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He wondered how it would feel to kiss her…
As soon as the thought crossed his mind he dismissed it. She was a journalist…a breed he despised! They were hard-bitten—uncaring—trouble-stirring…
Isobel’s heart was pounding as if she had run a long-distance marathon. She felt shaky and hot inside. And the worst thing was the feeling of pleasure that had blazed inside her just from the lightest brush of his fingertips. It had never happened to her before with anyone. And the fact that it had happened so easily, and with such a casual touch, with Marco was horrifying.
He was Marco Lombardi, one of the most notorious womanisers on the planet, and she couldn’t afford to forget that even for a minute.
About the Author
KATHRYN ROSS was born in Zambia, where her parents happened to live at that time. Educated in Ireland and England, she now lives in a village near Blackpool, Lancashire. Kathryn is a professional beauty therapist, but writing is her first love. As a child she wrote adventure stories, and at thirteen was editor of her school magazine. Happily, ten writing years later, DESIGNED WITH LOVE was accepted by Mills & Boon. A romantic Sagittarian, she loves travelling to exotic locations.
Recent titles by the same author:
THE MEDITERRANEAN’S WIFE BY CONTRACT ITALIAN MARRIAGE: IN NAME ONLY
INTERVIEW
WITH A PLAYBOY
BY
KATHRYN ROSS
MILLS & BOON
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CHAPTER ONE
‘WELL, look who has just walked into the reception area,’ Marco Lombardi murmured with a gleam of pleasure in his voice.
They’d been in the middle of studying an intensely intricate set of financial records, but his accountant looked up from the sheets of paper and curiously followed his boss’s gaze towards the security monitors on the wall.
‘Isn’t that the reporter who has been hanging around the Sienna building for the last couple of days?’ he said with a frown.
‘Indeed it is.’ Marco smiled. ‘But don’t worry, John, she’s here by invitation.’
‘Invitation? You mean you are allowing her in to see you?’
‘You could say that,’ Marco replied, somewhat amused by the other man’s astonished tone.
‘But you hate the press—you never give interviews!’
‘Very true, but I’ve had a rethink.’
John stared at him in disbelief. The Italian multi-millionaire had always fiercely guarded his privacy, and since his divorce two years ago his attitude towards the press had toughened even further.
And yet here he was, inviting in the one journalist who in his opinion was trouble with a capital T. She always seemed to be nosing around at the moment; everywhere he went Ms Keyes was there, asking questions about their takeover of the Sienna confectionery company. A deal that was supposed to be secret and was in the last sensitive stages of negotiation. It was a perfectly legitimate deal, but the woman somehow made him feel they were doing something wrong.
‘So…why…?’ John asked finally, as his thoughts crystallised and he remembered that this was Marco Lombardi he was talking to—a man renowned for being astute.
‘There’s an old saying, John, about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. Let’s just say I’m putting it into practice.’
John glanced back towards the monitor again. But he didn’t really understand. He noticed Isobel Keyes was glancing impatiently at her watch. ‘So what time is her appointment? Do you want me to take this paperwork away and work on it in the other office?’
‘No.’ Marco returned to the figures in front of him. ‘Ms Keyes can wait; she’s very lucky to have been invited here in the first place. So we will start as we mean to go on.’
‘Ah!’ Suddenly John understood. ‘You’re giving her the runaround until the deal is signed.’
‘Not exactly. Keeping her occupied might be the more correct terminology.’ Marco smiled. ‘Now, let’s concentrate on what’s important, shall we?’
As John opened the top file he couldn’t help but feel a dart of sympathy for the young woman waiting outside in her prim business suit. Right now she was probably feeling pretty pleased with herself for gaining an interview with the elusive multi-millionaire. But she didn’t stand a chance in hell if she was thinking of pitting her wits against Marco Lombardi.
Isobel was not in any way pleased about this situation. An hour ago she’d been on the verge of finding out exactly what was going on within the Sienna company. She’d been granted an interview with one of the Sienna shareholders, and then at the last minute the interview had been cancelled and out of the blue her editor had ordered her to drop the story.
