Книга - Surrendering All But Her Heart

Surrendering All But Her Heart
MELANIE MILBURNE


Keeping your enemies close… Natalie Armitage’s world was shattered the first time Angelo Bellandini mentioned marriage. Their affair had been intensely passionate, but she had learned to close her heart at an early age, and the thought of exposing it to anyone made her run. Five years later she’s facing her second proposal from Angelo – but his molten brown eyes are burning with revenge, not desire!To protect her family Natalie must accept his ring – but she’ll be no meek-and-mild Bellandini bride. Angelo’s expert touch might give her body scorching pleasure, but he’ll never win her frozen heart…‘I love the way Melanie’s stories flow – amazing! Thanks for writing, Melanie.’ – Susana, Jakarta, Indonesia







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Natalie quickly disguised another swallow. ‘You want more than one hundred thousand pounds?’ she asked, in a voice that sounded too high, almost squeaky.


Angelo looked at her, his eyes meshing with hers in a lockdown that made the silence throb with palpable tension. She felt it moving up her spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. She felt it on her skin, in the ghosting of goosebumps fluttering along her flesh. She felt it—shockingly—between her thighs, as if he had reached down and touched her there.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. She could read the subtext of that dark mocking gaze. He didn’t give a damn about the money. It wasn’t money he wanted. He had more than enough of his own.

Natalie knew exactly what he wanted. She had known it the minute she had stepped into his office and locked gazes with him.

He wanted her.




About the Author


From as soon as MELANIE MILBURNE could pick up a pen she knew she wanted to write. It was when she picked up her first Mills and Boon


at seventeen that she realised she wanted to write romance. After being distracted for a few years by meeting and marrying her own handsome hero, surgeon husband Steve, and having two boys, plus completing a Masters of Education and becoming a nationally ranked athlete (masters swimming), she decided to write. Five submissions later she sold her first book, and is now a multi-published bestselling, award-winning USA TODAY author. In 2008 she won the Australian Readers Association’ most popular category/series romance, and in 2011 she won the prestigious Romance Writers of Australia R*BY award.

Melanie loves to hear from her readers via her website—www.melaniemilburne.com.au—or on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Melanie-Milburne/351594482609



Recent titles by the same author:

ENEMIES AT THE ALTAR

(The Outrageous Sisters) DESERVING OF HIS DIAMONDS? (The Outrageous Sisters) HIS POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL

Did you know these are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Did you know that Melanie Milburnealso writes for Mills & Boon Medical Romance™?

DR CHANDLER’S SLEEPING BEAUTYis also out this month!




Surrendering

All But

Her Heart



Melanie Milburne







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CHAPTER ONE


Y‘OU’LL have to see him.’

Natalie could still hear the desperation and pleading in her mother’s tone even as she pressed the call button for the lift leading up to Angelo Bellandini’s swish London office. The words had taken up residence in her head. They had kept her awake for the last forty-eight hours. They had accompanied her like oversized baggage on the train all the way from her home in Edinburgh. They had clickety-clacked over the tracks until they had been like a mind-numbing mantra in her head.

‘You’ll have to see him. You’ll have to see him. You’ll have to see him.’

Not that she hadn’t seen him in the last five years. Just about every newspaper and online blog had a photo or information about the playboy heir to the Bellandini fortune. Angelo Bellandini’s fast-living lifestyle was the topic of many an online forum. His massive wealth—of which, to his credit, only half was inherited; the other half had been acquired through his own hard work—made him a force to be reckoned with.

And now she had to reckon with him, on behalf of her wayward younger brother and his foolish actions.

A prickle of apprehension fluttered like a faceless, fast-footed creature down the length of her spine as she stepped into the glass and chrome capsule of the lift. Her hand shook slightly as she reached for the correct floor button.

Would Angelo even agree to see her, given the way she had walked out of his life five years ago? Would he hate her as much as he had once loved her? Would the passion and desire that had once burned in his dark brown gaze now be a blaze of hatred instead?

Her insides shifted uneasily as she stepped out of the lift and approached the reception area. Having grown up with comfortable wealth, she should not be feeling so intimidated by the plush and elegant surroundings. But when they had first met Angelo had never revealed to her the extent of his family fortune. To her he had been just a hard-working, handsome Italian guy, studying for a Master’s degree in business. He had gone to considerable lengths to conceal his privileged background—but then, who was she to talk?

She had revealed even less about hers.

‘I’m afraid Signor Bellandini is unavailable at present,’ his receptionist said in a crisp, businesslike tone in response to Natalie’s request. ‘Would you like to make an appointment for some other time?’

Natalie looked at the model-gorgeous young woman, with her perfectly smooth blonde hair and clear china-blue eyes, and felt her already flagging self-esteem plummet like an anchor to the basement. Even though in the lift she had reapplied lip-gloss and run her fingers through her nondescript flyaway brown hair, it was hardly the same as being professionally groomed. She was aware her clothes looked as if they had been slept in, even though she hadn’t slept a wink for the last twenty-four hours, and that her normally peaches and cream complexion was grey with worry. There were damson-coloured shadows under her eyes and her cheeks had a hollow look to them. But then that happened every year at this time, and had done so since she was seven years old.

She straightened her shoulders with iron-strong resolve. She was not going to leave without seeing Angelo, even if she had to wait all day. ‘Tell Signor Bellandini I’m only in London for the next twenty-four hours.’ She handed her personal business card over the counter, as well as the card of the hotel she had booked for the night. ‘I can be contacted on that mobile number or at my hotel.’

The receptionist glanced at the cards and then raised her eyes to Natalie’s. ‘You’re Natalie Armitage?’ she asked. ‘The Natalie Armitage of Natalie Armitage Interiors?’

‘Er … yes.’

The receptionist’s eyes sparkled with delight. ‘I have some of your sheets and towels,’ she said. ‘I just adored your last spring collection. Because of me, all of my friends now have your stuff. It’s so feminine and fresh. So original.’

Natalie smiled politely. ‘Thank you.’

The receptionist leaned towards the intercom. ‘Signor Bellandini?’ she said. ‘A Miss Natalie Armitage is here to see you. Would you like me to squeeze her in before your next client or make another appointment for later this afternoon?’

Natalie’s heart stalled in that infinitesimal moment before she heard his voice. Would he sound surprised to find she was here in person? Annoyed? Angry?

‘No,’ he said evenly, his deep baritone and sexy accent like a silky caress on her skin. ‘I will see her now.’

The receptionist led the way down an expansive corridor and smiled as she came to a door bearing a brass plaque with Angelo’s name on it. ‘You’re very lucky,’ she said in a conspiratorial undertone. ‘He doesn’t normally see clients without an appointment. Most people have to wait weeks to see him.’ Her eyes sparkled again. ‘Maybe he wants to slip between your sheets, so to speak?’

Natalie gave a weak smile and stepped through the door the receptionist had opened. Her eyes went straight to where Angelo was seated, behind a mahogany desk that seemed to have a football field of carpet between it and the door that had just clicked shut, like the door of a prison cell, behind her.

