News
The Vasquez Baby
She sat straight as a warrior on the horse, her hair gleaming like liquid gold under the baking Argentine sun.
When he’d first noticed her in the distance his reaction had been one of irritation, partly because the horse had been galloping hard in the ferocious heat, but mostly because he’d been seeking solitude, not company. And if there was one thing that the Argentine pampas offered in abundance it was the opportunity for solitude.
Endless grassland stretched far into the distance, the horizon so perfectly straight and flat that it might have been drawn with a ruler.
Irritation had turned to concern as horse and rider had drawn closer and he’d recognised the animal she was riding.
He felt a flash of anger towards whomever had allowed her to take that particular horse out alone and made a mental note to find the culprit. And then anger faded to slow, simmering masculine appraisal as he scanned the delicate lines of her features.
He had spent his life surrounded by exceptionally beautiful women, all of them more groomed than this girl, and yet he couldn’t drag his eyes away from her face. She was fair-skinned and delicate, her body a mouth-watering combination of slender limbs and perfect curves. It was as if she’d been created by the gods and thrown onto Earth for the simple purpose of tempting man.
Her creamy skin and flushed cheeks gave her an air of innocence and he gave a wry smile, surprised that he was even capable of recognising that particular quality given how rarely he’d met with it before.
In fact his cynicism was so deep-rooted that his first thought when he’d noticed her on the horizon had been to assume that she’d somehow tracked him down and followedhim. But he’d dismissed that possibility instantly, knowing that her presence could only be coincidence.
A happy coincidence, he thought idly, his eyes resting on her soft mouth. A very happy coincidence indeed.
The horse flattened his ears, arched his back and gave a ferocious buck that should have unseated her.
Faith gritted her teeth and managed to stay glued to the saddle. ‘You really are in a horrible mood today, Fuego. It’s no wonder everyone is afraid of you,’ she muttered. ‘I’m not falling off here. We’re miles from home. Wherever you go, I go and the sooner you realise that the better for both of us.’
The heat was stifling and she reached for her bottle of water and then froze as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head, the breath jamming in her throat as she saw a man watching her.
She’d been concentrating so hard on not falling off the horse, that she hadn’t noticed him.
But she noticed him now.
He was the most staggeringly handsome man she’d ever met and since she’d arrived in Argentina, she’d met quite a few. His body was lean and hard, his shoulders broad and powerful but what really disrupted the steady rhythm of her heart was the sheer raw sexuality that surrounded him like a forcefield.
‘You’re staring, signorina.’ His deep, male voice trickled through her veins like a drug and her limbs weakened.
Her horse, sensing a lack of concentration on her part, chose that moment to give another determined buck and Faith flew into the air and landed on her bottom in the dust.
‘For crying out loud!’ Pain shot through her and she sat for a moment, working out whether anything was broken. ‘That horse needs a psychiatrist.’
A pair of strong male hands closed around her waist and lifted her easily to her feet. ‘He needs a male rider.’ His eyes blazed fiercely into hers and she felt her heart stumble and trip.
‘There’s nothing wrong with my riding. It’s your fault for jumping out on me with no warning ’ Her voice tailed off because the sudden narrowing of his beautiful, sexy eyes drove all thoughts from her head.
‘I assumed you’d seen me. The Argentine grassland hardly offers a large number of hiding places.’
‘I was concentrating on my horse.’
‘You were riding too fast.’
‘Tell that to the horse, not me. I suppose that’s why they called him Fuego—my Spanish isn’t great, but I know it means “fire”.’ Faith dragged her gaze away from his handsome face in the hope that not looking at him might help her slow the crazy beating of her heart. ‘I didn’t choose the pace. With that particular horse, you always get more than you bargain for.’ What was the matter with her? She felt lightheaded and dizzy and her body felt alarmingly lethargic.
It was the heat, she told herself quickly. Just the relentless, baking heat that turned the entire landscape into a throbbing, sultry outdoor sauna.
‘You are staying at the Estancia La Lucia?’ He glanced behind him even though the elegant colonial house was over an hour away. ‘You shouldn’t be riding alone. What happened to the rest of your party? You should have a groom with you.’
‘Oh, please.’ Baking hot from the relentless sunshine and aching from her fall, Faith shot him a warning look. ‘I’m just not in the mood for all that macho Argentine-man thing. Not right now.’
He lifted an eyebrow in silent mockery. ‘Argentine-man thing?’
‘You know what I mean.’ She rubbed at the dirt on her breeches. ‘The mega-macho approach. The “sling a woman over your shoulder” method of communication.’
‘Interesting description.’ His eyes laughed into hers. ‘This is South America, cariño. Men know how to be men.’
‘I’d noticed. Ever since I stepped off the aeroplane I’ve been surrounded by so much testosterone that it’s driving me mad.’
‘Welcome to Argentina.’ There was gentle mockery in his sexy, accented drawl and suddenly she felt impossibly awkward and shy and her reaction to him infuriated her because she’d always thought of herself as a confident person.
‘Do you work here?’
His hesitation was so brief she decided that she must have imagined it. ‘Yes.’
‘Lucky you.’ She assumed he must be one of the gauchos, the cowboys who worked with the nine-hundred head of cattle that grazed this land. Dragging her eyes away from his, she wondered why this particular man was having such an effect on her. Yes, he was good-looking but so were many of the men she’d met since she’d arrived in South America.
But there was something about him
‘Your English is amazing.’
‘That’s because I sometimes talk to women before I throw them over my shoulder.’ He studied her for a long disturbing moment, a powerful, confident male totally at home in his surroundings. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered there, as if he were making up his mind about something.
The heat went from oppressive to unbearable and the chemistry between them was so shockingly intense that she actually felt herself sway towards him in anticipation.
She desperately wanted him to kiss her and the strength of that need shocked her because she’d been pushing men away since the day she’d arrived at Buenos Aires. She was here to work, study and learn, not to meet a man. But suddenly her lips were tingling with anticipation and she found herself trapped by the lazy, knowing expression in his dangerously attractive eyes. It was as if he was savouring the moment and she knew that he’d read her thoughts. Her sense of anticipation exploded into an all-consuming sexual excitement that she’d never before experienced.
She waited breathlessly, knowing that she was poised on the brink of something wickedly exciting and sensing that this man was going to change her life for ever.
But instead of kissing her he gave a slow, expressive smile and turned his attention to her horse. ‘Your horse needs a drink.’
Released from the force of his gaze, Faith felt her entire body go limp and her face flood with colour. ‘My horse needs a lot of things.’
What had happened just then?
