marco said brusquely.

She smiled. ‘Thanks, but I think I was the idiot for agreeing to marry him.’

Marco’s shirt was hanging over the side of the chair beside the bed, and she reached to put it on rather than walk naked across the bedroom. ‘You know, we should be talking about you…not me,’ she told him as she pulled it across her body and turned to look at him.

‘We should… But despite what you say you are so much more interesting—especially dressed in my shirt.’ There was a gleam in his eye that made her senses quicken.

Hastily she moved away from the bed, trying to think sensibly. ‘You could get a degree in being evasive, you know.’

‘Could I, indeed?’ He leaned back against the pillows and watched as she walked around the end of the bed to draw the curtains back, admiring the long length of her legs, the sway of her hips.

‘How’s the day looking?’ he asked.

She stood for a moment, admiring the view. ‘It’s perfect,’ she murmured, gazing out over the red roofs and the clear blue sky towards the glitter of the sea. ‘It’s as if the storm has washed everything clean and it’s all shiny and new.’

She turned to look at him, noticing the way he was watching her.

He was so vital, so extremely masculine and attractive, that it was difficult to drag her eyes away from him—but she did.

‘Right, I’m going to see if my dress is dry. Do you want a coffee or something while I’m in the kitchen?’ She headed to move past him out of the door, but he reached and caught hold of her arm and drew her back onto the bed beside him with ease.

‘What I want is an early-morning kiss…’ he murmured huskily as his lips claimed hers.

She kissed him back. She couldn’t help herself. It just felt so wonderful.

‘That’s better…’ He released her, and for a moment they just stared into each other’s eyes. ‘Now, I suggest you get dressed and then I’ll take you out for breakfast and we’ll make the most of this brand-new day together…hmm?’

She nodded. ‘I’d like that, Marco,’ she said softly.

When Marco had suggested breakfast she’d thought they would just wander through the city streets and find a pavement café, but instead when they stepped outside there was a shiny red convertible sports car waiting for them on the drive.

‘Wow…this is a fabulous car,’ she murmured as he opened the passenger door for her and she settled herself into the luxurious leather interior. ‘I didn’t see this when we arrived yesterday. How has it just appeared as if by magic outside your front door?’

Marco laughed as he went around to the driving seat. ‘Sorry,
cara
, there is no magic involved, I just phoned down and asked a member of staff to take it out of the garage for me.’

‘I’m still pretty impressed. Everything seems to run so smoothly and effortlessly around you.’

‘Not always, Izzy…believe me, not always.’ He found a pair of sunglasses on the dashboard and put them on. Then he flicked the ignition switch and the powerful car flared into life with a low, throaty growl.

It was a good feeling, driving down the Promenade des Anglais beside Marco. It was still early, but already the sun was beating down with some power, and the warm breeze that drifted in over them was deliciously refreshing.

She admired the scenery, and Marco told her a little of the town’s history. He pointed out the Hotel Negresco, with its impressive Belle Époque architecture—probably one of the most elite of hotels, built with only the rich and famous in mind.

As they stopped at traffic lights Isobel noticed how women glanced over at Marco. The Italian car and the Italian driver were a head-turning combination, she thought wryly. Yet Marco seemed totally unaware of the interest.

‘I thought we should take breakfast along one of the most scenic coastal roads in the world, the Corniche d’Or, and then head out to St Tropez.’

‘Sounds great,’ Isobel said happily. ‘What time have you got to be back?’

He laughed at that. ‘Izzy, I don’t have to be back at all,’
he said with a shake of his head. ‘There is no point being the boss if you can’t take a day off when you want.’

She glanced over at him in surprise. ‘Oh, right—I just thought you had lots of paperwork to do.’

‘I have, but it can wait. Finalising the deal yesterday with Cheri Bon has freed me up a bit.’ Marco found himself lying. He was supposed to be in a meeting this morning with his board of directors, but he’d rung to postpone it when Isobel had been taking her shower.

