Secret Heirs: Billionaire's Pleasure. Кейт Хьюит
told him. She showered and dressed but her queasiness had returned and she could only manage some mint tea for breakfast. The morning papers had been delivered and, with a growing sense of nervousness, she flicked through the pages until she found the column which listed society events. And there she was in all her glory—in her mermaid dress of green sequins, the row of fiery white diamonds glittering at her throat, with Renzo standing just behind her, a hint of possessiveness in the sexy smile curving his lips.
She stood up abruptly, telling herself she was being paranoid. Who was going to see, or, more important, to care that she was in the wretched paper?
The morning slipped away. She went for a walk, bought a bag of oranges to put through the squeezer and was just nibbling on a piece of dry toast when the doorbell rang and Darcy frowned. It never rang when Renzo wasn’t here—and not just because his wasn’t a lifestyle where people made spontaneous visits. He’d meant what he said about guarding his privacy; his home really was his fortress. People just didn’t come round.
She pressed the button on the intercom.
‘Yes?’
‘Is that Darcy Denton?’ It was a male voice with a broad Manchester accent.
‘Who is this?’ she questioned sharply.
‘An old friend of yours.’ There was a pause. ‘Drake Bradley.’
For a minute Darcy thought she might pass out. She thought about pretending to be someone else—the housekeeper perhaps. Or just cutting the connection while convincing herself that she didn’t have to speak to anyone—let alone Drake Bradley. But the bully who had ruled the roost in the children’s home had never been the kind of person to take no for an answer. If she refused to speak to him she could imagine him settling down to wait until Renzo got home and she just imagined what he might have to say to him. Shivering, she stared at her pale reflection in the hall mirror. What was it they said? Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.
‘What do you want?’
‘Just a few minutes of your time. Surely you can spare that, Darcy.’
Telling herself it was better to brazen it out, Darcy pressed the buzzer, her heart beating out a primitive tattoo as she opened the door to find Drake standing there—a sly expression on his pockmarked face. A decade had made his hair recede, but she would have recognised him immediately and her blood ran cold as the sight of him took her back to a life she’d thought she’d left for ever.
‘What do you want?’ she asked again.
‘That’s not much of a welcome, is it? What’s the matter, Darcy? Aren’t you going to invite me in? Surely you’re not ashamed of me?’
But the awful thing was that she was. She’d moved on a lot since that turbulent period when their lives had merged and clashed, yet Drake looked as if he’d been frozen in time. Wearing clothes which swamped his puny frame, he had oil beneath his fingernails and on the fingers of his left hand were the letters H, A, T, E. You have no right to judge him, she told herself. He was simply another survivor from the shipwreck of their youth. Surely she owed him a little hospitality when she’d done so well for herself.
She could smell stale tobacco and the faint underlying odour of sweat as she opened the door wider and he brushed past her. He followed her into the enormous sitting room and she wondered if he was seeing the place as she had seen it the first time she’d been here, when she’d marvelled at the space and light and cleanliness. And, of course, the view.
‘Wow.’ He pursed his lips together and whistled as he stared out at the whispering treetops of Eaton Square. ‘You’ve certainly landed on your feet, Darcy.’
‘Are you going to tell me why you’re here?’
His weasel eyes narrowed. ‘Not even going to offer me a drink? It’s a hot day outside. I could murder a drink.’
Darcy licked her lips. Don’t aggravate him. Tolerate him for a few minutes and then he’ll go. ‘What would you like?’
‘Got a beer?’
‘Sure.’
Her underlying nausea seemed to intensify as Darcy went to the kitchen to fetch him a beer. When she returned he refused her offer of a glass and began to glug greedily from the bottle.
‘How did you find me?’ she asked, once he had paused long enough to take a breath.
He put the bottle down on a table. ‘Saw you on the news last night, walking into that big hotel. Yeah. On TV. Couldn’t believe my eyes at first. I thought to myself, that can’t be Darcy Denton—daughter of one of Manchester’s best known hookers. Not on the arm of some rich dude like Sabatini. So I headed along to the hotel to see for myself and hung around until your car arrived. I’m good at hanging around in the shadows, I am.’ He smiled slyly. ‘I overheard your man giving the address to the taxi driver so I thought I’d come and pay you a visit to catch up on old times. See for myself how you’ve come up in the world.’
Darcy tried to keep her voice light. To act as if her heart weren’t pounding so hard it felt as if it might burst right out of her chest. ‘You still haven’t told me what you want.’
His smile grew calculating. ‘You’ve landed on your feet, Darcy. Surely it’s no big deal to help out an old friend?’
‘Are you asking for money?’ she said.
He sneered. ‘What do you think?’
She thought plenty but nothing she’d want him to hear. She thought about how much cash she had squirrelled away in her bank account. She’d amassed funds since she’d been with Renzo because he wouldn’t let her pay for anything. But it was still a pitiful amount by most people’s standards, and besides...if you gave in to blackmail once then you opened up the floodgates.
And she didn’t need to give into blackmail because hadn’t she already decided to tell Renzo about her past? This might be the push she needed to see if he still wanted her when he discovered who she really was. Her mouth dried. Dared she take that risk?
She had no choice.
Drawing her shoulders back, she looked straight into Drake’s shifty eyes. ‘You’re not getting any money from me,’ she said quietly. ‘I’d like you to leave and not bother coming back.’
His lip curled and then he shrugged. ‘Have it your own way, Darcy.’
Of course, if she’d thought it through properly, she might have wondered why he obeyed her quite so eagerly...
* * *
Renzo’s eyes narrowed as the man with the pockmarked face shoved his way past, coming out of his private elevator as if he had every right to do so. His frown deepened. Had he been making some kind of delivery? Surely not, dressed like that? He stood for a moment watching his retreating back, instinct alerting him to a danger he didn’t quite understand. But it was enough to cast a shadow over a deliciously high mood which had led to him leaving work early—something which had caused his secretary to blink at him in astonishment.
In truth, Renzo had been pretty astonished himself. Taking a half-day off wasn’t the way he usually operated, but he had wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon with Darcy. Getting into bed with her. Running his fingers through her silky riot of curls. Losing himself deep in her tight, tight body with his mouth on her breast. Maybe even telling her how good she made him feel. Plus he’d received an urgent message reminding him that he needed to insure the necklace he’d spent a fortune on last night.
After watching the man leave the building, Renzo took the penthouse elevator where the faint smell of tobacco and beer still tainted the air. He unlocked the door to his apartment just as Darcy tore out of the sitting room. But the trouble was she didn’t look like the Darcy of this morning’s smouldering fantasies, when somehow he’d imagined arriving home to see her clad in that black satin basque and matching silk stockings he’d recently bought. Not only was she wearing jeans and a baggy shirt—her face was