Interview with a Playboy (9 page)

But the fact remained that he had still lied to her, and that hurt. She’d always thought he was the one man in her life that she’d been able to believe in.

The truth was important to her—no matter how painful, she believed it was always best faced.

Silence seemed to shimmer uneasily as she tried to pull herself together.

‘My father ran that factory,’ she told Marco quietly.

He nodded. ‘I’ve just made the connection. And I’m telling you the truth, Izzy. The guy was a rogue—and that’s putting it politely, for your sake.’

‘Don’t pretend to do me any favours!’ Her eyes held angrily with his for a long moment. Then she looked away helplessly. It had been so much easier to believe that Marco was to blame. Part of her still wanted to believe that he was lying to her now. That maybe her father had done nothing wrong. But even as she said the words to herself they didn’t ring true.

Her father wasn’t the reliable type…
She knew what he was.

All those years of looking at the situation from the wrong perspective made her feel foolish. She felt as if someone had just opened a window into her life and an arctic breeze was sweeping all her orderly thoughts into chaos.

Marco put a hand under her chin and tipped her face upwards, so that she was forced to look at him. ‘You can apologise any time you like,’ he murmured softly.

The touch of his hand made her senses swim.

She didn’t want to lower her barriers and apologise to him, because it felt far…far too dangerous.

‘Yes, well… I might have got it wrong.’ She wrenched herself away from his touch.

‘There is no
might
about it. You
did
get it wrong.’

‘But the fact still remains that you got a damn good deal when you bought that business,’ she maintained stubbornly.

‘And since when has that been a crime?’ The quietly asked
question sent ripples of consternation though her. ‘Izzy, it was over ten years ago, I was just starting out. I saw a business opportunity and I took it.’

Isobel swallowed hard, appalled that she had made such an error. ‘OK, I…I made a mistake.’

His gaze raked over her with almost ruthless strength as he took in the fierce glitter in her green eyes.

‘And I’m sorry.’ The words broke from her lips with trembling force.

She didn’t even realise that she was crying until he reached and wiped a tear from her cheek.

‘Don’t!’ She flinched away from the light, disturbing touch of his fingers. ‘I feel enough of a fool as it is. And I’m not crying…’ She glared at him defensively. ‘I’m just angry with myself for getting things so wrong.’ She bit down on her lip. ‘It all happened before my dad left us, and I still believed in him. I guess my grandfather didn’t want to break that.’

‘I can understand that,’ Marco said quietly.

‘Can you? I’m not so sure I can right now.’ She brushed a hand impatiently over her face. ‘I think he should have told me the truth. Because a few months after his death, when it was apparent there was nothing of value in his will, my father left.’

‘And hindsight is a wonderful thing…’ Marco said with a shrug. ‘Everyone makes mistakes, Izzy. Your grandfather did what he thought was right at the time. He must have loved you a lot.’

The words made her eyes brim with tears again. ‘Sorry.’ Furiously she tried to wipe them away. ‘I’m being stupid.’

‘No, you’re not.’ He looked at her with that teasing gleam in the darkness of his eyes. ‘Maybe earlier, but not now.’

The fact that he was being so understanding made her stomach tie into knots as she looked up at him.

And then suddenly his gaze moved towards her lips, and the
atmosphere between them altered subtly, becoming charged with electricity.

‘Sorry… Anyway, I suppose we should call it a night, shouldn’t we…?’ She looked away from him in confusion. She could almost feel the tension crackling between them like a living entity—could feel her heart thundering against her chest as she fought with herself not to sway closer.

What was the matter with her? she wondered frantically.

‘Running away, Izzy?’ he taunted.

‘No! Why should I run away?’ Her eyes flicked back towards his and he smiled.

‘Good question.’ He reached out and idly stroked a finger along the side of her face. The feeling made little darts of awareness shoot through her, and she felt almost drugged by desire as his gaze raked over her lips again.