Had she imagined the connection between them? Had it all been in her head?
Her eyes slid to his broad shoulders and the long, lean length of his strong legs as he led her horse to the river.
No, she hadn’t imagined it. But this was no teenage boy eager for a quick grope and instant satisfaction; she was dealing with someone else entirely. He was all man, from the glossy black hair and darkened jaw to the powerful muscle that hardened his unmistakably male physique. He was cool, sophisticated and experienced and her stomach curled inside her because he carried himself with such confidence and she knew, she just knew, that he was playing with her.
Feeling as though the temperature had just shot up by a hundred degrees, Faith glared at his broad back and then bit her lip, wishing she could get rid of the agonising sizzle that was burning inside her.
Angry with herself and with him, she lifted her chin and strolled towards him, determined not to let him see how much he’d affected her.
‘I need to be getting back.’ She took Fuego’s reins and vaulted into the saddle, taking some satisfaction from the way the man’s eyes lingered on her slim thighs.
She hadn’t imagined the chemistry. The searing attraction wasn’t all on her side.
‘Wait.’ He closed a hand over Fuego’s reins, preventing the horse from moving. ‘You say that you work at the estancia. In what capacity? Do you work in the guest quarters?’
‘You’re showing your prejudices again.’ Agonisingly aware of him, she rubbed a hand over the horse’s neck to focus herself. All the Argentine men I’ve met so far seem to think that a woman’s place is in the—’ She stopped herself just in time, but he lifted an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with wicked humour.
‘You were saying? We Argentine men think a woman’s place is in the ?’
He was so desperately attractive that for a moment she couldn’t speak and she certainly didn’t want to finish her sentence. It would draw the conversation towards an extremely dangerous area that she knew was best avoided. ‘Kitchen,’ she said lamely. ‘Kitchen.’
His smile deepened. ‘Kitchen? If that’s what you think then you obviously haven’t yet deciphered the workings of the average male mind here in South America.’
That smile connected straight to her nerve endings and she was infuriated with herself for being so susceptible to his charm and masculinity.
‘The average male mind is of absolutely no interest to me,’ she said sweetly, ‘unless the mind belongs to a horse.’
‘Is that what brought you to Argentina? Our horses?’
Faith glanced around her, at the endless sweep of grassland that surrounded them. ‘I came because I read about Raul Vásquez.’
The man stilled. ‘You travelled thousands of miles to meet Raul Vásquez?’ There was a coolness to his tone that had been absent before. ‘You are hoping to catch yourself a billionaire, perhaps?’
Faith gazed at him in astonishment and then burst out laughing. ‘No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Billionaire polo-patrons aren’t exactly my style, and anyway, I’ve never even met the man. He’s off in the States at the moment, negotiating some high-flying deal or other and he employs thousands of people. I don’t expect our paths are ever going to cross.’
He studied her with disturbing intensity. ‘And that would disappoint you?’
‘You misunderstand me. I’m not interested in the man, but I am interested in his polo estancia. That’s why I’m here. Raul Vásquez breeds horses and trains them and his vet facilities are the best in the world. I read a paper in a journal written by Eduardo, his chief vet. I contacted him. Landing a job here is my dream come true.’
‘Eduardo employed you?’ That statement was greeted by incredulous silence. ‘You’re a vet?’
‘Yes, I’m a vet.’ Watching the frank astonishment in his eyes, Faith gritted her teeth. ‘Welcome to the twenty-first century. Women do become vets, you know. Some of us can even walk and talk at the same time, although news of that accomplishment clearly hasn’t yet reached South America.’
‘I’m aware that some women become vets,’ he said smoothly, ‘But this is a busy, commercial stud-farm, not some small-animal practice in the city.’
‘I wasn’t interested in a small-animal practice. For me it’s always been about horses.’
His gaze slid to her arms and lingered. ‘I don’t doubt your commitment or your enthusiasm, but sometimes physical strength is required, especially out here in the pampas where we deal with powerful stallions and hormonal mares.’
Her heart rate suddenly doubled. ‘Here we go again. You think it’s all about muscle, aggression and domination, but what you need to realise is that there’s more to horsemanship than brute strength. And Raul Vásquez understands that. He has some revolutionary training methods.’
‘I’m fully aware of his training methods. Answer me one question ’ His tone was soft and deadly and his gaze returned to her face. ‘Who was in charge when you were galloping across the pampas with the wind in your hair? You or the horse?’
‘Oh, the horse,’ Faith admitted, her eyes sparkling with humour. ‘But brute force wouldn’t have changed that fact.’
‘He needs to be ridden by a man. A man with sufficient skill and strength to control him.’
Faith came back at him instantly. ‘He needs to be understood. If you want to change behaviour, then you have to first try and understand the reason behind that behaviour. Horses do things for a reason, just like humans.’
She’d spent her life studying and all her spare time around horses. No man had ever captured her attention.
Until now.
His confidence and sophistication tied her in knots and she felt horribly self-conscious and more than a little confused by her own reaction.
She would never in a million years have described herself as shy, but suddenly she was agonisingly aware of her own naivety when it came to men like him.
‘I’d better be going. I have to ride back and ’ Her voice tailed off and she wondered whether he was going to stop her.
But he didn’t.
He let his hand drop from Fuego’s bridle and stepped away. ‘Ride carefully,’ he said softly and she gave a puzzled smile because she’d been so, so sure that he was going to stop her or at least suggest that they meet again.
And she’d wanted him to.
She’d really wanted him to.
The Vásquez Polo Cup was an important annual part of the Argentine polo circuit and it was the most glittering, glamorous affair Faith had ever attended.
She was only there in her official capacity as a vet of course, but she couldn’t help glancing towards the spectators who were gathering in the stands. ‘How come the women are all so stunning?’ she wondered out loud. ‘And how do they achieve such straight hair? In this heat my hair just curls.’
The Rebel Doctor’s Bride
‘The waiting room is packed and you’ve had five requests for home visits.’ Flora handed Logan a prescription to sign, thinking that he looked more tired than ever. ‘Given that they were all mobile and none of their complaints sounded life-threatening, Janet’s managed to persuade them all to come to the surgery because it just isn’t practical for you to go dashing around the island at the moment when you’re running this practice on your own. What happens if we have a genuine emergency? You can’t be in five places at once. We can’t carry on like this, Logan. You can’t carry on like this. You’re going to drop.’
Logan looked at the prescription. ‘Gentacin ear drops?’
‘Pam King has an infection. She has her ears syringed regularly, but this time the whole of the canal is looking inflamed. There didn’t seem any point in adding her to your already buckling list. I’ve taken off half your patients and if I can sort them out, I will. Otherwise I’ll have to push them back through to you.’