‘I’ve got something better for you,’ Claudia had gushed with excitement. ‘I’ve just had a phone call from our editorial director. Can you believe it? Marco Lombardi has agreed to give the Daily Banner an exclusive interview!’
Isobel had indeed been stunned. She’d tried to get an interview with Marco on a few occasions and had never got past his secretary. ‘Is he going to talk to me about his plans for taking over the Sienna confectionery company?’ she’d asked hopefully.
‘Isobel, forget about pursuing the business side of the story. What we want is a personal insight into Marco’s life, and the real facts behind his divorce. That’s the story readers really want, and it will be like gold dust for the paper.’
The word smokescreen came to mind.
Isobel clenched and unclenched her hands. She knew most journalists would have been ecstatic to get an interview with the handsome Italian. But she was a serious reporter, not a tattler of gossip. She didn’t want to do an in-depth interview about Marco’s love-life! She wanted to write a real story about people’s jobs being on the line.
As far as she was concerned her paper had struck a deal with the devil—but, as usual, commercial considerations ruled the day, she reminded herself angrily.
‘You can go up now, Ms Keyes.’ The receptionist smiled over at her. ‘Mr Lombardi’s office is on the top floor.’
Hallelujah, Isobel thought sardonically as she glanced at her watch. He’d only been keeping her waiting for over an hour. And of course he had done that on purpose too.
As the lift swept her upwards, Isobel tried to compose herself. She had no choice now but to swallow her principles and give the paper the article they wanted, but it really did infuriate her. Because Marco was the type of man she despised. The type of man who did exactly as he pleased, regardless of the consequences, regardless of who he might hurt. And she had reason to know that more than most—because this was the man who had bought out her grandfather’s firm eleven years ago, and had then systematically torn it apart, breaking her grandfather’s heart in the process.
As far as she was concerned, Marco was a ruthless charlatan. And frankly she couldn’t understand why there was so much speculation over his divorce. The reason he’d split with his wife seemed blindingly obvious to Isobel—he’d always been a womaniser. So much so that people had been stunned when he had announced he was getting married. And since his divorce he’d been pictured in the press with a different woman every week. Some sections of the press had even dubbed him a heartbreaker, for heaven’s sake!
As the lift doors swished open Isobel took a deep breath and reminded herself—as she always did when working on a story—that she couldn’t allow preconceived ideas to cloud her judgement.
‘This way, Ms Keyes.’ A secretary stepped forward to open a door into an office with sweeping panoramic views out across London. But it wasn’t the view that held Isobel’s attention. It was the man seated behind the large desk
She had heard so much about him over the years that now, suddenly face to face with her nemesis, she felt slightly unnerved.
Marco was absorbed in some paperwork and didn’t look up as she approached slowly. ‘Ah, Ms Keyes, I presume.’ He murmured the words absently, as if he were only half aware of her presence. His English pronunciation was perfect, but more disturbingly she noticed that his velvet Italian accent sizzled with sex appeal.
He was wearing a white shirt left casually open at the strong column of his neck. Isobel noticed how the colour contrasted with the olive tones of his skin and the dark silky thickness of his hair.
She stopped next to the desk, and at the same time he looked up and their eyes locked. Inexplicably, her heart seemed to do a very peculiar flip.
He was incredibly good-looking, she thought hazily. His bone structure was strong, giving him an aura of determination and power, but it was his eyes that held her spellbound: they were the most amazing eyes she had ever seen—dark, smouldering, and extraordinarily intense.
She didn’t know why she was so taken aback by him—it wasn’t as if she hadn’t already known he was attractive. There were snatched photographs of the thirty-five-year-old in the press all the time. And women were always raving about how handsome he was. But Isobel had always maintained that she couldn’t quite see what all the fuss was about—she didn’t like the guy, and as far as she was concerned a lack of moral substance overshadowed mere good-looks any day. It was therefore a total shock to find herself so….mesmerised.
‘Sit down and make yourself comfortable.’ He waved her towards the chair opposite him, and she had to shake herself mentally.
What the hell was wrong with her? She was staring at him like an idiot! And meanwhile she was well aware that his eyes had moved over her with a look that could only at best be described as quizzically indifferent. No surprise there.
