Читать книгу The Venadicci Marriage Vengeance - Melanie Milburne - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

‘MR VENADICCI has magnanimously offered to squeeze you in between appointments,’ the receptionist informed Gabby with crisp, cool politeness. ‘But he only has ten minutes available for you.’

Gabby schooled her features into impassivity, even though inside she was fuming and had been for the last hour, as Vinn Venadicci took his time about whether he would respond to her urgent request to see him. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I will try not to take up too much of his precious time.’

No matter how galling it would be to see Vinn again, Gabby determined she would be calm and in control at all times and under all circumstances. Too much was at stake for her to jeopardise things with a show of temper or a tirade of insults, as she would have done without hesitation seven years ago. A lot of water had flowed under the bridge since then, but she was not going to tell him just how dirty some of it had been. That would be conceding defeat, and in spite of everything that had happened she wasn’t quite ready to shelve all of her pride where Vinn Venadicci was concerned.

His plush suite of offices in the heart of the financial district in Sydney was a reflection of his meteoric rise to fame in the property investment industry. From his humble beginnings as the born-out-of-wedlock bad-boy son of the St Clair family’s Italian-born house-cleaner Rose, he had surprised everyone— except Gabby’s father, who had always seen Vinn’s potential and had done what he could to give him the leg-up he needed.

Thinking of her father was just the boost to her resolve Gabby needed right now. Henry St Clair was in frail health after a serious heart attack, which meant a lot of the responsibility to keep things running smoothly while he went through the arduous process of triple bypass surgery and rehabilitation had fallen on her shoulders, with her mother standing stalwartly and rather stoically by her father’s side.

This hiccup to do with the family business had come out of the blue—and if her father got wind of it, it was just the thing that could set off another heart attack. Gabby would walk across hot coals to avoid that— even meet face to face with Vinn Venadicci.

She raised her hand to the door marked with Vinn’s name and gave it a quick two-hit tattoo, her stomach twisting with the prickly sensation she always felt when she was within striking distance of him.

‘Come.’

She straightened her shoulders and opened the door, her chin at a proud height as she took the ridiculously long journey to his desk, where he was seated. That he didn’t rise to his feet was the sort of veiled insult she more or less expected from him. He had always had an insolent air about him, even when he had lived on and off with his mother, in a servants’ cottage at the St Clair Point Piper mansion.

In that nanosecond before he spoke Gabby quickly drank in his image, her heart giving a little jerk inside her chest in spite of all of her efforts to control it. Even when he was seated his height was intimidating, and the black raven’s wing of his hair caught the light coming in from the windows, giving it a glossy sheen that made her fingers itch to reach out and touch it. His nose was crooked from one too many of the brawls he had been involved in during his youth, but—unlike many other high-profile businessmen, who would have sought surgical correction by now—Vinn wore his war wounds like a medal. Just like the scar that interrupted his left eyebrow, giving him a dangerous don’t-mess-with-me look that was disturbingly attractive.

‘So how is the Merry Widow?’ he said with a mocking glint in his eyes as they ran over her lazily. ‘Long time no see. What is it now…? One year or is it two? You look like grief suits you, Gabriella. I have never seen you looking more beautiful.’

Gabby felt her spine go rigid at his sardonic taunt. Tristan Glendenning had been dead for just over two years, and yet Vinn never failed to refer to him in that unmistakably scathing manner whenever their paths crossed. She felt each and every reference to her late husband like a hard slap across the face—not that she would ever admit that to Vinn.

She pulled her temper back into line with an effort. ‘May I sit down?’

He waved a hand in a careless manner. ‘Put your cute little bottom down on that chair. But only for ten minutes,’ he said. ‘I have back-to-back commitments today.’

Gabby sat down on the edge of the chair, hating that his words had summoned such a hot flush to her cheeks. He had the most annoying habit of unnerving her with personal comments that made her aware of her body in a way no one else could.