She wanted him to kiss her, she realised suddenly as he leaned closer…wanted it so much that her whole body ached. The knowledge shocked her, and she told herself to move away from him, but for some reason she couldn’t make herself.

‘Marco…’ She murmured his name softly, and almost as if he were responding to an invitation his lips captured hers.

But this was no ordinary caress. His mouth was skilled, hungry and demanding, and yet so provocative that she was held immobilised by it for seconds.

And then to her consternation she kissed him back, with equal passion. She could taste the salt of her tears against the power of his lips, and she was conscious of thinking that the taste was probably very apt—because she was kissing a man who was experienced in seduction and heartbreak, and she was asking for trouble if she didn’t pull away right now and put a stop to the madness.

But it felt so good that she didn’t want it to stop. She could feel the warmth from his caress sweeping all the way through her, stirring up a deep longing to be even closer.

If this was how pleasurable it was to be kissed by him, how
would it feel to be even closer? she wondered recklessly. To have his hands against her naked body, holding her, stroking her?

The thought brought fire thrusting through her, and the jolt of it helped her to pull away.

‘What are we doing?’ She stared up at him in consternation, her breathing ragged as she strove for control.

‘I think it’s called kissing, Izzy.’ He smiled, and unlike her he sounded totally at ease.

‘And I think it’s called madness. I’m not your type, Marco, and you certainly aren’t mine.’

‘And yet we seem curiously drawn to each other. ‘

The matter-of-fact words were like an incendiary device as far as Isobel was concerned, and she shook her head angrily. ‘I’m not drawn to you at all!’

‘Izzy…Izzy, what am I going to do about you? You are such a bad liar.’ The taunting words made her blood boil.

But as their eyes held she knew he was right. She
was
drawn to him. She knew for Marco this was probably just idle curiosity, because she was so far removed from his usual type, but she wasn’t sure what it was for her. All she knew was that if he kissed her again the same thing would probably happen—only the next time she might not have the strength to pull away.

The knowledge made panic spin through her.

‘Marco, I think under the circumstances I should leave tomorrow and some other reporter from the
Daily Banner
should take my place.’

She really hadn’t planned to say the words, they’d just spilled out, and Marco gave a long low whistle. ‘You really are scared of me, aren’t you?’ he reflected softly.

‘No! I’m not scared of anything!’ She glared at him. ‘I’m just trying to be sensible. Everything is getting too personal—and I’m not talking about the…kiss, I’m talking about the link to my past—everything.’

Marco shrugged and moved away from her. ‘OK, if you want to leave that’s fine. I’ll get my chauffeur to drop you at the airport in the morning, But once you leave here, Izzy, my deal with the
Banner
is done.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ she countered.

He met her eyes steadily. ‘I always mean what I say, Izzy,’ he assured her quietly. ‘Always.’

I
SOBEL
couldn’t sleep. The night was hot, and her thoughts were racing around in circles, causing her to toss and turn in the huge double bed.

She couldn’t understand why she had felt the way she had when Marco had kissed her.

He might not have torn her grandfather’s business apart, but he was still a ruthless womaniser, she reminded herself fiercely. He was still the type of predator who could sense weakness and turn it to his own advantage…both in business and in his private life.

So the sooner she got out of here in the morning and returned home to sanity the better.

Isobel turned her pillow around, searching for some cool cotton against her skin and some sleep.

And yet…her brain wouldn’t switch off. Because how would she know these facts about Marco were true if she didn’t stick around to find out? She’d made a mistake about him once—she didn’t want to do it again.

The only thing that she was sure of about Marco was that he was a far more complicated character than she had ever imagined.

That and the fact that he turned her on more than any other man she had ever met.

The knowledge made her temperature shoot through the ceiling, and she tried desperately to block the thought out.

But as she closed her eyes the memory of that kiss returned with powerful intensity, and the fact remained that no man had ever made her feel so alive…or so scared.

