Kitabı oku: «Sweet Revenge», sayfa 4

She’d chosen to wear a black singlet top over which she wore a fine lace black blouse tied at her waist, pencil-slim black skirt, black stilettos, hair pulled back into a French twist secured by a jewelled comb, a slim gold bracelet, understated make-up and lipgloss.

Dressed to kill was an adequate description.

Ready for battle was more apt!

Marcello was waiting for her as she entered the dining room, and one look at him was enough to set the pulse at her throat thrum to a faster beat.

Attired in black tailored trousers, a white chambray shirt, his casual appearance belied the almost barbaric handsomeness of the man.

Strength and power, a degree of ruthlessness made for a dangerous mix she had every reason to view with caution.

Yet there was so much banked-up resentment and anger towards him, it took leashed control to avoid launching into attack mode.

Play nice … for now, she reminded herself silently.

Appear to enjoy a few sips of excellent vintage wine, be polite through the starter, aim for neutrality as they sampled the main course, then open the verbal discourse over coffee.

That was the plan.

‘Shannay.’ His voice was a lazy, faintly accented drawl, and she unconsciously lifted her chin.

‘Marcello.’

‘Can I get you something to drink?’

Civility. She could do that. ‘A light medium white, thank you.’

He crossed to a storage cabinet, extracted the appropriate bottle, opened it, poured a quantity into a crystal goblet and extended it towards her.

‘Nicki settled well?’

She was careful to avoid his fingers as she took the goblet from his hand. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘So polite, Shannay?’

Her eyes sparked shards of golden fire. ‘I thought we’d feign peace and leave war until after dinner.’ Her chin lifted a little. ‘I have respect for my digestion.’

His soft laughter was almost her undoing as he indicated the table set with fine china, silver flatware and no less than three crystal goblets. ‘Let’s eat, shall we?’

Maria had surpassed herself with a delicate starter, followed by a seafood paella steaming aromatically beneath a covered serving dish.

‘Ramon is anxious to meet Nicki,’ Marcello informed as he touched the rim of his goblet to her own in a silent salute. ‘How do you feel about tomorrow?’

‘Perhaps it could be delayed by a day?’ Shannay countered. ‘Nicki has had to absorb a lot in the past week, followed by a long flight.’ She made a sweeping gesture with her hand to indicate his home. ‘All of this.’

‘I’ll make arrangements.’

It was happening, the increase in Marcello’s control to the detriment of her own.

Ramon she could cope with … even look forward to reconnecting with the generous elderly man.

Ramon’s daughter, Penè, however, was a different matter.

Ramon’s son, Marcello and Sandro’s father, had been killed instantly in a car crash when Marcello had been in his late teens.

Nicki was the bonus … the one bright star in the Martinez firmament. No one, not even Penè, would be permitted to say a word out of place in Nicki’s hearing.

Shannay sampled the starter, and insisted on a small portion of paella. She’d grown unused to eating so late, and she merely sipped her wine, choosing instead to drink chilled water, and declined dessert or coffee.

‘Finish your wine.’

She met his faintly hooded gaze with equanimity. ‘I prefer to have a clear head.’

Marcello sank back in his chair and regarded her with interest. ‘To indulge in verbal warfare?’

‘You doubt it?’ She barely hid an edge of bitterness in her voice. ‘I specifically requested our own accommodation.’

‘Yet I have provided accommodation, have I not?’ he offered reasonably.

Far more luxurious than the most expensive hotel. ‘That isn’t the point.’

‘What is the point?’

‘You could have asked for my approval.’

One eyebrow lifted in silent mockery. ‘And your answer would have been?’

‘Not in this lifetime!’

He spread his hands wide. ‘Precisely.’

She wanted to throw something at him. Anything to disrupt his chilling air of calm. ‘Doesn’t it matter that I don’t want to be here?’

‘In Madrid? This house? Or with me?’

‘All of that … and more!’ The words tumbled out with vehement ire.

‘Querida.’ His faintly accented drawl curled round her heart and tugged a little. ‘Perhaps you should have given thought to informing me of Nicki’s existence from the beginning, instead of hoping fate and distance would continue to keep me in ignorance.’

‘Don’t … call me that.’