Isobel knew there was no way she could match up to the women Marco would be drawn to—for a start his ex-wife was a film star, rated as one of the world’s most beautiful women. By comparison Isobel was nothing—just a Plain Jane. Her clothes were businesslike, her figure bordered on being too curvaceous, and her long dark hair—although shiny and well cut—was held back from her face in a manner that was purely practical.
But that was her style. She didn’t want to be overtly feminine or glamorous. She wanted to get on with her work and to be treated seriously. And she certainly didn’t want to attract men like Marco Lombardi, she reminded herself fiercely. Her father had been a womaniser, and she knew how someone like that could devastate lives.
The reminder helped to snap her back to reality.
‘So, Mr Lombardi, it seems you have succeeded in diverting attention away from your proposed bid to buy Sienna,’ she remarked crisply as she took the seat opposite.
Marco had been about to finish his paperwork and keep her waiting a little longer, but he found himself looking over at her again. ‘Have I, indeed?’ he countered wryly. Her cool, businesslike tones surprised him. Most women flirted with him. Even when they were being businesslike they softened their questions with a fluttering of eyelashes and a surfeit of smiles. Isobel Keyes, it seemed, wasn’t going to conform on either front.
‘You know very well that you have,’ she retaliated. ‘And we both know it’s the only reason I’ve been granted this interview.’
Interesting, he thought as he gave her demure appearance another quick glance.
His first assessment of her, when he’d seen her on the security monitors, had been that she was a staid little mouse—someone who would probably be easily fobbed off with an interview. Now he was busy reassessing her.
‘You seem very certain about your facts.’
‘I am certain.’ She angled her chin up a little. ‘I saw your accountant at the Sienna offices this morning.’
‘You probably did. He’s a free agent—he can go where he wants.’
‘He goes where you send him,’ she countered quickly.
He hadn’t noticed her eyes until now. The feisty sparkle in them made them glow a deep emerald-green.
His gaze swept slowly over her face again. He’d originally thought that she was in her late twenties—probably because he hadn’t looked at her that closely. But now he realised that it was just the way she was dressed that made her seem older, and that she was possibly nearer to twenty-one. Nice skin too. She might have been passably attractive if she made more of an effort with herself. The hairstyle did nothing for her, and she was wearing little or no make-up. As for the clothes… His eyes swept downwards. They were verging on boring.
No Italian woman would be caught dead in a blouse like that…especially with it buttoned right up to the neck! Her waist was small, and she appeared well endowed. That blouse would definitely benefit from being unbuttoned a few notches, he thought distractedly.
Isobel suddenly noticed his sweeping assessment of her appearance, and as his dark eyes moved boldly back to her face she found herself heating up inside with consternation. Why was he looking at her like that? It was almost as if he were weighing up her desirability.
The thought made her heat up even more.
Hell, she was blushing! How embarrassing was that, when she disliked Marco so intensely? She wouldn’t be interested in him if he was the last man left in the universe, and she knew damn well that Marco would never be interested in her!
Maybe he looked at every woman like that—or maybe he was trying to distract her from their conversation. Now, that was a possibility.
‘So, are you trying to tell me that you have no interest in buying Sienna Confectionery?’ She sat up a little straighter in her chair.
Marco smiled slowly. He had to admire her tenacity, but it was time he reined her in. ‘I take it you want to make this a business interview?’ he murmured smoothly.
‘No!’ Her skin flared with even more heat as she imagined the hullabaloo at the paper if she ignored the brief they’d given her. ‘I was just saying that…I know what is going on.’
His lips curved in an almost derogatory smile. Then he reached for the phone on his desk. ‘Deirdre, arrange for my limousine to pick me up outside in ten minutes.’
Isobel could feel her heart thudding nervously against her chest. ‘Are you going to bail out on me because I dared question you on a subject you don’t want to discuss?’ She forced herself to hold his gaze, but inside she was suddenly terrified. Hell, if she mucked up with this interview she could find herself out of a job! The paper was desperate for an exclusive—in fact every paper in the land was desperate for an interview with Marco. Her kudos as a reporter would be out of the window if she messed this up.
Marco didn’t answer her straight away, and her nerves stretched as she thought about the hefty mortgage she had taken on when she had moved apartments last year. She needed this job.
