Читать книгу Sweet Revenge: The Martinez Marriage Revenge / The Italian Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge / The Kouros Marriage Revenge - Эбби Грин, JACQUELINE BAIRD - Страница 11

SHANNAY CAME AWAKE slowly, stretched a little, reached for her watch to check the time and gave a gasp of dismay.

Nicki.

She flung back the covers, caught up her robe and hurried through the en suite to the adjoining bedroom, felt her heart leap to her throat at the sight of Nicki’s bed neatly made and no sign of her daughter.

Where …?

It was then she caught sight of the note propped against the pillow, and she hurriedly snatched it up, read the brief script in bold black ink, “Nicki downstairs in Maria’s care,” and felt the panic begin to subside.

All it took was ten minutes to shower, pull on dress jeans and a casual top over bra and briefs, slide her feet into heeled sandals, then she made her way down to the informal dining room to greet a glowing Nicki being fussed over by the benevolent Maria.

‘Marcello said not to wake you,’ the housekeeper relayed as she poured steaming aromatic coffee into a cup, offered a wide choice of food for breakfast and shook her head slightly when Shannay chose fresh fruit and yoghurt.

‘It’s mid-morning,’ Shannay reminded with a wry smile. ‘My body clock needs time to adjust.’

‘Marcello said we can go to a park after lunch,’ Nicki informed as Shannay took a seat at the table.

‘That’s nice.’ What else could she say? Any hope Marcello might absent himself in his city office each day seemed doomed. Which meant any form of freedom wasn’t going to happen.

Goodbye to checking out theme parks as carefree tourists. No spur-of-the-moment shopping excursions.

This was Madrid. Here she was affiliated to the Martinez family, where extreme wealth necessitated due care with a bodyguard in attendance beyond the safety of home.

She hadn’t liked it then. Any more than she did now. Except there was Nicki, with little or no conception of her true identity … yet. A vulnerable child who hadn’t been groomed almost from birth to always be aware of possible danger, to unquestionably obey the people in charge of her welfare, or having been taught simple but vital diversionary survival tactics.

It was a heavy load for such a young child, and not something instantly learned.

Although she was loath to admit Marcello had been right in bringing them into his home, it made perfect sense to utilise their three-week sojourn as a learning curve.

It was no use wishing fate hadn’t had a hand in bringing Nicki’s existence to Sandro and Luisa’s attention.

Life was filled with coincidence, occasionally against all the odds … and she had to deal with it.

Shannay finished her breakfast, drained the rest of her coffee and extended a hand towards her daughter.

‘Shall we go explore?’

The house first, then the grounds … with Carlo in attendance at a reasonable distance when they ventured outdoors.

High walls, electronic gates, sophisticated security monitoring the grounds.

Together she and Nicki trod the neat paths as they viewed the immaculate lawns, the gardens with their beautiful flowerbeds providing brilliant colour, carefully tended shrubbery precision-clipped to landscaped perfection.

‘It’s pretty,’ Nicki announced, then pointed in excitement. ‘There’s a swimming pool. Are we allowed to swim in it?’

‘Only when I’m with you,’ she cautioned firmly.

‘Or Marcello?’

Shannay inclined an agreement, and felt a degree of maternal alarm at the thought of Nicki being left unsupervised when she wasn’t around. Then she calmed down a little. For the next two years, Nicki’s sojourns here would be restricted to a few … except how could she ever learn to let go?

She’d be a nervous wreck from the time her daughter boarded the jet until she returned to Australian soil.

‘It’s a very big house,’ Nicki declared, visibly awed by the luxurious interior as they moved through the various rooms.

Shannay provided a running explanation as they completed the first level and trod the stairs to the upper level.

‘I like our wing best,’ Nicki clutched a tighter hold of Shannay’s hand, ‘‘specially my room.’

Who wouldn’t?

Marcello joined them for lunch, and from his casual attire he’d obviously conducted the morning’s work in his home office.

Black jeans, a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck and the long sleeves rolled back at the cuffs, he resembled a dark angel, rugged with his hair less smoothly groomed than usual … almost as if he’d thrust fingers through its thickness in exasperation. And if so, why?