‘So,’ he said, leaning back in his chair with a squeak of very expensive leather, ‘what can I do for you, Gabriella?’

She silently ground her teeth. No one else called her by her full name. Only him. She knew he did it deliberately. He had done it since she was fourteen, when his mother had been hired as the resident cleaner, bringing her brooding eighteen-year-old son with her. Although Gabby had to grudgingly admit that the way he said her name was quite unlike anyone else. He had been born in Australia but, because he had been fluent in Italian from a very young age, he made her name sound faintly foreign and exotic. The four distinct syllables coming out of his sensually sculptured mouth always made the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention like tiny soldiers.

‘I am here to discuss a little problem that’s come up,’ she said, hoping he couldn’t see how she was tying her hands into knots in her lap. ‘With my father out of action at present, I would appreciate your advice on how to handle it.’

He sat watching her in that musing way of his, clicking and releasing his gold ballpoint pen with meticulously timed precision: on, off, on, off, as if he was timing his own slow and steady heartbeat.

‘How is your father this morning?’ he asked. ‘I saw him last night in Intensive Care. He was looking a little worse for wear, but that’s to be expected, I suppose.’

Gabby was well aware of Vinn’s regular visits to her father’s bedside, and had deliberately avoided being there at the same time. ‘He’s doing OK,’ she said. ‘His surgery is scheduled for some time next week. I think they’ve been waiting for him to stabilise first.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said putting the pen to one side. ‘But the doctors are hopeful of a full recovery, are they not?’

Gabby tried not to look at his hands, but for some reason her eyes drifted back to where they were now lying palm down on the smoothly polished desk. He had broad, square-shaped hands, with long fingers, and the dusting of masculine hair was enough to remind her of his virility as a full-blooded male of thirty-two.

He was no longer the youth of the past. His skin was clear and cleanly shaven, and at six foot four he carried not a gram of excess flesh; every toned and taut muscle spoke of his punishing physical regime. It made Gabby’s ad hoc attempts at regular exercise with a set of free weights and a home DVD look rather pathetic in comparison.

‘Gabriella?’

Gabby gave herself a mental shake and dragged her eyes back to his. He had such amazing eyes. And his ink-black hair and deeply olive skin made the smoky grey colour of them all the more striking.

She had never been told the details of his father, and she had never really bothered to ask Vinn directly— although she assumed his father wasn’t Italian, like his mother. Gabby had heard one or two whispers as she was growing up, which had seemed to suggest Vinn’s mother found the subject painful and refused ever to speak of it.

‘Um…I’m not really sure,’ she said, in answer to his question regarding her father’s recovery. ‘I haven’t really spoken with his doctors.’

As soon as she said the words she realised how disengaged and uncaring they made her sound—as if her father’s health was not a top priority for her, when nothing could be further from the truth. She wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for her love and concern for both of her parents. She would never have dreamed of asking for Vinn’s help if desperation hadn’t shoved her head-first through his door.

‘I take it this unprecedented visit to my lair is about the takeover bid for the St Clair Island Resort?’ he said into the ringing silence.

Gabby had trouble disguising her reaction. She had only just become aware of it herself. How on earth had he found out about it?

‘Um…yes, it is actually,’ she said, shifting restlessly in her seat. ‘As you probably know, my father took out a substantial loan for the refurbishment of the resort about a year and a half ago. But late yesterday I was informed there’s been a call. If we don’t pay the loan back the takeover bid will go through uncontested. I can’t allow that to happen.’

‘Have you spoken to your accountants about it?’ he asked.

Gabby felt another layer of her professional armour dissolve without trace. ‘They said there is no way that amount of money can be raised in twenty-four hours,’ she said, lowering her gaze a fraction.

He began his on-off click with his pen once more, a little faster now, as if in time with his sharp intelligence as he mulled over what strategy to adopt.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve mentioned it to your father,’ he said, phrasing it as neither a question nor a statement.

