Sara Craven Tribute Collection. Sara Craven
of coffee.
‘We shan’t need that,’ her father said. ‘Because Rome is leaving. He’s got some serious thinking to do.’ His smile was almost malicious. ‘Haven’t you—boy?’
Rome hadn’t spent all the intervening time thinking, however. He’d attempted to make contact with some of the financial contacts on his list, but without success, no one wanted to know him, he realised bitterly. Matt Sansom had done his work well.
And now, for Montedoro’s sake, he was committed to the next phase of this war of attrition between two megalomaniac old men.
He groaned, and tossed down the rest of his whisky. If ever he’d needed to get roaring, blazing drunk, it was tonight.
As he walked back inside to refill his glass, someone knocked at the door of his suite. A porter faced him.
‘Package for you, sir. Brought round by special messenger.’ He accepted Rome’s tip, and vanished.
Frowning, Rome slit open the bulky envelope. He realised immediately that he was looking at a complete dossier on Cory Grant—where she lived, how she spent her spare time, where she shopped, her favourite restaurants. Even the scent she used.
No detail too trivial to be excluded, he acknowledged sardonically.
But it was chillingly thorough. Matt must have been planning this for a long time, he thought. And the screwed-up land deal was just an excuse.
He poured himself another whisky, stretched out on the bed and began to read.
‘You made me look a complete idiot,’ said Philip. ‘Walking out like that.’
Indignation added a squeak to his voice, Cory thought dispassionately. And who needed a man who squeaked?
She kept her tone matter-of-fact. ‘I didn’t think you’d notice I was gone.’
‘Oh, come off it, Cory. I told you—I ran into some old friends—lost track of time rather. And I’m sorry if you felt neglected.’ He paused. ‘But I’ll make it up to you.’ His voice became chummy, almost intimate. ‘Why don’t we have dinner? I promise I’ll give you my undivided attention.’
Cory gave her cordless phone receiver a look of blank disbelief.
She said politely, ‘I don’t think so, thanks. We don’t have enough in common.’ Except, she thought, that your father is one of Gramps’s main sub-contractors, and you realise you may have rocked the boat.
‘Look, Cory.’ He sounded hectoring again. ‘I’ve apologised. I don’t know what else you want me to say.’
‘Goodbye would do quite well.’
‘Oh, very amusing. Know something, Cory? It’s time you got off that high horse of yours and came down to earth, or you’re going to end up a sad old maid. Because I don’t know what you want from a man. And I suspect you don’t know either.’
She said, ‘It’s quite simple, Philip. I want kindness. And you just don’t qualify.’
She replaced her receiver, cutting off his spluttering reply.
She should have let her answering machine take the call, she thought. She simply wasn’t up to dealing with Philip’s efforts at self-justification after her disturbed night.
And she wasn’t up to dealing with the reasons for the disturbed night either.
With a sigh, she went into her tiny kitchen, poured orange juice, set coffee to percolate and slotted bread into the toaster.
Gramps would be next, she thought, eager to know how the evening had gone, and she’d make up a kindly fib to satisfy him.
Only it wasn’t her grandfather who rang almost at once, but Shelley.
‘Cory—are you there? Pick the phone up. I have news.’
Cory hesitated, frowning slightly.
Her ‘hello’ was guarded, but Shelley didn’t notice.
‘I’ve found your mysterious stranger,’ she reported happily. ‘I did a quick check, and he bought one of the last tickets. His name’s Rome d’Angelo. So, the ball’s in your court now.’
‘I don’t see how.’
Shelley made an impatient noise. ‘Come on, babe. You won’t find many men with that name to the square acre. I’d start with directory enquiries.’
‘Perhaps—if I wanted to find him,’ Cory agreed, her lips twitching in spite of herself.
‘I thought he’d made a big impression.’
‘But not one I necessarily wish to repeat.’ God, Cory thought, I sound positively Victorian. She hurried into speech again. ‘Thanks for trying, Shelley, but I’ve made a major decision. If I get involved again, I want someone kind and caring, not sex on legs.’
‘You could have both. Isn’t this guy worth a second look?’
‘I doubt if he was worth the first one,’ Cory said drily. ‘I’m sorry, love. I’m a hopeless case.’
‘No,’ Shelley said. ‘You just think you are. So, if you’re not going man-hunting, what do you plan for your day?’
‘I’m doing the domestic thing.’ Cory narrowed her eyes to stare at a ray of watery sun filtering through the window. ‘And I may go over to the health club for a swim later.’
‘Well, take care,’ Shelley advised caustically. ‘Too much excitement can be bad for you. I’ll call you next week.’ And she rang off.
As Cory replaced her own handset, it occurred to her that the unknown Rome d’Angelo was almost certainly that kind of excitement. Bad for you.
And best forgotten, she told herself dismissively.
The health club was rarely very busy on Saturday mornings, and today was no exception. Cory found she had the pool virtually to herself. She had always loved swimming, finding her own grace and co-ordination when she was in the water, and she could feel the tensions floating out of her as she cut through the water.
Afterwards she relaxed on one of the comfortable padded benches set back around the pool, and read some of the book she’d brought with her, but to her annoyance she found her concentration fragmenting.
In spite of herself, she kept thinking of the previous evening, and that brief, disturbing glimpse she’d had of Rome d’Angelo.
She found herself trying the name over in her mind, silently cursing Shelley as she did so.
I really didn’t need to know his identity, she thought. He was easier to keep at bay when he was an anonymous stranger.
Although she’d been aware of a connection between them, as powerful as an electric current.
Suddenly, shockingly, she felt her body stir with excitement, as if she’d been touched. As if her mouth had been kissed, and her breast stroked gently to pleasure. Beneath the cling of her Lycra swimsuit her nipples were hardening to a piercing intensity, her body moistening in longing.
Cory sat up, pushing her hair back from her face.
It’s time I took a shower, she thought, her mouth twisting. And maybe I should make it a cold one.
The changing rooms on the floor above were reached by lift. The women’s section was beautifully equipped, with mounds of fluffy towels, gels and body lotions and other toiletries, hairdriers, and a selection of all the popular fragrances in tester bottles for the clients to try.
Cory didn’t linger today as she usually did. She showered swiftly, then dressed in her usual weekend uniform of jeans and a plain white tee shirt.
She’d have some lunch at the salad bar on the ground floor before it got busy, she decided, as she shrugged on her leather jacket and picked up