Sabrina’s mother had been a young single-mother in the days when it had still been a stigma to have no man claiming paternity of the child. Sabrina had never known who her father was in spite of her longing to do so, especially since her mother’s death. The sense of not belonging to anyone by blood made her longing for a family of her own all the more intense. From a very young age she had dreamed of building a relationship with a reliable and faithful man, bearing his children and raising them in a home that was happy, loving and secure.
Her hopes and dreams would have to be shelved now, for she could see no way how she could abandon Molly—and, attractive as he was, Mario was not the sort of man to settle down and agree to provide Molly with a stepbrother or sister or two. He was intent on doing the right thing by Molly, certainly, but only as far as it didn’t interfere with his easygoing playboy lifestyle. That was where Sabrina came in. She would be the wife on paper, the substitute mother, until he found someone more suitable to occupy his bed. Whether or not his future bride if he chose to have one would also occupy his heart was not something Sabrina could decide. It was hard to imagine Mario Marcolini falling in love. He didn’t seem the type to allow himself to be vulnerable to anyone. There was an element of the bad boy about him, a fast-living playboy who was untameable in every possible way. And the way he had orchestrated everything so far made her realise how seriously outclassed she was in dealing with him. But, while Mario was wild and worldly, Sabrina on the other hand desperately wanted to find someone who would love her and protect her—someone who would be there for her no matter what, the sort of man who would look at her with love shining in his eyes, adoring her for who she was, not for how she looked. Not that her looks were anything to be ashamed of. She knew she was fortunate to have inherited her mother’s slim figure and model-like cheekbones. Her grey eyes were thickly fringed with dark lashes that hardly needed the boost of mascara, and her skin was fine and clear apart from a light dusting of freckles on her nose.
But men like Mario Marcolini wanted perfection in their partners, and she was hardly that. She didn’t possess anything glamourous in her wardrobe, which he had already alluded to; nor did she have expensive make-up in her cosmetic bag, nor did she wear handmade designer shoes. She was a chain-store girl out of necessity, not choice, although she knew how to highlight her best features when the situation called for it. No wonder Mario thought she was trash, she thought. Men born to privilege could be appalling snobs when it came to mingling with the other half, and she was very definitely the bottom end of the other half.
The room-service attendant arrived with a loaded trolley, the aroma of delicately prepared cuisine stimulating Sabrina’s flagging appetite.
Mario tipped the attendant, and once the door closed after the young man’s exit Sabrina felt the intimacy of the set-up all over again. She was alone in the luxury suite with him, a delicious meal set before them with no possibility of interruptions by other guests or staff like there would be in a restaurant. A bottle of wine was on ice, the scene set for seduction if he put his mind to it.
She chanced a glance at him, trying to read his expression. She felt that tiny quiver in her belly when her eyes met his, the rumble deep inside like a miniature earthquake, reminding her of how much he affected her. Those dark brown, almost black eyes of his contained both cynicism and something else that she suspected was a glint of determination. He wanted to conquer her, to show her to be the wanton woman he thought she was.
The trouble was Sabrina thought he might very well be right. She felt wanton and out of control when in his presence. It wasn’t just his debonair looks and worldly charm; it was something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She wanted to toss caution to one side and experience the passion he promised in every taut and muscular line of his body. As lovers went, she suspected he would be right up there on the scale of demanding, adventurous and earth-shatteringly satisfying. He would expect full participation and do everything possible to achieve it. Her intimate muscles contracted in delight at the thought of experiencing his sensual attentions. She suspected her body would shatter into a thousand pieces of pleasure under the expert touch of his mouth, hands and very male body.
She had seen enough of him so far to know he was not lacking in that department. He wore his sensual expertise like a second skin; she could feel it whenever he touched her. Just minutes ago when he’d had her rammed tightly against him she had felt the power and potency of him, the need building in him to subdue her, to claim her, to make her his in the most primitive and yet natural way possible. Her body recognised him as her nemesis. He was the one man she had no resistance to. She turned into putty when he touched her.
It frightened her to think she had no defences to hold him off. That one kiss four weeks ago still taunted her. She had thought of nothing else since. Her mouth even now was tingling with the need to feel the commandeering pressure of his, to feel his thrusting, searching tongue conquering hers. She had seen how powerfully he was made; she had felt him swollen and erect against her. His dynamic male body would totally consume her smaller one, stretching her, making her a woman in the real sense of the word, showing her a world of feeling that was way beyond what she had experimented with so far.
She had been kissed before, but not with the heated passion Mario’s mouth offered. He made every kiss she had ever received seem like a chaste peck on the cheek in comparison. After that first move of hers, he had plundered her with a ruthlessness that had shocked and delighted her at the same time. He had triggered a response in her that she had not been able to damp down since. It was simmering there, keeping the network of nerves under her skin in semi-arousal mode, actively waiting for the next caress, the next touch, that would activate them into hot, throbbing life again.
