The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress

‘All the parents are waiting outside for us to tell them what absolute darlings their poppets have been all term!’

‘Most of them have been. Although I can think of a few…’

‘With Dominic Park taking first prize in that category?’

Megan laughed. ‘But at least he waved his arms tonight without knocking anyone over. Although I did notice that Lucy the donkey kept her distance. Amazing what a spot of blackmail can do. I told him he could watch my next football match.’ She linked her arm through her colleague’s and together they headed out to the main hall, leaving behind a backstage disaster zone of discarded props and costumes, all to be cleared away the following afternoon, when the school would be empty.

The main hall was a majestic space that was used for all the school’s theatrical performances and for full assemblies. A magnificent Christmas tree, donated by one of the parents, stood in the corner, brightly lit with twinkling lights and festooned with decorations—many from the school reserves but a fair few also donated by parents. Elsewhere, along one side, were tables groaning with the delicacies and also bottles of wine—red and white.

The place was buzzing with parents and their offspring, who had changed back into their school gear, and numerous doting relatives. In between the teachers mingled, and enjoyed the thought that term was over and they would be having a three-week break from the little darlings.

Megan was not returning to Scotland for the holidays. Her parents had decided to take themselves off to the sunshine, and her sisters were vanishing to the in-laws’. Playing the abandonment card had been a source of great family mirth, but really she was quite pleased to be staying put in London. There was a lot going on, and Charlotte would be staying down as well. They had already put up their tree in the little house they shared in Shepherd’s Bush, and had great plans for a Christmas lunch to which the dispossessed had been cordially invited. Provided they arrived bearing food or drink.

A surprising number of people had seemed happy to be included in the ‘dispossessed’ category, and so far the numbers were up to fifteen—which would be a logistical nightmare, because the sitting room was small—but a crush of bodies had never fazed Megan. The more the merrier, as far as she was concerned.

She heard Dominic before she actually spotted him. As was often the case with him, he was stridently informing one of his classmates what Father Christmas was bringing him. He seemed utterly convinced that the requested shed-load of presents would all be delivered, and Megan wondered whether he had threatened the poor guy with a prison sentence should his demands not be met.

She was smiling when she approached his mother, curious to see what she looked like. Matching parents to kids was an interesting game played by most teachers, and this time the mental picture connected perfectly with the real thing.

Dominic Park’s mother looked like a lawyer. She was tall, even wearing smart, black patent leather flats, with a regal bearing. Dark hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, and her blue eyes were clever and cool. Despite the informality of the occasion, she was wearing an immaculate dove-grey suit, with a pashmina loosely draped around her shoulders.

She was introduced via Dominic, who announced, without preamble, that this was Miss Reynolds and she had promised she would take him to watch her play football.

‘You must be Dominic’s mum.’ Megan’s smile was met with an expression that attempted to appear friendly and interested but somehow didn’t quite manage to make it. This was a woman, Megan thought, who probably distributed her smiles like gold dust—or maybe she had forgotten how to smile at all, because it wasn’t called for in a career that saw her putting people into prison, if her son was to be believed.

‘Correct, Miss Reynolds, and I must say that I was very disappointed when Nanny told me today that Dominic would be playing a tree. Not terribly challenging, is it?’

She had an amazing accent that matched her regal bearing perfectly.

‘We like to think of the Nativity Play as a fun production, Mrs Park, rather than a competition.’ She smiled down at Dominic, who was scowling at some sushi in a napkin. She took it from him. ‘And you made a marvellous tree. Very convincing.’

‘When will you be playing football?’ he demanded.

‘Ah… Timetable still to be set!’

‘But you won’t forget, will you?’ he insisted. ‘Because my mummy’s a—’

‘Yes, yes, yes… I think I’ve got the message on that one, Dominic.’ Megan smiled at his mother. ‘I’ve been told that I shall be flung into prison without a Get Out Of Jail Free card if I don’t let him watch one of my matches….’

‘Silly boy. I’ve told him a hundred times that I’m a corporate lawyer! And we shall have to discuss Dominic watching your football match, I’m afraid. We’re very busy over the Christmas period, and Nanny won’t be around for three days, so I shall be hard-pressed to spare the time to take him anywhere.’

Megan was busy feeling sorry for poor Nanny, who had clearly been inconsiderate enough to ask for time off over Christmas, when she was aware that they had been joined by someone. The elegant lawyer had stopped in mid-flow, and there actually was something of a smile on her face now as she looked past Megan to whoever was standing behind her.

‘Alessandro, darling. So good of you. I’m absolutely parched.’

Alessandro!

The name alone was sufficient to send Megan into a tailspin. Of course there was more than one Alessandro in the world! It was a common Italian name! It was just disconcerting to hear that name when she had been thinking about him only minutes earlier.

