Interview with a Playboy

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.