‘The story is just that—a figment of a journalist’s imagination,’ he told Tito. ‘If I ever decide to marry, you will be the first to know. But don’t hold your breath,’ he added sardonically.
His father immediately launched into a tirade about it being time Sergio packed in his playboy lifestyle, settled down with a nice Italian girl and, most importantly, produced an heir to continue the Castellano family line.
‘You already have an heir in your granddaughter.’ Sergio reminded his father of his brother Salvatore’s little daughter, Rosa.
‘Of course, but she cannot shoulder the responsibility of the company alone,’ Tito growled. ‘Salvatore is a widower and unlikely to have more children, and so I have to put all my hopes on you, Sergio.’
Sergio was aware of the unspoken message that he was a disappointment to Tito. But he would not pick a bride in the hope of winning the old man’s approval. It would be pointless anyway. They both knew he was not the favoured son. And he had no wish to marry. It amazed him that his father did not understand his attitude when Tito’s own marriage to Sergio’s mother had been a disaster that had ended in bitterness and hatred that had had lifelong consequences for him and his brother.
Dragging his mind from the dark place of his childhood, he jerked to his feet and moved away from the desk where Felicity was still artfully sprawled. He wondered why, despite her obvious charms, he didn’t feel a spark of interest in her. In truth, he was becoming bored of meaningless sex. But what other kind of sex was there? he brooded. He had no interest in relationships that demanded his emotional involvement. Work was his driving force, although deep down he acknowledged that his ruthless ambition was partly fuelled by a desire to prove to his father that he was as worthy a son as his twin brother.
In his leisure time, all he required from the women who shared his bed was physical gratification. So why had he been feeling restless lately? What was he searching for when he had everything he could possibly want?
‘I have demanded the paper prints an admission that the story is entirely untrue,’ he told Felicity. ‘I can only apologise for any embarrassment the article may have caused you. As you know, I am giving a party tonight to celebrate the completion of the business deal with your father. Members of the press have been invited, and I intend to make a statement to set the record straight about us.’
Felicity tilted her head and gave him a kittenish smile. ‘Or you could ravish me on your desk,’ she invited boldly. ‘And then, who knows—maybe it won’t be necessary for the newspaper to retract the story.’
Maybe he was old-fashioned but he preferred to do the chasing, Sergio thought as he strode across the room and held open the door. ‘An interesting proposition, but I’m afraid I must decline,’ he drawled.
The young Englishwoman flushed at his rejection and slid off the desk. ‘No wonder you’re known as the Ice-man,’ she muttered sulkily. ‘Everyone says you have a frozen heart.’
Sergio gave her a coolly amused smile that did not reach his eyes. ‘Everyone is right. But I have no intention of discussing my emotions, or lack of them, with you.’ He glanced at his watch and ushered Felicity out of his office. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.’
* * *
The décor of the Hotel Royale was unashamedly opulent. Clearly the new owners, the Castellano Group, had spared no expense on the refurbishments and it was easy to see why the hotel had been awarded five-star status. The clientele were as glamorous as the surroundings, and as Kristen walked through the marble lobby she was conscious that her businesslike black skirt and white blouse were definitely not haute couture. It didn’t help that her feet were killing her. She was ruing her decision to wear a pair of three-inch stilettos that had been an impulse buy and had sat unworn at the back of her wardrobe for months.