Читать книгу Mediterranean Men Unleashed: The Billionaire's Blackmailed Bride - JACQUELINE BAIRD, Jacqueline Baird - Страница 10

EMILY heard the sound of raised voices and realized the launch must have arrived with the guests, but she didn’t move, reluctant to go and face strangers with her emotions so raw.

A deep painful sigh escaped her. Short of discovering she had married a homicidal maniac, she must have had the worst first day of marriage in history. Still, it couldn’t possibly get any worse, she told herself, and, taking a deep breath, she turned.

‘Emily.’ Anton was moving towards her. He was dressed in a lightweight beige suit, his shirt open at the neck, and his black hair slicked severely back from his brow, and she realized with a sick sense of shame he looked more gorgeous than ever to her tortured mind.

‘I wondered where you were hiding,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘Our guests have arrived.’ He took her arm and led her into the salon.

Emily was wrong: the day could get worse …

Seated on Anton’s left, Emily glanced around the table. The dinner party from hell was a pretty fair assessment, she mused. They were seven couples in all, a single young man and, with the inclusion of Max, sixteen around the dinner table in the sumptuous dining area of the yacht.

Anton at his eloquent best had introduced her as his wife, and she would have to have been an idiot not to notice the surprise and outright disbelief at his pronouncement. While in an aside to her he had warned her to behave impeccably in front of his guests … or else …

Else what? Emily wondered. He could not hurt her any more than he already had. The congratulations were gushing, but the looks she got from the six other women on board varied from genuine pleasure to curiosity to almost pitying and, from one, simply venomous.

She smiled and Anton kept the conversation going with very little help from her through five courses that she barely remembered eating. She was in shock.

Wouldn’t you just know it? she mused. The first person she had seen was Eloise. Anton had introduced her to Eloise’s Italian husband, Carlo Alviano, and his twenty-two-year-old son from a previous marriage, Gianni.

She raised her glass and took another sip of wine, and glanced around the table. Sally and Tim Harding she recognized from a business dinner she had attended in London with Anton. As for the other four couples, they seemed pleasant enough. One couple was Swiss, another French, and a rather nice middle-aged American couple, and the last pair were Greek. It was a truly international gathering of the seriously rich, and, from the designer dresses and jewellery on show, she wouldn’t like to estimate how much their combined worth came to. Billions no doubt …

She glanced at the young man, Gianni, seated on her right. There was something familiar about him but she could not quite place him. She took another sip of wine, and let her gaze roam over him. He was classically handsome with perfect features and thick black curly hair. Maybe he was a model; perhaps she had seen a picture of him in a magazine.

‘More wine?’ the steward offered and Emily nodded. She knew she was probably drinking too much, but she was past caring and let her eyes stray to rest on Eloise, with a kind of morbid fascination.

Eloise was obviously Anton’s type of woman.

She was wearing a red minidress, that barely covered her voluptuous breasts or her bum. She was seated on the right of Anton and had spent most of the meal trying to hold his attention, gossiping away to him about old times with much touching of his arm and anywhere else she could reach. As for her husband, Carlo, who was seated next to her, she virtually ignored him.

Why Carlo put up with her Emily could not fathom. A sophisticated, handsome man in his fifties, he was quite charming and owned a merchant bank. Maybe that was why Eloise had married him, she thought cynically.

She took another sip of her wine. And maybe Carlo didn’t care so long as the sex was good … Maybe he was the same type of man as Anton—look at the reality of her marriage after one day—and she giggled, seeing the black humour in the situation.

‘Oh, please, you must share the joke,’ Eloise trilled, all fake smiles.

Emily glanced across at her, saw the spite in the other woman’s eyes and said, ‘It was nothing. Just a humorous thought.’

‘Let us be the judge of that,’ Eloise prompted. And for one moment Emily was tempted to tell her exactly what she had been thinking. But although she had consumed a little too much wine, it was far from enough for her to make a fool of herself.

‘No,’ she said and froze into immobility as Anton lifted a hand to her cheek and trailed his fingers down and around the nape of her neck, urging her head towards him.

‘Some coffee or water maybe.’ His gaze locked with hers and something moved in the dark depths of his eyes. ‘You have had a couple of very full days, my darling, as I know,’ he drawled, his finger pressing on the pulse that beat strongly in her throat.