Her throat tightened. She tried to unlock it by swallowing, but it still felt as if a puffer fish was lodged halfway down.

He looked as staggeringly gorgeous as ever—maybe even more so. The landscape of his face had barely changed, apart from two deep grooves that bracketed his unsmiling mouth. His raven-black hair was shorter than it had been five years ago, but it still curled lushly against the collar of his light blue business shirt. His face was cleanly shaven, but the dark pinpricks of persistent masculine stubble were clearly visible along his lean cheeks and stubbornly set jaw. His thickly lashed eyes were the same deep, espresso coffee brown, so dark she could not make out his pupils or his mood.

He rose to his feet, but whether it was out of politeness or a desire to intimidate Natalie wasn’t quite sure. At six foot four he was impressively, imposingly tall. Even in heels she had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact.

She sent the tip of her tongue out to moisten her concrete-dry lips. She had to keep her cool. She had spent most of her life keeping her emotions under the strictest control. Now was not the time to show how worried she was about the situation with her brother. Angelo would feed off that and work it to his advantage. All she had to do was pay for the damage Lachlan had caused, then get out of here and never look back.

‘Thank you for seeing me at short notice,’ she said. ‘I understand how busy you are. I won’t take up too much of your time.’

Those incredibly dark, inscrutable eyes nailed hers relentlessly as he reached across to press the intercom. ‘Fiona, postpone my engagements for the next hour,’ he said. ‘And hold all my calls. On no account am I to be interrupted.’

‘Will do.’

Natalie blinked at him as he straightened. ‘Look, there’s really no need to interrupt your busy schedule—’

‘There is every need,’ he said, still holding her gaze with the force of his. ‘What your brother did to one of my hotel rooms in Rome is a criminal offence.’

‘Yes,’ she said, swallowing again. ‘I know. But he’s been going through a difficult stage just now, and I—’

One of his jet-black brows lifted satirically. ‘What “difficult stage” would that be?’ he asked. ‘Has Daddy taken away his Porsche or cut back his allowance?’

She pressed her lips together, summoning control over emotions that were threatening to spill over. How dared Angelo mock what her brother had to deal with? Lachlan was a ticking time bomb. It was up to her to stop him from self-destructing. She hadn’t been able to save her baby brother all those years ago, but she would move heaven and earth to get it right this time with Lachlan.

‘He’s just a kid,’ she began. ‘He’s only just left school and—’

‘He’s eighteen,’ Angelo said through tight, angry lips. ‘He’s old enough to vote and in my opinion old enough to face up to the consequences of his actions. He and his drunken friends have caused over a hundred thousand pounds’ worth of damage to one of my most prestigious hotels.’

Natalie’s stomach nosedived. Was he exaggerating? The way her mother had described it had made her think it hadn’t been much more than the cost of a carpet-clean and the replacement of a few furnishings—perhaps a repaint on one of the walls.

What had Lachlan been thinking? What on earth had made him go on such a crazy rampage?

‘I’m prepared to reimburse you for the damage, but before I hand over any money I’d like to see the damage for myself,’ she said, with a jut of her chin.

His dark eyes challenged hers. ‘So you’re prepared to foot the bill personally, are you?’

She eyeballed him back, even though her stomach was churning at the menacing look in his eyes. ‘Within reason.’

His top lip curled. ‘You have no clue about what you’re letting yourself in for,’ he said. ‘Do you have any idea what your brother gets up to when he’s out night-clubbing with his friends?’

Natalie was all too aware, and for the last few months it had been keeping her awake at night. She knew why Lachlan was behaving the way he was, but there was little she could do to stop him. Lachlan had been the replacement child after Liam had died—the lost son reincarnated. Since birth he had been forced to live not his own life but Liam’s. All the hopes and dreams their parents had envisaged for Liam had been transferred to Lachlan, and lately he had started to buckle under the pressure. She was terrified that one day soon he would go, or be pushed too far.

She already had one death on her hands. She could not bear to have another.

‘How do you know Lachlan is responsible for the damage?’ she asked. ‘How do you know it wasn’t one of his friends?’

Angelo looked at her with dagger-sharp eyes. ‘The room was booked in his name,’ he said. ‘It was his credit card that was presented at check-in. He is legally responsible, even if he didn’t so much as knock a cushion out of place.’

Natalie suspected her brother had done a whole lot more than rearrange a few sofa cushions. She had more than once witnessed him in the aftermath of one of his drinking binges. Lachlan wasn’t a sleepy drunk or a happy, loquacious one. A few too many drinks unleashed a rage inside him that was as terrifying as it was sudden. And yet a few hours later he would have no memory of the things he had said and done.

So far he had managed to escape prosecution, but only because their rich and influential father had pulled in some favours with the authorities.

But that was here in Britain.

Right now Lachlan was at the mercy of the Italian authorities—which was why she had come to London to appeal to Angelo on his behalf. Of all the hotels in Rome, why had he stayed at one of Angelo Bellandini’s?

Natalie opened her bag and took out her chequebook with a sigh of resignation. ‘All right,’ she said, hunting for a pen. ‘I’ll take your word for it and pay for the damage.’

Angelo barked out a sardonic laugh. ‘You think after you scrawl your signature across that cheque I’ll simply overlook this?’ he asked.

She quickly disguised another swallow. ‘You want more than one hundred thousand pounds?’ she asked, in a voice that sounded too high—squeaky, almost.

He looked at her, his eyes meshing with hers in a lockdown that made the silence throb with palpable tension. She felt it moving up her spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. She felt it on her skin, in the ghosting of goose bumps fluttering along her flesh. She felt it—shockingly—between her thighs, as if he had reached down and stroked her there with one of his long, clever fingers.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. She could read the subtext of that dark, mocking gaze. He didn’t give a toss about the money. It wasn’t money he wanted. He had more than enough of his own.

Natalie knew exactly what he wanted. She had known it the minute she had stepped into his office and locked gazes with him.

He wanted her.

‘Take it or leave it,’ she said, and slammed the cheque on the desk between them.

He picked up the cheque and slowly and deliberately tore it into pieces, then let them fall like confetti on the desk, all the while holding her gaze with the implacable and glittering force of his. ‘As soon as you walk out of here I’ll notify the authorities in Rome to press charges,’ he said. ‘Your brother will go to prison. I’ll make sure of it.’

Natalie’s heart banged against the wall of her chest like a pendulum slammed by a prize-fighter’s punch. How long would her brother last in a foreign prison? He would be housed amongst murderers and thieves and rapists. It could be years before a magistrate heard his case. He was just a kid. Yes, he had done wrong, but it wasn’t his fault—not really. He needed help, not imprisonment.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked.

His mouth lifted in a half-smile, his eyes taunting hers with merciless intent. ‘You can’t guess, mia piccola?’

She drew in a painfully tight breath. ‘Isn’t this taking revenge a little too far? What happened between us is between us. It has nothing to do with my brother. It has nothing to do with anyone but us.’ With me, she added silently. It’s always been to do with me.

His eyes glinted dangerously and his smile completely vanished until his lips were just a thin line of contempt. ‘Why did you do it?’ he asked. ‘Why did you leave me for a man you picked up in a bar like a trashy little two-bit hooker?’

