Sweet Revenge. Эбби Грин
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and amusing … others long as the charity was lauded, together with the efforts of the tireless volunteers without whose help the fundraiser would not have been as successful.
Or at least that was the overall drift, and she joined in the applause, aware Marcello had placed his arm across the back of her chair.
An action which brought him close, and heightened her level of awareness.
As he meant it to do?
Did he know the effect he had on her?
She assured herself she didn’t like or condone what he was doing. Or his manipulation. For at almost every turn she was caught in a trap, bound by love for her daughter, her affection for an elderly ill man, and now the subterfuge of deception.
Only for a certain length of time, she reminded, for her sojourn in Madrid would reach an end and she’d return with Nicki to resume their life in Perth.
Custody arrangements involving travel would be minimal for the next two years, and Marcello’s visits brief, if relatively frequent.
She could cope. So too would Nicki.
So what if she played the game according to Marcello’s dictum in the presence of others?
It was only temporary.
At that moment there was an entertainment announcement, and a female singer offered a rousing rendition in Spanish while colourfully attired back-up dancers performed an energetic routine.
Coffee was served, and Shannay declined the strong espresso in favour of tea.
It was the time of evening when guests were no longer restricted to their seats, and several rose to seek out friends, to linger, share coffee and conversation.
Would Estella make her move now? Or engineer a staged encounter as Marcello rose to leave?
She told herself she didn’t care. But she did, and a tension headache took hold behind her eyes.
Presenting a sparkling façade had taken its toll. So too had attempting to correlate much of a language she hadn’t practised in a few years.
Consequently it was a relief when Marcello withdrew his cellphone and summoned their driver to wait out front.
There was the opportunity for a few brief words with Sandro and Luisa before their attention was diverted.
They were about to exit the ballroom minutes later when a familiar sultry feminine voice purred a greeting, and a sinking feeling manifested itself in the pit of her stomach.
‘Estella.’ She could do polite. It really was the only way to go.
Was it chance or design the man at Estella’s side drew Marcello into conversation, conveniently allowing Estella an opportunity to deliver a verbal barb or three?
‘I see Marcello was able to persuade you to return.’ There was a very subtle pause. ‘Not very clever of you to deny him the child.’ Her smile failed to reach the coolness in her eyes. ‘I doubt he’ll forgive you for that.’
If the figurative knives were out, it was time to dispense with the niceties. ‘You don’t read the media news?’
‘The reconciliation announcement?’ A soft, humourless laugh escaped her lips. ‘A mere ploy to soothe Ramon’s rapidly ailing health.’
‘And this concerns you … because?’
Something shifted in the woman’s eyes. ‘He’s a very—’ Estella paused, weighting the momentary silence with innuendo ‘—special man.’
‘Yes, he is.’ Shannay aimed for a secretive smile, and saw Estella’s mouth tighten a little.
‘If you’ll excuse us?’ Marcello’s voice held a silky quality Estella chose to heed.
‘Of course.’
It could have been worse, Shannay accorded as the limousine eased its way clear of the hotel’s entrance and joined the flow of traffic.
She let her eyelids drift down in an attempt to shut out the neon lights and the frequent stab of headlights as the headache moved towards migraine territory.
‘You don’t have your medication with you?’
He knew? ‘If I did, I’d have taken some by now.’
There was the faint whisper of sound, followed by another as he released both safety belts, then firm hands positioned her to rest against him. A male arm curved down her back and settled over her thigh, holding her there as she began to protest.
‘Just close your eyes and relax.’
Relax? With her body curled into the contours of his, her head cradled against the curve of his shoulder? Her face mere inches from his own?
He had to be joking!
Warmth heated her veins, tantalising her senses as the perceived intimacy invaded pleasure places they had no right to be.
It wasn’t what she wanted. And knew her mind to be at odds with the dictates of her body.
How easy would it be to slip free a few buttons on his shirt and slide her hand to rest against the strong beat of his heart. To feel it kick into a quickened beat as she caressed a male nipple.
Hear his husky murmur as she lowered her hand and traced the hardened outline of his arousal held in tight restraint within the confines of his evening trousers.
To tease a little, then lift her mouth and savour the touch of his in a preliminary to what they’d soon share in the privacy of their bedroom.
A slow, teasing discovery, or a quick shedding of clothes as desire and need meshed and became electrifying passion.
A time when they’d been in perfect sync, two halves of a whole … and she’d innocently believed nothing and no one could touch them.
How wrong had she been.
It almost made her wish it were possible to turn back the clock, and possess the power to change actions and words.
Except it was done, and the past couldn’t be altered.
Did Marcello have any regrets?
How could he?
He hadn’t followed her to Perth.
Hadn’t sought to make contact.
As far as he was concerned, she could have vanished from the face of the earth.
Until a chance encounter had brought her beneath his radar.
Because of Nicki.
Let’s not be fooled in thinking otherwise.
So what in hell was she doing resting against him like this?
Savouring a little self-indulgence?
It would be simple to push against him and straighten into a sitting position … except his arms tightened and held her in place.
‘Stay there. We’re almost home.’
All the more reason for her to move.
This time he didn’t try to stop her.
Nor did he attempt to touch her as they alighted from the limousine and moved indoors.
He merely acknowledged her “goodnight” with a brief nod, and watched as she ascended the stairs.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘IS RAMON GOING to die?’
The plaintive query from so young a child was heartrending, and Shannay went down on one knee and gathered her daughter close.
‘He’s very sick,’ she said gently.
‘Like Fred.’
Fred had been a pet white mouse who’d developed