Her eyes widened, and she barely controlled an involuntary shiver until he added, ‘Any more wine and you will fall asleep.’ And she realized that his show of affection was purely for the guests and to add insult to injury he had implied she was drunk … the swine.

She drew in a deep steadying breath. ‘You’re right as always, darling,’ she mocked, and reached up to remove his hand from her neck, digging her nails into his wrist in the process. ‘Coffee, thanks.’

Anton’s eyes narrowed, promising retaliation, then he turned to beckon the steward and coffee was provided.

Hot and angry, Emily silently seethed. The atmosphere stank, there was no other word for it, and she wished she could go out on deck for some clean air. Better still dive overboard and swim to shore—it couldn’t be more than half a mile …

‘That’s it,’ she cried and slapped her hand on the table, making the glass and cutlery rattle.

‘Gianni, I thought I knew you.’ She turned to the young man at her side, the first genuine smile of the evening lighting her face. It had come to her out of the blue when she had thought of swimming.

‘You were in the under-twenty-ones swimming team for Rome University at the European Universities’ sports challenge held in Holland four years ago.’

‘Yes, señora, I recognized you immediately, but I thought you did not remember me.’

‘Oh, please call me Emily—you did before,’ she reminded him. ‘I watched you win in an amazing split-second finish in the fifteen hundred metres—you were fantastic, and we met at the party afterwards.’

‘That’s right, and I saw you win the two hundred metres with two seconds to spare. You were brilliant.’

‘Thank you. That was one of my finer moments.’ She preened and laughed and so did Gianni.

His father intervened. ‘You two know each other.’ And his handsome face was wreathed in smiles. ‘What a happy coincidence.’

‘Yes. And you must be very proud of your son. Did you see him win that race? It was such a close finish after such a long race. He was incredible,’ Emily enthused.

‘Regrettably, no. I was in South America at the time,’ and Emily noticed his eyes stray to Eloise.

‘Enough about swimming,’ Eloise cut in. ‘That is all the boy ever talks about, that and the bank, just like Carlo,’ she said petulantly. ‘It is so boring.’

‘I found it rather enlightening,’ Anton said. ‘I never knew you were a champion swimmer, Emily.’

Emily caught the faintly sarcastic tone and a hint of anger in the dark eyes that met hers. ‘Why should you?’ She shrugged. ‘You have only known me a couple of months, and anyway I am not any more.’

Suddenly she felt bone-tired. Only an idiot could be unaware of the undercurrent of tension beneath the surface of the supposedly friendly conversation all evening, and it had given her a horrendous headache. That and the appalling realization that all she had to look forward to were countless more such encounters with Anton and his friends had stretched her nerves to breaking-point.

Pushing back her chair, she stood up. ‘Well, it has been a delightful evening meeting you all.’ She cast a social smile around the table. ‘But I am afraid I will have to call it a night. Please excuse me.’ The men made to rise. ‘No, please, Anton will keep you entertained.’

Anton placed an arm along the back of Emily’s waist and she stiffened in shock—she had not realized he had risen with her.

‘I will escort you to the cabin, Emily.’ His tone was as smooth as silk, and then, raising his voice, he added for his guests’ benefit. ‘If you need anything ask the steward. I’ll be back soon.’

‘A champion swimmer. I’m impressed,’ Anton declared as he stopped and opened their cabin door, and ushered her inside. ‘You are full of surprises, Emily, but if there are any more on the horizon pass them by me first,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘I do not appreciate being made to look a fool in front of our guests, while you flirt and reminisce with another man.’

‘You made to look a fool?’ She shook her head and twisted out of his arm to cast him a look of utter disgust. ‘I am the only fool around here, for being stupid enough to think I could ever love a man like you. A man who invites his mistress Eloise on his honeymoon.’

‘Eloise is not—’

‘Oh, please, you have had sex with her; it is in her eyes every time she looks at you. So don’t bother denying it.’

‘Once, a decade ago,’ he snapped. ‘Carlo is an old and valued friend of mine and I introduced them. I was best man at their wedding four years ago. Eloise is an old friend, nothing more.’

‘You don’t need to explain. I couldn’t care less, though I am amazed her husband puts up with it—he seems like a really nice man. Whereas you have to be the most devious, arrogant snake of a man it has ever been my misfortune to meet. And if you imagine for one second making me stay with you will change how I think of you … it won’t. Now go back to your guests, Anton. I have a headache and I am going to bed. Alone.’