Natalie couldn’t hold his gaze. It wasn’t a lie she was particularly proud of. But back then it had been the only way she could see of getting him to let her go. He had fallen in love with her. He had mentioned marriage and babies. He had already bought an engagement ring. She had come across it while putting his socks away. It had glinted at her with its diamond eye, taunting her, reminding her of all she wanted but could never have.

She had panicked.

‘I wasn’t in love with you.’ That was at least the truth … sort of. She had taught herself not to love. Not to feel. Not to be at the mercy of emotions that could not be controlled.

If you loved you lost.

If you cared you got hurt.

If you opened your heart someone would rip it out of your chest when you least expected it.

The physical side of things … well, that had been different. She had let herself lose control. Not that she’d really had a choice. Angelo had seen to that. Her body had been under the mastery of his from the first time he had kissed her. She might have locked down her emotions, but her physical response to him still echoed in her body like the haunting melody of a tune she couldn’t forget no matter how hard she tried.

‘So it was just sex?’ he said.

Natalie forced herself to meet his gaze, and then wished she hadn’t when she saw the black hatred glittering there. ‘I was only twenty-one,’ she said, looking away again. ‘I didn’t know what I wanted back then.’

‘Do you know now?’

She caught the inside of her mouth with her teeth. ‘I know what I don’t want,’ she said.

‘Which is?’

She met his gaze again. ‘Can we get to the point?’ she asked. ‘I’ve come here to pay for the damage my brother allegedly caused. If you won’t accept my money, then what will you accept?’

It was a dangerous question to be asking. She knew it as soon as she voiced it. It hung in the ensuing silence, mocking her, taunting her for her supposed immunity.

She had never been immune.

It had all been an act—a clever ploy to keep him from guessing how much she’d wanted to be free to love him. But the clanging chains of her past had kept her anchored in silence. She couldn’t love him or anyone.

Angelo’s diamond-hard gaze tethered hers. ‘Why don’t you sit down and we can discuss it?’ he said, gesturing to a chair near to where she was standing.

Natalie sank into the chair with relief. Her legs were so shaky the ligaments in her legs felt as if they had been severed like the strings of a puppet. Her heart was pounding and her skin was hot and clammy in spite of the air conditioning. She watched as he went back to the other side of his desk and sat down. For someone so tall he moved with an elegant, loose-limbed grace. His figure was rangy and lean, rather than excessively gym-pumped, although there was nothing wrong with the shape of his biceps. She could see the firm outline of them beneath his crisp ice-blue shirt. The colour was a perfect foil for his olive-toned skin. In the past she had only ever seen him in casual clothes, or wearing nothing at all.

In designer business clothes he looked every inch the successful hotel and property tycoon—untouchable, remote, in control. Her hands and mouth had traced every slope and plane and contour of his body. She could still remember how salty his skin tasted against her tongue. She still remembered the scent of him, the musk and citrus blend that had clung to her skin for hours after their making love. She remembered the thrusting possession of his body, how his masterful touch had unlocked her tightly controlled responses like a maestro with a difficult instrument that no one else could play.

She gave herself a mental slap and sat up straighter in the chair. Crossing her legs and arms, she fixed her gaze on Angelo’s with a steely composure she was nowhere near feeling.

He leaned back in his own chair, with his fingers steepled against his chin, his dark gaze trained with unnervingly sharp focus on hers. ‘I’ve heard anybody who is anybody is sleeping between your sheets,’ he said.

She returned his look with chilly hauteur. ‘I don’t suppose you are doing so.’

His lips gave a tiny twitch of amusement, his dark eyes smouldering as they continued to hold hers. ‘Not yet,’ he said.

Natalie’s insides flickered with the memory of long-ago desire. She’d fought valiantly to suppress it, but from the moment she had stepped into his office she had been aware of her body and its unruly response to him. He had always had that power over her. Just a look, an idle touch, a simple word and she would melt.

She couldn’t afford to give in to past longings. She had to be strong in order to get through this. Lachlan’s future depended on her. If this latest misdemeanour of his got out in the tabloids his life would be ruined. He was hoping to go to Harvard after this gap year. A criminal record would ruin everything for him.

Their father would crucify him.

He would crucify them both.

Natalie blamed herself. Why hadn’t she realised how disenfranchised Lachlan was? Had she somehow given him some clue to her past history with Angelo? Had her lack of an active love-life made him suspect Angelo was the cause? How had he put two and two together? It wasn’t as if she had ever been one to wear her heart on her sleeve. She had been busy building up her business. She had not missed dating. She’d had one or two encounters that had left her cold. She had more or less decided she wasn’t cut out for an intimate relationship. The passion she had experienced with Angelo had come at a huge price, and it wasn’t one she was keen to pay again.

She was better off alone.

‘I understand how incredibly annoyed you are at what my brother has supposedly done,’ she said. ‘But I must beg you not to proceed with criminal charges.’

His dark brow lifted again. ‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘You’re begging me?’

Natalie momentarily compressed her lips in an attempt to control her spiralling emotions. How like him to taunt her. He would milk this situation for all it was worth and she would have to go along with it. He knew it. She knew it. He wanted her pride. It would be his ultimate trophy.

‘I’m asking for leniency.’

‘You’re grovelling.’

She straightened her shoulders again. ‘I’m asking you to drop all charges,’ she said. ‘I’ll cover the damages—even double, if you insist. You won’t be out of pocket.’

His gaze still measured hers unwaveringly. ‘You want this to go away before it gets out in the press, don’t you?’ he said.

Natalie hoped her expression wasn’t giving away any sign of her inner panic. She had always prided herself on disguising her feelings. Years of dealing with her father’s erratic mood swings had made her a master at concealing her fear in case it was exploited. From childhood her ice-cold exterior had belied the inner turmoil of her emotions. It was her shield, her armour—her carapace of protection.

But Angelo had a keen, intelligent gaze. Even before she had left him she had felt he was starting to sum up her character in a way she found incredibly unsettling.

‘Of course I want to keep this out of the press,’ she said. ‘But then, don’t you? What will people think of your hotel security if a guest can do the sort of damage you say my brother did? Your hotels aim for the top end of the market. What does that say about the type of clientele your hotel attracts?’

A muscle flickered like a pulse at the side of his mouth. ‘I have reason to believe your brother specifically targeted my hotel,’ he said.

She felt her stomach lurch. ‘What makes you think that?’

He opened a drawer to the left of him and took out a sheet of paper and handed it to her across the desk. She took it with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. It was a faxed copy of a note addressed to Angelo, written in her brother’s writing. It said: This is for my sister.

Natalie gulped and handed back the paper. ‘I don’t know what to say … I have never said anything to Lachlan about … about us. He was only thirteen when we were together. He was at boarding school when we shared that flat in Notting Hill. He never even met you.’

Nor had any of her family. She hadn’t wanted Angelo to be exposed to her father’s outrageous bigotry and her mother’s sickening subservience.

‘You must have said something to him,’ Angelo said. ‘Why else would he write that?’