‘No…’ she said, still not quite able to hold his gaze. ‘I didn’t want to stress him. I’m frightened the news could trigger another heart attack.’

‘What about the on-site resort managers?’ he asked. ‘Do they know anything about this?’

Gabby rolled her lips together as she brought her gaze back to his. ‘I spoke to Judy and Garry Foster last night. They are concerned for their jobs, of course, but I tried to reassure them I would sort things out this end.’

‘Have you brought all the relevant documentation with you?’ he asked after a short pause.

‘Um…no… I thought I would run it by you first.’ Gabby knew it was the wrong answer. She could see it in his incisive grey-blue eyes as they quietly assessed her.

She felt so incompetent—like a child playing with oversized clothes in a dress-up box. The shoes she had put on were too big. She had always known it, but hadn’t had the courage to say it out loud to her parents, who had held such high hopes for her after her older brother Blair’s tragic death. The giant hole he had left in their lives had made her all the more determined to fill in where she could. But she still felt as if the shoes were too big, too ungainly for her—even though she had trudged in them with gritted teeth for the last seven and a half years.

Vinn leaned back in his seat, his eyes still centred on hers. ‘So you have less than twenty-four hours to come up with the funds otherwise the takeover bid goes through unchallenged?’ he summated.

Gabby ran the tip of her tongue across lips dryer than ancient parchment. ‘That’s right,’ she said, doing her level best to quell her dread at the thought of such an outcome. ‘If it goes through our family will be left with only a thirty-five percent share in the resort. I’m not sure what you can do, but I know my father. If he wasn’t so unwell he would probably have run it by you first, to see if there’s anything we can do to avoid losing the major sharehold.’

His eyes were still locked on hers, unblinking almost, which unsettled Gabby more than she wanted it to.

‘Do you know who is behind the takeover?’ he asked.

She shook her head and allowed a tiny sigh to escape. ‘I’ve asked around, but no one seems to know anything about the company that’s behind it.’

‘How much is the margin call?’

Gabby took an uneven breath, her stomach feeling as if a nest of hungry bull ants were eating their way out. ‘Two point four million dollars.’

His dark brows lifted a fraction. ‘Not exactly an amount you would have sitting around in petty cash,’ he commented wryly.

‘It’s not an amount that is sitting anywhere in any of the St Clair accounts,’ she said, running her tongue over her lips again, as if to wipe away the residue of panic that seemed to have permanently settled there. ‘I’m sure my father never expected anything like this to happen—or at least not before we had time to recoup on the investment. The markets have been unstable for several months now. We wouldn’t be the first to have redeveloped at the wrong time.’

‘True.’

Gabby shifted in her chair again. ‘So…I was wondering what you suggest we do…’ She sucked in a tiny breath, her heart thumping so loudly she could feel a roaring in her ears. ‘I…I know it’s a bit of an imposition, but my father respects your judgment. That’s basically why I am here.’

Vinn gave a deep and utterly masculine rumble of laughter. ‘Yes, well, I can’t imagine you pressing for an audience with me to share your observations on the day’s weather,’ he said. And then, with a little sneering quirk of his mouth, he added, ‘You have five minutes left, by the way.’

Gabby pursed her lips as she fought her temper down. ‘I think you know what I’m asking you to do,’ she said tightly. ‘Don’t make me spell it out just to bolster your already monumental ego.’

A flicker of heat made his eyes look like the centre of a flame as he leaned forward across the desk. ‘You want me to pay off the loan, is that it?’ he said, searing her gaze with his.

‘My father has done a lot for you—’ she launched into the speech she had hastily prepared in the middle of the night ‘—he paid bail for that stolen car charge you were on when you were eighteen, not long after you came to live with us. And he gave you your very first loan for university. You wouldn’t be where you are today without his mentorship and his belief in you.’