Certainly Rob had never set her heart racing like that; in fact he had never unleashed
any
wild feelings of desire. She’d told herself that was what she wanted. That she didn’t want to lose control—that she wanted a safe, steady relationship where she could settle down and start a family.

Little had she known that all the time Rob had been pursuing her he’d had another woman in the background. She might never have found out either, if she hadn’t called round to his flat late one night after finishing work.

He’d tried to tell her that the scantily clad blonde in his living room didn’t mean anything to him—that it was a onetime-only mistake and that it was Isobel’s fault for not sleeping with him.

For a while she’d started to wonder if that was true. She’d even started to think that there might be something wrong with her. Because it had always been far too easy for her to pull away from a kiss and to put work first… Easy until now.

The knowledge blazed with unwelcome intensity as she remembered just how difficult she had found it to pull away from Marco.

And she supposed she’d put her job on the line by telling him she wasn’t going to continue with their interview. If she went back to the
Daily Banner
without the story they wanted, her reputation would be in tatters.

Her stomach lurched crazily at the thought.

Of all the people in the world to have this effect on her! Why Marco? She couldn’t understand it, because he was everything she’d always said she didn’t like in a man.

She wondered what he would say if he knew that she was still a virgin. For a moment she imagined his lips twisting in that mocking smile of his. He’d probably tell her she was
emotionally scarred from her childhood. He’d been trying to tell her something like that earlier, at dinner.

Angrily she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on something else. It didn’t matter what Marco would say. She didn’t care what he thought. And she wasn’t scarred from her childhood—if anything, what had happened to her had made her stronger, had taught her to be wary. And there was nothing wrong with that. Especially around someone like Marco Lombardi.

Isobel was just drifting off to sleep when she heard a noise that sounded like a door closing. Frowning, she sat up and listened. But the night was silent.

On impulse she threw the covers back and went over to look out of the window.

The full moon was clear and bright in the sky, and it shone over the curve of the bay, highlighting Marco’s yacht moored by the jetty as if someone was shining a spotlight on it.

Isobel glanced at her watch. It was four in the morning. She’d probably just imagined the noise; it was far too early for anyone to be up and about. She was about to go back to bed when she saw Marco, walking away from the house. He was dressed in a suit and he was walking down the path towards his yacht, his steps purposeful.

You didn’t dress like that to go for an early-morning sail! Was he taking her at her word and leaving her here to pack up her stuff while he sailed off on business?

It seemed very likely. He’d probably left his chauffeur instructions to drive her to the airport.

The idea sent a wave of panic rushing through her, and she realised suddenly that she wasn’t ready to walk away from Marco yet. Not when there was so much more that she needed to find out.

Without even stopping to think about it, she snatched up her dressing gown and went running after him.

When she reflected on the moment afterwards she realised
she hadn’t really been thinking straight. All she’d wanted to do was catch up with him and tell him she had changed her mind. Even when she’d stepped outside the front door into the early-morning darkness and realised she hadn’t got anything on her feet, it still hadn’t made her stop.

It wasn’t until she reached the end of the garden path and the start of the long wooden jetty that she paused for breath. The yacht looked much larger and more impressive up close. Giant masts towered above her into the bright starlit sky. This was more like a cruise liner than a private vessel; it was the luxurious toy of a man who only had the best of everything. The kind of pleasure craft where Marco probably entertained sophisticated women-friends—women who would wear cocktail dresses and diamonds—and here she was just in a robe.

For the first time she wondered if this was a good idea. Maybe she should go back to the house, wait for daylight, and then tell the chauffeur that she had changed her mind about leaving.

But say he insisted on following Marco’s instructions. Or told her Marco wouldn’t be back for a few days.

The thought made her step onto the gangplank and then down onto the polished deck. Apart from the moonlight she was completely in the dark, and it felt slightly eerie. The only sound was the gentle whisper of the breeze in the rigging, and the creak of the ropes that held the ship securely to her mooring.

Isobel stood for a moment, indecisively wondering which way to go, and then to her relief a light flicked on from a window further down.