Sweet Revenge: The Martinez Marriage Revenge / The Italian Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge / The Kouros Marriage Revenge. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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‘He already has a daughter.’
‘A son,’ Penè insisted imperiously. ‘Named Ramon, in honour of my father.’
‘What if I were to consider filing for divorce?’ She chose not to reveal she’d already set the legalities in motion.
‘Divorce for a Martinez isn’t an option. Marcello would refuse to countenance such a thing.’ She looked suitably astonished. ‘Foolish girl. What are you thinking? He can give you everything you desire.’
Except the one thing I want.
His heart.
I gave him mine, unconditionally … only to discover he didn’t value it.
‘I think we’re done,’ Shannay said aloud. She even managed a faint smile as Carlo added another emblem-emblazoned designer bag to their mounting collection.
Carlo delivered Penè to Ramon’s residence, then continued to La Moraleja.
Nicki was tucked in bed with Marcello seated on its edge as he read from a storybook when Shannay entered the bedroom.
Attired in black jeans and a black chambray shirt, he looked totally at ease, and she tamped down the emotional reaction stirring deep within at the mere sight of him.
Pheronomes, intense sexual awareness … it was attraction at its most dangerous, and need, basic and earthy, pulsed through her body.
She remembered only too well when she had only to look at him to witness the secret promise in those dark eyes, and know how the night would end … as it almost always did.
A time when they couldn’t get enough of each other.
Until the doubts crept in, and everything began to change.
‘Mummy!’
There was time out for a mutual kiss and a hug before Nicki settled back against the pillow.
‘Daddy and me went swimming in the pool. And I’ve had dinner and a bath.’ Brown eyes widened. ‘And I cleaned my teeth.’
‘Well done,’ Shannay said with warmth, including both man and child, and incurred a studied appraisal. ‘Thanks,’ she added quietly.
‘No problem.’ He glimpsed the faint edge of pain, the aftermath of several hours in Penè’s company. ‘A productive afternoon?’
‘I’m sure we maxed your credit card.’
A faint smile tugged the edges of his mouth. ‘Doubtful.’
Yes, she supposed it was, and she added— ‘Thank you. Penè’s help was invaluable.’
But tiring, he deduced, all too aware of his aunt’s incessant need to constantly verbalise with an opinion on everything in an often uncompromising manner.
‘Can I see what you bought?’
Marcello leant forward and lightly touched Nicki’s cheek. ‘In the morning, pequena. Now let’s find out what happens to Cinderella, shall we?’
‘She goes to the ball and comes home in a pumpkin,’ Nicki relayed solemnly, and Marcello smiled.
‘I think you’ve heard this story before.’
‘It’s my favourite.’
One of many, Shannay reflected as she sat down on the opposite side of the bed while Marcello finished reading, by which time Nicki had fallen asleep, and Shannay turned down the light and preceded him from the room.
‘I’ll go change, then meet you downstairs.’ The thought of food held little appeal. Given a choice she’d prefer to eat at the time of the late-afternoon merienda, as Nicki did.
A quick shower proved refreshing, and she slipped into dress jeans, pulled on a short-sleeved rib-knit top in a deep coral, twisted her hair into a loose knot, then added lipgloss.
Dinner comprised a light omelette with salad, followed by fresh fruit, during the eating of which they caught up on their individual afternoon activities.
‘Penè was suitably restrained?’
Shannay took a careful sip of water and replaced the glass down onto the table before directing Marcello a pensive look.
‘You want polite?’
He pushed his plate to one side and viewed her with speculative interest. ‘I’m very familiar with my aunt’s penchant for plain speaking.’
‘In essence, I’m peaky … the cause of which must be you keeping me awake nights, or I’m pregnant. Preferably the latter, as it’s my duty to provide you with another child. A son.’
Marcello sank back in his chair. ‘I’m intrigued to hear your response.’
‘Let’s just say it invoked the reminder a Martinez would never countenance divorce.’
His eyes seared her own. ‘You can have whatever you want, Shannay … with one exception. A divorce.’
A sudden lump rose in her throat, and she swallowed it carefully. ‘I don’t want gifts, haute couture or a high-profile social life. They mean nothing to me. They never did.’
‘Yet we share the gift of a child.’
‘The one thing I won’t let you take away from me,’ Shannay vowed with renewed fervour, and something flickered in the depths of his eyes before it was successfully masked.
‘It was never my intention to do so.’
‘Yet you’d consign us both to a convenient marriage where we maintain a façade in public?’ Her eyes darkened, and pain curled deep inside. ‘For what purpose, Marcello?’ She drew in a slightly ragged breath. ‘Revenge … because I didn’t inform you of Nicki’s existence?’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘I think you’re playing a game,’ she flung, sorely tried as she rose to her feet.
Dignity and pride. She possessed both, and she walked away from him without a further glance, uncaring whether he followed or not.
Sleep proved elusive, and she tossed and turned, only to slip out of bed and take something to ease a tension headache.
Eventually she must have slept, for she came awake aware she was no longer in her own bed, but held in strong masculine arms as Marcello traversed the dimly lit gallery en route to his own suite.
‘Put me down!’ Her voice was little more than a sibilant hiss as she struggled against him.
Without success, and she balled a fist and lashed out uncaring as to where it landed.
In a matter of seconds he entered the suite, closed the door behind him, then released her down to stand in front of him.
Shannay glared at him in open defiance, hating him in that instant as she ignored the darkness evident in his eyes and the bunched muscle at the edge of his jaw.
‘This is ridiculous. You’re impossible!’ She released a growl of frustration.
‘That’s the best you can do?’
She ignored his indolent drawl, the waiting, watching quality in his stance … and launched into a barely restrained diatribe that used every emotive adjective she could recall.
One eyebrow slanted as she came to a halt, and he posed silkily, ‘You’re done?’
‘Yes, dammit!’
‘Good.’
He captured her shoulders and drew her in, then he closed his mouth over her own, took all the fiery heat and tamed it, ignoring her flailing fists as they faltered and fell to her sides.
He wanted her unbidden response, and deliberately sought it, sensing the low groan deep in her throat as she fought against