Sweet Revenge: The Martinez Marriage Revenge / The Italian Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge / The Kouros Marriage Revenge
This was major. Major, she reiterated silently as Marcello placed Nicki on her bed, and hunkered down to her eye level.
He kept the telling simple. So very simple, it was easy to follow his lead. And Nicki’s reaction became a timeless moment, one that caught the heartstrings and plucked the emotional depths as she stood and unhesitatingly wrapped her arms around Marcello’s neck.
His eyes burned fiercely over Nicki’s head as he hugged her close, and Shannay had to blink hard to prevent the shimmer of tears spilling down her cheeks.
Father and child together.
Nicki’s delight and wholehearted acceptance, whose childish words said it all. ‘You’re my daddy.’
It was a beginning, Shannay acknowledged, for Nicki was a perceptive child for her age and eventually there would be questions.
But for now, one of the most important hurdles had been conquered.
Marcello pressed a light kiss to his daughter’s temple. ‘Now we will all get ready to go visit with your bisabuelo, Ramon.’
He rested a hand briefly on Shannay’s shoulder. ‘Fifteen minutes. I’ll wait for you downstairs.’
Together they chose Nicki’s prettiest dress, and with her hair neatly caught together she followed Shannay into her room as Shannay selected a slim-fitting dress in jade linen, attached a belt, then tended to her hair and make-up beneath her daughter’s interested gaze.
Marcello was standing in the foyer as they descended the stairs, and he smiled at Nicki’s childish beam when she placed her small hand in his on reaching his side.
Carlo drove through the suburban avenues to Ramon’s mansion, parking it in the forecourt immediately adjacent to the main entrance.
Shannay was unprepared for the physical changes in the elderly man, who’d been one of the few Martinez family members to view her kindly before and during her brief marriage to his eldest grandson.
She remembered him as a strong man, despite his advancing years. Vibrant and powerful, yet compassionate to the young woman who’d captured Marcello’s heart.
Ramon had encouraged her struggle to learn the Spanish language, to come to terms with the Martinez wealth and lifestyle, and to accept the things she couldn’t change.
In a way, he’d been her mentor, and to now discover the shell of the man she’d once adored was heartbreaking.
At first she was tentative, unsure whether the affection they’d shared still existed. After all, it had been she who’d left under cover of night, leaving only a brief note for Marcello to find on his return home, and no word for anyone else.
‘Holà.’ It wasn’t so much the greeting, but the husky-voiced delivery accompanied by a gentle smile that filled her eyes with unshed tears.
‘Ramon.’ She didn’t hesitate in crossing to the cushioned chair where he sat. Nor did she pause in brushing her lips to his cheek. ‘How are you?’
The dark eyes twinkled with humour. ‘How do I look?’
She tilted her head slightly to one side. ‘A little less the Martinez lion than I remember.’
‘How beautifully you lie.’ His soft laughter almost undid her. ‘But I forgive you for indulging an old man.’ He caught hold of her hand and held it within his own. ‘Now introduce me to my great-granddaughter.’
Marcello moved forward with Nicki held in his arms.
‘Nicki,’ he said gently, ‘this is Ramon.’
Ramon’s features softened dramatically, and his eyes misted. ‘Bring her closer.’
For a moment Nicki looked hesitant, then she nodded as Marcello offered a few soft, reassuring words.
‘Holà, Bisabuelo.’
Shannay’s eyes widened in startled surprise. The pronunciation was good. Who? Marcello … of course, possibly coached by Maria.
For a moment she had mixed feelings, then they were overcome by Ramon’s obvious delight.
‘Nicki. A beautiful name for a beautiful little girl,’ he said gently.
‘Marcello—my daddy—sometimes calls me pequena,’ Nicki said solemnly. ‘That means little.’
His smile melted Shannay’s heart. ‘Indeed it does. You must visit often, and I will teach you some Spanish.’
‘I’ll have to ask Mummy if it’s OK.’
‘Of course,’ Ramon agreed with equal solemnity, and cast Shannay an enquiring glance.
‘It will be a pleasure.’ How could she say anything else?
‘Marcello shall bring you.’
Nicki looked momentarily unsure. ‘Mummy, too?’
‘Naturally. We shall make it mornings, then you will have the rest of the day to explore.’ He glanced up at the slight sound of a door opening. ‘Ah, here is Sophia with our tea.’
Tea with delicious bite-size sandwiches and pastries, some pleasant conversation, after which Marcello indicated they should leave.
‘Hasta mañana.’
Until tomorrow.
Carlo drove them past the Warner Bros Park, a visit to which Marcello promised as a treat in store.
‘You’re a busy man,’ Shannay protested lightly.
‘Impossible I have learnt to delegate?’
‘Improbable.’
‘You are wrong.’