‘Look, Mr Lombardi, I’ll be honest with you. I’d rather do a business interview—because that’s what I do. I’m a business correspondent. But the Daily Banner, in its wisdom, has sent me here because you’ve done a deal with them. You said you’d give the paper an exclusive glimpse into your life. So how about it? Because if I don’t get this story… Well…’
‘You’re in trouble.’ He finished her sentence for her and smiled. ‘Why, Ms Keyes, are you throwing yourself on my mercy?’
He knew damn well that she was in a predicament—because he’d placed her in it, she thought furiously. With difficulty, she tried to remain calm. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’
He noticed how the husky admission almost stuck in her throat, and one dark eyebrow lifted mockingly.
‘Did you bring your passport?’
‘My passport?’ The question caught her off guard, and she stared at him in apprehension. ‘Why would I need that?’
‘I offered your paper an exclusive glimpse into my life, Ms Keyes—and I travel quite extensively.’ As he was talking to her Marco was packing away his papers into a briefcase. ‘I have meetings in Italy and in Nice tomorrow, and I’m leaving in just under an hour. So if you want your story you’re going to have to tag along with me.’
‘Nobody told me that! I was told you were inviting me into your home—’
‘I am. My home is in the South of France.’
‘But you have a place here—in Kensington!’ Her voice rose slightly. ‘Don’t you?’
Marco closed his case and looked over at her. ‘I also have houses in Paris, Rome and Barbados, but I’m based on the Riviera.’
‘I see.’ She swallowed hard on a tight knot of panic. ‘Well, unfortunately I haven’t packed for a trip to France, and I have no passport with me.’
Marco almost felt sorry for her—almost, but not quite. Because she was a journalist, and as far as he was concerned journalists were the piranhas of this world, feeding off other people’s lives. ‘Seems like you are in a bit of a bind, then, doesn’t it? Your editor will be disappointed.’ He noticed impassively that she seemed to lose all colour from her face at that.
‘Look, if you could drive to the airport via my apartment it would take me fifteen—maybe twenty minutes tops to throw my stuff together,’ she suggested in desperation.
‘I don’t have twenty minutes to spare,’ Marco told her tersely as he rose to his feet and reached for the jacket of his suit. ‘But in the interests of goodwill I’ll give you five.’
As Isobel looked up at him she saw the gleam of amusement in the darkness of his eyes, and she realised that he’d never had any intention of leaving her behind. He was playing with her as a cat would play with a mouse before pouncing for the kill.
She suddenly wanted to run a million miles from him—because this didn’t bode well for her interview.
‘When you’re ready,’ he grated impatiently as she made no move to stand up.
Hurriedly she got to her feet. What else could she do but go along with this?
CHAPTER TWO
AS ISOBEL followed Marco out of the Lombardi offices, a group of waiting paparazzi across the road sprang into life. There were insistent shouts for them to look over towards the cameras, and calls for Marco to answer questions. They wanted to know where he was going, who Isobel was, if he had spoken to his ex-wife recently.
Marco seemed unfazed by the situation and made no comment, but the intrusion took Isobel by surprise. She wasn’t used to being on this side of press attention, and the flash photography and the unrelenting questions felt aggressive. She was almost glad to reach the seclusion of Marco’s limousine, with its smoked glass windows.
‘Friends of yours?’ Marco asked sardonically as he climbed in behind her and took a seat opposite.
‘No, of course not!’ The question startled her. ‘I have absolutely nothing to do with them! They’re like a pack of hyenas.’
‘Your point being…?’
She was starting to get used to that derisive dry edge to his voice. ‘My point being that is not my style of journalism.’
‘Ah, yes, I forgot—you are a serious reporter, only interested in business.’
She raised her chin slightly. ‘And I’m good at my job—well, I must be, mustn’t I? It’s the only reason you’ve agreed to give my paper an exclusive.’
‘I hate to burst your bubble,’ he drawled, ‘but the main reason I’ve decided to give the press an exclusive is because of incidents like the one you have just witnessed, where I’m constantly pestered by reporters who want to know everything about me down to what I’ve had for my breakfast.’
