The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (69 page)

He paused at an open door. ‘I think you’ll be comfortable here.’

Here
was two bedrooms separated by an
en suite,
with one of the bedrooms decorated especially for a young girl. Different shades of pink, from the palest shade to watermelon. Prints hung on the walls, toys in abundance, and the bed was fit for a princess.

Nicki’s room.

Shannay got it.

A room that was Nicki’s alone, for whenever she visited. A suite she would become familiar with, feel comfortable in and look forward to occupying.

Not too far in distance from where Marcello slept while she was young, so she would feel secure, knowing he was within calling distance.

There was a part of her that hated him for deliberately setting the scene for Nicki’s future.

Yet there was also a feeling of gratitude that she didn’t want to acknowledge. Together with a mounting anxiety that played havoc with her emotions.

‘Is this where I’ll sleep?’

Nicki’s voice held a degree of wondrous awe.

‘Yes.’ Marcello moved towards the
en suite,
opened the connecting door and crossed to the opposite door which led into an adjoining bedroom. ‘Your mother will sleep here.’

‘Can the doors stay open?’ Nicki queried tentatively, and he offered a reassuring smile.

‘Of course.’

Nicki caught hold of her mother’s hand. ‘Aren’t we lucky?’ she said simply, to which Shannay could only answer in the affirmative.

‘Marcello is kind to let us stay here.’

She could think of numerous descriptive adjectives … not one of them remotely resembled
kind,
given he had his own agenda.

Their luggage stood at the end of the bed, and Marcello indicated both suitcases. ‘Maria will unpack for you. Freshen up, then come downstairs.’

He gave Nicki a warm smile, extended it towards Shannay, then he turned and left the room.

Unpacking would take only a matter of minutes, and Shannay tended to her own, then she transferred Nicki’s clothes into the connecting bedroom.

A short while later she accompanied Nicki downstairs to the informal lounge, where Maria served tea, delicate sandwiches and a bowl of freshly cut fruit.

Dinner would be served late … way past Nicki’s usual
bedtime, and Shannay decided sandwiches and a glass of milk would suffice as an evening meal on this occasion.

Marcello’s presence was unexpected. For some reason she had imagined he’d disappear into his home office and remain there until dinner. A meal she intended to skip on the pretext of bathing Nicki and settling her to sleep.

The flight had been long, his company a constant, and she desperately needed a break from him.

Nicki ate little, drank her milk and began to visibly droop.

‘If you’ll excuse us?’ Shannay took hold of her daughter’s hand. ‘Say goodnight, darling.’

Nicki politely obliged, and Marcello surprised them both by lifting the young child into his arms.

‘I can take her.’ She reached out, expecting Nicki to lean towards her … except her daughter remained where she was.

She told herself she wasn’t hurt. Silently assured herself it didn’t matter. But it did.

Nicki’s head had tucked in against the curve of his throat as they reached the bedroom, and he gently lowered her down onto the bed.

‘Thanks.’ It was a polite, perfunctory gesture that didn’t fool him in the slightest.

His eyes seared her own. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’

‘I’d prefer to remain close to Nicki in case she wakes.’

He regarded her steadily. ‘There’s a monitor in her room, and auditory receptive devices in every room in the house.’ His gaze didn’t waver. ‘Dinner will be served in two hours. Plenty of time for you to bathe and settle her to sleep before you join me.’

Shannay longed to tell him to go jump. She was on edge, angry, and feeling the effects of jet lag. The thought of sharing a meal with him held no appeal whatsoever.

Yet it would provide the opportunity to vent … and she so badly needed to vent!

He leant down and brushed his lips to Nicki’s temple.

‘Sleep well,
pequena.’
He straightened, sent Shannay a piercing look, then he turned and left the room.

She had the childish desire to pull a face behind his back, except she restrained herself and tended to her daughter.

Two hours and five minutes later she descended the stairs and made her way towards the informal dining room.

Five minutes over time was acceptable, and in her case deliberate, for she refused to conform to every one of Marcello’s dictates.

She’d chosen to wear a black singlet top over which she wore a fine lace black blouse tied at her waist, pencil-slim black skirt, black stilettos, hair pulled back into a French twist secured by a jewelled comb, a slim gold bracelet, understated make-up and lipgloss.

