CHAPTER ONE

      DANTE D’AREZZO KNEW the exact moment his ex-fiancée walked into the cathedral. He heard the silence which fell and the whisper which followed.

      ‘Look, there’s Justina Perry.’

      And the murmured response. ‘Oh, wow!’

      Dante could feel the punch of his heart as people turned their heads to look at her, to see if she’d changed. They wanted to know if she had any new lines on her face—or whether those lines had been ironed out by surgery. They wanted to know if she was heavier. Or lighter. They wanted to know every damned thing about her, because once she had been famous and fame made people think they owned you.

      Dante knew that. He knew that only too damned well. Hadn’t he watched from the sidelines long enough to learn about the darker aspects of fame? The way it corrupted and corroded and spread into normal life like some sort of toxic acid?

      His powerful body tight with tension, he watched her sinuous progress down the wide aisle of Norwich Cathedral, where the wedding of her ex-bandmate was shortly to take place. Her dark hair had been coiled into an elaborate confection at the back of her head and she was wearing an oriental-looking gown of pale satin, lavishly embroidered with dragons and flowers. At first glance the dress seemed disappointingly demure—until she moved forward on a pair of towering heels and a thigh-high split revealed the tantalising flash of one long, bare leg.

      An unwanted wave of desire swept over him, quickly followed by a powerful surge of anger. So she still liked to show herself off like some kind of cheap puttana, did she? Did she still enjoy the sensation of other men watching her and wanting her—fantasising about that sinner’s body coupled with the soulful face of a dark angel?

      But his anger was not enough to diminish the exquisite ache in his body, and he watched as she took her place in one of the front rows, turning to smile at the person next to her as she sank down onto the pew. The embroidered satin stretched over her delicious bottom and all Dante could think about was how long it had been. Five long years since he’d seen her. More than enough time for him to have become immune to her feline appeal. So why was his heart thundering as he watched her staring up at the altar? Why was the hardening at his groin so pronounced that he was having to cover it up with his hymn sheet?

      He tried to think about something else as the marriage service began—but it wasn’t easy. Not when this wedding seemed even longer than weddings usually were—probably because the groom just happened to be a duke. Dante always played the part expected of him, and usually he would have been an exemplary and attentive guest. But today, his attention was focussed elsewhere and all the way through the service his thoughts kept straying back to Justina.

      Justina writhing beneath him on a snow-white bed.

      Justina with her ebony hair and magnolia skin and those amazing amber eyes.

      He remembered the sweet tightness of her body. Those tiny little nipples which had been made to fit so perfectly inside a man’s mouth. Briefly he shook his head, for those thoughts disturbed him. He wanted to forget that for the first and only time in his life he’d made a mistake. His broken engagement was the only failure in a life which had been charted with resounding success. He was a proud man of noble Tuscan heritage. His ancestors had been scholars, soldiers and diplomats—an aristocratic line which had always been land-rich but cash-poor. But then Dante had become head of the family’s business interests and had taken them soaring into the stratosphere.

      These days the D’Arezzo family owned property over most of the globe, in addition to their vast vineyards in the beautiful countryside outside Florence. Dante had everything a man could possibly want, and yet inside his heart was empty.

      There were bells ringing now—a triumphant peal of them heralding the end of the ceremony. And then came the somewhat unbelievable sight of Roxy Carmichael—all misty in white silk and pearls—clinging on to the arm of her new husband, the Duke. Dante shook his head in slight disbelief. Who would ever have thought it? The last time he’d seen Roxy she had been dancing around on a giant stage wearing little more than a sequinned pelmet which had been masquerading as a skirt.

      That was what they’d all used to wear when she, Justina and Lexi had made up the Lollipops—the biggest girl-band on the planet. When for a while he had been little more than a member of their extensive posse.

      The congregation had begun to file out behind the bride and groom and Dante found himself watching. Wanting to see Justina’s reaction when she saw him sitting there. Did she ever regret the choices she’d made? The ones which had led to his rejection of her? Did she ever lie in bed thinking and fretting about what could have been hers?

      Last night he had given in to a temptation he’d long resisted, and a quick search on his computer had told him that Justina remained unmarried, with no children—something which had given him pause for thought. She must be nearly thirty now, he realised. Wasn’t she worried that these days women were advised to have children sooner, rather than later? A cruel smile curved the edges of his lips. No, of course she wasn’t. What appeal would a child have to someone like her? Her career was everything to her. Everything.

      His gaze flicked over her pale skin as she came towards him and for one suspended moment he saw her footsteps falter when their gazes met and locked. He looked into her amber eyes, which looked golden against the sudden snowy pallor of her skin. Saw them widen in disbelief and then saw a flash of something in their depths which he couldn’t have defined even if he could be bothered to try. What Justina Perry thought or felt was of no interest to him. Not any more. But he wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t enjoyed the sudden swallowing movement he observed rippling down over that swanlike neck of hers.

      She was right beside him now. Close enough for him to catch a drift of her perfume, which made him think of jasmine and honey. And then she was gone, and he was aware of a pretty blonde in the row in front of him, who was turning round to give him a very bright smile indeed.

      But the smile Dante returned was perfunctory. He hadn’t come here today to find a woman. Though he hadn’t really stopped to ask himself why he’d accepted an invitation he’d never been expecting to receive. Was it to lay a ghost to rest? To convince himself that he now felt nothing for the only woman who had ever managed to penetrate the stony exterior of his hard Tuscan heart?

      He walked out into the crisp brightness