Isobel had to agree that the situation had been unpleasant. She glanced out of the window and noticed that even though the chauffeur had pulled the limousine out into traffic the paparazzi were following on motorbikes.
‘And then there are the important business deals that have been wholly jeopardised by unwarranted press attention and ill-timed sensationalistic reporting,’ Marco continued sardonically. ‘Ring any bells?’
She frowned. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting—’
‘I’m not suggesting anything.’ He cut across her firmly. ‘I’m telling you why I’ve taken the decision to give a one-off in-depth interview—I’m hoping it’s going to be an interview to end all interviews. And that I shall get some peace and quiet after it.’
‘And you just happened to offer this opportunity to the Daily Banner?’ she asked archly.
‘I did my homework. And surprisingly your name has cropped up quite a few times over the last say…eighteen months. There was your report about my deal with the Alexia retail group…a few less than flattering columns about my takeover of a supermarket chain, and a very scathing article about my—I quote—“domination of the Rolands Group”. Shall I go on?’
‘No, you have no need to go on, I get the picture,’ Isobel muttered hastily. OK, she had singled his business out for some in-depth coverage last year, but only because he had done a lot of buying and selling, and she had always done her research. ‘I never said you had done anything wrong or illegal. Nothing I’ve written has been untrue.’
‘But it has verged on scaremongering.’
‘I’m a business correspondent. It’s my job to report to the public about what is going on.’
He nodded. ‘And now it is your job to follow me around and report on that.’
She stared at him. ‘Like a kind of punishment?’ The words fell from her lips before she could stop them.
Marco stared at her, and then he laughed. ‘I feel I should remind you at this point that every journalist in the land would probably love to change places with you right now.’
His arrogance was extremely infuriating—and so was the fact that he was probably right. ‘Yes, I do realise that.’ She glared at him. ‘And I’m not complaining. I’m just saying—’
‘That you are a serious journalist who would rather write about my business ventures than my dietary requirements?’ he finished for her, his eyes glinting with amusement.
‘Yes, exactly. I mean, let’s face it, the world hardly needs another celeb interview, does it?’ She spoke impulsively. and then hastily tried to correct the mistake. ‘That doesn’t mean I don’t want to interview you—because of course I do!’
‘Relax—I know exactly what you mean. And I’m more than happy to talk about my businesses and my rise to the top of the financial markets. In fact, that is what I would like to focus on.’
Isobel was sure any business information he gave her would be very one-sided, and she wanted to say, Yeah, right in a very derogatory tone, but she didn’t dare.
‘Well, I wouldn’t worry about it,’ she said instead. ‘Because it turns out that most people are only interested in your lovelife.’
‘Is that so?’ His dark eyes held with hers.
‘Yes… Bizarre, but there it is.’
Marco smiled. He was starting to like Ms Isobel Keyes. Had he hit the jackpot and engaged the one journalist who wasn’t interested in digging the dirt on his marriage?
‘So what exactly is the story with your divorce?’ she asked suddenly, her green eyes narrowing. ‘Because everyone thought that you and Lucinda did seem like the perfect couple.’
No—he hadn’t hit the jackpot, he berated himself. Like every other journalist she was a breed apart—a sub-species for whom no subject was too personal to have a good dig around in.
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Ms Keyes,’ he said coolly.
Was it her imagination, or was his expression suddenly shuttered? Certainly the gleam of amusement in his voice had disappeared. Strange… She had expected that reaction when she talked about his business dealings, not his relationships.
Maybe he just didn’t like the fact that the press knew he was a womaniser? Maybe that was another reason he had agreed to this interview—to try and reinvent himself?
Well, if he thought she was going to fall for that he had a shock coming, she thought fiercely.
The limousine was slowing down. And as she looked out she realised they were pulling up outside her flat.
‘OK, I won’t be long,’ she murmured as the chauffeur got out and opened the passenger door for her.
One of her neighbours was walking past, and the woman almost fell over in surprise when she saw Isobel getting out of a limousine, closely followed by Marco Lombardi.
‘Don’t you think it might be better if you waited in the limousine?’ Isobel said nervously as he walked with her towards the front door.
‘No, I don’t. What’s the matter? Are you frightened there might be gossip about us?’
