Sweet Revenge: The Martinez Marriage Revenge / The Italian Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge / The Kouros Marriage Revenge. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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day you won’t run.’
Shannay swivelled and sent him a venomous glare. ‘You think?’
He had the strong desire to haul her over his shoulder and carry her kicking and protesting to his bed.
As he had done once in the past, when mere words had become an impossible means of communication. Kisses tempered by anger assumed reluctant passion, then became more, so much more, until there was no denial of need, or a mutual sensual recognition that overcame all else … until reality in the light of day intruded.
Was her memory of what they’d shared as hauntingly vivid as his own?
Did it keep her awake nights?
He was counting on it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHANNAY CHECKED her appearance, and wondered how she could look so calm, when her nerves were shot to pieces and it seemed as if a dozen butterflies were beating their wings madly inside her stomach.
She really didn’t want to do this.
Re-entering the Madrid social scene had never been part of the plan.
Hell, nothing that had happened in the past few weeks formed part of any plan she could have envisaged in her worst nightmare!
Yet the evening represented a fundraiser for a worthy charity, one of a few supported by the Martinez corporation.
Marcello’s attendance was a given and, as his purported newly reconciled wife, she was expected to appear by his side.
Something suitable to wear had been dealt with with remarkable ease. All it had taken was a phone call to a prominent boutique with her measurements to have a selection of gowns delivered to Marcello’s home.
Now she viewed the café-au-lait gown in silk organza with its elegant, finely pleated bodice, thin spaghetti straps and full-length soft, flowing skirt, the stiletto-heeled evening shoes … and felt reasonably confident her choice was the right one.
Understated make-up with emphasis on her eyes, a faint tinge of blush at her cheeks and lipgloss … with her hair in a smooth twist.
‘You look like a princess.’
Shannay turned towards Nicki and blew her a kiss. ‘Thank you.’
‘Gracias,’ her daughter corrected with a grin. ‘Me and Maria are going to watch Shrek.’
‘Just for a little while. When Maria says it’s time for bed, you won’t fuss. OK?’
‘‘Kay.’
Time to go downstairs, join Marcello, then step into a Martinez chauffeured limousine … secure in the knowledge Nicki would be well looked after in Maria’s care, with Carlo in charge, and a direct private line on speed-dial to both her and Marcello’s cellphone.
Shannay collected the matching evening bag, then held out her hand. ‘Come on, imp. Party-time.’
A faint knock on Nicki’s bedroom door accompanied by the sound of a familiar male voice had the little girl racing through the connecting en suite.
‘Daddy’s here!’
Large as life and far too stunningly attractive in dark evening wear, Shannay perceived as she attempted without success to still the warmth flooding through her veins at the mere sight of him.
Fine white shirt linen provided a stark contrast with his olive skin and dark, well-groomed hair, his tailored suit displaying an impeccable fit as it moulded his superbly muscled frame.
It was little wonder women of all ages felt emboldened to flex their flirting skills in his presence, for he possessed a raw sexuality combined with the hint of something forbidden, almost verging on the savagely primitive.
A modern-day warrior who fought daily with powerful brokers in numerous countries around the world, constantly seeking an essential edge … and always watching his back.
Dark inscrutable eyes took in her slim form, the child regarding him with dancing anticipation, and he leant down and scooped Nicki into his arms.
‘Isn’t Mummy beautiful?’ his daughter confided, and his mouth curved into a generous smile.
‘Beautiful,’ Marcello agreed. ‘Just like you.’
A compliment that earned him an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek.
Ten minutes later Shannay sat in the rear seat of the limousine as it cleared the gates and traversed the avenue leading towards the main arterial route into the city.
‘There’s something missing,’ Marcello drawled and reached into his jacket pocket, extracted a small velvet case and snapped it open.
‘Give me your hand.’
He sensed her hesitation and simply caught hold of her left hand, and slid the exquisite baguette-style diamond ring onto the appropriate finger.
Her wedding ring. The one she’d left behind the night she’d fled his home, his country.
‘I don’t—’
‘Want to wear it?’ His dark eyes met hers and held them. ‘But you will.’
‘Why?’
‘I would have thought it obvious.’
‘The orchestrated reconciliation,’ she acknowledged drily, and saw his cynical smile.
‘Need I remind you the marriage remains intact?’
‘For the time being.’ She’d play the game for the duration of her stay, for Ramon’s sake. An extra week or two was little to gift him from her lifetime.
The wide platinum diamond-encrusted band shot prisms of brilliantly coloured fire as the light caught the numerous facets, and its unaccustomed weight felt strange.
‘There’s also these.’
He revealed a pear-shaped diamond pendant and matching earrings he’d gifted her on their first wedding anniversary.
Without a word he leant towards her and attached the delicate platinum chain in place and fastened the clasp at her nape.
It took only seconds, but it felt like an age as his warm breath feathered her cheek, and the touch of his fingers at her nape wrought an intimacy in the close confines of the limousine.
How easy would it be to move her head a little and have her cheek brush his own? To turn into him and seek his mouth, feel the sensuous slide of his tongue in an erotic tasting that could never be enough … merely a tantalising preliminary to how the evening would end. As it had in the early days of their marriage.
A time when she had dared and teased, and exulted in every moment.
Now she sat still, waiting with indrawn breath for him to move away so her heartbeat could return to its normal rhythm.
She made a slightly strangled protest as he lifted his fingers to her ear and carefully attached the hooked pin of one ear-stud before tending to her other earlobe.
Shannay couldn’t fault his touch, or accuse it lingered a little too long. But the action felt incredibly personal, intimate … and she had to fight against the way it affected her wayward emotions.
As he meant it to do?
And if so, to what purpose?
Physically, Marcello could do nothing to prevent her leaving the country.
So why this persistent niggle of doubt?
The hotel was one of the city’s finest, and Shannay cursed Marcello afresh as she pinned a smile on her face and prepared to play an expected part.
Numerous photographers’ cameras flashed as they alighted from the limousine and trod the red carpet into the foyer.