‘You, Flora Harris, are a miracle.’ Logan signed the prescription. ‘And persuading you to come back here as my practice nurse was the best thing I ever did. When Kyla and Ethan left, I couldn’t imagine how we were going to cope. I lost nurse and doctor in one fell swoop.’
‘Well, I’ve only solved one half of your problem. You still need to find a doctor to replace Ethan. Any progress?’
‘I think so.’
‘Seriously?’ Flora picked the prescription up from his desk. ‘You’ve found someone?’
‘Ask me again at lunchtime. I’m expecting someone on the morning ferry.’
‘Oh, that’s fantastic.’Relieved, Flora relaxed slightly. ‘Is he or she good? Well qualified?’
‘It’s a he.’ Logan turned back to his computer. ‘And, yes, he’s extremely well qualified.’
Flora stared at him expectantly. ‘And ?’
‘And what?’
‘Aren’t you going to tell me any more?’
‘No.’He tapped a few keys and frowned at the screen. ‘How are you finding Glenmore, Flora? I haven’t really had a chance to ask you and you’ve already been here for a month. Everything going all right? Have you settled into Evanna’s cottage?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Hadn’t they been discussing the new doctor? Why were they suddenly on the subject of her cottage? Why was he changing the subject? ‘Evanna’s cottage is beautiful. I love it.’ It was true. She’d never imagined she’d live anywhere so pretty. ‘You can see the sea from the bed ’ she blushed ‘ but, of course, you already know that, given that the two of you are married. I’m sure you spent plenty of time in her cottage.’
‘Actually, we didn’t.’ Logan glanced at her, amused. ‘We usually stayed at mine because there was more room. Are you finding the work very different from the practice in Edinburgh?’
‘Not really, but everything takes four times as long because this is Glenmore and people like to chat.’Flora gave a helpless shrug. ‘I always seem to be running late.’
‘You need to cut them off when they gossip.’ Logan turned his attention back to the computer screen, searching for something. ‘That’s what the rest of us do.’
‘I haven’t worked out how to do that without appearing rude. I don’t want to offend them. They’re all so nice and they mean well.’ Flora picked up the prescription and moved towards the door. ‘Anyway, I’d better let you carry on. At this rate you’ll still be here at midnight. And so will I.’
As she left the room and returned to her own consulting room she suddenly remembered that Logan hadn’t given her any more clues as to the identity of the new doctor. On an island where no one kept a secret, Logan appeared to have one. Why? What possible reason could he have for being so cloak and dagger about the whole thing?
Who exactly had he appointed?
Conner parked the motorbike and dragged the helmet from his head. The rain had stopped and the sun fought a battle with the clouds, as if to remind him that the weather on Glenmore Island was as unpredictable as ever.
It was July and still the wind blew.
That same wind had almost landed him in jail at the age of sixteen.
Tucking his helmet under his arm, he strolled into the surgery. Nice job, Logan, he thought to himself as he took in his surroundings in one casual glance. Sleek, clean lines and plenty of light. Despite the early hour, the waiting room was already crowded with patients and he saw heads turn and eyes widen as he passed.
Without adjusting his pace, he ignored the reception desk and made for the first consulting room. As he approached the door a patient walked out, clutching a prescription in her hand. She took one look at him and stopped dead, her open mouth reminding him of a baby bird waiting to be fed.
‘Conner MacNeil.’ Her voice trailed off in a strangled squeak and he lifted an eyebrow, a sardonic expression in his eyes as he observed her mounting discomfort.
If he’d been in any doubt as to the islanders’ reaction to his return, that doubt had now gone.
‘Mrs Graham.’ He was cool and polite, his neutral tone a direct contrast to her shock and consternation. He moved past her, knowing that he should cut short the encounter, but he couldn’t quite help himself and he turned, the devil dancing in his eyes. ‘I hope your beautiful garden is thriving. If I remember correctly, it’s always at its best in July.’
Her soft gasp of outrage made it obvious that her memories of their last meeting were as clear as his and a smile played around his hard mouth as he walked into the consulting room without bothering to knock.
Mrs Graham’s garden.
He still remembered the girl
He pushed the door shut with the flat of his hand and the man at the desk looked up.
‘Conner.’ Logan rose to his feet, welcome in his eyes as he stretched out his hand. ‘It’s been too long.’
‘Not long enough for some,’Conner murmured, thinking of Mrs Graham who, he was sure, at that precise moment was still glaring angrily at the closed door. ‘Prepare yourself for a riot. The locals will be arming themselves any minute now.’ He shook the hand of the man who had been part of his boyhood.
‘Kate Graham recognised you, then? I seem to recall that you were stark naked the last time she saw you.’
The devil was back in Conner’s eyes. ‘Mrs Graham had extremely tall delphiniums in her border,’ he recalled. ‘She only saw my face.’
Logan laughed out loud. ‘You have no idea how pleased I am to see you. You’re looking good, Conner.’
‘I wish I could return the compliment.’Conner’s dark brows drew together in a frown as he studied his cousin, taking in the faint shadows and the lines of strain. ‘You’ve looked better.
Island life obviously doesn’t suit you. You need to leave this backwater and find yourself a proper job.’ But his tone was light because he knew that the medical care that his cousin delivered on this remote Scottish island was of exceptional quality.
‘There’s nothing wrong with island life, just the lack of medical staff. To run this place effectively we need two doctors and two nurses.’ Logan rubbed his fingers over his forehead. ‘It’s been tough since Kyla and Ethan left. I lost a doctor and a nurse in one blow.’
Conner thought about his cousin. ‘I never thought Kyla would leave this place.’
‘She married an Englishman with itchy feet.’
‘There’s treatment for that.’
‘Yeah.’ Logan grinned. ‘Anyway, it’s only temporary and
I’ve replaced Kyla. Now you’re here, so we’re back on track.’
‘If I were you, I’d postpone the celebrations until the whole island gets wind of your little plan. The jungle drums will start beating soon.’
‘They’re already beating.’ Logan picked up his coffee-mug and then realised that it was empty and put it down again. ‘My phone has been ringing and you’ve only been on the island for twenty minutes. You certainly know how to make a lasting impression, Conner MacNeil. What exactly did you do on that ferry?’
‘Travelled on it. Apparently that was more than enough.’ Conner stretched his legs out in front of him and put his helmet down on the floor. ‘There’s going to be a rebellion. If looks could kill, I’d be in your mortuary right now, not your consulting room. The natives will probably return to their roots and take up arms to defend themselves from the unwelcome invader. They’re preparing themselves for rape and pillage.’