He leaned back in his chair, his demeanour casual as you please. He picked up his pen again, but this time rolled it between two of his long fingers. ‘Two point four million dollars is a lot of money, Gabriella,’ he said. ‘If I were to hand over such an amount I would want something in return. Something I could depend on to cover my losses if things were to take a sudden downturn.’

Gabby felt a prickle of alarm lift the surface of her skin. ‘You mean like a guarantee or something?’ she asked. ‘W-we can have something drawn up with the lawyers. A repayment plan over…say five years, with fixed interest. How does that sound?’

He gave a smile that wasn’t reflected in those unreadable eyes of his. ‘It sounds risky,’ he said. ‘I would want a better guarantee than something written on paper.’

She looked at him in confusion. ‘I’m not sure what you mean… Are you asking for more collateral? There’s the house but Mum and Dad will need somewhere to—’

‘I don’t want their house,’ he said, his eyes still burning like fire into hers.

Gabby ran her tongue over her lips again, her stomach doing another nervous shuffling movement. ‘Then…then what do you want?’ she asked, annoyed with herself at how whispery and frightened her voice sounded.

The silence became charged with something she couldn’t quite identify. The air was thick—so thick she could scarcely breathe without feeling as if her chest was being pressed down with a weight far too heavy for her finely boned ribcage. Apprehension slowly but stealthily crept up her spine, with tiptoeing, ice-cold steps, disturbing each and every fine hair on the back of her neck.

Vinn’s eyes were fathomless pools of murky shadows as they held onto hers. ‘How do you feel about stepping up to the plate as guarantor?’ he asked.

Gabby frowned. ‘I don’t have anything like that amount at my disposal,’ she said, her heart starting to race. ‘I have a small income I draw from the company for my immediate needs, but nothing that would cover that amount at short notice.’

He tilted one of his dark brows ironically. ‘So I take it your late husband didn’t leave you in the manner to which you have been accustomed for all of your silver-spooned life?’ he said.

Gabby lowered her gaze and looked at her knotted hands rather than see the I-told-you-so gleam in his eyes. ‘Tristan’s finances were in a bit of a mess when he died so suddenly. There were debts and…so many things to see to…’ And so many secrets to keep, she thought grimly.

A three-beat pause passed.

‘I will give you the money,’ Vinn said at last. ‘I can have it in your father’s business account with a few clicks of my computer mouse. Your little problem will be solved before you catch the lift down to the ground floor of this building.’

Gabby could sense a ‘but’ coming, and waited with bated breath for him to deliver it. She knew him too well to expect him to hand over that amount of money without some sort of condition on the deal. Sure, he admired and respected her father, he even tolerated her mother to some degree, but he had every reason to hate Gabby, and she couldn’t imagine him missing a golden opportunity like this to demonstrate how deep his loathing of her ran.

‘But of course there will be some conditions on the deal,’ he inserted into the silence.

Gabby felt her heart skip a beat when she saw the determined glint in his gaze. ‘W-what sort of conditions?’ she asked.

‘I am surprised you haven’t already guessed,’ he remarked, with an inscrutable smile playing with the sensual line of his mouth, giving him a devilishly ruthless look.

Gabby felt another shiver of apprehension pass through her. ‘I—I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she said, her nails scoring into her palms as she tightened her fists in her lap.

‘Ah, but I think you do,’ he said. ‘Remember the night before your wedding?’

She forced herself to hold his gaze, even though she could feel a bloom of guilty colour staining her cheeks. The memory was as clear as if it had happened yesterday. God knew she had relived that brief, fiery exchange so many times during her train wreck of a marriage, wondering how different her life might have been if she had heeded Vinn’s warning…

The wedding rehearsal had been going ahead, in spite of Tristan calling at the last minute to say he had been held up in a meeting and might not make it after all, and Vinn had arrived at the church bleary-eyed and unshaven from an international flight, after spending the last six months in Italy where his terminally ill mother had asked to be taken to die.