Anton fought down the furious impulse to shut her smart mouth with his own. ‘Not alone, Emily,’ he said with implacable softness and took her arm.

She struggled to break free, but he tightened his grip. ‘You are my wife and sharing my bed—that is not negotiable.’

His dark brooding eyes held hers. He saw the anger, the pain she tried to hide in the blue depths, and surely not fear?

Shocked, he let go of her arm. He was a huge success at everything he did; women looked at him admiringly, hungrily, with adoration, wanting to please him, but never with fear. So how the hell had he managed to make his bride of one day actually look afraid of him?

‘You look worn out. I’ll get you some painkillers, and you can get some sleep.’

Hmm. Emily sighed her pleasure as a strong hand slowly massaged her breast. She settled back against a hard male body and arched her neck as firm lips caressed the slender length of her throat, a warm tongue lingering on the steadily beating pulse there. Her eyes half opened and fluttered closed as she gave herself up to the wondrous world of sensations engulfing her. Long fingers caressing, arousing her eager flesh, she was lost in a sensual dream, her heart beating with ever-increasing speed. She turned, restless heat spreading through every cell in her body, her hands curving over strong shoulders. His mouth was on hers, his muscular legs parting hers.

Her eyes flew open. It was no dream—it was Anton lying over her, the morning sun highlighting his blue-black hair, his dark molten eyes scorching through to her soul promising paradise and it was way too late to resist. She didn’t want to resist. She wanted him, burned for him. She felt the velvet tip of him against her and raised her pelvis, pressing up to him.

‘You want me?’ Anton husked throatily.

‘Yes, oh, yes,’ she moaned.

His hands curved around her thighs, lifting her, and in a single powerful thrust he filled her. He thrust again harder and faster as her body caught his rhythm and they rode a tidal wave of sheer sensation. Emily climaxed in seconds with a convulsive pleasure so intense it blew her mind, and Anton followed, his great body jerking in explosive release.

Later when the tremors stopped Emily felt a wave of shame at her easy capitulation. She opened her eyes and lifted her hands to push at his chest; instead she found them gathered in one of his. He lifted his other hand and she felt him brush a few tendrils of hair from her forehead.

‘You okay, Emily?’

‘As okay as I will ever be as long as I am stuck with you.’

‘Hell and damnation.’ He swore. ‘We had a fight yesterday. It is over, done with. The two people we were fighting over are dead—that is the reality. Now we move on.’

‘The only place I want to move is out of here.’ She couldn’t help herself. He had cold-bloodedly deceived her, and he rubbed her up the wrong way with his blasted superior tone and his flaming arrogance.

‘Your trouble is you can’t admit that you want a man like me, can you?’ he grated, bending his head and crushing her mouth under his. Then he pulled back to look into her eyes.

‘You can’t face reality, that is your problem; you want love and sweet nothings, a fairy tale, when anyone with any sense knows the love you imagine does not exist.’

He ran a hand through his rumpled hair, and swung his legs off the bed to sit looking down at her, totally unconscious of his nudity.

‘Sexual chemistry brings a couple together, they marry and after a year or two the lust is burned out, but usually there is a child to cement the union. For a man it is a natural instinct to protect the mother and child, and in most cases a moral duty that ensures a marriage lasts.’

Emily listened in growing amazement. ‘Do you actually believe that?’

‘Yes.’ He stood up, stretching like a big, sated jungle beast, and turned to glance down at her. ‘Mind you, from where I am standing I can’t imagine ever not lusting after your naked body.’ And he had the nerve to grin.

Emily grabbed the sheet and pulled it up over herself, blushing furiously. ‘You are impossible.’

‘Nothing is impossible if you try, Emily.’ The amusement faded from his eyes. ‘That is what marriage is all about,’ he stated. ‘Having realistic expectations.’

He was completely sure of himself, his powerful, virile body magnificently naked, and she could feel her insides melting just looking at him, and in that moment she realized she still loved him … always would … and it saddened and infuriated the hell out of her.

‘And you’re the expert? Don’t make me laugh,’ she snapped.

‘I will certainly make you cry if you keep up this ridiculous fight. We can be civil to each other, the sex is great and we can have a good marriage, or you can turn it into a battlefield—it is up to you. I need a shower; you can join me, or make your mind up before I come back.’

There was only one answer, Emily realized.