She looked at him carefully. ‘We don’t expect you to give up your time.’
Dark eyes travelled to her mouth and lingered there a moment too long. ‘It is my pleasure to do so.’
Pleasure being the operative word, and unmistakable.
Shannay could feel colour tinge her cheeks, and she shot him a dark glance before becoming seemingly engrossed in the scene beyond the car window.
It was during dinner that evening that she brought up his social life, and a firm reiteration she didn’t require to be entertained … especially by him.
‘Won’t your—er—’ she paused with deliberate delicacy ‘—current lover,’ she lightly stressed, ‘become impatient at your absence?’
One eyebrow slanted in silent mockery. ‘From her bed?’ And noted with interest the increased thud of a pulse at the base of her throat. ‘Possibly,’ he drawled, and took his time in adding, ‘If I had one.’
She refused to rise to the bait. ‘Estella has become the consummate mistress?’
‘Something you would need to ask of her husband.’
Estella had married? ‘I find it difficult to believe she gave up on you.’
His smile was a mere facsimile. ‘It takes two, amada, and I was never a contender.’
It wasn’t easy to feign indifference, but she managed it. ‘Could we change the subject?’
‘Yet you brought it up,’ he reminded with hateful simplicity.
‘Is Ramon in much pain?’ She kept the faintly desperate edge from her voice, and had the impression it didn’t fool him at all.
Marcello’s gaze didn’t shift from her own as he inclined his head. ‘He has ongoing medical attention with a doctor and nurse in residence. It is his wish to remain at home.’
Shannay knew his condition, and the odds. There was little to be done, except keep him comfortable.
‘I would ask that you and Nicki remain here until Ramon slips into a coma.’
She should have seen it coming, and she cursed herself for not foreseeing just this eventuality.
‘I have a job,’ she reminded. ‘We have an agreement. After three weeks Nicki and I return to Perth.’
‘I’m sure your leave can be extended on compassionate grounds.’
It could. If she wanted it extended.
The truth being she didn’t trust herself to stay in Marcello’s company any longer than she had to.
They shared a history, a potent chemistry she didn’t dare stir into vibrant life.
He was dangerous, primitive, and intently focused.
A surge of helpless anger rose to the fore at his manipulation, and her gaze hardened as she sought a measure of control.
‘You believe I brought you here with an ulterior motive in mind?’
How could she doubt it? ‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps you’d care to elaborate?’
His voice was a silky drawl as his eyes pierced her own, silently daring her to avoid his gaze.
‘I think you’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you get what you want,’ she retaliated heatedly.
‘And what is it you imagine I want?’
‘Nicki.’
His expression didn’t change. ‘Of course. What else?’
She couldn’t bear to be in his presence a moment longer, and she stood to her feet, tossed aside her napkin and turned away from him.
‘One day you won’t run.’
Shannay swivelled and sent him a venomous glare. ‘You think?’
He had the strong desire to haul her over his shoulder and carry her kicking and protesting to his bed.
As he had done once in the past, when mere words had become an impossible means of communication. Kisses tempered by anger assumed reluctant passion, then became more, so much more, until there was no denial of need, or a mutual sensual recognition that overcame all else … until reality in the light of day intruded.
Was her memory of what they’d shared as hauntingly vivid as his own?
Did it keep her awake nights?
He was counting on it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHANNAY CHECKED her appearance, and wondered how she could look so calm, when her nerves were shot to pieces and it seemed as if a dozen butterflies were beating their wings madly inside her stomach.
She really didn’t want to do this.
Re-entering the Madrid social scene had never been part of the plan.
Hell, nothing that had happened in the past few weeks formed part of any plan she could have envisaged in her worst nightmare!
Yet the evening represented a fundraiser for a worthy charity, one of a few supported by the Martinez corporation.
Marcello’s attendance was a given and, as his purported newly reconciled wife, she was expected to appear by his side.
Something suitable to wear had been dealt with with remarkable ease. All it had taken was a phone call to a prominent boutique with her measurements to have a selection of gowns delivered to Marcello’s home.
Now she viewed the café-au-lait gown in silk organza with its elegant, finely pleated bodice, thin spaghetti straps and full-length soft, flowing skirt, the stiletto-heeled evening shoes … and felt reasonably confident her choice was the right one.
Understated make-up with emphasis on her eyes, a faint tinge of blush at her cheeks and lipgloss … with her hair in a smooth twist.
‘You look like a princess.’
Shannay turned towards Nicki and blew her a kiss. ‘Thank you.’
‘Gracias,’ her daughter corrected with a grin. ‘Me and Maria are going to watch Shrek.’
‘Just for a little while. When Maria says it’s time for bed, you won’t fuss. OK?’
‘‘Kay.’