Sabrina knew she had to be extra vigilant around him. He was too practised at this. He had women all over the globe falling over to experience his possession. She would lose valuable ground in joining them. She had never been one for jumping into the fire; unlike many other women her age, she could delay gratification. It was more or less her hallmark. For all of her adult life she had ignored the advances of men to keep her goals in sight. She wanted more for her life than a temporary liaison that had the potential for heartbreak, as her mother had experienced. And as far as Sabrina could tell Mario Marcolini had ‘heartbreak’ written all over him. God knew how many women he had already cast aside with their hearts in tatters. She certainly didn’t want to be one of them.
‘Take a seat,’ Mario said as he lifted each of the silver dome-lids covering their meals on the trolley.
Sabrina sat on the edge of her chair, her tastebuds responding to the array of dishes set before her. The delicious-smelling cream-of-mushroom soup and the crusty bread-roll with its shell-like curl of fresh butter made her empty stomach rumble hollowly.
Mario had ordered a man-size meal: tender fillet wagyu-steak, steamed vegetables and a potato dish that was creamy and crispy at the same time.
He poured her a glass of chilled white wine and a glass of red for himself. ‘Does Molly usually sleep through the night?’ he asked as he picked up his glass of ruby-red wine.
Sabrina picked up her own glass, wondering if it was wise to indulge when she was already teetering on the edge of losing her self-control. ‘The last couple of nights she hasn’t woken, but usually by about three or four months most babies get into a routine of sleeping through the night,’ she said.
Mario spread his napkin across his lap. ‘How did you get into nannying?’ he asked. ‘Was it something you always aspired to?’
Sabrina put down her untouched glass of wine and picked up her water glass instead. ‘I have always loved children. I was an only child, so I guess that might have had something to do with it. I worked in a childcare facility for a while, but I felt I wanted to bond with the children, and it was not always possible to do that when kids came and went so often. Becoming a nanny and spending extended periods of time with infa
nts and small children in their own home was much more satisfying for me. I could really get to know them and their routines, as well as become part of the family unit. That in itself is very beneficial for very young children. Of course, no one else could ever replace their mother and father, but having another caregiver who is involved in every aspect of their lives is tremendously comforting to them—especially when both parents are busy professionals and very often time-poor.’
‘So how did you come to work for the Roebournes?’ he asked with an unreadable look.
Sabrina felt her colour start to rise. Looking back, she could see how stupid she had been in accepting the post. There was no way she could frame it without it sounding as if she had inveigled her way into the Roebourne household in order to conduct a clandestine affair with Imogen’s husband.
She switched glasses and took a deep sip of her wine, hoping it would settle her nerves— but all it did was demonstrate how shaky her hand was, a sign of guilt if ever there was one, or so she thought by the way Mario’s dark gaze zoned in on it like a hawk swooping down on unsuspecting prey.
She took an uneven breath and, bringing her gaze back to his, explained, ‘I met Howard Roebourne at a charity event I was attending. He mentioned his wife was hoping to return to work after staying at home with their two children, who were four and six. He also mentioned how their attempts to find a suitable nanny had failed to find anyone remotely suitable.’
‘You were unemployed at the time?’ he asked, still watching her with that piercing gaze.
Sabrina tried not to fidget under his scrutiny. ‘The family I had previously been working for had recently accepted a posting abroad. I would have gone with them if they had offered me the position, but the children were of school age by then, and the mother decided she wanted be a stay-at-home wife for a change. So, yes, I was at a bit of a loose end at the time.’
‘Did you get on with Roebourne’s wife?’ Mario asked after another short pause.
Sabrina had never been all that good at lying and had to rely on every scrap of acting ability she possessed to answer his question. ‘She was always very professional towards me.’
‘But you were not friends …’ It was neither a question nor a statement, but something in between.
‘I was an employee,’ she said, becoming increasingly annoyed by his attitude. ‘Are you best friends with all the people who work for you?’
‘Some I consider friends,’ he answered. ‘But obviously Mrs Roebourne did not take to you from the word go.’
‘Mrs Roebourne was a disinterested and at times harsh mother, who in my opinion should never have had children in the first place,’ she blurted unguardedly.
Mario’s dark brows lifted. ‘You clashed with her over the handling of the children?’ he asked. ‘Or perhaps it was because you had designs on her rich husband and wanted her out of the way?’
Sabrina wished she had kept her mouth closed. It seemed no matter what she said she painted herself in a bad light. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said, picking up her glass again and taking another incautious mouthful.
Mario put his glass down with a dull thud on the table. ‘How long did the affair go on?’ he asked.
She glared at him resentfully, playing him at his own game. ‘What is it to you? You are hardly one to call the pot every shade of black, considering how many affairs you’ve conducted over the years.’
His dark eyes speared hers. ‘I am not denying my sexual profligacy, but to date I have never stolen a married woman from her husband.’