Natalie chewed at her lip. She had said nothing to anyone other than that her short, intense and passionate affair with Angelo was over because she wanted to concentrate on her career. Not even her closest girlfriend, Isabel Astonberry, knew how much her break-up with Angelo had affected her. She had told everyone she was suffering from anxiety. Even her doctor had believed her. It had explained the rapid weight loss and agitation and sleepless nights. She had almost convinced herself it was true. She had even taken the pills the doctor had prescribed, but they hadn’t done much more than throw a thick blanket over her senses, numbing her until she felt like a zombie.

Eventually she had climbed out of the abyss of misery and got on with her life. Hard work had been her remedy. It still was. Her interior design business had taken off soon after she had qualified. Her online sales were expanding exponentially, and she had plans to set up some outlets in Europe. She employed staff who managed the business end of things while she got on with what she loved best—the designing of her linen and soft furnishings range.

And she had done it all by herself. She hadn’t used her father’s wealth and status to recruit clients. Just like Angelo, she had been adamant that she would not rely on family wealth and privilege, but do it all on her own talent and hard work.

‘Natalie?’ Angelo’s deep voice jolted her out of her reverie. ‘Why do you think your brother addressed that note to me?’

She averted her gaze as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I don’t know.’

‘He must have known it would cause immense trouble for you,’ he said.

Natalie looked up at him again, her heart leaping to her throat. ‘A hundred thousand pounds is a lot of money, but it’s not a lot to pay for someone’s freedom,’ she said.

He gave an enigmatic half-smile. ‘Ah, yes, but whose freedom are we talking about?’

A ripple of panic moved through her as she held his unreadable gaze. ‘Can we quit it with the game-playing?’ she said. ‘Why don’t you come straight out and say what you’ve planned in terms of retribution?’

His dark eyes hardened like black ice. ‘I think you know what I want,’ he said. ‘It’s the same thing I wanted five years ago.’

She drew in a sharp little breath. ‘You can’t possibly want an affair with someone you hate. That’s so … so cold-blooded.’

He gave a disaffected smile. ‘Who said anything about an affair?’

She felt a fine layer of sweat break out above her top lip. She felt clammy and light-headed. Her legs trembled even though she had clamped them together to hide it. She unclenched her hands and put one to her throat, where her heart seemed to have lodged itself like a pigeon trapped in a narrow pipe.

‘You’re joking, of course,’ she said, in a voice that was hoarse to the point of barely being audible.

Those dark, inscrutable eyes held hers captive, making every nerve in her body acutely aware of his sensual power over her. Erotic memories of their past relationship simmered in the silence. Every passionate encounter, from their first kiss to their blistering bloodletting last, hovered in the tense atmosphere. She felt the incendiary heat and fire of his touch just by looking at him. It was all she could do to stay still and rigidly composed in her chair.

‘I want a wife,’ he said, as if stating his desire for something as prosaic as a cup of tea or coffee.

Natalie hoisted her chin. ‘Then I suggest you go about the usual way of acquiring one,’ she said.

‘I tried that and it didn’t work,’ he returned. ‘I thought I’d try this way instead.’

She threw him a scathing look. ‘Blackmail, you mean?’

He gave an indifferent shrug of one of his broad shoulders. ‘Your brother will likely spend up to four years waiting for a hearing,’ he said. ‘The legal system in Italy is expensive and time consuming. I don’t need to tell you he is unlikely to escape conviction. I have enough proof to put him away for a decade.’

Natalie shot to her feet, her control slipping like a stiletto on a slick of oil. ‘You bastard!’ she said. ‘You’re only doing this to get at me. Why don’t you admit it? You only want revenge because I am the first woman who has ever left you. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Your damned pride got bruised, so now you’re after revenge.’

His jaw locked down like a clamp, his lips barely moving as he commanded, ‘Sit down.’

She glared at him with undiluted hatred. ‘Go to hell.’

He placed his hands on the desk and slowly got to his feet. Somehow it was far more threatening than if he had shoved his chair back with aggressive force. His expression was thunderous, but when he spoke it was with icy calm.

‘We will marry as soon as I can get a licence. If you do not agree, then your brother will face the consequences of his actions. Do you have anything to say?’

She said it in unladylike coarseness. The crude words rang in the air, but rather than make her feel powerful they made her feel ashamed. He had made her lose control and she hated him for it.

Angelo’s top lip slanted in a mocking smile. ‘I am not averse to the odd moment of self-pleasuring, as you so charmingly suggest, but I would much rather share the experience with a partner. And, to be quite frank, no one does it better than you.’

She snatched up her bag and clutched it against her body so tightly she felt the gold pen inside jab her in the stomach. ‘I hope you die and rot in hell,’ she said. ‘I hope you get some horrible, excruciatingly painful pestilent disease and suffer tortuous agony for the rest of your days.’

He continued to stare her down with irritatingly cool calm. ‘I love you too, Tatty,’ he said.

Natalie felt completely and utterly ambushed by the use of his pet name for her. It was like a body-blow to hear it after all these years. Her chest gave an aching spasm. Her anger dissolved like an aspirin in a glass of water. Her fighting spirit collapsed like a warrior stung by a poison dart. Tears sprang at the back of her eyes. She could feel them burning and knew if she didn’t get out of there right now he would see them.

She spun around and groped blindly for the door, somehow getting it open and stumbling through it, leaving it open behind her like a mouth in the middle of an unfinished sentence.

She didn’t bother with the lift.

She didn’t even glance at the receptionist on her way to the fire escape.

She bolted down the stairs as if the devil and all his maniacal minions were on her heels.




CHAPTER TWO


NATALIE got back to her hotel and leant against the closed door of her suite with her chest still heaving like a pair of bellows. The ringing of her phone made her jump, and she almost dropped it when she tried to press the answer button with fingers that felt like cotton wool.

‘H-hello?’

‘Natalie, it’s me … Lachlan.’

She pushed herself away from the door and scraped a hand through her sticky hair as she paced the floor in agitation. ‘I’ve been trying to call you for the last twenty-four hours!’ she said. ‘Where are you? What’s going on? Why did you do it? For God’s sake, Lachlan, are you out of your mind?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Look, I’m only allowed one call. I’ll have to make it quick.’

Natalie scrunched her eyes closed, not wanting to picture the ghastly cell he would be locked in, with vicious-looking prison guards watching his every move. ‘Tell me what to do,’ she said, opening her eyes again to look at the view of the River Thames and the London Eye. ‘Tell me what you need. I’ll get there as soon as I can.’

‘Just do what Angelo tells you to do,’ Lachlan said. ‘He’s got it all under control. He can make this go away.’

She swung away from the window. ‘Are you nuts?’ she said.

He released a sigh. ‘He’ll do the right thing by you, Nat,’ he said. ‘Just do whatever he says.’

She started pacing again—faster this time. ‘He wants to marry me,’ she said. ‘Did he happen to mention that little detail to you?’

‘You could do a whole lot worse.’

Her mouth dropped open. ‘Lachlan, you’re surely not serious? He hates me.’