He had leaned in that indolent way of his against one of the columns at the back of the cathedral, his strong arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other, and his eyes—those amazingly penetrating eyes—every time Gabby happened to glance his way, trained on her.

Once the minister had taken them through their paces, Gabby’s mother had invited everyone present back to the St Clair house for a light supper. Gabby had secretly hoped Vinn would decline the invitation, but as she had come out of one of the upstairs bathrooms half an hour or so later, Vinn had stepped forward to block her path.

‘I’d like a word with you, Gabriella,’ he said. ‘In private.’

‘I can’t imagine what you’d have to say to me,’ she said coldly, as she tried to sidestep him, but he took one of her wrists in the steel bracelet of his fingers, the physical contact sending sparks of fizzing electricity up and down her arm. ‘Let me go, Vinn,’ she said, trying to pull away.

His hold tightened to the point of pain. ‘Don’t go through with it, Gabriella,’ he said in a strained sort of tone she had never heard him use before. ‘He’s not the right man for you.’

Pride made her put her chin up. ‘Let me go,’ she repeated, and, using her free hand, scraped the back of his hand with her nails.

He captured her other hand and pulled her up close—closer than she had ever been to him before. It was a shock to find how hard the wall of his chest was, and the latent power of his thighs pressed against her trembling body made her spine feel loose and watery all of a sudden.

His eyes were burning as they warred with hers. ‘Call it off,’ he said. ‘Your parents will understand. It’s not too late.’

She threw him an icy glare. ‘If you don’t let me go this instant I’ll tell everyone you tried to assault me. You’ll go to jail. Tristan’s father will act for me in court. You won’t have a leg to stand on.’

His mouth tightened, and she saw a pulse beating like a drum in his neck. ‘Glendenning is only marrying you for your money,’ he ground out.

Gabby was incensed, even though a tiny pinhole of doubt had already worn through the thick veil of denial she had stitched in place over the last few weeks of her engagement. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she spat at him. ‘Tristan loves me. I know he does.’

Vinn’s hands were like handcuffs on her wrists. ‘If it’s marriage you want, then marry me. At least you’ll know what you’re getting.’

Gabby laughed in his face. ‘Marry you?’ She injected as much insult as she could into her tone. ‘And spend the rest of my life like your mother did, scrubbing other people’s houses? Thanks, but no thanks.’

‘I won’t let you go through with it, Gabriella,’ he warned. ‘If you don’t call the wedding off tonight I will stand up during the ceremony tomorrow and tell the congregation why the marriage should not go ahead.’

‘You wouldn’t dare!’

His eyes challenged hers. ‘You just watch me, Blondie,’ he said. ‘Do you want the whole of Sydney to know what sort of man you are marrying?’

She threw him a look of pure venom. ‘I am going to make damned sure you’re not even at my wedding,’ she spat back at him. ‘I’m going to speak to the security firm Dad has organised and have you banned from entry. I’m marrying Tristan tomorrow no matter what you say. I love him.’

‘You don’t know who or what you want right now,’ he said, with a fast-beating pulse showing at the corner of his mouth. ‘Damn it, Gabriella, you’re only just twenty-one. Your brother’s suicide has thrown you. It’s thrown all of us. Your engagement was a knee-jerk reaction. For God’s sake, a blind man could see it.’

The mention of her brother and his tragic death unleashed a spurt of anger Gabby had not been able to express out of respect for her shattered parents. It rose inside her like an explosion of lava, and with the sort of strength she had no idea she possessed, she tore herself out of his hold and delivered a stinging slap to his stubbly jaw. It must have hurt him, for her hand began to throb unbearably, all the delicate bones feeling as if they had been crushed by a house brick.

Time stood still for several heart-stopping seconds.

