normally see clients without an appointment. Most people have to wait weeks to see him.’ Her eyes sparkled again. ‘Maybe he wants to slip between your sheets, so to speak?’
Natalie gave a weak smile and stepped through the door the receptionist had opened. Her eyes went straight to where Angelo was seated, behind a mahogany desk that seemed to have a football field of carpet between it and the door that had just clicked shut, like the door of a prison cell, behind her.
Her throat tightened. She tried to unlock it by swallowing, but it still felt as if a puffer fish was lodged halfway down.
He looked as staggeringly gorgeous as ever—maybe even more so. The landscape of his face had barely changed, apart from two deep grooves that bracketed his unsmiling mouth. His raven-black hair was shorter than it had been five years ago, but it still curled lushly against the collar of his light blue business shirt. His face was cleanly shaven, but the dark pinpricks of persistent masculine stubble were clearly visible along his lean cheeks and stubbornly set jaw. His thickly lashed eyes were the same deep, espresso coffee brown, so dark she could not make out his pupils or his mood.
He rose to his feet, but whether it was out of politeness or a desire to intimidate Natalie wasn’t quite sure. At six foot four he was impressively, imposingly tall. Even in heels she had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact.
She sent the tip of her tongue out to moisten her concrete-dry lips. She had to keep her cool. She had spent most of her life keeping her emotions under the strictest control. Now was not the time to show how worried she was about the situation with her brother. Angelo would feed off that and work it to his advantage. All she had to do was pay for the damage Lachlan had caused, then get out of here and never look back.
‘Thank you for seeing me at short notice,’ she said. ‘I understand how busy you are. I won’t take up too much of your time.’
Those incredibly dark, inscrutable eyes nailed hers relentlessly as he reached across to press the intercom. ‘Fiona, postpone my engagements for the next hour,’ he said. ‘And hold all my calls. On no account am I to be interrupted.’
‘Will do.’
Natalie blinked at him as he straightened. ‘Look, there’s really no need to interrupt your busy schedule—’
‘There is every need,’ he said, still holding her gaze with the force of his. ‘What your brother did to one of my hotel rooms in Rome is a criminal offence.’
‘Yes,’ she said, swallowing again. ‘I know. But he’s been going through a difficult stage just now, and I—’
One of his jet-black brows lifted satirically. ‘What “difficult stage” would that be?’ he asked. ‘Has Daddy taken away his Porsche or cut back his allowance?’
She pressed her lips together, summoning control over emotions that were threatening to spill over. How dared Angelo mock what her brother had to deal with? Lachlan was a ticking time bomb. It was up to her to stop him from self-destructing. She hadn’t been able to save her baby brother all those years ago, but she would move heaven and earth to get it right this time with Lachlan.
‘He’s just a kid,’ she began. ‘He’s only just left school and—’
‘He’s eighteen,’ Angelo said through tight, angry lips. ‘He’s old enough to vote and in my opinion old enough to face up to the consequences of his actions. He and his drunken friends have caused over a hundred thousand pounds’ worth of damage to one of my most prestigious hotels.’
Natalie’s stomach nosedived. Was he exaggerating? The way her mother had described it had made her think it hadn’t been much more than the cost of a carpet-clean and the replacement of a few furnishings—perhaps a repaint on one of the walls.
What had Lachlan been thinking? What on earth had made him go on such a crazy rampage?
‘I’m prepared to reimburse you for the damage, but before I hand over any money I’d like to see the damage for myself,’ she said, with a jut of her chin.
His dark eyes challenged hers. ‘So you’re prepared to foot the bill personally, are you?’
She eyeballed him back, even though her stomach was churning at the menacing look in his eyes. ‘Within reason.’
His top lip curled. ‘You have no clue about what you’re letting yourself in for,’ he said. ‘Do you have any idea what your brother gets up to when he’s out night-clubbing with his friends?’
Natalie was all too aware, and for the last few months it had been keeping her awake at night. She knew why Lachlan was behaving the way he was, but there was little she could do to stop him. Lachlan had been the replacement child after Liam had died—the lost son reincarnated. Since birth he had been forced to live not his own life but Liam’s. All the hopes and dreams their parents had envisaged for Liam had been transferred to Lachlan, and lately he had started to buckle under the pressure. She was terrified that one day soon he would go, or be pushed too far.
She already had one death on her hands. She could not bear to have another.
‘How do you know Lachlan is responsible for the damage?’ she asked. ‘How do you know it wasn’t one of his friends?’
Angelo looked at her with dagger-sharp eyes. ‘The room was booked in his name,’ he said. ‘It was his credit card that was presented at check-in. He is legally responsible, even if he didn’t so much as knock a cushion out of place.’
Natalie suspected her brother had done a whole lot more than rearrange a few sofa cushions. She had more than once witnessed him in the aftermath of one of his drinking binges. Lachlan wasn’t a sleepy drunk or a happy, loquacious one. A few too many drinks unleashed a rage inside him that was as terrifying as it was sudden. And yet a few hours later he would have no memory of the things he had said and done.
So far he had managed to escape prosecution, but only because their rich and influential father had pulled in some favours with the authorities.
But that was here in Britain.
Right now Lachlan was at the mercy of the Italian authorities—which was why she had come to London to appeal to Angelo on his behalf. Of all the hotels in Rome, why had he stayed at one of Angelo Bellandini’s?
Natalie opened her bag and took out her chequebook with a sigh of resignation. ‘All right,’ she said, hunting for a pen. ‘I’ll take your word for it and pay for the damage.’
Angelo barked out a sardonic laugh. ‘You think after you scrawl your signature across that cheque I’ll simply overlook this?’ he asked.
She quickly disguised another swallow. ‘You want more than one hundred thousand pounds?’ she asked, in a voice that sounded too high—squeaky, almost.
He looked at her, his eyes meshing with hers in a lockdown that made the silence throb with palpable tension. She felt it moving up her spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. She felt it on her skin, in the ghosting of goose bumps fluttering along her flesh. She felt it—shockingly—between her thighs, as if he had reached down and stroked her there with one of his long, clever fingers.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. She could read the subtext of that dark, mocking gaze. He didn’t give a toss about the money. It wasn’t money he wanted. He had more than enough of his own.
Natalie knew exactly what he wanted. She had known it the minute she had stepped into his office and locked gazes with him.
He wanted her.
‘Take it or leave it,’ she said, and slammed the cheque on the desk between them.
He picked up the cheque and slowly and deliberately tore it into pieces, then let them fall like confetti on the desk, all the while holding her gaze with the implacable and glittering force of his. ‘As soon as you walk out of here I’ll notify the authorities in Rome to press charges,’ he said. ‘Your brother