Sweet Revenge: The Martinez Marriage Revenge / The Italian Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge / The Kouros Marriage Revenge. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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for an ailing elderly man wanting to see his only great-grandchild.
She’d covered all her bases … hadn’t she?
And three weeks was hardly a lifetime.
So why did she feel this faint niggle of apprehension?
It stayed with her as she worked, although she deliberately consigned it to the back of her mind as she gave her full attention to dispensing prescriptions, greeting and conversing with patients and customers frequenting the pharmacy.
There was the usual early-evening rush, followed by a lull, during which she had the opportunity to request a leave of absence.
John Bennett, the owner of the pharmacy who was both employer and friend, paused from his task of checking stock and gave Shannay his full attention.
‘This is a bit sudden. Care to provide the reason?’
Shannay offered the bare minimum, aware he filled in the blanks himself.
‘You consider this a wise move, Shannay?’
John was a nice man, caring and pleasant to work with. He also wanted to date her … something she refused to do. She liked him, but … and it was the but that mattered.
Friendship was fine, but not a relationship. With John, it could only be the latter and she wouldn’t contemplate taking that step.
‘It’s an amicable one.’ At least I’m being led to believe it is, she added silently. ‘And I’ve taken precautionary protective measures.’
‘Such as?’
Shannay crossed to her bag, extracted the notarised agreement and handed it to him, watchful of his expression as he read the contents.
‘You want my honest opinion?’
‘Of course.’
John folded the paperwork and passed it back to her.
‘My main concern is whether, if contested, it would stand up in a court of law.’ He paused. ‘Do you trust him?’
Trust encompassed much. ‘With Nicki’s welfare. Yes.’
‘And with yours?’ he persisted quietly.
I don’t know. ‘It’s only three weeks, John.’
‘If you’re sure.’
Sure? How could she be sure of anything that involved Marcello? They had a chequered history, one of extreme highs and lows.
A roller-coaster ride, she added silently, and stilled the sensual curl threatening to unfurl deep within her memory of what they’d shared … during the good times.
The evening followed its usual pattern, with a busy period as the nearby cinema-plex emptied and the occasional parent desperate for nursery supplies made a hurried trip to the dispensary.
It was almost closing time when the electronic door buzzer announced a last-minute arrival. Shannay checked the security-cam, and felt the breath catch in her throat as she saw Marcello moving towards the counter.
Gone were the chinos and collarless shirt he’d worn during the day. Tailored trousers, an open-necked shirt and jacket adorned his strong masculine body.
‘I’ll close up.’
Shannay heard John’s words, and quickly turned towards him, then she gathered herself together sufficiently to effect an introduction.
‘What are you doing here, and why now?’ she asked quietly as John moved towards the front entrance.
‘Whatever happened to hello?’ Marcello drawled, watching as she efficiently checked data on the computer, then closed down.
‘You were in the area and thought you’d call in?’ She lifted an eyebrow. ‘Or primarily to collect paperwork which I have yet to sign?’
‘Both,’ he concurred smoothly. ‘I’m sure John won’t object to witnessing your signature.’
Shannay was tempted to provide further delaying tactics, just for the hell of it. Except such an action would be retaliatory and pointless.
It didn’t take long, and Marcello slid the paperwork into his jacket pocket, then waited while she pulled on a jacket and caught up her bag.
She didn’t particularly want him to accompany her out into the cool night air.
He … affected her, and she wasn’t comfortable with it. Any more than she felt at ease witnessing John’s silent reticence in Marcello’s presence.
There shouldn’t be this faintly breathless sense of sexual energy attacking the fragile tenure of her control.
It made her feel slightly off-balance, aware of him at some tenuous level that threatened to shift the foundations she’d fought so hard to cement during the past few years.
Crazy, she dismissed. She was tired, that was all, and tense. Worse, she was allowing her imagination to run riot.
She shot him a cursory look as they reached the front of the pharmacy. ‘I have my own car.’
‘You object to me ensuring you reach it safely?’
His mild query elicited a faintly derisive dismissal. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’
They walked out into darkness where illumination was provided by distant streetlights and a sickle moon.
He was too close. Within touching distance, and the faint aroma of his cologne teased her senses, together with the male scent that was his alone.
Her car was parked in full view, and she deactivated the alarm, paused as Marcello opened the door, then she quickly slid in behind the wheel.
He held the door and leaned down towards her. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
Shannay inclined her head, fired the engine and sent the sedan out onto the road in the direction of home.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE LUXURIOUSLY FITTED Gulf Stream jet cruised at a diminishing altitude as it began its descent to Barajas Airport.
A long flight, during which Shannay had plenty of time to reflect … and wonder for the umpteenth time why she’d agreed to leave the relative security of her own territory for a city in a country which held so many conflicting memories for her, not all of them good.
Carlo’s presence helped ease the intimacy of so few passengers sharing the cabin, and he was a pleasant man in his early forties, tall, whipcord-lean and alert in a way that behoved his position.
It will be fine, she silently reassured.
She was in control, she’d covered every contingency, and this was only a very temporary visit to Madrid.
Nicki travelled well, in awe of her surroundings, the flight, and was almost heartbreakingly willing to please.
Marcello had become Nicki’s new best friend during the week it had taken to confirm his paternity and complete travel documentation.
There had been only one awkward moment when Nicki had asked Marcello in childish innocence, ‘Are you my uncle?’
‘I’m related to the Spanish side of your family,’ he’d responded gently, and solemn young eyes viewed him with unblinking regard.
‘Do you know my daddy?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Will I meet him?’
Oh, dear heaven, don’t. Not now, not yet, Shannay silently beseeched.
‘I can promise you will.’
The undisguised rapport they shared had to be a good thing, Shannay constantly reminded herself as she bit down her reaction to the gentle patience