Dressed to kill was an adequate description.

Ready for battle was more apt!

Marcello was waiting for her as she entered the dining room, and one look at him was enough to set the pulse at her throat thrum to a faster beat.

Attired in black tailored trousers, a white chambray shirt, his casual appearance belied the almost barbaric handsomeness of the man.

Strength and power, a degree of ruthlessness made for a dangerous mix she had every reason to view with caution.

Yet there was so much banked-up resentment and anger towards him, it took leashed control to avoid launching into attack mode.

Play nice … for now, she reminded herself silently.

Appear to enjoy a few sips of excellent vintage wine, be
polite through the starter, aim for neutrality as they sampled the main course, then open the verbal discourse over coffee.

That was the plan.

‘Shannay.’ His voice was a lazy, faintly accented drawl, and she unconsciously lifted her chin.

‘Marcello.’

‘Can I get you something to drink?’

Civility. She could do that. ‘A light medium white, thank you.’

He crossed to a storage cabinet, extracted the appropriate bottle, opened it, poured a quantity into a crystal goblet and extended it towards her.

‘Nicki settled well?’

She was careful to avoid his fingers as she took the goblet from his hand. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘So polite, Shannay?’

Her eyes sparked shards of golden fire. ‘I thought we’d feign peace and leave war until after dinner.’ Her chin lifted a little. ‘I have respect for my digestion.’

His soft laughter was almost her undoing as he indicated the table set with fine china, silver flatware and no less than three crystal goblets. ‘Let’s eat, shall we?’

Maria had surpassed herself with a delicate starter, followed by a seafood paella steaming aromatically beneath a covered serving dish.

‘Ramon is anxious to meet Nicki,’ Marcello informed as he touched the rim of his goblet to her own in a silent salute. ‘How do you feel about tomorrow?’

‘Perhaps it could be delayed by a day?’ Shannay countered. ‘Nicki has had to absorb a lot in the past week, followed by a long flight.’ She made a sweeping gesture with her hand to indicate his home. ‘All of this.’

‘I’ll make arrangements.’

It was happening, the increase in Marcello’s control to the detriment of her own.

Ramon she could cope with … even look forward to reconnecting with the generous elderly man.

Ramon’s daughter, Penè, however, was a different matter.

Ramon’s son, Marcello and Sandro’s father, had been killed instantly in a car crash when Marcello had been in his late teens.

Nicki was the bonus … the one bright star in the Martinez firmament. No one, not even Penè, would be permitted to say a word out of place in Nicki’s hearing.

Shannay sampled the starter, and insisted on a small portion of paella. She’d grown unused to eating so late, and she merely sipped her wine, choosing instead to drink chilled water, and declined dessert or coffee.

‘Finish your wine.’

She met his faintly hooded gaze with equanimity. ‘I prefer to have a clear head.’

Marcello sank back in his chair and regarded her with interest. ‘To indulge in verbal warfare?’

‘You doubt it?’ She barely hid an edge of bitterness in her voice. ‘I specifically requested our own accommodation.’

‘Yet I have provided accommodation, have I not?’ he offered reasonably.

Far more luxurious than the most expensive hotel. ‘That isn’t the point.’

‘What
is
the point?’

‘You could have asked for my approval.’

One eyebrow lifted in silent mockery. ‘And your answer would have been?’

‘Not in this lifetime!’

He spread his hands wide. ‘Precisely.’

She wanted to throw something at him. Anything to disrupt his chilling air of calm. ‘Doesn’t it matter that I don’t want to be here?’

‘In Madrid? This house? Or with me?’

‘All of that … and more!’ The words tumbled out with vehement ire.

‘Querida.’
His faintly accented drawl curled round her heart and tugged a little. ‘Perhaps you should have given thought to informing me of Nicki’s existence from the beginning, instead of hoping fate and distance would continue to keep me in ignorance.’

‘Don’t … call me that.’

‘Darling? Lover?’ He offered a faint smile. ‘But you are both, yes?’

‘Not any more. And never again,’ Shannay added with angry intent, and attempted to tamp down the vivid images that immediately flooded her mind.

