Page 26 of The Tycoon's Shock Heir

But all those women in his life, said a little voice. That wasn’t such a great character trait. And those were only the ones who’d been photographed. There were bound to be even more—the one-night stands. And now she was one of them...

A sickly sense of unease rolled through her. She could be lying in exactly the same place as countless women before her. That was not a good feeling.

Matteo groaned quietly. He was coming closer to the surface. But if she lay still he might go back under, and then she could slip away—no small talk, no awkward glances, no shame.

His breathing steadied and deepened again and she took her chance, easing out from under his arm, sliding one leg out into the cool of the room, then another, gently shifting her weight, pausing to make sure his breathing hadn’t shifted, then easing out further.

Finally she put one leg down on the floor and backed away from the bed and his sleeping form. She felt over the carpet for her shoes, grabbing them up into her hands, then taking her dress from the chair.

She tiptoed across the room, put her hand on the door and eased it open, pausing suddenly when it began to squeak. But Matteo’s slow, steady breathing carried on as daylight pushed forward, letting her slip out into the hallway.

She needed to phone a cab and get out of there as quickly as possible. She pulled the door open and paced along the wooden floor, past the photographs of skiing trips and yachting trips, past his mother’s beaming face and along the hallway to the kitchen.

There was her bag, and there through the glass was the ice bucket, the strawberries, and her wrap discarded over a chair. Midnight’s debris dressed in daylight’s accusing glow.

She tugged open the patio door and lifted her bag—but when she turned there was Matteo, framed in the kitchen doorway, tall and bronzed and looking murkier than the Thames on a winter’s day.

‘Hey,’ he said, and his voice was a growl, rough with lack of sleep. ‘You’re up already.’

He tugged at the waist of his boxers as he walked into the room and she watched as his fingers trailed along the red, raw-looking marks on his stomach. Marks that she had made with her nails.

She looked away. ‘Yes. I thought I’d get going. I’ve got a lot to do.’

He was at the sink. She heard the tap running and the sound of water filling a glass.

‘You should have said,’ he said, drinking thirstily. ‘Could have set an alarm. Want some?’

He wiped water from his mouth with the back of his hand and it was completely mesmerising. Just looking at him made her mouth water, but she shook her head and turned her face away.

‘No, thanks. Just call me a cab, please.’

He filled a pot with coffee and water and set it on the hob, looking at her over his shoulder as he did so.

‘A cab?’ he said. ‘You don’t want to stay for breakfast? I can order whatever you like. You had a great appetite last night...’

‘I’m in a bit of a rush.’

At that he looked up. His eyes flashed with something, but it was too fast to see what before his face smoothed out into rock.

‘I didn’t catch on to that last night—apologies. I’ll not keep you back if you want to go.’

‘Yes, I should have said I had to leave early—sorry.’

‘It’s no problem.’

He paused, and the silence and his accusing stare were like a toxic cloud, mushrooming between them. She tried to find words—but what could she say? It was like corpsing on stage. Sentences were dying in her mind, not even making it to her mouth.

Please let me off the hook, she thought. Let me go.

‘I thought we had a lovely night, Ruby,’ he said finally. ‘An amazing night.’

‘Yes, we did. Thanks.’

He put his hands up.

‘“Thanks”? I’m not completely clear what’s happening here. I thought we might hang out a bit longer?’

He walked towards her, stretched his hands out as if to rest them on her shoulders. She side-stepped that neatly.

She stared down at a corner of the kitchen worktop along which his mail was arranged in two neat rows. Bills and official-looking stuff in one, and cards and invitations to parties in another. She could see his name emblazoned on one in cursive font and the name of the world-famous hotel it was to be held in. He was probably out every night of the week at some thing or other. Meeting women...having supper afterwards.

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