Being civil and having sex … That was Anton’s idea of a perfect marriage. She could do civil and sex, and a lot more. He had said he had not intended telling her what he thought of her father, but his temper had got the better of him. Well, maybe she could convince him he was wrong about her father. Not now, not with a boatload of guests, but when they were finally alone.

He had said he would do anything to keep her. Maybe there was hope for their marriage, maybe he cared about her a lot more than he was prepared to admit … and pigs might fly …

The bottom line was, even if she proved her father had nothing to do with his sister, she could not escape the fact that was the main reason why Anton had married her.

Anton emerged from the bathroom and Emily hastily sat up in bed, dragging the cover up to her chin.

His only covering was a white towel slung precariously around his lean hips. And as she watched he moved to open one of the large wardrobes that covered one wall, withdrew something and turned.

‘So what is it to be, Emily?’ he asked, and discarded the towel, giving her a full-frontal view of his toned bronzed body, and stepped into a pair of Grigio Perla aqua shorts.

Emily recognized the brand because she had seen the James Bond movie that made them famous. On Anton they looked even better than the star of the movie. Fascinated by the sheer masculine perfection of his physique, she simply stared.

‘I asked you a question.’

‘What? Oh! Yes.’ She was so mesmerized by the sight of him, she replied without thinking.

‘Good,’ was all he said as he pulled a polo shirt over his head. ‘Make yourself decent. I’ll send the chief steward in with your breakfast, and you can have a chat with him. He knows how the weekend works. It is a pretty casual affair, but if there is anything you want to change just tell him.’

Who was it said fascination is the very absence of thought, the denial of reasonable brain function? Emily wondered. She was so mesmerized by Anton she could not think rationally.

‘I will see you on the pool deck when you are ready. Friday everyone tends to laze around until lunch. Then go ashore, the men to check out the cars and the women to shop. Later we all meet here to eat and then sail along to St Tropez for those who want to hit the Caves du Roy nightclub, a favourite among a few of our guests.’

He strolled over to the bed, and held out a credit card. ‘Take this—you will need it later.’

She took the card and turned it over in her hand. Mrs Emily Diaz was the name inscribed.

She looked up. ‘How did you get this so quickly?’ she asked, no longer mesmerized but mad. Anton was so confident in his ability to get exactly what he wanted in life, including her, she realized bitterly.

‘I arranged for the card to be forwarded here the day we married, as I did your passport,’ Anton said, a hint of a satisfied smile quirking his wide mouth.

She affected a casual shrug. ‘You’re nothing if not thorough,’ she said coolly. But inside she was seething with a mixture of emotions, from hate to love and, yes, lust, she admitted. But her overriding desire was to knock the smug look off his face.

‘Thank you. But I don’t need your money; I have enough of my own.’

‘You won’t for much longer if you insist on this confrontational attitude,’ he drawled with a sardonic arch of one brow. ‘Give it up, Emily. You’re my wife—act like one. I’ll expect you on deck in an hour to take care of our guests.’

The timely reminder of his hold over Fairfax Engineering knocked all the defiance out of her. ‘Okay.’

She watched him walk out. He really was quite ruthless, and she had better not forget that. But if he thought she was going to be a meek little wife he was in for a rude awakening.

The number of gorgeous women lining the pit lane came as a shock to Emily. She would not have thought that so many women were keen on motor racing to bother coming for the time trials. She said as much to Max, and he gave her a grin.

‘It is not the cars they are interested in, but the men—they are motor-racing groupies.’ He chuckled. ‘Pit Ponies.’

‘Oh.’ It had never occurred to her, but now she saw exactly what he meant. No wonder Anton was such a passionate fan of motor racing. Fast cars and fast women lined for his delectation, she thought scathingly.

Personally she hated the scene. The noise was horrendous, the choking smell of oil took her breath away, and she cast a baleful glance at Anton. He was standing by a low-slung racing car having an animated discussion about the engine with the chief mechanic. He looked almost boyish in his enthusiasm and at that moment, as if sensing her scrutiny, he turned, his dark eyes clashing with hers. He smiled and in a couple of lithe strides was beside her. ‘So what do you think? Isn’t this great?’

‘Put it this way,’ she said dryly, ‘I can see now why they call it the pit. The place is full of men, noise, and stinks of oil and super-charged testosterone, and if it is all the same to you I think I’ll go back to the yacht.’

