Untouched Until Marriage (5 page)

Raul took his eyes from the road for a second and awarded her a sardonic glance. ‘If by “lighten up” you mean do I ever dress like a circus clown, then the answer is no.'

‘I am not dressed like a circus clown.' Libby breathed fire. ‘I simply like to wear bright colours.

‘I'd noticed,' he said dryly.

‘Well, it's better than being an old fogey. I bet you go to bed wearing a suit.'

‘As a matter of fact, I always sleep naked.'

‘Oh.' Libby made a choking noise which she quickly tried to disguise as a cough, blushing furiously as an image of Raul—stark naked and reclining on satin sheets—filled her mind.

It was a long time since he had seen a woman blush, Raul mused. But Libby's air of innocence must be an act, he reminded himself, his mouth tightening as he tried to dismiss the recurring image of her and his father as lovers. ‘I have a feeling I'm going to regret asking this,' he murmured, ‘but what
is
an old fogey? It is not a term I am familiar with.'

‘Someone like my old headmaster,' she replied without hesitation. ‘Stuffy, pompous, strait-laced…'

‘You didn't like him, I take it?' Raul murmured, frowning at the idea that Libby saw him in the same unflattering light as her old schoolmaster. Why should he care what she thought of him? he asked himself impatiently. But her opinion of him rankled. Presumably she hadn't thought him stuffy and strait-laced when she had responded to him so enthusiastically last night.

‘Mr Mills didn't like me.' Libby's voice broke into his thoughts. ‘He accused me of being a rebel, and told me I wouldn't pass any of my exams. But I proved him wrong,' she said in a satisfied tone. ‘I passed art.'

‘Just art?' Raul had benefited from an excellent private education at one of Rome's top schools, and gone on to gain a Masters degree in business at Harvard. He could not hide his shock at Libby's lack of qualifications. How was he supposed to share the running of Carducci Cosmetics, which had a seven billion pound annual turnover, with a girl who was barely out of her teens and had a single qualification—in art?

‘I assume you were educated in Ibiza, as you said you lived there. Did your parents own property on the island?' he asked her.

‘No.' Libby hesitated. There was no reason why she should keep her background a secret, she told herself. ‘I was brought up by my mother. I don't have a dad—well, I must do, obviously, but I don't know who he is. He abandoned Mum when she was pregnant with me. Mum was seventeen when I was born and she had a few problems.' She did not add that Liz had taken drugs for several years, or that life on the rundown housing estate where they had lived for the first few years of her life had been grim.

‘Social Services eventually placed me with foster parents while Mum sorted her life out. It was fine.' Her voice faltered slightly. ‘My foster parents were nice people, but they cared for seven other kids, and life with them was pretty hectic. I missed Mum terribly and I was glad when I was allowed to live with her again. That's when she took me to Ibiza, to live in a commune with artists and free-thinkers.'

For free-thinkers read hippies, Raul thought sardonically. Libby had clearly had an unconventional upbringing—the child of an unmarried mother and now a single parent herself. He hoped she did not harbour any ideas of taking Gino to live in a commune, because he would not allow it, he vowed. His father's son belonged at the Villa Giulietta. Raul suddenly realised he was glad Pietro had stipulated that the baby should grow up at the villa, where he would be safe.

Another thought occurred to him. If he married Libby, he could adopt Gino and claim custody of him should his mother decide to take off and live in an artists' commune. He forced the idea to the back of his mind and concentrated on the road that was filling with traffic as they headed towards the city centre. ‘So, how long did you live in the commune?'

‘Seven years. We went back to England when I was fourteen,' Libby explained. ‘I'd had a few lessons from one of the commune members who had been a teacher, but when I went to the local secondary school in London I soon realised there were big gaps in my knowledge. I'd been allowed to run wild in Ibiza,' she admitted. ‘I wasn't used to formal education, and I hated the lessons and the uniform.' And, even worse, the feeling that she was a failure, she reflected silently. ‘The only subject I shone at was art.'