‘Darling? Lover?’ He offered a faint smile. ‘But you are both, yes?’

‘Not any more. And never again,’ Shannay added with angry intent, and attempted to tamp down the vivid images that immediately flooded her mind.

In his bed, theirs, she corrected. Naked, beneath him, her thighs wrapped around his waist, urging him on, pleading, begging for the release only he could give … the heat and the passion. Loving him with her heart and her soul. His … only his.

‘Careful, amada. I could view that as a challenge.’

‘In a pig’s eye,’ she managed fiercely, hating his silky indolence. Not to mention the instinctive feeling he was deliberately toying with her.

He regarded her carefully. ‘Had I known you were pregnant, I’d have taken the next flight to Perth and dragged you back here.’

As he had done now, she perceived. ‘It wouldn’t have changed my decision to file for divorce.’

His pause was deliberately significant. ‘Yet you failed to do so until very recently.’

‘It was my choice to avoid all contact with you,’ Shannay offered coolly. ‘Even via legal channels.’ She waited a beat, and aimed the figurative dart. ‘Reciprocal, obviously.’

‘Yet circumstances have changed.’

Suspicion clouded her eyes. ‘What are you implying?’

‘There will be no divorce.’

‘The hell there won’t!’

He shrugged in an expressive negligent gesture. ‘Why bother with legalities?’

‘It might suit you to conveniently have a wife in another country, but I don’t want a husband!’

‘Not even the faithful John waiting patiently in the background?’

‘He’s my boss and a friend. Nothing more.’

‘No?’ Marcello arched silkily, and watched her temper flare into vibrant life.

‘Damn you, no.’

His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Almost four years, Shannay, and you haven’t welcomed another man into your bed?’

She wanted to pick something up and throw it at him.

‘Don’t,’ Marcello warned softly. ‘I might seek retribution.’

‘Bite me.’

‘What an interesting concept.’ His lazy drawl held amusement … and something else.

‘Go to hell.’ She hated the faint shakiness in her voice.

She wanted to leave … the room, this house, him.

Yet leaving would amount to an admission of sorts, and she refused to give Marcello the satisfaction.

Besides, there was Nicki. And for her daughter, she’d lay down her life. Without askance, or question.

‘Not a very comfortable place to be, wouldn’t you agree?’

Shannay closed her eyes, then opened them again as she flashed him a look of gold-flecked enmity. ‘Let’s balance the scales, shall we?’ Her voice held a darkness she didn’t know she possessed. ‘Or is the list of willing women anxious to share your bed too extensive to recall?’

‘You have a vivid imagination, mi mujer.’

My wife. She didn’t need or want the reminder. ‘With just cause.’

‘Something, if you remember,’ he drawled, ‘I refuted at the time.’

Her gaze remained steady. ‘You were very credible, Marcello, in light of the facts.’

One eyebrow rose in a gesture of distaste. ‘The fabrication of a disturbed woman?’

‘We’ve been there, done that,’ Shannay said in a dismissive tone. ‘It’s old ground.’

‘Consign it to the too hard basket, and not seek a resolution?’

‘There’s nothing to resolve.’

‘Yet it had a drastic effect on our lives and eroded what we once shared.’

Destroyed it, she wanted to fling at him … and knew she lied. The sensual pull was as strong now as it had ever been. Almost as if her soul reached out to his in a pagan call as old as time.

She could feel it, sense it deep inside, stirring to life in damning recognition.

Why? she demanded silently. And why now?

Tension. Stress. Jet lag.

A lethal combination which attacked her vulnerability, she justified without conviction.

‘I’m over it.’ It took tremendous effort to say the words, but she achieved them … barely.

She’d had enough, and her nerves were stretched to breaking point. With a careful movement she rose to her feet and held the dark, gleaming gaze of the inimical man seated opposite.

‘I’m going to bed.’

She turned, and had taken only a few steps when she heard the quiet silky timbre of his voice.

‘For the record … we’re not done.’

Her stomach jolted at the thinly veiled threat, and it was only through sheer strength of will she didn’t falter.

Seconds later she reached the wide arched doorway, and she sensed the faint mockery as he bade,

‘Sleep well.’

CHAPTER SIX

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.