‘He’s my only chance,’ he said. ‘I know I’ve stuffed up. I don’t want to go to prison. Angelo’s given me a choice. I have to take it.’

She gave a disgusted snort. ‘He’s given me a choice, not you,’ she said. ‘My freedom in exchange for yours.’

‘It doesn’t have to be for ever,’ he said. ‘You can divorce him after a few months. He can’t force you to stay with him indefinitely.’

Natalie seriously wondered about that. Rich, powerful men were particularly adept at getting and keeping what they wanted. Look at their father, for instance. He had kept their mother chained to his side in spite of years of his infidelities and emotional cruelty. She could not bear to end up in the same situation as her mother. A trophy wife, a pretty adornment, a plaything that could be picked up and put down at will. With no power of her own other than a beauty that would one day fade, leaving her with nothing but diamonds, designer clothes and drink to compensate for her loneliness.

‘Why did you do it?’ she asked. ‘Why his hotel?’

‘Remember the last time we caught up?’ Lachlan said.

Natalie remembered all too well. It had been a weekend in Paris a couple of months ago, when she had been attending a fabric show. Lachlan had been at a friend’s eighteenth birthday party just outside of the city. He had been ignominiously tossed out of his friend’s parents’ château after disgracing himself after a heavy night of drinking.

‘Yes,’ she said in stern reproach. ‘It took me weeks to get the smell of alcohol and vomit out of my coat.’

‘Yeah, well, I saw that gossip magazine open on the passenger seat,’ he said. ‘There was an article about Angelo and his latest lover. That twenty-one-year-old heiress from Texas?’

She tried to ignore the dagger of jealousy that spiked her when she recalled the article, and the stunningly gorgeous young woman who had been draped on Angelo’s arm at some highbrow function.

‘So,’ she said. ‘What of it? It wasn’t the first time he’d squired some brainless little big-boobed bimbo to an event.’

‘No,’ Lachlan said. ‘But it was the first time I’d seen you visibly upset by it.’

‘I wasn’t upset,’ she countered quickly. ‘I was disgusted.’

‘Same difference.’

Natalie blew out a breath and started pacing again. ‘So you took it upon yourself to get back at him by trashing one of the most luxurious hotel rooms in the whole of Europe just because you thought I was a little peeved?’

‘I know, I know, I know,’ Lachlan said. ‘It sounds so stupid now. I’m not sure why I did it. I guess I was just angry that he seemed to have it all together and you didn’t.’

Natalie frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ she said. ‘I’m running a successful business all by myself. I’m paying for my own home. I’m happy with my life.’

‘Are you, Nat?’ he asked. ‘Are you really?’

The silence was condemning.

‘You work ridiculous hours,’ Lachlan went on. ‘You never take holidays.’

‘I hate flying, that’s why.’

‘You could do a desensitising programme for that,’ he said.

‘I don’t have time.’

‘It’s because of what happened to Liam, isn’t it?’ Lachlan said. ‘You haven’t been on a plane since he drowned in Spain all those years ago.’

Natalie felt the claws of guilt clutch her by the throat. She still remembered the tiny white coffin with her baby brother’s body in it being loaded on the tarmac. She had seen it from her window seat. She had sat there staring at it, with an empty, aching, hollow feeling in her chest.

It had been her fault he had been found floating face-down in that pool.

‘I have to go,’ Lachlan said. ‘I’m being transferred.’

Her attention snapped back to Lachlan’s dire situation. ‘Transferred where?’ she asked.

‘Just do what Angelo says, please?’ he said. ‘Nat, I need you to do what he wants. He’s promised to keep this out of the press. I have to accept his help. My life is over if I don’t. Please?’

Natalie pinched the bridge of her nose until her eyes smarted with bitter angry tears. The cage of her conscience came down with a snap.

She was trapped.

* * *

Angelo was finalising some details on a project in Malaysia when his receptionist announced he had a visitor. ‘It’s Natalie Armitage,’ Fiona said.

He leaned back in his chair and smiled a victor’s smile. He had waited a long time for this opportunity. He wanted her to beg, to plead and to grovel. It was payback time for the misery she had put him through by walking out on him so heartlessly.

‘Tell her to wait,’ he said. ‘I have half an hour of paperwork to get through that can’t be put off.’

There was a quick muffled exchange of words and Fiona came back on the intercom. ‘Miss Armitage said she’s not going to wait. She said if you don’t see her now she is going to get back on the train to Edinburgh and you’ll never see her again.’

Angelo slowly drummed his fingers on the desk. He was used to Natalie’s obstinacy. She was a stubborn, headstrong little thing. Her independence had been one of the first things he had admired about her, and yet in the end it had been the thing that had frustrated him the most. She’d absolutely refused to bend to his will. She’d stood up to him as no one else had ever dared.

He was used to people doing as he said. From a very young age he had given orders and people had obeyed them. It was part of the territory. Coming from enormous wealth, you had power. You had privilege and people respected that.

But not his little Tatty.

He leaned forward and pressed the button. ‘Tell her I’ll see her in fifteen minutes.’

He had not even sat back in his chair when the door slammed open and Natalie came storming in. Her brown hair with its natural highlights was in disarray about her flushed-with-fury face. Her hands were clenched into combative fists by her sides, and her slate-blue eyes were flashing like the heart of a gas flame. He could see the outline of her beautiful breasts as they rose and fell beneath her top.

His groin tightened and jammed with lust.

‘You … you bastard!’ she said.

Angelo rocked back in his chair. ‘Cara,’ he said. ‘I’m absolutely delighted to see you, too. How long has it been? Four hours?’

She glowered at him. ‘Where have you taken him?’

He elevated one brow. ‘Where have I taken whom?’

Her eyes narrowed to needle-thin slits. ‘My brother,’ she said. ‘I can’t contact him. He’s not answering his phone any more. How do I know you’re doing the right thing by him?’

‘Your brother is in good hands,’ he said. ‘That is as long as you do what is required.’

Her eyes blazed with venomous hatred. ‘How can I trust you to uphold your side of the bargain?’ she asked.

‘You can trust me, Natalie.’

She made a scoffing sound. ‘I’d rather take my chances with a death adder.’

Angelo smiled a thin-lipped smile. ‘I’m afraid a death adder is not going to hold any sway with an Italian magistrate,’ he said. ‘I can get your brother out of harm’s way with the scrawl of my signature.’ He picked up a pen for effect. ‘What’s it going to be?’

He saw her eyes go to his pen. He saw the way her jaw locked as she clenched her teeth. Her saw the way her slim throat rose and fell. He saw the battle on her face as her will locked horns with his. He felt the energy of her anger like a high-voltage current in the air.

‘You can’t force me to sleep with you,’ she bit out. ‘You might be able to force me to wear your stupid ring, but you can’t force me to do anything else.’

‘You will be my wife in every sense of the word,’ he said. ‘In public and in private. Otherwise the deal is off.’

Her jaw worked some more. He could even hear her teeth grinding together. Her eyes were like twin blasts from a roaring furnace.