Now that she was an adult she bitterly regretted her poor education. She had adored her mother, but she knew that Liz had often been irresponsible—particularly when she had failed to provide proper schooling for Libby.

But she would still rather have lived with her mother than anyone else. Going into care had been a traumatic
experience, which was why, after Liz had died, she had been so determined to keep Gino. He belonged to her, she thought fiercely. Raul was legally Gino's half-brother, but because Raul was Pietro's adopted son, he and Gino were not blood relatives, and he would never love the baby as she did.

Lost in her thoughts, she suddenly realised that Raul was speaking. ‘How do you think you are going to be able to take an active role in running Carducci Cosmetics when you've admitted you have no business experience?' he demanded impatiently. ‘Pietro must have been out of his mind when he awarded you control of Gino's shares. A lap-dancer with a qualification in art—' He broke off and growled something in Italian that Libby guessed was not complimentary.

‘I may not have tons of qualifications, but I learned to be streetwise from an early age,' Libby retaliated. ‘For years I used to help Mum run a market stall, and I'm confident I can tell the difference between a dodgy deal and a safe one. I'm determined to look after Gino's interests to the best of my ability, and keep his shares in the company safe. And I already told you I never worked as a lap-dancer,' she added tightly.

‘So where did you meet my father?'

The question came out of the blue, and Libby froze, frantically trying to recall everything Liz had told her about her holiday romance with Pietro Carducci.

‘We met on a cruise ship,' she mumbled. ‘The
Aurelia
. It was a month-long trip, visiting ports around the Mediterranean.'

She could sense Raul's surprise. ‘Do you often take cruises?'

Libby was not a natural liar, and she could feel her cheeks grow hot as she became more embroiled in the deception she had started when she had told Raul she was Gino's mother. ‘No—it was my first cruise. I won the trip in a competition,' she added, relieved that that part of the story was true. Liz had been ecstatic when she had won the luxury holiday.

‘So, you met my father on the ship?' Raul drawled. He remembered from when he had escorted Pietro aboard the
Aurelia
that most of the other guests had been elderly. Beautiful young Libby must have had rich pickings, he thought cynically.

‘Yes.' Libby recounted her mother's story of how she had met Pietro. ‘The
Aurelia
was huge. I took a wrong turn on my way back to my cabin one evening and ended up on the first-class deck. Pietro was returning to his suite, we got chatting, and…well,' she finished lamely, ‘that's how we met.'

‘It was certainly a fortuitous wrong turn you took that night,' Raul commented silkily.

Libby flushed at his sardonic tone. It was clear he believed his father had been targeted by a calculating gold-digger. But her mum hadn't been like that, she thought miserably. Liz had brought her up alone after being abandoned by Libby's father. Life had been tough, but Liz had been fiercely independent and would never have been attracted to a man for his money. Yet it would be impossible to explain that to Raul, Libby knew—especially as she had led him to believe that
she
had been his father's mistress. She had dug herself a hole and now she was falling ever deeper into it, but if she wanted to stay with Gino she could never reveal the truth.

Raul compressed his lips into an angry line, but did not say any more as he slotted the Lamborghini into his reserved parking space outside Carducci Cosmetics' office block. The building was a modern confection of steel, tinted windows and grey marble steps leading up to the front doors; the foyer was discreetly elegant, with marble pillars, black leather sofas and a reception desk staffed by women who looked as though they had stepped from the pages of
Vogue
.

She should definitely have worn make-up, Libby realised, after the lift had whisked them up to the top floor, where they were met by Raul's ultra-glamorous PA. Power-dressing and scarlet lipstick were clearly
de rigueur
for the female staff at CC, and when Raul ushered her into the boardroom she was conscious that her unconventional clothes drew glances of shocked disapproval from the eight male executives seated around the table.