He grimaced. ‘You’re right—it is probably not the place for a lady. Max will take you back, and I’ll see you later.’

Back on the yacht, she heaved a sigh of relief when she learnt most of the guests had gone ashore. ‘I’m going to change and have a swim,’ she told Max and headed for the cabin.

She had spent yesterday being polite to their guests, and playing the perfect hostess. The nightclub in St Tropez had been a real eye-opener, all the beautiful people—she had recognized a famous American film star and a chart-topping singer to name just two. She had drunk champagne and smiled until her face ached and had hated every minute.

Then later when they had returned to the yacht she had vowed she would not respond to Anton. But when he had slid into bed naked and reached for her, her resolve had been strained to the limit. His kiss had been hungry, possessive, and passionate. She had tried to resist, her hands curling into fists at her side. But when he had lifted his head, and caught the strap of her flimsy nightgown and moved it down to palm her breast, a groan had escaped her.

‘Give it up, Emily,’ he said harshly. ‘You know you want to.’

He was right, shaming but true …

Now with Anton on shore she felt not exactly relaxed, but at least in control for the first time in two days. Slipping into a shockingly brief black bikini, courtesy of Helen, she headed for the swimming pool. She lathered her body with sun lotion, and was wondering how to do her back when Gianni appeared, and did it for her.

Anton stepped out of the helicopter, and took the stairs two at a time to the lower deck. He was feeling great, fired up … His passion for motor racing had been fulfilled with a day in the pit watching the time trials for tomorrow’s big race. The team he supported had pole position. He flexed his shoulders … and soon his other passion would be fulfilled with Emily.

She had appeared to accept his take on marriage without further argument, and yesterday she had proved to be a hit with their guests.

Last night had been incredible; his body stirred thinking about it. He had climbed into bed, taken her in his arms and kissed her. At first she had tried to play it cool, but within minutes she had gone up in flames just as she had every time before.

Yes, life was just about perfect … He needed a shower. Maybe Emily would be in the cabin. She wasn’t and, ten minutes later, dressed in shorts and shirt, he walked out on deck looking for her. Carlo was leaning over the guard rail with Tim Harding and Max beside him, but there was no sign of Emily.

Anton strolled over. ‘Hi, guys.’ He leant against the railing next to him. ‘Have you seen Emily around?’

Max pointed to a small yacht anchored about two hundred metres away. ‘She is over there with Gianni. Apparently the boat belongs to friends of his and the pair of them decided to race each other across and back. They arrived there twenty minutes ago.’

The feel-good factor vanished. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach and realized it was gut-wrenching fear. His impulse was to dive off after them, but he realized it was pointless, and then blind rage engulfed him and he turned on Max.

‘You let my wife dive thirty feet off the bloody yacht,’ he swore. ‘Are you mad? You are supposed to be a bodyguard.’

He stilled, his chest tightening as he recognized the source of his rage. He felt an overwhelming need to protect Emily, something he had never felt for any other woman except his mother and sister.

‘Sorry, boss, I couldn’t stop them. They were balancing on the rail when I came out on deck. But you have nothing to worry about. Emily swims like a fish. In fact the three of us still can’t decide which one won.’

‘That is why we are waiting here to see them come back,’ Carlo said. ‘We have a little bet on the result.’

Anton could not believe his ears. ‘Forget your damn bet. Nobody is swimming back. I am getting the launch.’

Carlo lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes. ‘Too late.’

Anton looked across just in time to see two figures dive into the sea.

He’d kill her; he’d shake her till her teeth rattled. He’d chain her to him … But first he needed her back safely. A boat could cut across her path, she might get cramp—the opportunity for disaster loomed huge in his mind and with bated breath he watched with Carlo and Max as the swimmers drew closer.

Reluctantly he had to admit Emily was superb. She glided through the water with barely a ripple, her long pale arms rising and falling in a perfect crawl, keeping a punishing speed. He watched as they approached the stern and saw Emily grab the ladder first.

‘I won,’ Emily cried, hanging onto the ladder with one hand and brushing the hair from her eyes. Gianni’s arm came up and grasped her waist.

‘OK—so it is one all.’

Breathless and grinning, they scrambled up onto the deck.

Anton stood transfixed. Emily, wearing the briefest of bikinis, stood glowing with life and vitality laughing with Gianni. Jealousy ripped through him and he had to battle the urge to rush across and shove the younger man overboard.