In the early days of their marriage she would have walked up to him, cupped his broad facial features between both hands and leaned in to savour the touch of his mouth. Feel his arms close round her slim body as he deepened the kiss, and exult in his arousal.

A time when she’d thought nothing could damage their love.

How naive had she been?

‘Must I have a nap?’

Shannay caught the subdued excitement bubbling beneath the surface as Nicki silently pleaded with her.

‘Uh-huh.’ She tempered it with a smile, hating the disappointment clouding her daughter’s expressive features. ‘Everyone has a siesta after lunch.’

Nicki’s eyes grew round with surprise. ‘Even grown-ups?’ She looked at Marcello. ‘You, too?’

‘Sometimes, if I’m home and not too busy.’ His smile transformed his features, and Shannay felt the familiar sensation curl deep within in memory of how they’d shared the afternoon siesta when sleep hadn’t been a factor.

Marcello’s sanction made it OK, and Nicki obediently caught hold of Shannay’s hand as she led her daughter upstairs to her room.

With outer clothes removed and tucked beneath light covers, Nicki fell asleep within minutes, and Shannay moved through to her own room, too restless to do other than flick through a magazine.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake an instinctively inexplicable feeling of impending … what?

She shook her head in exasperation, then dispensed with the magazine. It was crazy. She was crazy.

It was mid-afternoon when Carlo brought the expensive Porsche four-wheel-drive to the front door, and with Nicki happily ensconced in the rear seat between Shannay and Marcello they headed for the nearest park.

Her daughter’s enthusiasm for everything new appeared boundless, and she watched as Nicki explored, frequently calling for Marcello to come look at a butterfly, a bee, a pretty flower.

By day’s end, fed and bathed, Nicki contentedly settled in bed as Marcello read her a bedtime story, then when he reached the end he brushed a light kiss to his daughter’s forehead, bade her goodnight and left the room.

Shannay adjusted the night-light, checked the internal monitor, and when she turned Nicki was already breathing evenly in sleep.

If she could, she’d request a tray in her room in lieu of dinner. Except it would be seen as a cop-out, and she refused to allow Marcello to witness so much as a chink in her feminine armour.

Instead, she showered and dressed in an elegant trouser suit, left her hair loose, applied minimum make-up and went down to join Marcello.

A familiar sensation knotted her stomach as she caught sight of his tall, compelling frame, only to tighten considerably as he turned to face her.

There was a degree of lazy arrogance apparent in those dark eyes … a knowledge that probed deep beyond the surface and saw too much.

In the full blush of love, she’d thought it incredibly romantic. Now she viewed it as an aberration.

Once again she declined wine in favour of chilled water, and sought to set the record straight.

‘There’s no need for you to ignore your social life while Nicki and I are here.’

‘Once our daughter is settled for the night I should feel under no obligation to entertain her mother?’ Marcello’s voice held a tinge of something she didn’t care to define.

‘You got it in one.’

‘Why would you imagine I’d choose to ignore a guest in my home?’

‘Cut the polite verbal word play,’ Shannay advised. ‘There’s no need to insult my intelligence by pretending we’re anything other than opposing forces in all areas of our lives.’

‘Nicki being the one exception?’

‘The only exception.’

‘But a very important factor, wouldn’t you agree?’

He was doing it again, and she glared at him as she took a seat at the table.

‘I concede the need to maintain a friendly relationship in Nicki’s presence. But rest assured, the less I see of you, the better.’

‘Afraid, Shannay?’

‘Of you? No.’

‘Perhaps you should be,’ Marcello warned silkily as he indicated she should help herself to the chicken stew gently steaming in the serving dish.

‘Oh, please.’ She transferred a small portion of stew onto her plate, replaced the ladle and speared him a glittering look. ‘Cut me a break, why don’t you?’

He served himself a generous portion, then he selected a fork from the flatware displayed.

‘Almost four years,’ he drawled. ‘Yet the pulse at the base of your throat betrays you with a faster beat.’

‘Your ego astounds me.’

‘Have you not wondered how our lives would be now had you remained here?’