 

Four hours later Libby had to concede that running a global company which boasted an annual revenue of several billion pounds and employed twenty thousand staff worldwide was nothing like selling souvenirs to tourists from a market stall in Ibiza.

Her head ached from trying to understand the discussions that had taken place—even though, out of deference to her, everyone had spoken in English rather than Italian. Now, finally, the meeting was over, and she closed her eyes wearily—but snapped them open again at the sound of Raul's terse voice.

‘I realise you find the proceedings boring, but I'd appreciate it if you could at least remain conscious during a meeting.'

She flushed at his sarcasm. ‘I wasn't bored, and I certainly didn't fall asleep, but I admit I didn't understand most of what was discussed.'

‘Then for pity's sake sign over control of Gino's shares to me and allow me to get on with running CC,' Raul bit out savagely, his eyes darkening with fury when she shook her head. Jaw tense, he tore his gaze from Libby and resisted the urge to brush a stray flame-coloured curl off her face.

‘Tonight's function starts at eight, which means you have plenty of time to find something suitable to wear,' he told her as he ushered her out of the boardroom and into the lift. ‘Many of the top designer boutiques are in Via Condotti and Piazza di Spagna,' he added as the lift doors opened at the ground floor. ‘I'll take you to your appointment with the personal stylist, but I'm due at another meeting so I will have to leave you with her.'

‘Whoa!' Libby exclaimed as she raced across the marble foyer, trying to keep up with Raul's long stride. ‘I don't need a personal stylist.'

He turned his head and ran his eyes slowly over her, from her unruly red curls, huge purple hoop earrings and psychedelic top, down to her minuscule skirt and shudderingly awful pink rubber flip-flops. And to his intense frustration realised that he still wanted her more than he had wanted any other woman. ‘You most certainly do,' he assured her grimly. ‘You are a representative of Carducci Cosmetics now, and I will not allow you to attend a prestigious dinner looking like someone who scrubs floors for a living.'

 

Two hours later, Raul strode into the five-star hotel where the dinner was to be held, and made his way to the bar where he had told Libby to meet him.

He might have known she would be late, he thought irritably as he glanced around the room and failed to spot anyone wearing a garishly coloured outfit. Presumably the queen of clashing colours would appear at any moment. He had explained to her that when she had finished shopping Tito, his driver, would take her back to his penthouse apartment so that she could change for the dinner, before the chauffer drove her to the hotel. So where was she? he wondered impatiently, when a glance at his watch revealed that it was ten minutes past the time he had arranged to meet her.

He moved his gaze slowly along the line of people sitting on stools by the bar, and his attention was caught by a shimmer of amethyst silk. The woman had her back to him, but as he lifted his eyes from the silver stiletto heels visible below her long skirt, up to her to her slender waist, and then higher to her milky-pale shoulders revealed by her strapless dress, he felt a jolt of stunned recognition. Her flame-coloured hair had been cleverly tamed and smoothed into loose, silky curls that rippled down her back, but he was not mistaken: it was Libby.

Hot, primitive desire kicked in Raul's gut as he stared at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Her make-up was discreet—just a hint of smoky grey eyeshadow which brought out the colour of her stunning blue-green eyes, a slick of mascara to define her long lashes, and a rose-pink gloss on her lips. The dress was a masterpiece of understated elegance that he knew would have come with an exorbitant price tag, but it was worth every
penny, he decided, feeling himself harden as he noted how the superb cut of the bodice displayed her breasts like plump, velvety peaches.

Libby was naturally beautiful, but tonight she looked exquisite—and so incredibly sexy that his mouth ran dry as he strode over to the bar. She had dominated his thoughts and caused his body to be in a permanent state of arousal since he had first set eyes on her. Now he was not prepared to fight his urgent desire for her any longer.

‘C
AN
I get you a drink,
Signorina
?'

The barman gave Libby a polite smile, but it did not escape her notice that his eyes lingered boldly on the low-cut neckline of her dress. She was tempted to order an orange juice. At least holding the glass would give her something to do with her hands, and perhaps stop her feeling so horribly self-conscious while she waited for Raul. But as she was about to speak a familiar voice sounded from behind her.