‘Marriage is just a piece of paper,’ Sabrina threw back. ‘It means nothing if the couple are not committed emotionally.’
‘So I suppose Howard Roebourne told you his wife was cold and did not understand him?’ he said. ‘That’s the way it usually goes, does it not?’
Sabrina gripped her glass so tightly her fingers went white. ‘She was cold and hostile towards her husband, and even the children sometimes. I don’t know why he stayed with her, or her with him, to tell you the truth.’
Mario’s top lip curled in disgust. ‘So you eased his marital suffering by offering your young and nubile body at every available opportunity.’
‘Look, Mario,’ she said in rapidly rising frustration, ‘The Roebournes’ marriage was a mess well before I entered the fray. Howard was having an affair—I suspect not his first—with someone else long before I came into their employ.’
Mario studied her for a long moment. Her colour was heightened, her body tense, as if desperate to convince him of her lies. But he wasn’t going to fall for it. He’d known Howard for years, and Howard had told him everything—how Sabrina had orchestrated her seduction of him from that very first meeting. She’d had her designs on a potential sugar-daddy, and who better than a wealthy man who was struggling to keep his home life together for the sake of his children? It would take a saint to resist a woman like Sabrina Halliday. She had a sensual allure about her that was intoxicating. That intriguing combination of doe-eyed innocence and surly defiance made every drop of Mario’s blood drain from his brain to his groin even now. The way she pouted at him made him want to crush his lips to hers. She could snip and snarl at him all she liked, but it did nothing to disguise the naked hunger he could see in her eyes. Howard Roebourne obviously hadn’t been able to satisfy her, which left the field right open for him. And it would be very satisfying, very satisfying indeed, to have her writhing and gasping in his arms.
He could hardly wait.
He topped up her wine glass before attending to his own. ‘You expect me to believe your word over his?’ he asked.
‘What possible reason would I have to lie to you?’ she asked, frowning at him.
He leaned back in his chair and surveyed her for another lengthy moment. ‘I have no reason to doubt Roebourne’s account, having personally experienced your seductive wiles.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ Sabrina threw back in outrage. ‘If anyone is to blame for that kiss, it’s you. You took advantage of me.’
His eyes raked her mercilessly. ‘Careful, Sabrina,’ he warned. ‘Those are very serious charges you are laying at my door. Are you sure your recollection of the day in question is accurate?’
Sabrina wasn’t sure who she hated more: him for reminding her of her one moment of weakness, or herself for responding to him so feverishly at the time. ‘I was not in control of myself,’ she said, knowing it sounded rather feeble. ‘I don’t usually drink more than one glass of alcohol, especially on an empty stomach. If I gave you the wrong impression back then, I am sorry. I can assure you it will not happen again.’
He smiled at her indolently. ‘I am counting on it happening again—tomorrow, in fact, when we get married. The groom always gets to kiss the bride, correct?’
Sabrina felt her eyes widen to the size of the soup bowl in front of her. ‘Tomorrow?’ she choked.
‘I have applied for a special licence,’ he said evenly. ‘The magistrate has made special dispensation in order for us to travel to Italy as Molly’s legal guardians. I have already activated the adoption formalities, but they will take some time.’
Sabrina felt as if her life was spinning out of control. She had comforted herself with the hope that she would at least have a few days to get used to the idea of marrying Mario and moving abroad. Now it seemed she would barely have enough time to pack a bag before she was legally his wife. Her heart began to hammer in panic. It was too soon. She needed more time. But then would any amount of time be enough?
‘Of course it will by necessity have to be a registry-office affair,’ Mario continued.
‘Too bad if I wanted a white wedding with all the trimmings,’ Sabrina put in, unable to refrain from sounding churlish.
His eyes glinted with derision. ‘A white wedding?’ he asked. ‘Would that not be rather hypocritical, given your sexual history?’
She brought up her chin. ‘Most women regardless of their sexual experience dream of being a p
roper bride,’ she said. ‘It’s the one day in a girl’s life she can feel like a princess.’
He sat looking at her for so long without speaking, Sabrina began to wish she hadn’t spoken. She sat, trying not to squirm in her chair, her cheeks growing hotter by the second, her stomach in tight knots and her girlhood dreams in tatters. Just like her mother, all she had ever wanted was to be married—to wear a beautiful dress and veil, to wear something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue. But just like her mother she was going to be cheated out of it. She chided herself for being so sentimental. It wasn’t as if it was going to be a real marriage in any case. And it was certainly not going to last any length of time if Mario had his way. But still …
‘I fail to see why you should desire a huge fuss for a marriage that for all intents and purposes will not be a normal one,’ Mario said, voicing her thoughts out loud.
‘That’s not the point,’ she said. ‘People with the sort of wealth and public profile you possess will expect you to have a proper wedding, not some hole-in-the-corner affair.’
Melanie Milburne Bestseller Collection 201209/The Marcolini Blackmail Marriage/Bound by the Marcolini Diamonds Page 22