Time to go downstairs, join Marcello, then step into a Martinez chauffeured limousine … secure in the knowledge Nicki would be well looked after in Maria’s care, with Carlo in charge, and a direct private line on speed-dial to both her and Marcello’s cellphone.
Shannay collected the matching evening bag, then held out her hand. ‘Come on, imp. Party-time.’
A faint knock on Nicki’s bedroom door accompanied by the sound of a familiar male voice had the little girl racing through the connecting en suite.
‘Daddy’s here!’
Large as life and far too stunningly attractive in dark evening wear, Shannay perceived as she attempted without success to still the warmth flooding through her veins at the mere sight of him.
Fine white shirt linen provided a stark contrast with his olive skin and dark, well-groomed hair, his tailored suit displaying an impeccable fit as it moulded his superbly muscled frame.
It was little wonder women of all ages felt emboldened to flex their flirting skills in his presence, for he possessed a raw sexuality combined with the hint of something forbidden, almost verging on the savagely primitive.
A modern-day warrior who fought daily with powerful brokers in numerous countries around the world, constantly seeking an essential edge … and always watching his back.
Dark inscrutable eyes took in her slim form, the child regarding him with dancing anticipation, and he leant down and scooped Nicki into his arms.
‘Isn’t Mummy beautiful?’ his daughter confided, and his mouth curved into a generous smile.
‘Beautiful,’ Marcello agreed. ‘Just like you.’
A compliment that earned him an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek.
Ten minutes later Shannay sat in the rear seat of the limousine as it cleared the gates and traversed the avenue leading towards the main arterial route into the city.
‘There’s something missing,’ Marcello drawled and reached into his jacket pocket, extracted a small velvet case and snapped it open.
‘Give me your hand.’
He sensed her hesitation and simply caught hold of her left hand, and slid the exquisite baguette-style diamond ring onto the appropriate finger.
Her wedding ring. The one she’d left behind the night she’d fled his home, his country.
‘I don’t—’
‘Want to wear it?’ His dark eyes met hers and held them. ‘But you will.’
‘Why?’
‘I would have thought it obvious.’
‘The orchestrated reconciliation,’ she acknowledged drily, and saw his cynical smile.
‘Need I remind you the marriage remains intact?’
‘For the time being.’ She’d play the game for the duration of her stay, for Ramon’s sake. An extra week or two was little to gift him from her lifetime.
The wide platinum diamond-encrusted band shot prisms of brilliantly coloured fire as the light caught the numerous facets, and its unaccustomed weight felt strange.
‘There’s also these.’
He revealed a pear-shaped diamond pendant and matching earrings he’d gifted her on their first wedding anniversary.
Without a word he leant towards her and attached the delicate platinum chain in place and fastened the clasp at her nape.
It took only seconds, but it felt like an age as his warm breath feathered her cheek, and the touch of his fingers at her nape wrought an intimacy in the close confines of the limousine.
How easy would it be to move her head a little and have her cheek brush his own? To turn into him and seek his mouth, feel the sensuous slide of his tongue in an erotic tasting that could never be enough … merely a tantalising preliminary to how the evening would end. As it had in the early days of their marriage.
A time when she had dared and teased, and exulted in every moment.
Now she sat still, waiting with indrawn breath for him to move away so her heartbeat could return to its normal rhythm.
She made a slightly strangled protest as he lifted his fingers to her ear and carefully attached the hooked pin of one ear-stud before tending to her other earlobe.
Shannay couldn’t fault his touch, or accuse it lingered a little too long. But the action felt incredibly personal, intimate … and she had to fight against the way it affected her wayward emotions.
As he meant it to do?
And if so, to what purpose?
Physically, Marcello could do nothing to prevent her leaving the country.
So why this persistent niggle of doubt?
The hotel was one of the city’s finest, and Shannay cursed Marcello afresh as she pinned a smile on her face and prepared to play an expected part.
Numerous photographers’ cameras flashed as they alighted from the limousine and trod the red carpet into the foyer.
Marcello’s hand was warm as it rested at the back of her waist, and the bodyguard who’d ridden up front in the limousine now flanked her as they moved towards the gracious staircase leading to the mezzanine level.
A well-remembered scene, Shannay perceived, with the beautiful people who mostly came to be seen. Women who chose to showcase designer gowns and expensive jewellery, gifted by husbands and lovers who presided as captains of industry.
Socialites, fashionistas, models … she caught a glimpse of a few familiar faces, smiled and kept her head high.
Waiters and waitresses dutifully presented trays of drinks, from which Marcello selected two flutes of champagne and placed one in her hand.
Alcohol on an empty stomach wasn’t such a good idea, and she merely took a sip of the chilled bubbly liquid, then regarded the flute as a prop.
‘Marcello!’