‘Not at all,’ she managed coolly, and knew she lied, aware of the nights she had lain awake imagining that very thing. How their pursuit of happiness had faltered, then fallen apart. Perhaps Nicki wouldn’t be the only child she’d bear … because for the life of her she couldn’t think of sharing her body with another man or having his child.

‘Interesting.’

Shannay carefully folded her linen napkin and placed it on the table, then she rose to her feet and shot him a killing look. ‘Go to hell, Marcello.’

‘Sit down, Shannay.’

‘Only to be picked apart and analysed merely for your amusement? Forget it.’

She turned away from the table and had only taken a few steps when firm hands closed over her shoulders.

In a strictly reactive movement she lifted her head and glared at him. ‘What next? Strong-arm tactics?’

‘No. Just this.’

He lowered his head down to hers and captured her mouth with his own in a hard kiss that took her by surprise and plundered at will.

The faint cry of distress rose and died in her throat, and almost as if he sensed it his touch gentled a little and became frankly sensual, seeking the sensitive tissues before stroking the edge of her tongue with the tip of his own in a flagrant dance that stirred at the latent passion simmering beneath the surface of her control.

She felt his hands shift as one slid to cup the back of her head, while the other smoothed down her back and brought her close against him.

Her eyelids shuttered down as she fought against capitulation. The temptation to return his kiss was unbearable, and she groaned as he eased back and began a sensual tasting, teasing the soft fullness of her lower lip, nipping a little with the edges of his teeth, until she succumbed to the sweet sorcery he bestowed.

Dear heaven. It was like coming home as he shaped her mouth with his own, encouraging her response, taking her with him in an evocative tasting that became more … and promised much.

Her breasts firmed against his chest, their sensitive peaks hardening in need … for the touch of his hand, his mouth, and she whimpered, totally lost in the moment.

The hardness of his erection was a potent force, and warmth raced through her veins, activating each pleasure pulse until she felt so incredibly sensually alive, it was almost impossible not to beg.

It was the slide of his hand over the curve of her breast, the way he shaped it, then slid to loosen the buttons that gave her a moment’s pause for thought.

It would be so very easy to link her hands behind his neck and silently invite him to rekindle the flame.

And she almost did. Almost.

Except sanity and the dawning horror of where this was going provided the impetus to pull away.

What was she doing?

Was she out of her mind?

‘I hate you.’ The words came out as a tortured whisper as she dropped her arms and attempted to move back a pace.

For what seemed an age Marcello examined her features, the dilated eyes so dark, almost bruised, with passion. The soft, swollen mouth trembling from his possession.

The shocked dismay.

‘Perhaps you hate yourself more,’ he offered quietly.

For losing control? Enjoying his touch?

And, dear lord … wanting it all.

He watched as she straightened her shoulders, tilted her chin and summoned a fiery glare.

‘I’m done. And that,’ she flung recklessly, ‘was a ridiculous experiment.’

Marcello let her go, watching as she moved towards the door and exited the room.

Experiment? Far from it.

A mark of intent.

And he was far from done.

The photograph had been taken with a telephoto lens. Had to be, for Shannay couldn’t recall seeing a photographer anywhere as they’d disembarked from Marcello’s private jet.

Marcello Martinez with a woman and child in tow had sent the news-hounds into a frenzy. How long would it have taken to filch out archival data and discover the woman was Marcello’s estranged wife … and determine the child was his own?

Not long.

The caption, even in Spanish, was unmistakable.

How difficult was it to interpret reconciliacón?

Or resurrect her knowledge of the language sufficiently to comprehend Señor Martinez’ remark, upon being requested to comment?

Anything is possible.

Really?

Anger suffused her body, coalescing into one great tide of fury, taxing her control to the limit.

With care she tore out the offending page, then folded it a few times and slid it into the pocket of her jeans, determined to initiate a confrontation.

He was home … but where?

His home office would be the best place to begin.

She sought out Maria, who took one look at the clenched jaw, the blazing eyes, and immediately caught hold of Nicki’s hand.

‘Come, pequena, we will go into the kitchen and bake some biscuits, si?’

Shannay even achieved a tense smile. ‘Thank you.’ She smoothed a hand over Nicki’s hair. ‘Be good for Maria. I’ll check with you soon. OK?’

