LITMIR.BIZ

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if he does just remember what I told you before: a brief affair is the best any woman can hope for from him.’

      Marnie’s words didn’t help, but at least they made Sophie face up to reality. Her first ever crush on a man and it had to be on Max Quintano—a much older, super-rich mining tycoon, and a womaniser by all accounts. Where had her brain been? He was as far out of her reach as the moon. Her mistake had been in mistaking a teenage crush for true love, she told herself flatly, and she had to get over it. At least she hadn’t slept with him….

      But somehow that thought gave her no comfort at all.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Seven years later

      ON SATURDAY afternoon Sophie parked her ancient car on the drive and, taking her suitcase from the back she breathed a sigh of relief as she entered her old home. Timothy, her brother, ran down the hall to meet her and, dropping her suitcase, she swept him up in her arms and kissed him.

      ‘Hello, darling,’ she said as she carried him into the elegant living room to find his mother and their father.

      Sophie looked at her stepmother, Margot, and then at her father. Immediately she sensed the tension in the atmosphere and wondered what was wrong.

      ‘Oh, good you have arrived,’ Margot said.

      No, Hello—how are you? Sophie thought dryly, and sat down on the sofa, still holding Tim.

      ‘I suppose we should be honoured you can spare the time to visit your brother with your jet-setting lifestyle. Where is it this time?’

      ‘Venice, for a three-day international conference on global resources. But I don’t have to leave until tomorrow night, so I have more than enough time to babysit this little man.’ Sophie hugged Timothy closer on her knee and added, ‘Why don’t you and Dad make a night of it and stay at the hotel until tomorrow? I don’t mind.’ That should put a smile on Margot’s face, she thought.

      Two hours later Sophie was sitting in the stainless steel kitchen of the house she had been born in, feeding Tim his favourite tea of fish fingers and mulling over how her life had changed.

      Five years ago, when she had graduated from university, Sophie had taken a year off to go backpacking around the world. On her return she had discovered that her father’s new secretary was also his pregnant girlfriend. Marriage had followed, and Meg the housekeeper had departed at Margot’s request—much to Sophie’s disgust. And four months later her adorable young brother had arrived.

      Sophie had been besotted with Tim ever since, and if she was honest he was the main reason she tended to go along with whatever Margot wanted. He was why she had agreed to Margot’s last-minute request for a babysitter so they could attend a glamorous charity ball at a top London hotel.

      Sophie glanced around the ultra-modern kitchen. The family home in Surrey had been totally renovated by Margot, and she barely recognised the interior any more. But at least, with the help of a small legacy from her mother, Sophie had her own apartment, overlooking the sea in Hove. The commute into London was not something she would like to do every day, but then she didn’t have to. She was a brilliant linguist, and her work as a freelance translator took her all over the world. She had built up an impressive list of corporate and private clients.

      She had spent the last eight weeks with a trade delegation, travelling around China, and before that six weeks working in South America. This weekend was the first time she had been home in months. It wasn’t that she disliked Margot—after all, she was only two years older than Sophie—in fact they should have had a lot in common, but unfortunately they didn’t. Margot was a social animal who loved the high life—the best restaurants and the right places to go and see and be seen. But to give her her due Margot, for all her love of society and designer clothes, was a good mother and would not leave Tim with anyone she didn’t know.

      Much as she loved her brother, it was with a sense of relief that Sophie left the next afternoon to catch her flight to Venice. She wasn’t imagining it—the atmosphere between her dad and Margot really had been no better when they’d returned at lunchtime than it had when they’d left the evening before. Something was not right in their relationship. But as long as it didn’t affect Tim, she wasn’t going to worry.

      She had enough to worry about going to Italy again for the first time in seven years. The very thought brought back a host of unwanted memories of her one and only love affair—and of what a complete and utter idiot she had been. She had fallen for Max Quintano like a ton of bricks, and when he had left the hotel in Sicily where she worked, she had been hurt. But when he had returned a week later she had fallen into his bed without a moment’s hesitation. After he had taken her innocence she had leapt at his proposal of marriage, and had even agreed to keep it a secret until he could meet her father.

      For all of two days she had been deliriously happy—that was until she had discovered the kind of open marriage he had in mind….

      A cynical smile twisted her lush lips. Still, she had learnt a valuable lesson from the experience—men were not to be trusted. That lesson had been reinforced over the years as she’d seen how a lot of them behaved as soon as they arrived at a conference well away from wife and family. Sophie had lost count of the number of times married men had hit on her, and she had developed an icy stare and a cool put-down to perfection.

      The following Tuesday evening Sophie walked into the ballroom of a top Venetian hotel on the arm of Abe Asamov. Abe was a fifty-something, barrel-chested and bald-headed Russian who barely reached her shoulder. She had been delighted to see him arrive at the hotel this morning, for the second day of the conference, because his was a friendly face amongst a sea of strangers.

      Abe was witty, and took great delight in fostering a ruthless reputation. Only Sophie knew he was devoted to his wife and family. In her last year at university she had spent her summer vacation in Russia, teaching his four grandchildren English.

      When Abe had asked her to be his partner at this gala dinner-dance, she had agreed. The company she was temporarily contracted to had been overjoyed, because Abe Asamov was a billionaire oilman and owned a great deal of Russia’s resources. Sophie wasn’t sure she believed Abe’s claim that he spoke only Russian, but she didn’t care because she was glad of his company.

      ‘You realise, Sophie, that they will all think you are my lady-friend.’ Abe said in his native Russian, grinning up at her as the waiter showed them to their table. ‘No ordinary man could look at a beautiful blonde like you and imagine you have a brain.’ He chuckled. ‘I think I will enjoy fooling people tonight.’

      ‘Watch it, Abe.’ She grinned, knowing he was no threat to her. ‘Remember you are a married man—and if that was meant to be a compliment it was a bit of a backhanded one.’

      ‘You sound just like my wife.’ Abe grinned back, and they both laughed as they took their seats.

      Seated comfortably and with a glass of champagne in her hand, Sophie glanced around the room, taking in the other guests there that evening. Many she knew through her work. There was the ambassador, Peter, and his wife Helen, and next to them a couple who worked for the Italian government—Aldo and his wife Tina. There were also two Spanish men—Felipe and Cesare—whom Sophie was seated next to. Very pleasant company, she decided, and, taking a sip of her drink, she began to relax and look at her surroundings.

      The dinner tables were set around a small dance floor, and at one end on a raised dais a jazz band played background music. The evening was a glittering showcase of the powerful elite of Europe. The men looked immaculate in dinner suits, and the women were dressed in designer gowns and jewels worth millions. But Sophie did not feel intimidated. Over the years she had worked and mingled with some of the richest people from all around the world—even crowned heads of countries. As a result, she had acquired the social skills and sophistication needed in such company.

      At home, jeans and a sweater were her favoured form of dress, but she had amassed what she called her ‘business wardrobe’. The black satin Dior gown she wore tonight was one of her favourites,

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