‘Miguel and Shantal Rodriguez,’ Marcello intoned quietly as a man and woman greeted them, followed by voluble Spanish … which Marcello immediately explained was not his wife’s first language.
Shannay was supremely conscious of him at her side, the occasional touch of his hand at the edge of her waist, his attentive manner, and suppressed the wayward desire it was real, instead of the expected portrayal of a husband with his wife.
It was a relief when the large ballroom doors opened and guests were instructed to begin making their way to reserved seats at designated tables.
There was one face in the crowd Shannay subconsciously searched for, and failed to notice.
Estella de Cordova.
A woman whose presence at the evening’s prestigious event would be obligatory.
Then there she was, tall, impossibly elegant in Versace only someone with a superb figure and an overdose of panache could wear.
Dark, thick, curling hair framed her perfect features, and an abundance of diamonds sparkled with every move she made.
The centre of attention as always, and actively seeking to make an impression.
Shannay’s gaze shifted slightly to the man at her side. Distinguished, and at least fifteen years Estella’s senior.
Estella de Cordova was known to scope out a room, hone in on her quarry, then patiently wait for the opportune moment to strike.
Somehow Shannay doubted anything had changed.
Impossible the news of Marcello’s reconciliation with his Australian wife hadn’t reached Estella’s notice. Or the knowledge Shannay’s attendance tonight at his side wouldn’t garner speculation.
It wasn’t so much a matter of if Estella would make her move, only when.
Not, she perceived, before the guests were all seated.
Those who had been aware of the purported affair between Estella de Cordova and Marcello Martinez would be subtly watching for the slightest sign to fuel the social gossip mill.
Shannay could almost sense it, and hated being the focus of speculative interest.
Sandro and Luisa moved into sight, and their exchanged greeting held politeness, faint smiles and a reassuring touch to Shannay’s arm together with a whispered “brava” from Luisa a few seconds before they were shown to another table.
How … nice, Shannay conceded silently. A friendly ally.
The thought of calmly forking morsels of food into her mouth, sipping wine, and participating in meaningless conversation while waiting for Marcello’s former mistress to strike was enough to ruin her appetite.
Maintaining a façade didn’t help, for she was supremely conscious of her husband’s presence, the faint, exclusive tones of his cologne and the essence of the man himself.
Worse, the tantalisation of having an intimate knowledge of his touch, the caress of his hands, his lips, the way he could make her body sigh, then heat with passion. The heights he helped her reach, and how he held her when she fell.
‘It is good you have returned to Madrid.’
Shannay heard the heavily accented feminine voice, attached it to a woman seated directly opposite and offered a polite smile in acknowledgement.
‘Thank you.’
‘A man in your husband’s position needs a wife by his side.’
But not a wife and a mistress.
And the mistress had won out.
Words she didn’t care to voice. Didn’t need to, surely? Estella’s contretemps at the time had caused sufficient speculation.
‘I’m sure Marcello didn’t lack for a suitable companion.’
An understatement, if ever there was one. The women would have been lining up … keen, willing and able to serve in every way possible!
‘Why—no. Marcello usually chose to accompany his aunt, or appear alone.’
He did? How … surprising, was the only word that came to mind.
Shannay took a sip of wine, then followed it with a measure of water, and became aware of Marcello’s interested gaze.
‘The food isn’t to your liking?’
‘It’s fine,’ she hastened quickly. ‘I’m not that hungry.’
His eyes held hers, and saw more than she wanted him to see. Without a word he speared a morsel of food from his plate and offered it to her. ‘Try this. You’ll enjoy it.’
Don’t, she silently pleaded, and veiled her eyes against the deliberate sensuality evident.
It’s a game, she reminded. We’re like players on a stage, acting out an anticipated part.
With care, she cupped his hand, drew the proffered fork to her lips and eased the morsel into her mouth.
Her lashes swept up to reveal a provocative gleam as she edged the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth, let it slide fractionally over her lower lip, then carefully bit the morsel of food without taking her eyes from his own.
And watched his eyes darken.
Mission accomplished.
Shannay offered a faint smile in silent compliment to his acting ability, then momentarily froze as he slid a hand to her nape and gently massaged the knot of tension there.
To anyone viewing the subtle actions they would appear as two lovers who could barely wait to get a room.
Was that what he wanted to convey?
To many … or just Estella?
Shannay waited a few minutes, then she leaned towards him. ‘You’re verging on overkill, querido,’ she warned in a softly taunting voice.
Marcello lowered his head to hers. ‘There’s the need to set a precedent.’
She took the opportunity to surreptitiously check her cellphone, saw an SMS message alerting Nicki had gone to sleep at eight-thirty, and felt a sense of relief.
There were speeches in between numerous courses, some discourses brief 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.