‘OK.’

Marcello’s home office was situated in the far corner of the first level, overlooking the gardens and pool area. Two adjoining rooms whose dividing wall had been removed and refurbished to hold a large executive desk, hi-tech computers, a laptop and the requisite office equipment in one half of the room, while floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the walls of the remaining half, together with a few comfortable leather chairs, lamps and side-tables.

A very male domain, and one she entered with barely an accompanying knock to announce her presence.

Marcello glanced up from a computer screen, caught the gleaming anger apparent in her dark eyes and settled back in his chair to regard her with thoughtful speculation.

Attired in black jeans and a watermelon-pink top, her hair pulled back into a careless pony-tail and no make-up he could discern, she looked little more than a teenager. Harbouring self-righteous anger he was tempted to stir into something more.

Her honest emotions had always intrigued him, for she rarely held back … a quality lacking in many women of his acquaintance. Sophisticated women who played a false seductive game with both eyes on the main chance.

Shannay had been different. She hadn’t known who he was, and didn’t appear to care when she did.

Four years ago he hadn’t been able to prevent her leaving. Hadn’t fought for her as he should have done, erroneously supposing all he needed to do to soothe some of the hurt and pain inflicted by Estella and his widowed aunt was provide evidence of his love by gifting sex.

Exceptional lovemaking, he reflected, and felt his body tighten in remembered passion.

‘There’s something you want to discuss?’

He looked so damned laid-back, controlled. Even, she decided furiously, faintly amused.

With studied calm she extracted the folded newsprint from her pocket, opened it out and tossed it down onto his desk.

‘Perhaps you’d care to explain?’

He merely gave it a glance. ‘I’m sure your knowledge of the Spanish language is sufficient to provide a reasonably accurate translation.’

The fact he was right didn’t sit well. ‘That isn’t the issue here.’

His eyes never left her face. ‘What is the issue, Shannay?’

‘A reconciliation was never on the cards.’ Her eyes flashed gold sparks, and her fingers curled into her palm in frustrated anger. ‘There’s no way in hell it’s going to happen.’

‘You think not?’

‘I demand you order a retraction.’

‘No.’ His voice was dangerously soft, his expression an unyielding mask. ‘You deny it would be advantageous for Nicki to have two parents, a stable family life, and thus negate custody arrangements in two countries on the opposite sides of the world?’

‘With a mother and father constantly at war? Please.’

‘Would there necessarily need to be dissension?’ He made an encompassing gesture with one hand. ‘You would enjoy every social advantage and as my wife, be gifted anything you want.’

Marcello watched the fleeting expressions, divined each and every one of them, and moved in for the kill.

‘Not even to please a very ill old man with only a short time to live?’

Conflicting emotions tore at her emotional heart and lent shadows to her eyes.

‘Ramon has a very progressive form of cancer,’ he relayed quietly. ‘Various surgical procedures have delayed the inevitable. However, the brain tumour is inoperable, and the medical professionals predict it will only be a matter of weeks before he lapses into a coma.’

Shannay was unable to hide the shock, or her genuine regret. ‘I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you warn me?’

‘I thought I had.’

She searched for the precise words he’d used. ‘You said he was ill,’ she recalled. ‘You didn’t say he is dying.’

She was conscious of his scrutiny, the studied ease with which he regarded her as the impact of his words sank in.

‘Given the circumstances, is it too much to ask?’

Her eyes held his. ‘What about Nicki? Ramon wants to meet her, but have you given a thought to how Ramon’s rapidly deteriorating health will affect her? She’s only a child, and she’s much too young to assimilate and cope with illness of this magnitude.’

‘I’ve agonised over it,’ Marcello assured quietly. ‘At the moment Ramon spends a short time sitting in a comfortable chair in the sala. He looks old, a little tired and fragile, but he’s remarkably lucid.’ He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You will be able to judge for yourself.’ An entire gamut of conflicting emotions vied for supremacy, including doubt. In the end, compassion won out.

‘You give me your word you’ll allow me to decide when Nicki’s visits should cease?’

‘Without question.’ He sank further back in his chair and raised his hands to cup his nape. ‘The purported reconciliation? You’ll agree to the pretence for Ramon’s sake?’