He still couldn’t work out why. It was a long time since he’d put work on the back burner in order to spend time with a woman. But it was just a one-off, he told himself firmly. He deserved a day playing tourist—he’d been working too hard recently. And Izzy was remarkably good company…
for a journalist
. And good on the eye too, he thought, his gaze flicking over her curvaceous body. That dress looked great on her…although he had to admit he still preferred the wet look.

He shifted up a gear as they headed out of town. ‘I think I’ll ring and get the yacht to pick us up from somewhere around Cannes. We could sail the rest of the way down to St Tropez, or go over to the Îles de Lérins, if you’d prefer?’

‘I’m happy to place myself in your hands…’ She flushed as she realised what she had just said. ‘If you know what I mean.’

‘Yes, I know what you mean.’ He smiled. ‘And that’s fine with me,
cara
,’ he assured her softly. ‘Let’s just enjoy the day…hmm?’

It was amazing how one minute she could feel tense around him and the next blissfully relaxed. It was like being on some kind of rollercoaster. Best just not to think too deeply and go with the flow, she told herself as she looked out at the spectacular views.

They drove along the highway out of Nice, and through some little villages until they reached Cannes, with its glitzy
hotels and palm-lined promenade. There were giant placards up everywhere, advertising the film festival, and Isobel read them with interest, recognising famous names with excitement. ‘I forgot the Film Festival was on, I suppose the place will be awash with famous stars right now?’

‘Yes, it will be pretty busy.’ Marco nodded towards a building on the left. ‘That is the convention centre, where the film festival is held.’

Isobel glanced over and saw the impressive red-carpeted steps where all the stars had their photos taken, and she remembered suddenly that Marco and Lucinda had been photographed there. Marco had been wearing a tuxedo and Lucinda a long white dress.

She remembered how stunning the actress had looked, and how everyone had commented on the fact that they made such an attractive couple.

She probably should question Marco about it now, but strangely as she looked over at him the words seemed to stick in her throat. She was loath to break the relaxed mood of the day. Or was the reason verging on something deeper…? By Marco’s own admission he had been cut up by the divorce—was she worried about delving more for fear that she would find he was still in love with his ex-wife? Because she was starting to get the feeling he was hiding something like that from her.

The knowledge swirled inside her uncomfortably. If she didn’t get her act together she was heading for a fall both professionally
and
personally, she told herself furiously.

It would make no difference to her if he were still in love with Lucinda, because her affair with Marco was a two-day interlude at most, she reminded herself sharply. She needed to get her story…needed to have something at the end of their time together.

‘You’ve gone very quiet.’ Marco looked over at her.

She shrugged. ‘Actually, I was just remembering that you and Lucinda attended the Film Festival together a few years ago.’

‘Yes…Lucy was in a film that was nominated for an award.’

The way he said her name sounded warm.

‘That was a long time ago,’ he said quietly.

Hell, in some ways it felt like a lifetime ago. They’d been happy when they’d been here, he remembered. Happy making plans for the future because Lucinda had just found out she was pregnant…

They stopped at traffic lights. Isobel watched as he adjusted the controls to increase the cold air blowing on them.

There it was again—that grim expression on his face. As if he was remembering something…something that really hurt.

Her heart thudded uncomfortably as she prepared to ask him what had happened. But she just couldn’t… The time wasn’t right now, she told herself fiercely.

Marco had been expecting her to follow through with the usual questions, but to his surprise she fell silent. He frowned. He really couldn’t make up his mind about her at all; just when he thought she was reverting to type she became once more the rather vulnerable young woman who for some reason intrigued him.

‘I thought we’d stop and have breakfast out of town. There’s a lovely restaurant just a few miles out with great views,’ he suggested casually.

She nodded. ‘Anyway, the paparazzi will probably be out in force around here, so I suppose a retreat out into the country is a better idea.’

He laughed. ‘Yes, there is that.’