Something dangerous flickered in his grey-blue eyes, and then with a speed that knocked the breath right out of her lungs he pulled her into his crushing embrace, his hot, angry mouth coming down on hers…

Gabby had to shake herself back to the present. She hated thinking about that kiss. She hated remembering how she had so shamelessly responded to it. And she hated recalling the bracelet of fingertip bruises she had worn on her wedding day—as if Vinn Venadicci, in spite of her covert word to Security to keep him out of the church, had vicariously come along to mock her marriage to Tristan Glendenning anyway.

‘Just tell me what you want and get it over with,’ she said now, with a flash of irritation, as she continued to face him combatively across the expanse of his desk.

‘I want you to be my wife.’

Gabby wasn’t sure what shocked her the most: the blunt statement of his intentions or the terrifying realisation she had no choice but to agree.

‘That seems rather an unusual request, given the fact we hate each other and have always done so,’ she managed to say, without—she hoped—betraying the flutter of her heart.

‘You don’t hate me, Gabriella,’ he said with a sardonic smile. ‘You just hate how I make you feel. It’s always been there between us, has it not? The forbidden fruit of attraction: the rich heiress and the bad boy servant’s son. A potent mix, don’t you think?’

Gabby sent him a withering look. ‘You are delusional, Vinn,’ she said. ‘I have never given you any encouragement to think anything but how much I detest you.’

He got to his feet and, glancing at his designer watch, informed her dispassionately, ‘Time’s up, Blondie.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘I need more time to consider your offer,’ she bit out.

‘The offer is closing in less than thirty seconds,’ he said with an indomitable look. ‘Take or leave it.’

Frustration pushed Gabby to her feet. ‘This is my father’s life’s work we’re talking about here,’ she said, her voice rising to an almost shrill level. ‘He built up the St Clair Resort from scratch after that cyclone in the seventies. How can you turn your back on him after all he’s done for you? Damn it, Vinn. You would be pacing the exercise yard at Pentridge Jail if it wasn’t for what our family has done for you.’

His eyes were diamond-hard, the set to his mouth like carved granite. ‘That is my price, Gabriella,’ he said. ‘Marriage or nothing.’

She clenched her hands into fists, her whole body shaking with impotent rage. ‘You know I can’t say no. You know it and you want to rub it in. You’re only doing this because I rejected your stupid spur of the moment proposal seven years ago.’

He leaned towards the intercom on his desk and pressing the button, said calmly, ‘Rachel? Is my next client here? Mrs Glendenning is just leaving.’

Gabby could see her father’s hard-earned business slipping out of his control. He would have to sell the house—the house his parents and grandparents before him had lived in. Gabby could imagine the crushing disappointment etched on his face when she told him she had failed him, that she hadn’t been able to keep things afloat as her brilliantly talented brother would have done. If Blair was still alive he would have networked and found someone to tide him over by now. He would have had that margin call solved with a quick call to one of his well-connected mates. That was the way he had worked. He had lived on the adrenalin rush of life while she… Well, that was the problem.

She couldn’t cope.

She liked to know what was going to happen and when it was going to happen. She hated the cut and thrust of business, the endless going-nowhere meetings, the tedious networking at corporate functions—not to mention the reams of pointless paperwork. And most of all she hated the rows and rows of numbers that seemed more of a blur to her than anything else.

Gabby liked to… Well, there was no point in thinking about what she liked to do, because it just wasn’t going to happen. Her dreams had had to be shelved and would remain shelved—at least until her father could take up the reins again… If he took up the reins again, she thought, with another deep quiver of panic.

Gabby had been the last person to speak to her brother; the last person to see him alive before he ended his life with a drug overdose. Because of that she had responsibilities to face. And face them she would. Even if they were totally repugnant to her. Being forced to marry a man like Vinn Venadicci was right up there on the repugnant scale. Or maybe repugnant wasn’t quite the right word, she grudgingly conceded. Vinn was hardly what any woman would describe as physically off-putting. He was downright gorgeous, when it came down to it. That long, leanly muscled frame, that silky black hair, those sensually sculptured lips and those mesmerising eyes were enough to send any woman’s heart aflutter—and Gabby’s was doing a whole lot more than fluttering right now at the thought of being formally tied to him.