She turned around, and the unexpected rushed towards her like a freight train at full speed, taking her breath away. Because there he was. Alessandro Caretti. Her Alessandro. Standing in front of her. A spectre from the past. Seven years separated memory from reality, but he had remained the same. Still lean, still muscular, still staggeringly good-looking. Yes, a little older now, and his face was harsher, more forbidding, but this was the man who had haunted her dreams for so long and still cropped up in her thoughts like a virus lying dormant in her bloodstream—controlled, but never really going away.

She had never seen him in a suit before. Seven years ago he had worn jeans and sweatshirts. He was wearing a suit now, a charcoal-grey suit, and, yes, a white shirt—so some things must not have changed.

Megan could feel the blood rushing into her face, and it was a job to keep steady, to hold out her hand politely and wonder if he would even recognise her. Her hair was shorter now, but still as uncontrollable as it always had been. Everything else was the same.

She was shaking when she felt the brief touch of his hand as she was introduced.

What was he doing here? Was he Dominic’s father? But, no. From next to her she could hear that cut-glass accent saying something about her fiancé. He was engaged! Wearing a suit and engaged to the perfect woman he had foreseen all those years ago when he had broken up with her.

He didn’t appear to recognise her as he held out the glass of wine to his fiancée, eliminating her from the scene by half turning his back on her.

On the verge of flight, she was stopped by Dominic announcing yet again—this time to Alessandro—that Miss Reynolds would be taking him to a football match. At this, Alessandro focused his fabulous dark eyes on her and said, unsmilingly, ‘Isn’t that beyond the call of duty, Miss Reynolds?’

How can you not even recognise me? Megan wanted to yell. Had she been so forgettable? Didn’t he even recognise her name? Maybe he had met so many women over the years that faces and names had all become one great big blur.

‘It seemed the only way to persuade Dominic to be a tree.’ It was a miracle that her vocal cords managed to remain intact when everything else inside was going haywire. ‘And it’s not taking him to a football match. It would be to watch me playing football.’

‘You play football?’

His dark, sexy voice wrapped itself around her, threatening to strangle her ability to breathe.

‘One of my hobbies,’ Megan said, taking one protective step back. She dragged her eyes away from that mesmerising face and addressed his fiancée. ‘I hope you have a lovely Christmas, Mrs Park.’ She realised that she was still clutching the discarded sushi, which had seeped through the napkin and was now gluey against the tightly closed palm of her hand.

‘You’ll have to give my mother your phone number, Miss Reynolds, and your address. For the football match? You promised!’

Two steps further back and a brief nod. ‘Sure. I’ll leave it on a piece of paper on the front desk. Now, I really must dash…meet some of the other parents… Very nice to meet you…’

Her eyes flickered across to Alessandro, then away. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was sipping his wine, his eyes drifting in boredom across the room, indifferent to her babbling. An insignificant teacher. Why should he be interested in anything she had to say? He didn’t even remember who she was!

For the next hour Megan kept her distance from them, but time and again she found herself seeking him out in the crowd. He was always easy to spot. He dominated the room—and not just with his powerful physical presence. He looked as though he owned the space around him and only the special chosen few were invited in.

She should really have stayed to the end, until after all the parents had departed, because a few of the teachers were planning on going out for a drink, but with her nervous system in total meltdown she fetched her coat, scribbled the wretched phone number and address on a piece of paper, which she left on the front desk, and headed for the underground.

It was a sturdy walk from the school, away from the chaos of expensive cars bearing the little darlings back home. After a few minutes there was only the sound of her boots on the pavement and the usual delightful London noises. The distant thrum of traffic, the occasional high-pitched whine of a police siren, the muted voices of people passing her.

Hunched into her coat and with her head down, braced against the freezing wind, Megan only became aware of the car after it had stopped right in front of her—and she only became aware of it then because she nearly crashed into the passenger door, which had been flung open.

Two words. ‘Get in!’

Megan bent and peered into the car. She knew the driver of the car. Of course she did. She would have recognised that voice anywhere.

‘Drop dead.’ She slammed the door shut with such ferocity that she was surprised it didn’t fall off its hinges.

The cool walk had restored some of her sanity, and she had figured out why he hadn’t seen fit to say that they had met before. He was a successful city gent now, engaged to be married to his female counterpart. Why spoil the rosy picture by announcing any connection to a lowly teacher? Even before he had become successful—which he undoubtedly was, if the suit and the car were anything to go by—he had ditched her because she had been inappropriate to his long-term plans. How much more inappropriate would she be now?

The car cruised alongside her, its window now rolled down, and she heard him say with lazy intent, ‘You can either get in, or else I’ll pay you a little visit at your house. Your choice.’

Megan looked through the window. ‘What are you doing, Alessandro? I thought you didn’t recognise me.’