‘Of course not!’ She slanted a look up at him and noticed that the amusement was back in the darkness of his gaze. Yes, he probably thought that was oh-so-funny. As if anyone would seriously think that he would be interested in her when he had his pick of the world’s most glamorous women.
The paparazzi had roared into the road now, and the usually quiet cul-de-sac was suddenly chaotic as once again they started to take photographs, shouting for Marco to look over.
Isobel was so flustered that she could hardly get her key in the lock fast enough, and calmly Marco reached to take it from her. The touch of his hand against hers was a shock to the system, and she jerked away from him abruptly.
‘There you go.’ He pushed the door open for her and looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. ‘Are the press rattling you?’
‘No, of course not.’ The truth of the matter was that the paparazzi weren’t bothering her half as much as he was.
‘After you, then.’
‘Thanks.’ What on earth was wrong with her? Isobel wondered angrily as she stepped past him into the hallway. It was as if her senses were all on heightened alert around him.
And she had never felt more nervous in all her life as he followed her up the stairs to her first-floor flat.
She supposed it was just the strangeness of the situation. She’d disliked this man for so long from a distance, and now here he was stepping into her sitting room, acting as if he had every right to be here. In fact, his presence seemed to dominate the small flat.
Isobel watched as his gaze moved slowly over his surroundings, and for some reason she found herself looking at the place through his eyes.
The rooms weren’t what you would call spacious, and her second-hand furniture looked shabby in the cold grey light of the afternoon. She was willing to bet that Marco’s designer Italian suit had cost more money than all her possessions lumped together.
The thought brought her back to reality. OK, she didn’t have a lot of money, but that was no reason to feel embarrassed or ashamed. She’d had no helping hand in life—she’d come from a poverty-stricken background and worked hard to get to where she was now. What was more, she had always treated people fairly along the way—which was more than Marco could say.
He’d practically bankrupted her grandfather’s business, until the old man had been forced to sell out to him because he just couldn’t afford to compete with him. And then as soon as Marco had taken over the firm he’d lost no time in restructuring—which had basically meant firing most of the staff. Isobel’s father had been amongst the people in the first wave of redundancies.
She could still remember the shock in her father’s eyes when he’d come home to tell them. She remembered how he’d sat at the kitchen table and buried his head in his hands. He’d kept saying that there had been no need to make people redundant—that the company was very profitable. And her grandfather had said the same.
‘It’s greed, Isobel,’ he had said. ‘Some people aren’t content with making a healthy profit. They’re only happy when they are making an obscene profit.’
Isobel remembered those words as she looked over at Marco. He’d been a couple of years older than she was now—about twenty-four—when he’d bought her grandfather’s firm and sacked half the workforce. And then he’d gone on to sell the business twelve months later for a very obscene profit, as far as Isobel was concerned.
And it seemed Marco had repeated this move in other businesses time and time again, making him a multi-millionaire before the age of thirty.
She wondered if he ever had pangs of conscience about the way he made his money.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind she dismissed it as absurd. Marco wasn’t the type to think deeply about other people’s feelings. As demonstrated by the way he’d walked out on his wife after just eighteen months of marriage, and the way he changed the women in his life faster than some people changed the sheets on the bed.
Something he had in common with her father, as it turned out.
She turned away from him. ‘I’ll just throw a few things in a bag, I won’t be long.’
‘See that you’re not,’ he said laconically. ‘I meant it when I said you’d got five minutes.’
Hurriedly she moved through to her bedroom and opened the wardrobe. What on earth should she pack for a night in the South of France? she wondered. She didn’t have a lot of summer gear, but then it probably wouldn’t be that hot as it was only May.
She glanced around as there was a knock on the door and it opened behind her. ‘Four minutes and counting,’ Marco told her as he leaned against the doorframe.
‘For heaven’s sake, I’m going as fast as I can.’ She flung a pair of jeans and a T-shirt into an overnight case, and then moved to rifle through her nightwear and her underwear drawer. ‘Do you think you could give me a moment’s privacy?’ she asked through gritted teeth as she looked around at him.
‘Don’t mind me.’ He smiled, but instead of moving out of her room he came further in, and walked over towards the window to look out.
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