‘The lady will have champagne.'

It was a voice that never failed to send a quiver of reaction down her spine, as rich and sensuous as molten chocolate, and Libby's heart jolted painfully beneath her ribs as she turned her head and met Raul's dark gaze. His eyes gleamed like polished jet, and yet they seemed different, she noticed dazedly, no longer as cold as pools of black ice, but warm, and glinting with a sensual promise that trapped her breath in her throat.

‘Raul,' she greeted him uncertainly, her voice emerging in a whispery breath, while a curious achy sensation unfurled in the pit of her stomach. No man had
ever looked at her the way Raul was doing, and she had never expected
him
, of all men, to stare at her with such scorching desire blazing in his eyes.

‘Sei bellissima!'
he murmured in a velvet soft tone that brought her skin out in goosebumps. ‘You look amazing in that dress,
cara
.'

She was drowning in his liquid gaze and had to moisten her lips with her tongue before she could speak. ‘This old thing?' She resorted to flippancy in a frantic attempt to hide the effect he had on her. ‘It's just something I slipped on to scrub the floor.'

Amusement glinted in his eyes, but to her amazement his smile was rueful. ‘I can't believe I said that. You would look beautiful wearing sackcloth,' he astounded her by saying. ‘But in that dress…' He moved his eyes slowly over her, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. ‘You blow me away,
bella
.'

Not knowing quite what to make of this new Raul, who was no longer looking at her as if she were the most repugnant creature on the planet, Libby took a sip of champagne. It was deliciously cool and crisp, and she giggled as the bubbles exploded on her tongue. ‘I've never tried champagne before,' she confessed, her pleasure fading when he looked amused. She bit her lip. ‘But you already know that I'm not sophisticated, like the other women here tonight,' she said in a low tone.

Raul's smile faded and he stared at her intently. ‘You are the most vibrant person I have ever met,' he admitted truthfully. ‘You make me feel more alive than I have ever felt, and I regret that you find me stuffy.'

‘I don't,' she denied swiftly, lifting her head so that their eyes locked. The electricity in the air around them was almost tangible and she knew that he felt it
as strongly as she. She did not know what had happened during the two hours while he had attended a meeting and she had been bullied by a glamorous personal stylist into buying a whole wardrobe of exorbitantly expensive clothes; all she knew was that Raul was no longer looking at her with anger and resentment in his eyes. Incredibly, they no longer seemed to be enemies, they were simply a man and woman drawn together by the mysterious alchemy of sexual desire.

‘I'm glad to hear it,' he murmured, moving imperceptibly closer, so that she breathed in the tantalising scent of his cologne. She caught her breath when he ran his finger lightly down her cheek. ‘I have been thinking that for Gino's sake we should make the effort to be friends. What do you think,
cara
?'

Friends! She could not conceal her surprise. The word conjured up an image of a comfortable, relaxed relationship, like the one she had shared with Tony back in Pennmar. But she could not ever imagine feeling relaxed with Raul. He dominated her senses and made her so intensely aware of his raw masculinity that she could think of little else other than her longing for him to kiss her again.

Utterly disconcerted that he seemed to be offering an olive branch, she watched him sip his champagne, unaware of the wistful expression in her eyes as she stared at his mouth. ‘I think friends sounds a good idea. For Gino's sake, of course,' she added hurriedly. An unwelcome thought forced its way into her mind. ‘That doesn't mean that I will hand over control of Gino's share of Carducci Cosmetics to you.'

‘Of course not,' Raul assured her smoothly.

‘I'm still determined to protect Gino's interests,' she warned him.

‘I do not doubt your devotion to your son, and I understand your desire to do your best for him.' Raul's sexy smile stole her breath and melted the last vestiges of her resistance. ‘I hope that in time you will come to trust me and realise that I want to build on CC's success for Gino's sake.' He touched his champagne flute to hers. ‘Let us drink a toast, Libby. To a new beginning.'