‘Ignore them. You know what the islanders are like.’ Logan reached for a pack of papers. ‘They don’t like change. Can you read this lot quickly and sign? Just a formality.’
‘And you know how much I love formality,’ Connor drawled softly, but he leaned forward to take the papers, grimacing when he saw the thickness of the documentation. ‘Life’s too short to wade through that much bureaucracy. What does it say? Conner MacNeil must not steal, destroy property or otherwise harass the citizens of Glenmore?’
‘All that and the fact that all single women under the age of thirty are now considered to be in danger.’ Logan’s eyes gleamed as he handed his cousin a pen. ‘The men of the island are locking up their wives and daughters as we speak and Mrs Graham is probably shovelling fertiliser on her delphiniums to increase their height and preserve her modesty and yours. Sign the back page.’
‘Single women under the age of thirty? Why thirty? That doesn’t give me nearly enough scope. I’ve always preferred experience to innocence.’ Conner flipped straight to the back of the sheaf of papers and signed with a casual flourish.
Logan lifted an eyebrow. ‘Aren’t you going to bother to read what you just signed?’
‘I’m presuming it’s a load of rules and regulations.’
‘And knowing that, you’re prepared to sign? I thought you hated rules and regulations.’
‘I do, but I trust you and I admire what you’ve built here on Glenmore.’ Conner handed the papers back to Logan, a faint smile on his mouth. ‘I promise to do my best for your patients. I’m not promising that I won’t bend the rules a little if it proves to be necessary.’
Logan reached for an envelope. ‘I bend them all the time. It’s the only way to get things done. It’s good to have you here, Conner.’
‘I don’t think everyone is going to agree with you. Judging from the shock on the faces I’ve seen so far, you didn’t warn them in advance.’
‘Do I look stupid?’ Logan slipped the papers into the envelope and dropped it into the tray on his desk. ‘I was waiting until you showed up.’
‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’
‘Reliability isn’t your middle name. I wasn’t sure you’d actually do this when the time came.’
Connor gave a humourless laugh. ‘Then that makes two of us.’
‘But you did, so now I can break the happy news to the inhabitants of Glenmore. How have you been? Tell me, honestly.’ Logan hesitated. ‘It must have been hard ’
‘Coming back? Why would you say that?’ Conner was surprised to find that his voice sounded so harsh. ‘You know how much I love this place.’
Ignoring the sarcasm, Logan watched him steadily. ‘Actually, I was talking about leaving the army.’
The army?
Conner realised that since he’d stepped off the ferry, he’d given no thought to the life he’d just left. All he could think about was Glenmore and how it felt to be back. The bad memories poured into him like some dark, insidious disease, gradually taking possession of his mind. ‘Leaving the army isn’t my problem at the moment.’ he growled. ‘And, anyway, I don’t believe in living in the past when there’s a perfectly good future to be getting on with.’
‘Are you going to sell the house?’
‘You get straight to the point, don’t you?’ Conner rose to his feet and paced across the room, keeping his back to his cousin as he rode the pain. ‘Yes.’ He turned, his eyes fierce. ‘Why would I keep it?’
‘So that you have a place on Glenmore?’
‘If I’d wanted that,’ Conner said softly, ‘why would I be renting your barn?’
‘Good point.’ Logan gave him a sympathetic look. ‘This must be hard for you, I know.’
‘Nowhere near as hard as it’s going to be for the locals.’ Conner studied a picture on the wall. ‘They’re going to think that you’ve lost your mind, appointing me as the locum.’
‘They’d be less shocked if you told them the truth about what you’ve been doing since you stormed off Glenmore all those years ago.’
‘Island gossip has never interested me.’
‘You sound like Flora. Her clinics are taking twice as long as they should because she doesn’t like to interrupt people when they’re chatting.’
‘Flora?’
‘My practice nurse. She replaced Kyla.’
‘Flora Harris?’ Conner turned, the pain inside him under control. ‘Daughter of Ian Harris, our island solicitor? Niece of our esteemed headmistresses?’
Cloudy dark hair, soft brown eyes, an impossibly shy and awkward teenager, and as innocent as the dawn
Logan’s eyes narrowed. ‘You didn’t ever ’
‘Fortunately for her, there were enough wild teenage girls on the island who were more than happy to experiment, without me having to corrupt the saintly Flora. Anyway, she didn’t take her nose out of a book for long enough to discover the existence of sex.’
‘She isn’t saintly. Just shy.’
‘Maybe. But definitely not the sort of girl who would skip classes in favour of a practical session on human reproduction.’ Conner rolled his shoulders to ease the tension. ‘I’m not surprised she’s a nurse. It would have been that or a librarian. Does she know I’m the new doctor?’
‘Not yet.’
‘She won’t approve.’
‘Even if she doesn’t, she would never say so. Flora is sweet, kind and incredibly civilised.’
‘Whereas I’m sharp, unkind and incredibly uncivilised. I’m willing to bet that the first thing she does, when she finds out about me, is remind you that I blew up the science lab.’
‘I’d forgotten about that.’ Momentarily distracted, Logan narrowed his eyes. ‘What did you use—potassium?’
‘Too dangerous. They didn’t keep it at school.’ Restless, Conner paced across the room again and scanned the row of textbooks on the shelf. ‘But they did keep sodium. That was good enough.’
‘It should have been in a locked cupboard.’
‘It was.’
Logan laughed. ‘I’m amazed you weren’t expelled.’
‘Me, too. Very frustrating, given how hard I applied myself to the task.’ Conner suppressed a yawn. ‘So I’m going to be working with Flora. The excitement of this place increases by the minute.’
‘She’s a brilliant nurse. She was working in Edinburgh until last month but we persuaded her to come back. And now you’ve joined us. I’ve been thinking—we should tell the islanders what you’ve been doing with your life.’
‘It’s none of their business.’
Logan sighed. ‘I don’t see why you’re so reluctant to let people know that you’re a good guy.’
‘Who says I’m a good guy? If you wanted a good guy for the job then you’ve appointed the wrong man.’ Conner turned, a ghost of a smile on his face.
Bought: The Greek’s Innocent Virgin
‘I’ve found her, Angelos. And she’s a goddess.’
Hearing the sound of his father’s voice, Angelos Zouvelekis interrupted his conversation with the Greek ambassador to France and turned. ‘Found who?’ The fact that his father had made an effort to come tonight was a good sign. A few months ago he had been a broken man, unwilling to leave his isolated villa after his second painful divorce in six years.