In his bed,
theirs,
she corrected. Naked, beneath him, her thighs wrapped around his waist, urging him on, pleading, begging for the release only he could give … the heat and the passion. Loving him with her heart and her soul.
His …
only his.

‘Careful,
amada.
I could view that as a challenge.’

‘In a pig’s eye,’ she managed fiercely, hating his silky indolence. Not to mention the instinctive feeling he was deliberately toying with her.

He regarded her carefully. ‘Had I known you were pregnant, I’d have taken the next flight to Perth and dragged you back here.’

As he had done
now,
she perceived. ‘It wouldn’t have changed my decision to file for divorce.’

His pause was deliberately significant. ‘Yet you failed to do so until very recently.’

‘It was my choice to avoid all contact with you,’ Shannay offered coolly. ‘Even via legal channels.’ She waited a beat, and aimed the figurative dart. ‘Reciprocal, obviously.’

‘Yet circumstances have changed.’

Suspicion clouded her eyes. ‘What are you implying?’

‘There will be no divorce.’

‘The hell there won’t!’

He shrugged in an expressive negligent gesture. ‘Why bother with legalities?’

‘It might suit you to conveniently have a wife in another country, but I don’t want a husband!’

‘Not even the faithful John waiting patiently in the background?’

‘He’s my boss and a friend. Nothing more.’

‘No?’ Marcello arched silkily, and watched her temper flare into vibrant life.

‘Damn you,
no.
’

His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Almost four years, Shannay, and you haven’t welcomed another man into your bed?’

She wanted to pick something up and throw it at him.

‘Don’t,’ Marcello warned softly. ‘I might seek retribution.’

‘Bite me.’

‘What an interesting concept.’ His lazy drawl held amusement … and something else.

‘Go to hell.’ She hated the faint shakiness in her voice.

She wanted to leave … the room, this house,
him.

Yet leaving would amount to an admission of sorts, and she refused to give Marcello the satisfaction.

Besides, there was Nicki. And for her daughter, she’d lay down her life. Without askance, or question.

‘Not a very comfortable place to be, wouldn’t you agree?’

Shannay closed her eyes, then opened them again as she
flashed him a look of gold-flecked enmity. ‘Let’s balance the scales, shall we?’ Her voice held a darkness she didn’t know she possessed. ‘Or is the list of willing women anxious to share your bed too extensive to recall?’

‘You have a vivid imagination,
mi mujer.
’

My wife. She didn’t need or want the reminder. ‘With just cause.’

‘Something, if you remember,’ he drawled, ‘I refuted at the time.’

Her gaze remained steady. ‘You were very credible, Marcello, in light of the facts.’

One eyebrow rose in a gesture of distaste. ‘The fabrication of a disturbed woman?’

‘We’ve been there, done that,’ Shannay said in a dismissive tone. ‘It’s old ground.’

‘Consign it to the
too hard
basket, and not seek a resolution?’

‘There’s nothing to resolve.’

‘Yet it had a drastic effect on our lives and eroded what we once shared.’

Destroyed it, she wanted to fling at him … and knew she lied. The sensual pull was as strong now as it had ever been. Almost as if her soul reached out to his in a pagan call as old as time.

She could feel it, sense it deep inside, stirring to life in damning recognition.

Why?
she demanded silently. And why now?

Tension. Stress. Jet lag.

A lethal combination which attacked her vulnerability, she justified without conviction.

‘I’m over it.’ It took tremendous effort to say the words, but she achieved them … barely.

She’d had enough, and her nerves were stretched to breaking
point. With a careful movement she rose to her feet and held the dark, gleaming gaze of the inimical man seated opposite.

‘I’m going to bed.’

She turned, and had taken only a few steps when she heard the quiet silky timbre of his voice.

‘For the record … we’re not done.’

Her stomach jolted at the thinly veiled threat, and it was only through sheer strength of will she didn’t falter.

Seconds later she reached the wide arched doorway, and she sensed the faint mockery as he bade,

‘Sleep well.’

S
HANNAY CAME AWAKE
slowly, stretched a little, reached for her watch to check the time and gave a gasp of dismay.

Nicki.

She flung back the covers, caught up her robe and hurried through the
en suite
to the adjoining bedroom, felt her heart leap to her throat at the sight of Nicki’s bed neatly made and no sign of her daughter.