She obediently took a sip of champagne, but the subject that had been bothering her since Raul had left her with Maria, the personal stylist, seemed likely to scupper their newfound friendship. ‘This dress cost an absolute fortune,' she told him anxiously. ‘Not to mention all the other clothes Maria the stylist insisted I needed. She explained that the bill was to be charged to your account, but I have no way of paying you back. The money I have in my savings account won't even cover one shoe,' she observed ruefully, glancing down at the exquisite three-inch stiletto heels that the personal stylist had selected for her to wear with the amethyst silk evening gown.

The shopping trip, during which Maria had whisked her into one designer boutique after another, had seemed surreal—especially as Libby had only ever bought her clothes in charity shops or discount stores. The shopping had been followed by a visit to a hair salon and beauty parlour, and later, when she had changed into the dress at Raul's luxurious penthouse apartment, the feeling that she had fallen into the pages of a fairytale had intensified.

Raul frowned. ‘I have already explained that as you are now a representative of CC it is necessary for you
to dress appropriately. You do not have to worry about paying for the clothes. Under the terms of my father's will all your personal expenses will be met by Pietro's estate.'

Guilt surged up inside Libby at Raul's words. It was bad enough that she was living at the villa under false pretences, but ten times worse to know that she was not entitled to a penny of the Carducci fortune. She bit her lip. ‘I just don't feel comfortable about it,' she mumbled. ‘It's fine that Gino's living expenses will be covered, but I feel it is morally wrong for me to live off Pietro's money.'

It was in Raul's mind to point out that it had been morally wrong of Libby to have had an affair with a wealthy man four decades older than her, particularly as he was convinced that Gino's conception had not been an accident. And yet her reluctance to allow him to pay for her clothes seemed genuine. Most women he knew would have been more than happy to flex his credit card, and he felt slightly irritated that Libby was not acting like the gold-digger he had assumed her to be.

He glanced at his watch, aware that the crowd in the bar was thinning as guests began to make their way to the banqueting hall. ‘It's time to go in to dinner,' he said, proffering his arm to help her down from the stool.

‘How many people will be at this dinner?' Libby asked nervously, gripping his arm as she struggled to balance on her vertiginous heels while he escorted her out of the bar and along a corridor towards a set of double doors which stood open to reveal long rows of white damask-covered tables set with gleaming silver cutlery and crystal glasses.

‘Tonight's event is an international trade dinner, and I imagine a couple of hundred guests have been invited.' Raul glanced down at her tense face. ‘What's the matter? You look as though you're about to be thrown to the lions.'

Libby bit her lip. ‘People are looking at me,' she muttered. ‘Do you think they know who I am—?' She broke off, flushing beneath Raul's sardonic glance.

‘If you mean do they know that you were my father's mistress and the mother of his illegitimate child then, no, I have not advertised that fact,' he told her coolly. He had been conscious of the interested glances Libby was attracting, particularly from other men, and a primitive, possessive instinct made him move closer to her. ‘People are looking, because your flame-coloured hair and English rose complexion make you very noticeable,
cara
. And in that dress you are incredibly beautiful.'

He meant it, Libby was stunned to realise, her heart racing when she glimpsed the raw hunger in Raul's eyes. No man had ever told her she was beautiful before, but as she caught sight of her reflection in one of the huge wall mirrors she could see that the amethyst silk dress suited her colouring and flattered her figure. It was almost impossible to believe that the elegant woman with the mane of tamed, silky curls tumbling down her back was really her, and without thinking she murmured, ‘I wish Miles could see me now.'

Raul's dark eyebrows winged upwards. ‘Who is Miles?'

‘Miles Sefton—only son of Lord Sefton.' Libby grimaced. ‘We met when I worked as a waitress at a very
exclusive golf club where Miles was a member. I stupidly fell in love with him, and even more stupidly believed him when he said he loved me.'