Entering into a marriage contract with Vinn was asking for trouble—but what else could she do? Who was going to lend her that amount of money in less than twenty-four hours?

Gabby gulped as she glanced at him again. Could she do it? Could she agree to marry him even though it was madness?

Actually, it was dangerous… Yes, that was the word she had been looking for. Vinn was dangerous. He was arrogant, he was a playboy, and—even more disturbing—he had a chip on his shoulder where she was concerned.

But she had nowhere else to turn—no other solution to fix this within the narrow timeframe. It was up to her to save her family’s business, even if it meant agreeing to his preposterous conditions.

‘All right,’ Gabby said on a whooshing breath of resignation. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Fine,’ Vinn said, in a tone that suggested he had never had any doubt of her accepting, which somehow made it all the more galling. ‘The money will be deposited within the next few minutes. I will pick you up this evening for dinner, so we can go through the wedding arrangements.’

Gabby felt herself quake with alarm. ‘Couldn’t we just wait a few days until I have time to—?’

His cynical laugh cut her off. ‘Until you have time to think of a way out, eh, Gabriella? I don’t think so, cara. Now I have you I am not going to let you escape.’

‘What am I supposed to say to my parents?’ she asked, scowling at him even as her stomach did another nosedive of dread.

He smiled. ‘Why not tell them you’ve finally come to your senses and agreed to marry me?’

She gave him another glare that would have stripped three decades of paint off a wall. ‘They will think I have taken leave of my senses.’

‘Or they will think you have fallen head over heels in love,’ he said. ‘Which is exactly what I would prefer them to believe at this point in time. Your father’s health is unstable and will be for some weeks after the surgery, I imagine. I wouldn’t want him to suffer a relapse out of concern for you or for his business.’

Gabby couldn’t argue with that, but she resented him using it as a lever to get her to fall meekly in with his plans. ‘I was planning on going to the hospital this evening,’ she said tightly. ‘Will I meet you there or at the house?’

‘I have a couple of meetings that might string out, so if I don’t make it to the hospital I will meet you at the house around eight-thirty,’ he said. ‘I would like to speak to your father at some point about my intentions.’

Gabby couldn’t stop her top lip from curling. ‘Somehow you don’t strike me as the traditional type, asking a girl’s father for her hand in marriage. In fact I didn’t think you were the marrying type at all. All we ever read about you in the press is how you move from one relationship to another within a matter of weeks.’

He gave her another unreadable smile. ‘Variety, as they say, is the spice of life,’ he said. ‘But even the most restless man eventually feels the need to put down some roots.’

She eyed him warily. ‘This marriage between us…it’s not for the long term…is it?’

‘Only for as long as it achieves its aim,’ he said— which Gabby realised hadn’t really answered her question.

Vinn moved past her to hold the door open for her. ‘I will see you tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ll call you if I am going to be late.’

She brushed past him, her head at a proud angle. The subtle notes of her perfume danced around his face, making his nostrils flare involuntarily. She smelt of orange blossom. Or was it honeysuckle? He couldn’t quite tell. Maybe it was both. That was the thing about Gabriella—she was a combination of so many things, any one of them alone was enough to send his senses spinning. But all of them put together? Well, that was half his problem, wasn’t it?

The door clicked shut behind her and Vinn released the breath he’d unconsciously been holding. ‘Damn,’ he said, raking a hand through his hair. ‘God damn it to hell.’

‘Mr Venadicci?’ His receptionist’s cool, crisp voice sounded over the intercom. ‘Mr Winchester is here now. Shall I send him in?’

Vinn pulled in an uneven breath and released it just as raggedly. ‘Yeah…’ he said, dropping his hand by his side. ‘I’ll see him. But tell him I’ve only got five minutes.’