‘Best of three. I’ll race you tomorrow,’ he heard Gianni say and his wife was totally oblivious of him as she responded.

‘Right, you’re on.’

Anton moved to grab Emily, but Carlo’s hand on his arm stopped him. He looked up at him and said softly, ‘So, my friend, now you know how it feels?’

‘What do you mean?’ Anton demanded.

‘You know Emily and Gianni are just friends, as I know you and Eloise are just friends. But when you love a woman it doesn’t always follow that you can easily accept her male friendships. Take my advice—don’t make an issue out of their harmless fun.’

Carlo’s words gave him pause for thought. Of course he did not love Emily. But he knew Carlo imagined he loved Eloise, and it had never occurred to him his friendship with Eloise might hurt Carlo.

Then again he wasn’t Carlo, and Emily wasn’t having fun with anyone but him …

‘You will not be racing tomorrow, Emily.’ He strode across and took her arm. ‘And you, Gianni, will not encourage my wife to risk her life in such a damn-fool way.’

‘Oh, don’t be such an old fuddy-duddy,’ Emily said, lifting her eyes to his. ‘You have your motor racing. I prefer a more natural race.’

He felt every one of his thirty-seven years and he did not appreciate the reminder. His dark eyes narrowed on her beautiful face. ‘Have you forgotten tomorrow we are all attending the Grand Prix? And Gianni is leaving on Monday so it is never going to happen,’ he said bluntly.

‘Oh, yes.’ She turned away from him. ‘Excuse me all, I need to shower and get ready for the party.’ And he had to let her go, as Tim Harding asked him a question about the time trials.

Coloured lights strung from prow to stern lit up the great yacht. Dinner was a buffet as the original guests had been increased by about another thirty from shore. Apparently another tradition of her indomitable husband. She glanced across to where he stood surrounded by friends, mostly of the female variety. He was wearing a white shirt open at the neck and dark trousers, and looked devastatingly attractive. The dress code for the men appeared to be smart casual, actually designer casual, Emily amended, glancing around, but her eyes were helplessly drawn back to her husband.

As she watched he laughed down at the woman hanging on his arm, and Emily looked away. Anton was always going to be the centre of attention, the outstanding Alpha male, in what she quietly conceded was quite a gathering of such men. But then why not? Monaco was the playground of the rich and famous and never more so than this weekend.

‘Hi, Emily.’ She glanced at Gianni as he stopped beside her. ‘May I say you look wicked,’ he said with undisguised appreciation in his golden eyes. ‘Mind you, I think you are wasted on this crowd. What say we do a bunk to my friend’s yacht?’

But before she could respond Carlo appeared in front of them. ‘Damn Eloise. That woman could shop for Peru,’ he declared, exasperation in his tone. ‘You do know she only arrived back ten minutes ago—the helicopter had to go and pick her up, hopelessly late as usual.’ He snorted. ‘She said it wouldn’t take a minute to change.’ And grasping a glass of champagne as a waiter walked by, he added, ‘I will believe that when I see it.’

Gianni responded with, ‘Here she comes now, Dad.’

Emily’s mouth fell open in shock. The woman was wearing a white off-the-shoulder dress that revealed her breasts almost to the nipples—not that it mattered as the fabric was see-through, a silver belt was slung around her hips, and the rest of the garment barely covered her behind. Emily glanced up at Gianni and saw the slight tinge of embarrassment on his handsome young face and she felt for him.

‘New dress?’ Carlo demanded and Emily’s attention returned to him. His eyes were popping out on stalks. He had obviously not seen it before, she surmised, and her lips twitched in the briefest of smiles. Not that there was much to see other than the fact the woman was also wearing a thong. Outrageous didn’t even begin to describe it.

‘No, darling.’ Eloise pouted. ‘You told me to hurry so I just flung this old thing on.’ She preened, doing a twirl.

‘She obviously missed,’ Emily said under her breath to Gianni. His golden eyes widened and he cracked up with laughter, as did Emily.

‘Oh, Emily.’ He flung an arm around her shoulder. ‘You are priceless.’ He offered between guffaws, ‘And so right.’

Anton broke off mid-sentence in a rather serious discussion he was having with the Swiss banker, his attention diverted at the sound of Emily’s uninhibited laughter. Her head was thrown back, revealing the long line of her throat and the upper curves of her breast; her blonde hair fell in a silken curtain almost to her waist. The dress she was wearing was red and strapless and faithfully followed every curve of her body to flare out at thigh level and end just above her knees. She looked drop-dead gorgeous and as he watched Gianni’s arm went around her.