‘The perfect woman for you.’ His father shook his head in disbelief, but the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘Sometimes I wonder if you’re really my son. This place is full of gorgeous, beautiful women and what do you do? You talk to boring men in suits. Where did I go wrong with you?’
Seeing the surprise in the ambassador’s eyes, Angelos smoothly excused himself and drew his father to one side. ‘For me, tonight is about business. I hold this ball every year. The purpose is to part the rich and famous from their money.’
‘Business, business, business.’Visibly exasperated, his father raised his hands in despair. ‘Does business keep you warm at night? Does it cook you dinner? Does it raise your children? Always with you it is business, Angelos, and already you are a billionaire! You have enough money! You don’t need any more money! What you need is a good woman!’
Several heads turned in their direction, but Angelos simply laughed. ‘Tonight I’m not making money. I’m giving it away. And you’re shocking everyone. Behave yourself,’he said mildly, ‘or I’ll tell Security to remove you from the building.’ But it had been such a long time since his father had summoned sufficient energy to nag him about marriage that he felt nothing but relief. ‘And I don’t needyou to find me a woman.’
‘Why? Do you find one on your own? No, you don’t. Not a proper one. You spend your time with women who would not make suitable wives.’
‘That’s why I pick them,’ Angelos murmured, but his father frowned his disapproval, dismissing his comment with another wave of his hand.
‘I know who you pick! The whole world knows who you pick, Angelos, because the stories are in every newspaper. One week it is a Savannah, the next it is a Gisella—never the same woman for more than a few weeks, and always they are thin, thin, thin.’ His Greek accent thickening his words, Costas Zouvelekis made a disparaging noise. ‘How can you be happy with a woman who doesn’t enjoy her food? Does a woman like that cook for you? No. Does she enjoy life? No, of course not. How can a woman enjoy life when she is starving hungry? The women you pick have the legs and the hair, and they are like athletes in the bedroom, but would they care for your children? No. Would they—?’
‘I don’t need a woman to cook. I have staff for that purpose.’ Angelos wondered briefly whether inviting his father to this particular function might have been a mistake after all. ‘And I don’t have any children for a woman to care for.’
His father gave a snort of exasperation. ‘I know you don’t, and I want you to have children. That is the point I am making! You are thirty-four years old and how many times have you been married? None. I am sixty-three and how many times have I been married? Three. It is time you started catching up, Angelos. Make me a grandfather!’
‘Ariadne has already made you a grandfather twice.’
‘That’s different. She’s my daughter and you are my son. I want to hold the sons of my son in my arms.’
‘I’ll get married when I find the right woman, not before.’ Angelos drew his father onto the balcony that circled the ballroom and refrained from pointing out that his father’s last two attempts at marriage had created emotional and financial devastation.
There was no way he was making that mistake.
‘You won’t find the right woman by dating the wrong ones! And what are we doing in Paris? Why can’t you hold this ball in Athens? What is wrong with Athens?’
‘The world is bigger than Greece.’Angelos suppressed a yawn as the conversation shifted onto another familiar topic. ‘I conduct business all over the globe.’
‘And I never understand why! Did I have to leave Greece to make my first million? No!’ Costas peered into the ballroom. ‘Where has she gone? I can’t see her.’
Angelos raised his eyebrows in question. ‘Who are you looking for?’
‘The goddess with the body. She was perfect. And now she has disappeared. She was all eyes and curves and soft-looking. Now, that girl would make a good mother. I can imagine her with your children snuggled on her lap and a moussaka cooling on your table.’
Angelos glanced at his father with amusement. ‘I suggest you don’t tell her that. These days it is heresy to make that sort of comment to a woman. They invariably have rather different aspirations.’
‘The women you pick have different aspirations.’ His father’s voice was fierce as he searched the room with his eyes. ‘Believe me, this one was built to be a mother. If you don’t want her, then I might be interested myself.’
All trace of amusement left him, and Angelos inhaled sharply.
‘Not again!’ Didn’t his father ever learn? ‘Promise me that this time you’ll just take her to bed. Don’t marry her,’ he advised, taking a glass of orange juice from a passing waiter and swapping it for the glass of champagne in his father’s hand.
‘You only think about bed and sex, but I have more respect for women than that.’
‘You need to develop a more cynical approach to the opposite sex,’ Angelos advised. ‘What respect did Tara show you when she left you after six months, taking with her enough money to keep her going for life?’
His father’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the stem of the glass. ‘We both made a mistake.’
Mistake? Angelos ground his teeth. He was sure that as far as Tara was concerned the marriage had been a resounding success. She was now an extremely rich young woman.
His father deflated before his eyes, his vulnerability exposed. ‘She was very mixed up. She didn’t know what she wanted.’
‘She knew exactly what she wanted—’ Angelos broke off, trapped between the option of upsetting his father still further by highlighting the ruthless efficiency of Tara’s campaign, or of letting the subject drop and risking the possibility that, even after two such divorces, his trusting father still hadn’t learned the lessons that needed to be learned.
Costas sighed. ‘A relationship should be about love and caring.’
Angelos winced at this sentimental and dangerous observation and made a mental note to instruct his security team to screen all women showing the slightest interest in his father in order to protect him from further unscrupulous individuals. ‘Didn’t your last two marriages teach you anything about women?’
‘Yes. They taught me that you can’t trust a thin one.’ Costas regained some of his spirit. ‘They want to be size zero—but why is it called that? Because they are zero use to anyone! They are too thin and hungry to live the life a woman is supposed to live. Next time I marry she will be a proper shape.’
‘After everything that has happened over the past six years, you still believe that love exists?’
His father’s face fell. ‘I was in love with your mother for forty years. Of course I believe that love exists.’
Cursing himself for his lack of tact, Angelos put a hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘You should stop trying to replace her,’ he said roughly. ‘What you had was rare.’ So rare that he’d given up hope of finding it himself. And he wasn’t willing to risk settling for anything less.
‘I will find it again.’
Not before it had cost the family a fortune in divorce settlements and mental anguish.
Frustrated by his father’s misguided optimism about the female sex, Angelos ran a hand over the back of his neck. ‘Stay single. It’s less complicated.’
‘I’m not staying single. I hate being single. It isn’t natural for a man to be single. And you shouldn’t be single, either.’
Seeing that his father was about to launch into another lecture in favour of the curvaceous woman, Angelos decided that the conversation had gone on long enough. ‘You don’t need to worry about me. I’m seeing a woman.’ It wasn’t the relationship that his father was hoping for, but he didn’t need to know that.