‘I didn’t think you could ever go so low as this,’ she said. ‘You can have anyone you want. You have women queuing up to be with you. Why on earth do you want an unwilling wife? Is this some sort of sick obsession? What can you possibly hope to achieve out of this?’

Angelo slowly swung his ergonomic chair from side to side as he surveyed her outraged features. ‘I quite fancy the idea of taming you,’ he said. ‘You’re like a beautiful wild brumby that bucks and kicks and bites because it doesn’t want anyone to get too close.’

Her cheeks flushed a fiery red and her eyes kept on shooting sparks of ire at him. ‘So you thought you’d slip a lasso around my neck and whip me into submission, did you?’ she said, with a curl of her bee-stung top lip. ‘Good luck with that.’

Angelo smiled a lazy smile. ‘You know me, Tatty. I just love a challenge—and the bigger the better.’

Her brows shot together in a furious frown. ‘Don’t call me that.’

‘Why not?’ he said. ‘I always used to call you that.’

She stalked to the other side of the room, her arms across her body in a keep-away-from-me pose. ‘I don’t want you to call me that now,’ she said, her gaze determinedly averted from his.

‘I will call you what I damn well want,’ he said, feeling his anger and frustration rising. ‘Look at me.’

She gave her head a toss and kept her eyes fixed on the painting on the wall. ‘Go to hell.’

Angelo got to his feet and walked over to where she was standing. He put a hand on her shoulder, but she spun around and slapped at his hand as if it was a nasty insect.

‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ she snarled at him, like a wildcat.

He felt the fizzing of his fingers where his hand had briefly come into contact with her slim shoulder. The sensation travelled all the way to his groin. He looked at her mouth—that gorgeous, full-lipped mouth that had kissed him with such passion and fire in the past. He had felt those soft lips around him, drawing the essence from him until he had been legless with ecstasy. She had lit fires of need over his whole body with her hot little tongue. Her fingers had danced over every inch of his flesh, caressing and stroking him, branding him with the memory of her touch.

Ever since she had left him he had waited for this moment—for a chance to prove to her how much she wanted him in spite of her protestations. His rage at being cut from her life had festered inside him. It had soured every other relationship since. He could not seem to find what he was looking for with anyone else. He had gone from relationship to relationship, some lasting only a date or two, none of them lasting more than a month. Lately he had even started to wonder if he had imagined how perfectly physically in tune he had been with her. But seeing her again, being in the same room as her, sensing her reaction to him and his to her, proved to him it wasn’t his imagination.

She wouldn’t be the one who walked out on him without notice this time around. She would stay with him until he decided he’d had enough. It might take a month or two, maybe even up to a year, but he would not give her the chance to rip his heart open again. He would not allow her that close again. He had been a passionate fool five years ago. From the moment he had met her he had fallen—and fallen hard. He had envisaged their future together, how they would build on the empire of his grandparents and parents, how they would be the next generation of Bellandinis.

But then she had ripped the rug from under his feet by betraying him.

She might hate him for what he was doing, but right now he didn’t give a damn. He wanted her and he was going to have her. She would come to him willingly. He would make sure of that. There would be no forcing, no coercing. Behind that ice-maiden façade was a fiercely passionate young woman. He had unleashed that passion five years ago and he would do so again.

‘In time you will be begging for my touch, cara,’ he said. ‘Just like you did in the past.’

Her expression shot more daggers at him. ‘Can’t you see how much I hate you?’ she said.

‘I can see passion, not hate,’ he said. ‘That is promising, si?’

She let out a breath and put more distance between them, her look guarded and defensive. ‘How soon do you expect to get this ridiculous plan of yours off the ground?’ she asked.

‘We will marry at the end of next week,’ he said. ‘There’s no point dilly-dallying.’

‘Next week?’ she asked, eyes widening. ‘Why so soon?’

Angelo held her gaze. ‘I know how your mind works, Natalie. I’m not leaving anything up to chance. The sooner we are married, the sooner your brother gets out of trouble.’

‘Can I see him?’

‘No.’

She frowned. ‘Why not?’

‘He’s not allowed visitors,’ Angelo said.

‘But that’s ridiculous!’ she said. ‘Of course he’s allowed visitors. It’s a basic human right.’

‘Not where he is currently staying,’ he said. ‘You’ll see him soon enough. In the meantime, I think it’s time I met the rest of your family—don’t you agree?’

Something shifted behind her gaze. ‘Why do you want to meet my family?’ she said. ‘Anyway, apart from Lachlan there is only my parents.’

‘Most married couples meet their respective families,’ Angelo said. ‘My parents will want to meet you. And my grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins.’

She gave him a worried look. ‘They’re not all coming to the ceremony, are they?’

‘But of course,’ he said. ‘We will fly to Rome on Tuesday. The wedding will be on Saturday, at my grandparents’ villa, in the private chapel that was built especially for their wedding day sixty years ago.’

Her eyes looked like a startled fawn’s. ‘F-fly?’

‘Si, cara,’ he said dryly. ‘On an aeroplane. You know—those big things that take off at the airport and take you where you want to go? I have a private one—a Lear jet that my family use to get around.’

Her mouth flattened obstinately. ‘I’m not flying.’

Angelo frowned. ‘What do you mean, you’re not flying?’

She shifted her gaze, her arms tightening across her body. ‘I’m not flying.’

It took Angelo a moment or two to figure it out. It shocked him that he hadn’t picked it up before. It all made sense now that he thought about it.

‘That’s why you caught the train down from Edinburgh yesterday,’ he said. ‘That’s why, when I suggested five years ago that we take that cut-price trip to Malta, you said you couldn’t afford it and refused to let me pay for you. We had a huge fight over it. You wouldn’t speak to me for days. It wasn’t about your independence, was it? You’re frightened of flying.’

She turned her back on him and stood looking out of his office window, the set of her spine as rigid as a plank. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Call me a nut job. You wouldn’t be the first.’

Angelo released a long breath. ‘Natalie … Why didn’t you tell me?’

She still stood looking out of the window with her back to him. ‘Hi, my name’s Natalie Armitage and I’m terrified of flying. Yeah, that would have really got your notice that night in the bar.’

‘What got my notice in that bar was your incredible eyes,’ he said. ‘And the fact that you stood up to that creep who was trying it on with you.’

He saw the slight softening of her spine and shoulders, as if the memory of that night had touched something deep inside her, unravelling one of the tight cords of resolve she had knotted in place. ‘You didn’t have to rescue me like some big macho caveman,’ she said after a short pause. ‘I could’ve taken care of it myself.’

‘I was brought up to respect and protect women,’ Angelo said. ‘That guy was a drunken fool. I enjoyed hauling him out to the street. He was lucky I didn’t rearrange his teeth for him. God knows I was tempted.’

She turned and looked at him, her expression still intractable. ‘I don’t want to fly, Angelo,’ she said. ‘It’s easy enough to drive. It’ll only take a couple of days. I’ll make my own way there if you can’t spare the time.’

Angelo studied her dark blue gaze. He saw the usual obstinacy glittering there, but behind that was a flicker of fear—like a stagehand peeping out from behind the curtains to check on the audience. It made him wonder if he had truly known her five years ago. He had thought he had her all figured out, but this was a facet to her personality he had never even suspected. He had always prided himself on his perspicuity, on his ability to read people and situations. But he could see now that reading Natalie was like reading a complex multilayered book.