In a few lithe strides Anton was at her side. ‘I am all for you enjoying yourself, Gianni,’ he drawled, ‘but not with my wife.’

He reached down and caught her hand as Gianni’s arm fell from her shoulders.

Surprised, Emily raised laughing eyes to her husband’s face and was struck by the deadly warning in the black depths of his, and looked away.

Gianni said nothing, but moved back a step; the look in Anton’s eyes had said it all.

‘I said be civil.’ Anton slid a hand around the nape of her neck and tilted back her head so she had no choice but to look up at him. ‘Not flirt with the guests and make a spectacle of yourself. What was so funny anyway?’ He was jealous—not an emotion he had ever suffered from before—and he was fed up as he saw all expression drain from her face.

‘You had to be there at the time to appreciate it,’ she said, ‘but I take your point and I am sorry. I will endeavour to be civil at all times.’ And she smiled.

A perfect social smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

He kept her by his side for the rest of the evening, and later in bed he utilized every bit of control and skill he possessed to drain every drop of response from her incredible body. Only when she lay exhausted and sated in his arms was he satisfied.

He gazed down at her. She had been helpless in the throes of passion as he had brought her to the knife-edge of pleasure time after time, and had held her there shuddering and writhing until finally he had possessed her completely and she had convulsed in wave after wave of excruciating delight.

Then he had started again.

She was his … He had exactly what he wanted. He frowned slightly. So what was niggling at the back of his mind? Surely not conscience … No—something else. It would come to him later, he assured himself before sleep overcame him.

The following night Emily stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in their cabin and studied her reflection. She was wearing the one floor-length gown she had packed and she grimaced. Blue shot through with silver, the halter neck left her shoulders and back bare down to her waist, and the plunging neck revealed more than a glimpse of cleavage. The rest clung to her body like a second skin. A side slit enabled her to move. When she had bought the dress it had been with her honeymoon in mind. For Anton’s eyes only. Because she had loved him, even after their argument she had still harboured a lingering hope of convincing him he was wrong about her father, and making him care for her. Not any more. Once trust was destroyed there was no going back.

She had no illusions left regarding her arrogant husband. Last night he had taught her what an avid sensualist she was, and she had relished the lesson. He had driven her to the erotic height of pleasure and beyond until it had almost been pain. He was a magnificent lover.

Today she had had her relatively inexperienced opinion verified …

They had all gone to watch the Grand Prix at the home of a friend of Anton’s. Settled on a long terrace overlooking the race with their guests and some more friends of the owner, Anton had asked if she minded if he went to the pits. She had bit her tongue on the caustic comment he was the pits. Deciding she still loved him had not lessened her feeling of betrayal. But deep inside she had still held a faint hope that their marriage might work and instead she said, ‘Not at all.’

Bored out of her skull watching cars roar past at intervals, she drank a couple of glasses of champagne. And then went inside to stretch her legs. She was standing behind a huge column admiring a sculpture set in an alcove when she heard the click of heels on the marble floor and a cut-glass English voice mention her name.

‘Emily Diaz has my sympathy. He is incredibly wealthy, a handsome devil, and great in the sack, as I know from personal experience. But, let’s face it, the man is not marriage material. I mean, bringing her here for her honeymoon, with over a dozen guests for company—how crass is that? I couldn’t believe it when we arrived. But then we never knew he had married. Heaven help the poor girl, is what I say. She seems a really nice woman, well bred by all accounts and far too good for him. I bet she has no idea that he has had affairs with at least two of us on board and probably more.’

Staying out of sight, Emily recognized the voice as the footsteps faded away. It was Sally, the wife of Tim Harding, and Emily’s humiliation was complete. She had known about Eloise, but to discover another of his ex-lovers was on board was beyond belief.

That any man could be so incredibly insensitive as to invite one ex-lover on his honeymoon was the stuff of nightmares, but two … She had more or less accepted Anton’s version of why Carlo and Eloise were guests … but not any more. This latest revelation was the last straw.

At that moment something finally died in Emily.

Thinking about the conversation now, Emily briskly turned away from the mirror, slipped her feet into silver stiletto sandals, and straightened up.