His father scowled at him suspiciously. ‘Is she a proper shape?’
‘She is a perfect shape,’ Angelos drawled, thinking of the A list Hollywood actress who had spent two extremely exciting nights in his bed the week before. Would he be seeing her again? Possibly. She had the legs and the hair and she was definitely an athlete in the bedroom. Was he interested in marrying her? Absolutely not. They would bore each other to death within a month, let alone a lifetime.
But hope was already lighting his father’s eyes. ‘And when will I meet her? You never introduce me to your girlfriends.’
With good reason. Introducing a woman to his father would deliver the exact message he was so careful never to send. ‘When a woman is important to me, you will meet her,’ Angelos said smoothly. ‘And now I want to introduce you to Nicole. She’s my Director of Public Affairs here in Paris, and she definitely loves food. I know you’ll have plenty to say to one another.’He guided his father towards the reliable Nicole, made the necessary introductions, and then turned back to the ballroom to continue networking.
And stopped dead, his attention caught by the woman directly in front of him.
She walked as though she owned the place, with a gentle swing of her hips and a faint smile on her glossy mouth, as if something or someone had amused her. Her blonde hair was piled on her head and her vivid red dress provided a dazzling splash of colour amidst the predictable boring black. She looked like an exotic rainforest bird let loose among a flock of crows.
Instantly forgetting the Hollywood actress, Angelos watched her for a moment and then gave a slow, satisfied smile of his own. His father would be pleased on two counts, he thought, as he moved purposefully towards the unknown woman. Firstly because he was about to stop thinking about business and turn his attentions to the pursuit of pleasure, and secondly because the source of that pleasure definitely, very definitely, had curves.
Not that he required her to perform the various domestic functions that his father had listed. Despite his father’s obvious concerns for him, he wasn’t interested in a woman’s capacity to cook, clean or raise his children. At this point in his life all he expected from a woman was entertainment, and she looked as though she’d been designed for exactly that purpose.
* * *
Smile, walk, smile, don’t panic—
It was like being back in the school playground, with the bullies circling like gladiators while the malevolent crowd of girls pressed in, watching with sadistic fascination. Waiting for the kill.
The memory was so disturbingly vivid that feelings of terror and humiliation stirred to life, catching her unawares. No matter how many years passed, her past was always there, lurking inside her like dark, filthy slime.
She struggled to throw off all her old insecurities.
It was ridiculous to think of that here, now, when that part of her life had ended long ago.
This wasn’t the playground, and she’d moved beyond that. The bullies might still be out there, but they couldn’t see her any more. Her disguise was perfect.
Or was it?
She shouldn’t have worn red. Red made her stand out like a beacon. And if she didn’t eat something soon she was going to pass out.
Didn’t anyone eat at these functions?
Wasn’t anyone else starving hungry?
No wonder they were thin.
Wishing she’d never decided to test herself in this way, Chantal attempted to stroll casually across the room. Confidence is everything, she reminded herself. Chin high, eyes up. Red is fine. They’re only people. Don’t let them intimidate you. They know nothing about you. From the outside you more or less look like them, and they can’t see who you are on the inside.
To distract herself, she played her usual game of make-believe. The game she’d invented as a means to survive in the lawless, ruthless environment she’d inhabited as a child. Her life had followed a pattern. A new playground, a new set of lies. A new layer of protection.
Who was she going to be this evening?
An heiress, maybe? Or possibly an actress?
A model?
No. Not a model. She would never be able to convince anyone that she was a model. She wasn’t tall enough or thin enough.
She paused, still pondering her options. Nothing too complicated. Not that she was worried about being found out, because she would never see any of these people again.
Just for tonight, she could be anyone she wanted to be.
A penniless Italian contessa with lots of breeding and no money?
No. This was a charity ball. It wouldn’t do to admit to having no money.
An heiress would be best.
An heiress wishing to remain incognito to avoid fortune hunters.
Yes. That was a good one.
Her excuse for not spending the money she didn’t have would be that she didn’t want to draw attention to herself.
The ballroom was amazing, with its high ceilings and glittering chandeliers. She had to remind herself not to stare at the paintings or the statues, and to adopt an expression of casual in-difference—as though this was her world and such an exhibition of art and culture surrounded her on a daily basis.
As if—
‘Champagne?’ The question came from behind her and she turned swiftly, her eyes widening as she was confronted by a man so devilishly good-looking that every woman in the room was watching him longingly.
Her limbs weakened.
Arrogant, was the first word that came to mind.
Devastating, was the second.
His eyes glittered dark and he studied her with a disturbing degree of interest as he handed her a glass.
What was it about dinner jackets, she mused, that turned men into gods? Not that this man needed the assistance of well cut clothes to look good. He would have looked good in anything— or nothing. He was also the sort of man who wouldn’t have looked twice at her in normal circumstances.
Chantal felt a sudden explosion of awareness engulf her body, and a deadly sexual warmth spread across her pelvis and down her limbs. He hadn’t touched her. He hadn’t even shaken her hand. And yet—
Dangerous was the word that finally caused her to take a defensive step backwards.
‘I thought I knew everyone on the invitation list, but obviously I was wrong.’ He spoke with the easy confidence that was the natural inheritance of the rich and powerful, his voice smooth and seductive, one dark eyebrow raised in anticipation of an introduction.
Still struggling to understand the reaction of her body, Chantal ignored the question in his eyes.
The Sicilian’s Virgin Bride
She flew in at night, in a small private plane that she’d chartered using the last of her cash. The brim of her hat was pulled low over her eyes, concealing almost all of her features, and her hair was ruthlessly subdued and twisted out of sight. She wore a plain black coat over black trousers. No makeup. No jewellery. It was the outfit of a woman who didn’t want to attract attention to herself. The outfit of a woman who was hiding.
Had the pilot looked closely he might have remarked on the ashen colour of her skin, or the slight shake of her hands as she clutched her one small bag. Had he looked closer still he might have seen the fire in her blue eyes and the determined jut of her chin. But he wasn’t looking. He’d taken one brief glance at her as she’d boarded the plane and immediately lost interest. He’d been paid an enormous sum of money to do exactly that, but all the same Chessie sat rigid in her seat, unable to relax as she stared through the small window into the darkness. She’d refused the offer of refreshment with a brief shake of her head, unable to contemplate placing any further strain on her already churning stomach.
Any minute now they’d be landing in Sicily, and the thought made her feel physically sick.
Trying to slow her galloping pulse, she closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the seat and breathed deeply. No one would stop her. No one was expecting her.
