Master Of Pleasure. PENNY JORDAN
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that from the very heartbeat of time when she had known she was pregnant she had made a mental vow that her child would never have to suffer as she had suffered. Which was why…
She turned her head to watch her sons. Yes, Carlo had healed so much within her, yet there had been one thing he couldn’t heal. One stubborn, emotional wound for which she still had not found closure.
The worry of the last few months had stolen what little spare flesh she had had from her body, leaving her, in her own eyes, too thin. Her watch was loose on her wrist as she pushed the heavy weight of her sun-streaked tawny hair back off her face and kept it there with one slender hand.
She had been eighteen when she’d married Carlo, and nineteen when the boys had been born, an uneducated but street-smart girl who had been only too glad to accept Carlo’s proposal of marriage despite the fact that he was so much older than her. Marriage to him had provided her with so much that she had never had, and not just in terms of financial security. Carlo had brought stability into her life, and she had flourished in the safe environment he had provided for her.
She had been determined to do everything she could to repay Carlo’s kindness to her, and the look on his face the first time he had seen the twins, lying beside her in their cots in the exclusive private hospital in which she had given birth, had told her that she had given him a gift that was beyond price.
‘Watch, Mum.’ Obediently she obeyed Sam’s demand that she watch as he and Nico turned cartwheels. One day soon they would be telling her not to watch them so closely. As yet they hadn’t realised just how carefully she did watch over them. Sometimes, with two such energetic and intelligent boys, it was hard not to be over-protective—the kind of mother who saw danger where they saw only adventure. Her own thoughts silenced the ever ready ‘be careful’, hovering on her lips. ‘Very good,’ she praised them instead.
‘Look, we can do handstands too,’ Sam boasted.
They were agile, as well as tall for their age, and strongly built.
‘You have made good strong sons for me, Sasha,’ Carlo had often praised her. She smiled, remembering those words. Their marriage had bought her time and space in which to grow from the girl she had once been into the woman she was now. The sun glinted on the thin gold band of her wedding ring as she turned again to look at the hotel on the rocks above them.
She had travelled all over the world with her late husband, visiting his chain of small exclusive hotels, but this one here in Sardinia had always drawn her back. Originally a private home, owned by Carlo’s cousin, Carlo had inherited the property on the cousin’s death, and had vowed never to part with it.
Gabriel stood in the shadow cast by the rocks and looked down onto the beach. His mouth twisted with angry contempt and something else.
How did she feel now? he wondered, knowing that fate had reneged on the bargain she had struck with it, and that the security she had bought with her body was not, after all, going to be for life. How had she felt when she had learned that her widowhood was not going to be one of wealth and comfort?
Had she cursed the man she married, or herself? And what of her sons? Something dark and dangerous ripped his guts with razor-sharp claws. Just watching them had brought to the surface memories of his own childhood here on Sardinia. How could he ever forget the cruel, harsh upbringing he had endured? When he had been the age of these two boys he had been made to work for every crust he was thrown. Kicks and curses had taught him how to move swiftly and sure-footedly out of their range. But then he had been an unwanted child, a child disposed of by his rich maternal relatives, abandoned by his father, to be brought up by foster carers. As a boy he had, Gabriel acknowledged bitterly, spent more nights sleeping outside with the farm animals than he had inside with the foster family, who had learned their contempt of him from his mother’s relatives.
Gabriel believed that such an upbringing either made or broke the human spirit, and when it made it, as it had his, it hardened it to pure steel. He had never and would never let anyone deflect him from his chosen path, or come between him and his single-minded determination to stand above those who had chosen to look down on him.
His maternal grandfather had been the head of one of the richest and most powerful of Sardinia’s leading families. The Calbrini past was tightly interwoven with that of Sardinia. It was a family riven in blood feuds, treachery and revenge, and steeped in pride.
His mother had been his grandfather’s only child. She had been eighteen when she’d run away from the marriage he had arranged for her, to marry instead a poor but handsome young farmer she had believed herself in love with.
Strong-willed and spoiled, it had taken her less than a year to realise that she had made a mistake, and that she loathed her husband almost as much as she did the poverty that had come with her marriage. But by then she had given birth to Gabriel. She had appealed to her father, begging him to forgive her and let her come home. He had agreed, but on condition that she divorced her husband and left the child with his father.
According to the stories Gabriel had been told as a child, his mother hadn’t thought twice. Her father had paid over a goodly sum of money to Gabriel’s father on the understanding that this was a once and for all payment and that it absolved the Calbrini family from any responsibility towards the child of the now defunct marriage.
With more money that he had ever had in the whole of his life in his pocket, Gabriel’s father had left his three-month-old son and set off for Rome, promising the cousin he had left Gabriel with that he would send money for his son’s upkeep. But once in Rome he’d met the woman who was to become his second wife. She had seen no reason why she should be burdened with a child who was not hers, nor why her husband’s money should be wasted on it.
Gabriel’s foster parents had appealed to his grandfather. They were poor and could not afford to feed a hungry child. Giorgio Calbrini had refused to help. The child was nothing to him. His daughter had also remarried—this time to the man of his choice—and he was hoping that within a very short space of time she would give him a grandson with the lineage his pride demanded.
Only she hadn’t, and when Gabriel was ten years old his mother and her second husband had both been killed when the helicopter they were in crashed. Giorgio Calbrini had then had no alternative but to make the best of the only heir he had—Gabriel.
It had been an austere, loveless life for a young boy, Gabriel remembered, with a grandfather who’d had no love for him and had despised the blood he had inherited from his father. But at least under his grandfather’s roof he had been properly fed. His grandfather had sent him to the best schools—and had made sure that he was taught everything he would need to know when the time came to take over from him and become the head of the house of Calbrini. Not that his grandfather had had high hopes of him being able to do so, as he had made plain to Gabriel more than once. ‘I have to do this because I have no choice, because you are the only grandson I have,’ he had told Gabriel, ceaselessly and bitterly.
Gabriel, though, had been determined to prove him wrong. Not to win his grandfather’s love. Gabriel did not believe in love. No, he had wanted to prove that he was the better man, the stronger man. And that was exactly what he had done. At first his grandfather had refused to believe Gabriel’s tutors when they praised his grasp of financial politics and all the complexities that went with them. But by the time he was twenty Gabriel had quadrupled the small amount of capital his grandfather had given him on his eighteenth birthday.
Then, three weeks after Gabriel had celebrated his twenty-first birthday, his grandfather had died unexpectedly and Gabriel had inherited his vast wealth and position. Those who had predicted that he would never be able to step into his grandfather’s shoes had been forced to eat their words. Gabriel was a true Calbrini, and he possessed an even sharper instinct for making money than his grandfather. But there was more to his life than making money. There was also the need to make himself emotionally invulnerable.
And that was exactly what he was, Gabriel reflected now. No woman would ever be allowed to repeat his mother’s rejection of him and go unpunished.
Especially not this woman.