‘I’ll be with you the whole time,’ he said. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you.’

‘That’s hardly reassuring,’ she said with a cynical look, ‘considering this whole marriage thing you’ve set up is a plot for revenge.’

‘My intention is not for you to suffer,’ he said.

Her chin came up and her eyes flashed again. ‘Oh, really?’

Angelo drew in a breath and released it forcefully as he went back behind his desk. He gripped the back of his chair as he faced her. ‘Why must you search for nefarious motives in everything I do or say?’

She gave a little scoffing laugh. ‘Pardon me for being a little suspicious, but you’re surely not going to tell me you still care about me after all this time?’

Angelo’s fingers dug deeper into the leather of his chair until his knuckles whitened. He didn’t love her. He refused to love her. She had betrayed him. He was not going to forgive and forget that in a hurry. But he would have her. That was different. That had nothing to do with emotions.

He deliberately relaxed his grasp and sat down. ‘We have unfinished business,’ he said. ‘I knew that the minute you walked in that door yesterday.’

‘You’re imagining things,’ she said.

He put up one brow. ‘Am I?’

She held his gaze for a beat, before she lowered it to focus on the glass paperweight on his desk. ‘How long do you think this marriage will last?’ she asked.

‘It can last as long as we want it to,’ Angelo said.

Her gaze met his again. ‘Don’t you mean as long as you want it to?’ she asked.

He gave a little up and down movement of his right shoulder. ‘You ended things the last time,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it fair that I be the one to do so this time around?’

Her mouth tightened. ‘I ended things because it was time to move on,’ she said. ‘We were fighting all the time. It wasn’t a love match. It was a battlefield.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Angelo said. ‘What are you talking about, Natalie? All couples fight. It’s part and parcel of being in a relationship. There are always little power struggles. It’s what makes life interesting.’

‘That might have been the way you were brought up, but it certainly wasn’t the way I was,’ she said.

He studied her expression again, noting all the little nuances of her face: the way she chewed at the inside of her mouth but tried to hide it, the way her eyes flickered away from his but then kept tracking back, as if they were being pulled by a magnetic force, and the way her finely boned jaw tightened when she was feeling cornered.

‘How were you brought up to resolve conflict?’ he asked.

She reached for her bag and got to her feet. ‘Look, I have a train to catch,’ she said. ‘I have a hundred and one things to see to.’

‘Why didn’t you drive down from Edinburgh?’ he asked. ‘You haven’t suddenly developed a fear of driving too, have you?’

Her eyes hardened resentfully. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I like travelling by train. I can read or sketch or listen to music. I find driving requires too much concentration—especially in a city as crowded as London. Besides, it’s better for the environment. I want to reduce my carbon footprint.’

Angelo rose to his feet and joined her at the door, placing his hand on the doorknob to stop her escaping. ‘I’ll need you to sign some papers in the next day or two.’

Her chin came up. The hard glitter was back in her gaze. ‘A prenuptial agreement?’

He glanced at her mouth. He ached to feel it move under the pressure of his. He could feel the surge of his blood filling him with urgent, ferocious need.

‘Yes,’ he said, meeting her gaze again. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

‘No,’ she said, eyeballing him right back. ‘I’ll have one of my own drawn up. I’m not letting you take away everything I’ve worked so hard for.’

He smiled and tapped her gently on the end of her nose. ‘Touché,’ he said.

She blinked at him, looking flustered and disorientated. ‘I—I have to go,’ she said, and made a grab for the doorknob.

Angelo captured her hand within his. Her small, delicate fingers were dwarfed by the thickness and length and strength of his. He watched her eyes widen as he slowly brought her hand up to his mouth. He stopped before making contact with his lips, just a hair’s breadth from touching. He watched as her throat rose and fell. He felt the jerky little gust of her cinnamon-scented breath. He saw her glance at his mouth, saw too the quick nervous dart of her tongue as she swept it out over her lips.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said, dropping her hand and opening the door for her. ‘Ciao.’

She brushed past him in the doorway and without a single word of farewell she left.




CHAPTER THREE


‘CONGRATULATIONS,’ said Linda, Natalie’s assistant, the following morning when she arrived at work.

‘Pardon?’

Linda held up a newspaper. ‘Talk about keeping your cards close to your chest,’ she said. ‘I didn’t even know you were dating anyone.’

‘I’m …’ Natalie took the paper and quickly scanned it. There was a short paragraph about Angelo and her and their upcoming nuptials. Angelo was quoted as saying he was thrilled they were back together and how much he was looking forward to being married next week.

‘Is it true or is it a prank?’ Linda asked.

Natalie put the paper down on the counter. ‘It’s true,’ she said, chewing at her bottom lip.

‘Pardon me if I’m overstepping the mark here, but you don’t look too happy about it,’ Linda said.

Natalie forced a smile to her face. ‘Sorry, it’s just been such a pain … er … keeping it quiet until now,’ she said, improvising as she went. ‘We didn’t want anyone to speculate about us getting back together until we were sure it was what we both wanted.’

‘Gosh, how romantic!’ Linda said. ‘A secret relationship.’

‘Not so secret now,’ Natalie said a little ruefully as her stomach tied itself in knots. How was she going to cope with the constant press attention? They would swarm about her like bees. Angelo was used to being chased by the paparazzi. He was used to cameras flashing in his face and articles being written that were neither true nor false but somewhere in between.

She liked her privacy. She guarded it fiercely. Now she would be thrust into the public arena not for her designs and her talent but for whom she was sleeping with.

Her stomach gave another little shuffle. Not that she would be actually sleeping with Angelo. She was determined not to give in to that particular temptation. Her body might still have some sort of programmed response to him, but that didn’t mean she had to give in to it.

She could be strong.

She would be strong.

And determined.

He wouldn’t find her so easy to seduce this time around. She had been young and relatively inexperienced five years ago. She was older and wiser now. She hadn’t fallen in love with him before and she wasn’t about to fall in love with him now. He would be glad to call an end to their marriage before a month or two. She couldn’t see him tolerating her intransigence for very long. He was used to getting his own way. He wanted a submissive, I’ll-do-anything-to-please-you wife.

There wasn’t a bone in Natalie’s body that would bend to any man’s will, and certainly not to Angelo Bellandini’s.

‘These came for you while you were at the lawyer’s,’ Linda said when Natalie came back to the studio a couple of hours later.

Natalie looked at the massive bunch of blood-red roses elegantly wrapped and ribboned, their intoxicating clove-like perfume filling the air.

‘Aren’t you going to read the card?’ Linda asked.

‘Er … yes,’ Natalie said unpinning the envelope from the cellophane and tissue wrap. She took the card out and read: See you tonight, Angelo.

‘From Angelo?’ Linda asked.

‘Yes,’ Natalie said, frowning.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re frowning.’

She quickly relaxed her features. ‘I’ve got a few things to see to in my office at home. Do you mind holding the fort here for the rest of the day?’