It had been six months: six months during which she’d learned to live her life looking over her shoulder. No names. No identities. Everything paid in cash. She’d lived a completely anonymous life in order to protect herself.
But now she was back.
In Sicily.
For many, the Mediterraneanisland was a paradise.
For Chessie it was a prison.
Soon, she thought to herself, shifting restlessly in her seat. Soon she’d do what had to be done. But for now she just wanted to see her mother. It had been six months
The co-pilot walked into the back of the plane.
‘We’ll be landing in five minutes, Miss Berkeley. Keep your seat belt fastened. The car is waiting for you, as you requested.’ He spoke in heavily accented English, and Chessie replied in the same language, careful to conceal the fact that she was fluent in Italian. For a brief moment she contemplated what the pilot would say if he knew her identity, but then she gave a mental shrug, reassuring herself that there was no way the pilot could identify her. There was nothing in any of her documents that would betray her.
‘Va bene.’ The co-pilot nodded to her.
‘Have a safe journey.’
A safe journey?
Discovering that her mouth was dry with fear, Chessie tensed as the plane landed in a series of gentle bumps, and then fumbled with her seat belt, lifted her overnight bag and forced herself to walk to the front of the plane.
It would be all right, she told herself firmly as she walked down the steps onto the tarmac, breathing in the scent of Sicily and feeling the warmth of the night air close around her. Her father was dead. The funeral had passed. No one was going to be expecting her home. She’d sneak in and see her mother, and then leave.
And then she was going to sort out her life.
No more running.
No more hiding. If nothing else, the last six months had taught her that she was capable of so much more than she’d ever imagined.
In her state of high anxiety, the powerful headlights of the approaching car reminded her of searchlights. Trying to control her galloping imagination and her racing pulse, Chessie tensed as the vehicle purred across the tarmac and gently came to a halt beside her.
Anxious to avoid the attention of anyone who might be watching, she barely waited for the rear door to swing open before she slipped inside.
Only as the door closed behind her, sealing her in, did she realise that there was someone else in the back of the car, and her stomach lurched in a wild panic.
Oh, no, no, no!
Frozen by shock, she was unable to move. Unable to look. She didn’t need to look. She knew who it was because she felt his presence with every bone in her body.
Rocco Castellani.
Billionaire and bastard.
Her husband.
Keeping an iron grip on his simmering temper, Rocco watched as she reached for the door handle—watched as she registered the fact that the rear of the car was locked, providing her with no means to escape. Beneath the brim of the hat he could see that her eyes held the panicky, frightened look of a hunted animal.
He’d underestimated her, he thought grimly, and felt a flicker of cynical amusement. Because, of all the women he’d ever met, Francesca was the only one who had ever managed to surprise him.
‘Buona sera, tesoro. Welcome home.’ He switched to English because that was the language they’d always spoken together, and saw the colour drain from her cheeks.
It was obvious that she hadn’t expected him to be here, and her reaction intrigued him.
Was she really that naïve?
Had she really thought she could return to Sicily without his knowledge?
He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t speak. Instead she sat in frozen stillness, clutching the edge of the seat, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she sucked in air.
If she’d been anyone else Rocco would almost have felt sorry for her.
But he was a long way from feeling sorry for his wife. Why should he? After what she’d done she was fortunate that he was even prepared to sit in the same car as her.
‘You look surprised to see me.’ With a huge effort he kept his tone neutral, careful to reveal nothing of his true feelings.
‘Why? We’re married, tesoro. Why wouldn’t I be here to meet my wife on her return to our home?’
Finally she turned to look at him, and her eyes were stricken.
‘How did you know?’ Her voice was little more than a choked whisper, and he had to strain his ears to catch her words.
‘How did I know you’d be landing tonight?’ The smile didn’t come easily but somehow he managed it, along with a casual lift of his shoulders.
‘Did you really think I wouldn’t?
You’re my wife, Francesca. I care about everything that happens to you. Your father entrusted you to me and I’m responsible for your safety. It’s a role I take extremely seriously.’
‘Care?’Her voice recovered some of its strength.
‘You don’t care about me, Rocco.You don’t care about anyone but yourself.’
Rocco leaned forward and removed the hat. Her dark hair slid from the inadequate clip and tumbled over her shoulders in curling waves. She looked incredibly young. Far too young to be so scheming.
‘What a surprise you are,’ he murmured thoughtfully.
‘So much fire and spirit, and yet you keep it so well hidden. When we met before our wedding you barely spoke. I had to coax every word out of you. I thought you were impossibly shy.’
For a moment she just stared at him.
‘You don’t know me at all, Rocco.’
‘Clearly.’ He wondered if she even registered the irony in his tone.
‘But I intend to work very hard to rectify that. In fact you should probably know that I now intend to devote all of my time to furthering our acquaintance.’
‘No.’ There was a note of panic in her voice, and she gave a quick shake of her head.
‘You don’t need to know me. And I don’t want to know you either. I already know enough.’
She was a mass of contradictions, he thought to himself as he studied her. Infinitely complex. First impressions had suggested that she was gentle and timid and yet she’d proved herself to be wild and wilful.
‘Your dark hair shows your Italian blood.’ He leaned forward and gently wound a silken lock around his finger.
‘But those blue eyes of yours show your English heritage.’She had huge sapphire eyes, and a soft pink mouth that was temptingly full. In fact, she was a vision of feminine youth and innocence. And yet he knew that her innocence was gone for ever. Lost to another man. Anger rushed through him, along with another infinitely more ugly and dangerous emotion.
Jealousy.
So this was how it felt, he mused, trying to detach himself from the hot burn of envy that licked at the heels of his iron self control.
This was how it felt to confront infidelity.
Something from his past—something dark and dangerous—flickered to life and he ruthlessly suppressed it, reminding himself of his golden rule.
Move forward. Always forward. Never back.
She might have lost her innocence but she was still his.
Her breathing was rapid.
‘Don’t touch me. I don’t want you to touch me.’ With a jerk of her head she moved away from his fingers and slid to the furthest corner of the seat, staring straight ahead, as if by not looking at him she could somehow deny his presence.
‘I want to go to my father’s house.’
Still struggling against a desire to flatten her to the seat and make himself the entire focus of her attentions, Rocco was silent for a moment, his eyes on her profile as he considered her request.
‘Aren’t you a little late? Your father is dead. The funeral was two weeks ago.’ He softened neither his tone nor the harshness of his words, and yet there was no reaction from her. Nothing. It didn’t fit, he mused as he watched her. The pieces just didn’t slot together.
‘As his only child, you didn’t think it might be appropriate to show up and pay your respects before now?’
