Sweet Revenge: The Martinez Marriage Revenge / The Italian Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge / The Kouros Marriage Revenge. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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Nicki completed a familiar mantra as she slid from the bed.
The picnic, the ducks, Marcello.
Not necessarily in that order, although combined they were the sole topic of Nicki’s conversation that morning.
Shannay gritted her teeth as she headed home after delivering her daughter to kindergarten.
If she heard his name mentioned again, she’d … do or say something regrettable!
One hour in his company, and he held Nicki in his thrall.
It was so not fair. And so typical of the man’s effect on the female species.
Traffic lights up ahead changed and she eased the car to a halt.
Figuratively speaking she was between a rock and a hard place. Signing or not signing the DNA paternity form only presented a relatively minor issue compared to the big picture.
The demons of the night returned tenfold, and the sudden strident sound of a car horn thrust her back into the present.
The insistent burr of her cellphone within minutes of clearing the intersection resulted in a juggling action as she changed lanes and pulled over to take the call.
‘Shannay.’
The familiar faintly accented male voice upped her nervous tension by several notches, and it took effort to summon a cool acknowledgement.
‘What do you want?’
‘We need to talk. There’s a café not far from your apartment. Meet me there in ten minutes.’
‘I have things to do, Marcello.’
‘This morning,’ Marcello elaborated, ‘in Nicki’s presence, or during your evening work hours, we will talk.’
‘You can’t—’ The words spilled, only to stop midsentence. He had no scruples whatsoever when it came to achieving his objective.
‘Choose.’
She could feel the anger surging through her body, and at that moment she truly hated him. ‘There is no choice.’
‘I’ll order a latte for you.’
Damn him to hell. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him exactly what he could do with the latte, except in some instances silence was golden, and she simply cut the connection.
Shannay reached her apartment block and eased the car down into the underground car park, locked it, then took the lift to ground level and walked out into the morning sunshine.
The café was close by, upmarket with outdoor tables and boutique sun umbrellas. A meeting place where friends assembled over designer coffee and sumptuous food to talk business, chat and watch the world go by.
There, seated outdoors, was Marcello.
Absent was the designer business suit, for today he’d chosen casual dark chinos and a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck.
It lent him a relaxed façade … one she knew to be misleading. Despite appearances to the contrary, Marcello rarely lowered his guard. It was what he’d become, who he was … and it showed.
There was something exigent that wrought a second look, a curiosity, sometimes fleeting, to check the level of power he emanated. A hint of the primitive, which unleashed could cause untold sensual havoc to a woman’s equilibrium.
A quality other men admired and coveted, but few possessed.
Marcello glanced up as she approached, and she felt the full impact of those dark eyes as they seared her own, witnessing for one moment the naked vulnerability apparent before she successfully masked it.
He signalled the waitress as Shannay slid into a seat opposite him.
Make-up free, except for a touch of gloss to her mouth, her hair caught together with a decorative clip, and dressed in jeans and a singlet top she looked scarcely more than a teenager.
Except looks could be deceptive, he mused, all too aware of the latent passion that lurked beneath that cool façade.
He remembered too well the sensual delight of her body, the persuasive touch and her eagerness to share … everything.
Heat unfurled and ran hot as he felt his own unbidden response, the need to render her willing and wanton. His, as she had been … and would be again.
No other woman came close, and he’d wanted what he once had.
Worse, he wanted her to pay for attempting to deny him any knowledge of his daughter.
‘Shannay.’
The waitress delivered her latte, and she selected two sugar tubes, broke them open and stirred in the contents.
Shannay took a deliberate sip of the frothy, milky liquid, then she carefully replaced the glass onto its saucer and met Marcello’s studied gaze.
‘Let’s get this over with, shall we?’ she suggested coolly.
‘Put our cards on the table, so to speak?’ Marcello drawled.
He was a superb strategist who played the game according to his own rules … and inevitably saved the sting for a coup de grâce.
Estimating precisely what that would encompass had kept her awake many nights and had haunted her dreams for a long time.
‘Yes.’ Delay wouldn’t achieve a thing, and wasn’t discovering the enemy’s game-plan half the battle?
‘The initial step is establishing legal evidence of my paternity.’
‘Something I won’t consent to without being fully aware of your intentions.’ Her voice was even, polite. ‘Immediate and long term.’
His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Whatever is decided will be primarily in Nicki’s best interests,’ he assured with hateful ease.
‘How can that be so?’ Shannay demanded, glaring at him. ‘Establishing custody rights will provide a total disruption to her life. Schooling, friends, family. Any hope of stability.’ She could feel herself winding up. ‘I’m her mother, dammit.’
He looked at her for what seemed an age, noting the fine edge of her anger, the restrained need to fight him … regardless of common-sense.
‘Nicki hasn’t displayed any curiosity about the absence of a father in her life?’
She ignored the silkiness in his voice, the latent anger held in tight control, and her eyes sharpened beneath the dark inflexibility evident in his.
‘Inevitably, soon after she began attending kindergarten,’ she revealed.
‘And?’
Her gaze didn’t waver. ‘I told her the very basic truth.’
An eyebrow lifted. ‘Enlighten me.’
‘I left her father before she was born.’ She lifted a hand and smoothed it over her hair in an unconscious gesture. ‘A number of children have single parents nowadays.’
Marcello leaned back in his chair and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Except you’re still married, Shannay. To me.’
‘Not for much longer.’
His smile was a faint facsimile. ‘In four years you have only considered filing for divorce now?’
‘I’m not part of one of your business deals, Marcello. So quit playing psychological games.’ Shannay buttoned down her frustrated anger. ‘Spell out exactly what you intend.’
For a moment she imagined she glimpsed a fleeting shadow in the depth of his eyes, only to dismiss it.
‘With Nicki?’
‘Of course, with Nicki!’
‘Initially, I want to