‘Not at all,’ Linda said. ‘I guess you’ll have to leave me in charge when you go on your honeymoon, right?’

Natalie gave her a tight on-off smile as she grabbed her bag and put the strap over her shoulder. ‘I don’t think I’ll be away very long,’ she said.

‘Aren’t you going to take the roses with you?’ Linda asked.

Natalie turned back and scooped them up off the counter. ‘Good idea,’ she said, and left.

Angelo looked at the three-storey house in a leafy street in the well-to-do Edinburgh suburb of Morningside. It had a gracious elegance about it that reminded him of Natalie immediately. Even the garden seemed to reflect parts of her personality. The neatly clipped hedges and the meticulous attention to detail in plants and their colour and placement bore witness to a young woman who liked order and control.

He smiled to himself as he thought how annoyed she would be at the way things were now out of her control. He had the upper hand and he was going to keep it. He would enjoy watching her squirm. He had five years of bitterness to avenge. Five years of hating her, five years of wanting her, five years of being tortured by memories of her body in his arms.

Five years of trying to replace her.

He put his finger to the highly polished brass doorbell. A chime-like sound rang out, and within a few seconds he heard the click-clack of her heels as she came to answer its summons. He could tell she was angry. He braced himself for the blast.

‘How dare you release something to the press without checking with me first?’ she said as her opening gambit.

‘Hello, cara,’ he said. ‘I’m fine, thank you. And you?’

She glowered at him as she all but slammed the door once he had stepped over its threshold. ‘You had no right to say anything to anyone,’ she said. ‘I was followed home by paparazzi. I had cameras going off in my face as soon as I left my studio. I almost got my teeth knocked out by one of their microphones.’

‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I’m so used to it I hardly notice it any more. Do you want me to get you a bodyguard? I should’ve thought of it earlier.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course I don’t want a bloody bodyguard!’ she said. ‘I just want this to go away. I want all of this to go away.’

‘It’s not going to go away, Natalie,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to go away.’

She continued to glare at him. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I’m here to take you out to dinner.’

‘What if I’m not hungry?’

‘Then you can sit and watch me eat,’ he said. ‘Won’t that be fun?’

‘You are totally sick—do you know that?’ she said.

‘Did you like the roses?’

She turned away from him and began stalking down the wide corridor. ‘I hate hothouse flowers,’ she said. ‘They have no scent.’

‘I didn’t buy you hothouse flowers,’ he said. ‘I had those roses shipped in from a private gardener.’

She gave a dismissive grunt and pushed open a door leading to a large formal sitting room. Again the attention to detail was stunning. Beautifully co-ordinated colours and luxurious fabrics, plush sofas and crystal chandeliers. Timeless antiques cleverly teamed with modern pieces—old-world charm and modern chic that somehow worked together brilliantly.

‘Do you want a drink?’ she asked uncharitably.

‘What are you having?’

She threw him a speaking glance. ‘I was thinking along the lines of cyanide,’ she said.

He laughed. ‘Not quite to my taste, mia piccola,’ he said. ‘Can I have a soda and lime?’

She went to a bar fridge that was hidden behind an art deco cabinet. He heard the rattle of ice cubes and the fizz of the soda water and then the plop of a slice of lime. She fixed her own glass of white wine before she turned and passed his drink to him with a combative look on her face.

‘I hope it chokes you,’ she said.

He lifted the glass against hers in a salute and said, ‘To a long and happy marriage.’

Her gaze wrestled with his. ‘I’m not drinking to that.’

‘What will you drink to?’

She clanged her glass against his. ‘To freedom,’ she said, and took a sip.

Angelo watched her as she moved across the room, her body movements stiff and unfriendly. She took another couple of sips of her drink, grimacing distastefully as if she wasn’t used to drinking alcohol. ‘I drove past your studio on the way here,’ he said. ‘Very impressive.’

She gave him a quick off-hand glance over her shoulder. ‘Thank you.’

‘I have a project for you, if you’re interested,’ he said.

She turned and looked at him fully. ‘What sort of project?’

‘A big one,’ he said. ‘It’s worth a lot of money. Good exposure for you, too. It will bring you contacts from all over Europe.’

She stood very still before him, barely moving a muscle apart from the little hammer beat of tension at the base of her throat. ‘Go on,’ she said, with that same look of wariness in her gaze.

‘I have a holiday villa in Sorrento, on the Amalfi Coast,’ he said. ‘I bought another property nearby for a song a few months back. I’m turning it into a luxury hotel. I’m just about done with the structural repairs. Now it’s time for the interior makeover. I thought it would be a good project for you to take on once we are married.’

‘Why do you want me to do it?’ she asked.

‘You’re good at what you do,’ he said.

Her mouth thinned in cynicism. ‘And you want a carrot to dangle in front of me in case I happen to find a last-minute escape route?’

‘You won’t find an escape route,’ he said. ‘If you’re a good girl I might even consider using your linen exclusively in all of my hotels. But only if you behave yourself.’

The look she gave him glittered with hatred. ‘You’ve certainly got blackmail down to a science,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise you were this ruthless five years ago.’

‘I wasn’t,’ he said, taking another leisurely sip of his drink.

She tightened her mouth. ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ she said. ‘I have a lot of work on just now.’

‘How capable is your assistant?’ Angelo asked.

‘Very capable,’ she said. ‘I’m thinking of promoting her. I need someone to handle the international end of things.’

‘It must be quite limiting, not being able to do the travelling yourself,’ he said.

She lifted a shoulder in a dismissive manner. ‘I manage.’

Angelo picked up a small photo frame from an intricately carved drum table next to where he was standing. ‘Is this Lachlan as a toddler?’ he asked.

Her deep blue gaze flickered with something as she glanced at the photo. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not.’

Angelo put the frame back on the table and, pushing back his sleeve, glanced at his watch. ‘We should get going,’ he said. ‘I’ve booked the restaurant for eight.’

‘I told you I’m not having dinner with you,’ she said.

‘And I told you to behave yourself,’ he tossed back. ‘You will join me for dinner and you will look happy about it. I don’t care how you act in private, but in public you will at all times act like a young woman who is deeply in love. If you put even one toe of one foot out of line your brother will pay the price.’

She glared at him, her whole body bristling with anger. ‘I’ve never been in love before, so how am I going to pull that act off with any authenticity?’ she asked.

Angelo gave her a steely look. ‘Make it up as you go along,’ he said, and put his glass down with a dull thud next to the photo frame. ‘I’ll be waiting outside in the car.’

Natalie waited until he had left the room before she picked up his glass. She mopped up the circle of condensation left on the leather top of the table with the heel of her hand and then wiped her hand against her churning stomach.

Her eyes went to the photo of Liam. He was standing on the beach with a bucket and spade in his dimpled hands, his cherubic face smiling for the camera. It had been taken just hours before he died. She remembered how excited he had been about the shells he had found. She remembered the sandcastle they had built together. She remembered how they had come back to the pool with their parents to rinse off. She remembered how her mother had gone inside for a rest and her father had left her with Liam while he made an important phone call …





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