She turned to face him, and there was something in her eyes that he couldn’t interpret.
‘No,’she said quietly.
‘I didn’t.’
‘Why not?’
There was a long silence—a long silence during which she simply stared at him with a blank expression in her eyes. Then she turned her head away.
‘My relationship with my father is none of your business, Rocco. I don’t owe you anything, least of all explanations. And I’m not here to see you. I came to see my mother.’
‘Your mother has gone.’
‘Gone?’There was shock in her voice and fear in her eyes.
‘Gone where?’
‘I really have no idea,’ Rocco drawled, and she reached across the seat and clutched his arm with nervous fingers.
‘Was she at the funeral? I need to know if she was at the funeral.’
‘Yes. She left soon afterwards.’ He watched as she sank against the seat, her eyes closed, her relief visible.
‘Thank goodness,’ she whispered.
‘In that case you can stop the car. I’ll get back on the plane and I won’t bother you again. You can get on with your life.’
‘I intend to. But I certainly won’t be taking you back to the plane,’Rocco said smoothly.
‘We have much to talk about. Welcome home, tesoro.’
She was still his, he reminded himself with grim determination.
Everything else was in the past, and he was a master at keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the future.
Much to talk about?
Watching her hope for a rapid departure from Sicily crash and burn, Chessie tried to think fast. Why hadn’t she anticipated this? How could she have been so stupid as to imagine that she could arrive in Sicily and not be noticed?
At what point had she forgotten just exactly who her husband was?
They called him il lupo. The wolf.
He’d made his first million before he was even out of his teens, and then carried on amassing money with ruthless determination. As unpredictable as he was brilliant, he was also wild, ruthless and dangerously handsome. Chessie had once overheard a woman observe in dreamy tones that if the world were about to end, then she’d choose to spend her last night naked with Rocco Castellani.
He was the object of every woman’s fantasies, and being this close to him froze her normally agile brain.
Watchful and unsmiling, he lounged back against the seat, his powerful body almost unnaturally still and Chessie found his iron self-control strangely intimidating. Everything about him was dark. His eyes, his hair and his simmering temper. She gave a tiny shiver, because he embodied power and authority, and she knew that this man wielded more influence than her father ever had.
He was the ultimate smooth operator, but she wasn’t fooled by the sophisticated persona that Rocco presented to the world. The shockingly expensive hand-made Italian shoes, the exquisitely cut suit and the impossibly handsome face were nothing more than camouflage. A disguise designed to lull his opponents into a false sense of security. She knew that the charismatic smile that had seduced so many willing women hid a cold, tough streak that would have been the envy of the average barracuda.
It didn’t matter how this man dressed, or how he appeared to others. She knew the truth.
Rocco Castellani was Sicilian. Full-blooded Sicilian. And Chessie was one of the few people who understood exactly what that meant.
You could wrap a tiger in a sheep’s fleece but it would still be a tiger underneath.
His presence in the car was so unexpected that her cool determination deserted her. Her heart took off at an alarming pace and her insides suddenly churned.
‘You can’t seriously wish to continue with our marriage?’ She must have misunderstood him.
The silence stretched between them and she stared at him in panicked silence, finding it impossible to read his expression and equally impossible to look away from his glittering dark eyes.
‘Why?’
‘Because our marriage is over.’ Because she’d left him. What Sicilian would forgive that?
He gave a faint smile.
‘It hasn’t even begun, tesoro. Thanks to you, we have much ground to cover. I’m looking forward to it.’
Her heart was pounding like a hammer against her chest, and her whole body was gripped by a reaction so violent she thought she might pass out.
‘What are you doing here? Why are you here? The papers said you were in New York.’ She’d been banking on it.
‘You should never believe everything you read in the papers, but I’m flattered to know that you’ve shown such an interest in my movements during your long holiday.’ His voice smooth, his eyes still on her face, he issued a set of instructions to the driver before relaxing back in the seat.
‘Clearly you were missing me. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s perfectly natural for a wife to miss her husband. I’m just relieved that we’ve now been reunited.’ His tone was smooth and civilised, but Chessie felt her palms grow damp—because she wasn’t fooled by his outward appearance of calm. Rocco was a deadly opponent, and she knew that her actions had put her in the role of adversary.
He had to be angry. She knew he had to be angry. And yet so far he hadn’t even raised his voice ‘H-how did you know I was on that plane?’ Her stammer was back, and she wanted to scream with frustration. Why now? Why, when she needed every bit of her new-found confidence, did everything she’d learned over the past six months suddenly desert her?
‘Why wouldn’t I know?’His firm, sensual mouth flickered into a faint smile.
‘After your father’s death, your return to Sicily was inevitable. It was only a matter of time. Patience isn’t my major virtue, but I struggled through.’
‘I thought I—You didn’t—’
‘Since you didn’t come home for the funeral, I assume you have finally returned because you are bored with your lover.’
‘My lover?’ She stared at him blankly, still trying to come to terms with the fact that he’d obviously been waiting for her return.
‘What lover?’ Still in shock, she couldn’t look away from his penetrating gaze, and her voice was barely a whisper.
‘You’re my wife. From the moment we exchanged vows, my security team was briefed to watch you closely. So if you’re trying to deny that you left our wedding with Carlo Mancini—’ he gave a careless shrug, as if the matter was of little consequence ‘—then you’re wasting your time. I hope you found him a satisfying sexual partner.’ Something in the way he delivered those words increased her tension, and she remembered that one of Rocco’s most deadly skills was his ability to think with a cool, clear head even when he was seething with anger.
And he was seething with anger. She sensed it. Sensed his inner struggle.
Unlike her father, Rocco had learned to control his unpredictable Sicilian temperament and use it to his advantage. Instead of confronting the enemy, he studied them, watching for weakness, picking his time to pounce and kill. She’d once read a profile of him in the financial pages of a quality newspaper that had described him as a master of strategy, a skilful tactician and a merciless adversary. He was a man who took no prisoners.
Except her. She had been earmarked to be his prisoner by virtue of their marriage.
It was one of the reasons she’d escaped. One of the reasons she’d taken off with Carlo. Carlo, her father’s gardener, who had just happened to be in the right place at the right time. It hadn’t occurred to her that Rocco would think they were lovers. In fact that assumption on his part was just another example of the differences between them.
She would no more take a lover on her wedding day than she would swim naked through a pool full of sharks, and the fact that he thought that she would said more about him than it did about her.
He was a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word love. A man who had never cared for a woman in his life. And she still couldn’t believe that she was trapped in the back of his car. She’d been so careful …