Why did she harbour the feeling she was being led deeper into deception with every passing day?

She wanted no part of it.

Yet it seemed so little to do to ease an elderly man’s mind. To let him believe … what? That his beloved eldest grandson had reconciled with his wife? Spend time with his only great-grandchild?

Couldn’t she gift Ramon that much?

‘Aren’t you forgetting something? Someone?’ Shannay asked at last.

Marcello didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

‘Nicki will be told precisely who I am before we visit Ramon.’

‘Which will be when?’

He checked his watch. ‘At eleven.’

Just over an hour? ‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard.’

Without thought she reached for a paperweight and threw it at him.

Only to miss, as he fielded it in one hand.

For a moment the air was electric, stark and momentous in its silence, and her eyes darkened with horrified disbelief as Marcello placed the glass weight onto the desk, then rose slowly to his feet.

She couldn’t move, her feet seemingly cemented to the floor as he crossed to her side.

There wasn’t a word she could utter, for her voice couldn’t pierce the lump that had risen in her throat, and she stood powerless as he captured her chin.

His eyes were dark, almost black with forbidding anger, and his voice emerged in husky warning.

‘Play with fire, querida, and you risk getting burned.’

He ran a finger along the edge of her jaw, almost caressing its shape, and a shiver slithered through her body.

‘So much emotion,’ Marcello opined silkily. ‘Why is that, do you suppose?’

‘Because I hate you.’

‘Better hate than indifference.’

His fingers curled over her chin as he stroked a thumb over her lower lip … felt it tremble beneath his touch, and offered a faint smile.

‘Shall I put it to the test?’ He traced the column of her throat with the tip of one finger, rested briefly in the hollow between her breasts, then slid to cup one soft mound and brush its peak with a provocative sweep of his thumb.

She felt it swell and harden beneath his touch, and hated her traitorous reaction.

‘Let me go.’

His voice lowered to an indolent purr. ‘But we’re not yet done.’

His mouth brushed hers in a teasing tracery that almost made her sway, and she stifled a faint groan as he pulled her lower lip between his teeth.

She was hardly aware of the fingers of one hand working the snap at her waist, or the subtle slide of the zip fastening … until she felt his palm against the bare skin of her stomach.

Then it was too late and her startled protest became lost in the way he filled her mouth, and she felt her body jerk spasmodically as his fingers slid through the soft curling hair at the junction of her thighs, then sought and found the moist warmth at her feminine core.

With unerring accuracy he stroked the swollen clitoris and watched the way her eyes glazed as sensation arced through her in an encompassing wave. One which swelled again and again with every tantalising stroke, and he absorbed her cry as he used his fingers in a simulated thrust that sent her high.

He wanted more, much more, and the temptation to take her here, now, was an almost unbearable hunger.

On the desk, the floor, straddling him on the chair, pushed against the wall.

The fact he could acted as a deterrent, and he simply held her, softening the touch of his mouth against her own until the shudders raking her slender form slowed and subsided.

With care he withdrew his hand, closed the zip fastening on her jeans and pressed the snap.

The action brought her back to her senses, and she pushed away from him, unable to believe she’d allowed what had just happened … to happen.

How could she have relaxed her guard and become so seduced by his touch … dear heaven, his intrusion?

She didn’t want to look at him. Couldn’t bear to see the satisfaction evident in his eyes, or his pleasure at her downfall.

For an age neither of them spoke, and the only audible sound in the room was the slightly uneven sound of her breathing.

‘That was despicable,’ Shannay managed, hating him so much she almost shook with it. She lifted a hand and wiped the back of it across her mouth in an attempt to dispense the taste of him.

And glimpsed the compelling sensuality apparent before he masked his expression.

‘But … enlightening, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘You’re keeping score?’ she countered with a tinge of bitterness, and saw his expression harden.

‘Where is Nicki?’

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘In the kitchen with Maria making biscuits.’

‘Then let’s go get her.’

She looked at him sharply. ‘Now?’

Get a grip, why don’t you?

How, when her emotions were in turmoil and her body had yet to recover? Even thinking about his touch was enough to cause tiny spasms in the most sensitive part of her anatomy.