Isobel leaned her head back. She wasn’t losing sight of reality, she reassured herself. She would ask all the questions she needed to ask later. Why spoil the day by broaching
them now? Why not just enjoy these moments with a handsome man?

The Corniche d’Or was one of the most spectacular roads Isobel had even travelled along. The dramatic cliffs were a red-gold colour that seemed to blaze against a backdrop of blue sea and sky and the road snaked around between them, hugging hairpin bends and giving amazing views down over sheer drops to the sea.

Isobel felt a bit dizzy at some parts, and was glad that Marco was such a good driver. A little further on they pulled in at the restaurant Marco had mentioned.

The views over the sea were breathtaking and they lingered on the sunny terrace, drinking coffee and eating
pain au chocolat
, laughing and talking about nothing in particular.

‘I would never usually eat chocolate for breakfast,’ Isobel told him a little later as they strolled along a white sandy beach. ‘I feel a bit like I’m on holiday.’

Marco had to admit for the last few hours he’d felt more relaxed than he had done in a long time.

He smiled, and turned her around so that he could look at her. The breeze was blowing her hair around her shoulders in silken waves, and she looked young and carefree.

‘So let’s
be
on holiday,’ he suggested suddenly. ‘Let’s call the yacht and sail along the coastline for a few days—making love at lunchtime, eating and drinking, doing
absolutely
what we want.’

The suggestion sent little thrills racing through her.

‘And what about work?’

‘What about it?’ There was a gleam of devilment in his gaze. ‘I have a meeting in New York in three days…I can give work a miss until then.’

‘And what do I tell my editor? Because she will be asking for an update soon…’

‘Turn your phone off,’ Marco told her with a grin. ‘Or tell her that things just got complicated.’

T
HE
sun was beating down from an uncompromising clear blue sky, and the temperatures were spiralling into the mid-thirties.

Isobel walked to the rail of the yacht to try and find a cooling sea breeze, but there was hardly a breath of air stirring.

They were anchored out in the bay of St Tropez and, gazing out across the bright silver glitter of the sea, she could see the town nestling at the foot of green hills, with dusky purple mountains rising behind in the distance. The town seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, its terracotta roofs and bell tower like something from an Impressionist painting.

Isobel thought that it was probably the most perfect view, and she tried to store it away in her memory banks so that she could remember it on grey winter days to gladden her heart. She was storing up a lot of perfect memories, she thought with a smile. Because these last few days with Marco had been nothing short of idyllic.

On the first day they had sailed down the coast to Juanles-Pins, where they had taken lunch and window-shopped around the most exclusive of boutiques.

Later, when Isobel had got back to the yacht, she had found all the clothes and the swimwear she had admired had been delivered to their cabin.

She had been mortified—and still was—but Marco had insisted that she needed a ‘holiday wardrobe’, and as she had
nothing to wear other than the clothes she stood up in, she really hadn’t been in a position to argue.

Isobel had never possessed such a wonderful wardrobe: linen dresses that flowed coolly around her body in the heat of the sun, silk evening dresses for dinner on deck, and the most sensuous of underwear and night attire.

For the first time in her life she felt desirable and glamorous… OK, not in the same league as Marco’s usual women-friends, but attractive just the same. And that wasn’t just down to the clothes Marco had bought for her, but also to the way Marco made her feel. He’d been treating her as if she was special to him—had wined and dined her under the stars, had taken her out for meals and for picnics. They’d visited the island of St Honorat and walked through fields of wild poppies and olive trees, had sipped champagne in the shade of eucalyptus trees. Made love on the deck of the ship in the heat of the day and under the cool blaze of the stars at night.

It had been the most perfect three days of her life, and she didn’t want their time together to end. But she knew it had to. Knew that tomorrow Marco had to fly to New York.

They hadn’t talked about it, but the knowledge had lain heavily between them ever since they’d got up this morning. She’d tried very hard not to let it spoil their remaining time together, but there was a sadness inside her that was hard to ignore.