‘But something happened to make you realise he was not in love with you?' Raul murmured. The fact that Libby had been attracted to a member of the English aristocracy was more proof of her gold-digger tendencies. He must have imagined the note of hurt in her voice when she spoke of this Miles Sefton.

Libby nodded. ‘When Miles invited me to lunch at Sefton Hall I thought it was because he wanted me to meet his family. But I found out later that his parents had been putting pressure on him to get married, and he'd found it amusing to introduce
me
as his girlfriend, knowing they would be horrified that he was dating a waitress. That lunch—during which Lord and Lady Sefton could barely bring themselves to speak to me—was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life,' she admitted. ‘But not as humiliating as when I overheard Miles assure Lord Sefton that our relationship wasn't serious, and that he was only dating me because he wanted to take me to bed.'

She caught the expression in Raul's eyes and said bitterly, ‘I know what you're thinking: why
else
would a member of the landed gentry have dated a waitress? Still, it proved what my mother always said—that all men are selfish and not to be trusted, and certainly not worth wasting your emotions on.'

Suddenly conscious that her raised voice was attracting attention from the other guests waiting to enter the banqueting hall, she took a deep breath, and moments later a footman appeared to escort her and Raul to their table.

‘Your mother clearly has strong views on the inadequacies of the male species,' Raul commented dryly when they were both seated. Although perhaps that was not so surprising, he mused, recalling that Libby had told him her father had abandoned her mother before she had even been born.

‘Mum had a lot of bad experiences with men.' Libby immediately sprang to Liz's defence. ‘They always let her down.'

Including Pietro Carducci, she brooded, anger flaring inside her when she remembered how heartbroken her mother had been when her lover had failed to call her after the cruise. Admittedly Pietro had made provision for Liz and Gino in his will, but it was too late, she thought sadly. Liz had died believing that Pietro had abandoned her just as Libby's father had done.

‘I won't make the same mistakes as Mum,' Libby said fiercely. ‘Most of the men she dated when I was a child were creeps. I'm
never
going to put Gino through the misery of feeling that he has to compete with a new man in my life.'

Raul frowned. ‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean that until Gino is eighteen
he
is going to be the only man in my life. Romance is a fool's game anyway, and in my experience highly overrated,' Libby said bleakly, remembering the tears she had wasted over Miles.

‘You can't seriously intend to remain single for the next seventeen years?' Raul could not hide his surprise at the vehemence of her tone. ‘Wouldn't you like to get married one day? Perhaps have more children so that Gino grows up as part of a family?' He kept his tone
deliberately casual while he digested the unwelcome news that Libby did not seem to have marriage on her agenda.

She shook her head. ‘It's a nice idea, and I suppose if I'm honest a part of me wants to believe in the fairytale of falling in love with a man who would be a wonderful stepfather to Gino and all of us living happily ever after. But the reality is that something like one in three marriages end in divorce, and I'd rather concentrate all my energy on Gino than risk a relationship that may not work out.'

She paused, unaware of the wistful expression in her eyes as she added, ‘I can't deny that I'd love Gino to have a proper family: a father, brothers and sisters. It was what I wanted more than anything when I was a child. But the fact is that Gino's father is dead. He only has me, and I will do my best to be a mother
and
a father to him.'

The arrival of a waiter to serve the first course put an end to the conversation. Raul sipped his wine and considered what Libby had told him. He was frustrated that she did not fit the image he had formed of her when he'd first realised that she had been Pietro's mistress. He had formed many unpleasant ideas of her, and had never expected her to evoke his sympathy. But now he recalled how Libby had said that when she had told Pietro she was pregnant with his child he had ignored her. She clearly believed that his father had let her down, as her own father had abandoned her mother. She had read in the papers of Pietro's death and must have known that she would have been entitled to a maintenance award
for Gino, but instead of contacting the Carducci family she had disappeared and it had taken him months to find her.