Castellano's Mistress of Revenge. Melanie Milburne
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based in London, she felt it was too far to relocate, especially now. Serena wasn’t back on her feet after suffering from a devastating miscarriage after yet another failed IVF attempt. Ava had not long returned from visiting Serena and had promised to come back as soon as she could to help her through such a harrowing time. But going there now was out of the question. Serena would immediately sense something was up and it would not do her recovery any good to find out about the mess Ava was in. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I have a friend I would like to visit in Scotland. I thought I might try and find a job while I am there.’
Ava could see the cynicism in the lawyer’s eyes as he got to his feet. She supposed from his perspective she deserved it; after all, she had to all intents and purposes been a kept woman for the last five years. No doubt he thought finding a regular job with the sort of perks she had been used to was not going to be easy.
Ava was well aware of the precarious position she was in. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she needed a regular flow of income to help her sister have the baby she so desperately wanted. Her husband, Richard Holt, earned a reasonable income as an academic, but nowhere near enough to cover the expense of repeated IVF treatments.
Ava glanced at her watch as she left the lawyer’s building. She had less than three hours until she saw Marc Castellano for the first time in five years. Her stomach fluttered with feathered wings of fear as her footsteps click-clacked along the pavement.
Fear, or was it excitement?
It was perhaps a perverse bit of both, Ava acceded. She had more or less been expecting him to contact her. She knew he would relish in the opportunity to gloat over the way things had turned out for her. The news of Douglas’s death six weeks ago had gone around the world. Why Marc had waited this long to see her she supposed was all part of his plan to make the most of her very public fall.
The villa was cool after the heat of the summer sun and she released her sticky hair from the back of her collar, rolling her neck and shoulders to try and ease some of the tension that had gathered there.
The housekeeper, an older French woman called Celeste, came towards her from the main reception room at the foot of the grand staircase. ‘Excusez-moi, madame, mais vous avez un visiteur,’ she said and, changing to English, continued, ‘Signor Marcelo Castellano. He said you were expecting him.’
Ava felt a scuttle-like sensation pass across her scalp, like tiny panicked feet tripping through her hair. ‘Merci, Celeste,’ she said, placing her bag on the nearest surface with a hand that was almost but not quite steady, ‘but I was led to understand he was coming much later.’
The housekeeper raised her hands in a what-would-I-know? gesture. ‘He is here now, in there.’ She pointed to the formal reception room that overlooked the gardens and the port and sea beyond.
Ava set her mouth, although her heart gave another flip-flop-like beat. ‘You can leave now,’ she said. ‘I will see you in the morning. Bonsoir.’
The housekeeper gave a respectful nod of her salt-and-pepper head and backed away. Ava drew in a breath, held it for a beat or two before releasing it in a jagged stream.
The door of the reception room was closed, but she could sense Marc standing the other side of it. He wouldn’t be sitting. He wouldn’t be pacing impatiently either. He would be standing.
Waiting.
For her.
Putting one high-heeled foot in front of the other, Ava moved to the door and, opening it, walked into the room.
The first thing she noticed was his smell: citrus and sharp with an undertone of masculine body heat, it played about her nostrils, teasing them into an involuntary flare.
The next thing she noticed was his eyes. They locked on hers within a heartbeat, deep and dark as blackened coal, inscrutable and yet dangerously sexy. Fringed with thick black lashes beneath equally dark brows, his gaze was both intelligent and astute and intensely, unmistakably male. After holding hers for what seemed an eternity, his gaze then went on to sweep over her lazily, leaving a trail of blistering heat in its wake. Flames erupted beneath her skin, licking along her veins, lighting a fire of need deep and low inside her that she had thought had long ago turned to ashes.
He was wearing a dark charcoal-grey finely pinstriped suit, which showcased the breadth of his shoulders and the taut leanness of his frame. His ink-black hair was longer than he had worn it in the past, but Ava thought the slightly tousled just-out-of-bed look suited him perfectly. His crisply white shirt and silverembossed tie emphasised his olive skin, the shiny cufflinks at his strongly boned wrists a touch of class that reminded her of how incredibly successful he had become over the last five years.
‘So, we finally meet again,’ Marc said in that deep, husky male tone that had always made her spine feel watery and unstable. ‘I am sorry I didn’t make it to the funeral or send you a card with my condolences.’ He gave a small movement of his lips which belied the sincerity of his statement. ‘Under the circumstances I didn’t think either would be appropriate.’
Ava pulled her shoulders back to counteract his effect on her. ‘I suppose you are only here now to gloat over your prize,’ she said with an attempt at haughtiness.
His dark eyes glittered meaningfully. ‘That depends on which prize you are referring to, ma petite.’
Ava felt her skin burn as his eyes ran over her again. It had always made her heart skip when he used French endearments in that sexy Italian accent of his.
She wondered if he knew how much it hurt to see him again. Not just emotionally, but physically. It was like an ache deep in her bones; they creaked with the memory of him holding her, kissing her, making her body explode with passion time and time again. She felt the sharp twinge of response even now by being in the same room as him. It was like strings being tugged deep inside of her, reminding her of all the heat and fire of his desire for her, and hers for him.
She had hoped he would have stopped hating her by now, but she could see the fire of it in his eyes, she could even feel it in the stance of his six-foot-four frame, the tension in his sculptured muscles, and the clenching and unclenching of his long-fingered hands as if he didn’t trust himself not to reach out and shake her for how she had betrayed him. If only he knew the truth, but how could she explain it now, after all this time?
Ava raised her chin with a bravado she was nowhere near feeling. ‘Let’s not speak in riddles, Marc. Say what you came here to say.’
He stepped closer. It was only one step, but it halted the breath in her throat. She swallowed, but it only made the restriction tighter. She had to crane her neck, for even in her heels he towered over her. His eyes bored into hers, dark and deep pools of simmering anger.
‘I am here to take possession of this villa,’ he said, ‘and to offer you a job for which we both know you are highly qualified.’
She frowned at him, her stomach curdling with unease, her skin tightening all over with apprehension. ‘D-doing what?’
His top lip lifted, his eyes glittering with icy disdain. ‘Servicing a rich man’s needs. You are well known for it, are you not?’
Ava felt a tremor in her spine as his hatred smashed over her in soundless waves. ‘You know nothing of my relationship with Douglas,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady and controlled.
‘Your meal ticket is dead,’ Marc said bluntly. ‘He’s left you with nothing, not even a roof over your beautiful blonde head.’
‘Only because you took it all off him,’ she shot back. ‘You did it deliberately, didn’t you? There were hundreds if not thousands of companies going for the asking, but you hunted him down and took everything off him to get at me.’
He smiled a victor’s smile, but there was a hint of cruelty about it. ‘I will give you a minute or two to think it over,’ he said. ‘I am sure you will come to see it as the most sensible course of action at this point in your life.’
‘I