‘We’ll tell her together.’

With an effort she pulled herself together. ‘I should be the one—’

‘She deserves to have both her parents present.’

Apprehension didn’t cover it as they collected Nicki and took her upstairs, and as they neared her room Shannay began doing deals with the deity.

This was major. Major, she reiterated silently as Marcello placed Nicki on her bed, and hunkered down to her eye level.

He kept the telling simple. So very simple, it was easy to follow his lead. And Nicki’s reaction became a timeless moment, one that caught the heartstrings and plucked the emotional depths as she stood and unhesitatingly wrapped her arms around Marcello’s neck.

His eyes burned fiercely over Nicki’s head as he hugged her close, and Shannay had to blink hard to prevent the shimmer of tears spilling down her cheeks.

Father and child together.

Nicki’s delight and wholehearted acceptance, whose childish words said it all. ‘You’re my daddy.’

It was a beginning, Shannay acknowledged, for Nicki was a perceptive child for her age and eventually there would be questions.

But for now, one of the most important hurdles had been conquered.

Marcello pressed a light kiss to his daughter’s temple. ‘Now we will all get ready to go visit with your bisabuelo, Ramon.’

He rested a hand briefly on Shannay’s shoulder. ‘Fifteen minutes. I’ll wait for you downstairs.’

Together they chose Nicki’s prettiest dress, and with her hair neatly caught together she followed Shannay into her room as Shannay selected a slim-fitting dress in jade linen, attached a belt, then tended to her hair and make-up beneath her daughter’s interested gaze.

Marcello was standing in the foyer as they descended the stairs, and he smiled at Nicki’s childish beam when she placed her small hand in his on reaching his side.

Carlo drove through the suburban avenues to Ramon’s mansion, parking it in the forecourt immediately adjacent to the main entrance.

Shannay was unprepared for the physical changes in the elderly man, who’d been one of the few Martinez family members to view her kindly before and during her brief marriage to his eldest grandson.

She remembered him as a strong man, despite his advancing years. Vibrant and powerful, yet compassionate to the young woman who’d captured Marcello’s heart.

Ramon had encouraged her struggle to learn the Spanish language, to come to terms with the Martinez wealth and lifestyle, and to accept the things she couldn’t change.

In a way, he’d been her mentor, and to now discover the shell of the man she’d once adored was heartbreaking.

At first she was tentative, unsure whether the affection they’d shared still existed. After all, it had been she who’d left under cover of night, leaving only a brief note for Marcello to find on his return home, and no word for anyone else.

‘Holà.’ It wasn’t so much the greeting, but the husky-voiced delivery accompanied by a gentle smile that filled her eyes with unshed tears.

‘Ramon.’ She didn’t hesitate in crossing to the cushioned chair where he sat. Nor did she pause in brushing her lips to his cheek. ‘How are you?’

The dark eyes twinkled with humour. ‘How do I look?’

She tilted her head slightly to one side. ‘A little less the Martinez lion than I remember.’

‘How beautifully you lie.’ His soft laughter almost undid her. ‘But I forgive you for indulging an old man.’ He caught hold of her hand and held it within his own. ‘Now introduce me to my great-granddaughter.’

Marcello moved forward with Nicki held in his arms.

‘Nicki,’ he said gently, ‘this is Ramon.’

Ramon’s features softened dramatically, and his eyes misted. ‘Bring her closer.’

For a moment Nicki looked hesitant, then she nodded as Marcello offered a few soft, reassuring words.

‘Holà, Bisabuelo.’

Shannay’s eyes widened in startled surprise. The pronunciation was good. Who? Marcello … of course, possibly coached by Maria.

For a moment she had mixed feelings, then they were overcome by Ramon’s obvious delight.

‘Nicki. A beautiful name for a beautiful little girl,’ he said gently.

‘Marcello—my daddy—sometimes calls me pequena,’ Nicki said solemnly. ‘That means little.’

His smile melted Shannay’s heart. ‘Indeed it does. You must visit often, and I will teach you some Spanish.’

‘I’ll have to ask Mummy if it’s OK.’

‘Of course,’ Ramon agreed with equal solemnity, and cast Shannay an enquiring glance.

‘It will be a pleasure.’ How could she say anything else?

‘Marcello shall bring you.’

Nicki looked momentarily unsure. ‘Mummy, too?’

‘Naturally. We shall make it mornings, then you will have the rest of the day to explore.’ He glanced up at the slight sound of a door opening. ‘Ah, here is Sophia with our tea.’

Tea with delicious bite-size sandwiches and pastries, some pleasant conversation, after which Marcello indicated they should leave.

‘Hasta mañana.’

Until tomorrow.

Carlo drove them past the Warner Bros Park, a visit to which Marcello promised as a treat in store.

‘You’re a busy man,’ Shannay protested lightly.

‘Impossible I have learnt to delegate?’

‘Improbable.’

‘You are wrong.’

She looked at him carefully. ‘We don’t expect you to give up your time.’

Dark eyes travelled to her mouth and lingered there a moment too long. ‘It is my pleasure to do so.’

Pleasure being the operative word, and unmistakable.

Shannay could feel colour tinge her cheeks, and she shot him a dark glance before becoming seemingly engrossed in the scene beyond the car window.

It was during dinner that evening that she brought up his social life, and a firm reiteration she didn’t require to be entertained … especially by him.

‘Won’t your—er—’ she paused with deliberate delicacy ‘—current lover,’ she lightly stressed, ‘become impatient at your absence?’

One eyebrow slanted in silent mockery. ‘From her bed?’ And noted with interest the increased thud of a pulse at the base of her throat. ‘Possibly,’ he drawled, and took his time in adding, ‘If I had one.’

She refused to rise to the bait. ‘Estella has become the consummate mistress?’

‘Something you would need to ask of her husband.’

Estella had married? ‘I find it difficult to believe she gave up on you.’

His smile was a mere facsimile. ‘It takes two, amada, and I was never a contender.’

It wasn’t easy to feign indifference, but she managed it. ‘Could we change the subject?’

‘Yet you brought it up,’ he reminded with hateful simplicity.

‘Is Ramon in much pain?’ She kept the faintly desperate edge from her voice, and had the impression it didn’t fool him at all.

Marcello’s gaze didn’t shift from her own as he inclined his head. ‘He has ongoing medical attention with a doctor and nurse in residence. It is his wish to remain at home.’

Shannay knew his condition, and the odds. There was little to be done, except keep him comfortable.

‘I would ask that you and Nicki remain here until Ramon slips into a coma.’

She should have seen it coming, and she cursed herself for not foreseeing just this eventuality.

‘I have a job,’ she reminded. ‘We have an agreement. After three weeks Nicki and I return to Perth.’

‘I’m sure your leave can be extended on compassionate grounds.’

It could. If she wanted it extended.

The truth being she didn’t trust herself to stay in Marcello’s company any longer than she had to.

They shared a history, a potent chemistry she didn’t dare stir into vibrant life.

He was dangerous, primitive, and intently focused.

A surge of helpless anger rose to the fore at his manipulation, and her gaze hardened as she sought a measure of control.

‘You believe I brought you here with an ulterior motive in mind?’

How could she doubt it? ‘Yes.’

‘Perhaps you’d care to elaborate?’

His voice was a silky drawl as his eyes pierced her own, silently daring her to avoid his gaze.

‘I think you’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you get what you want,’ she retaliated heatedly.

‘And what is it you imagine I want?’

‘Nicki.’

His expression didn’t change. ‘Of course. What else?’

She couldn’t bear to be in his presence a moment longer, and she stood to her feet, tossed aside her napkin and turned away from him.

‘One day you won’t run.’

Shannay swivelled and sent him a venomous glare. ‘You think?’

He had the strong desire to haul her over his shoulder and carry her kicking and protesting to his bed.

As he had done once in the past, when mere words had become an impossible means of communication. Kisses tempered by anger assumed reluctant passion, then became more, so much more, until there was no denial of need, or a mutual sensual recognition that overcame all else … until reality in the light of day intruded.

Was her memory of what they’d shared as hauntingly vivid as his own?

Did it keep her awake nights?

He was counting on it.