by Dani Collins
“Because you love me?” she hazarded, curling her toes and pulling her elbows in, bracing for the worst.
“Because we love each other.”
His tender gaze held hers, gently demanding she give up her heart to him. She did, easily.
“If I hadn’t been trained from birth to pretend everything was fine no matter how miserable I was, I couldn’t have got through these last weeks. I love you so much, Ryzard, and I hated myself for not letting my love be enough to keep us together.”
“I shouldn’t have made you feel like it was all up to you,” he said, coming across to draw her into him. With his lips pressed to her forehead, he added, “I will never hold back from you again. I thought I was being noble, letting you find the man who would love you like no other could, but that man is me. I love you with every breath in me, Tiffany. A different man loved Luiza. This one is yours.”
She relaxed her forehead against his nuzzling lips, touched to her soul. Fulfilled. Hopeful. Happy.
He traced a soft kiss along the raised line of her scar, following it down to the corner of her eye and across her cheek until he was almost at her mouth.
“We should take this upstairs,” she said against his lips. “I have a feeling it won’t stay PG rated for long.”
He quirked a rueful grin and led her upstairs. In his bedroom, he took a moment to lift the snapshot from his bedside table and walk it into his sitting room.
When he returned he found her seated on the bed, hands tucked in her lap.
“We have to talk about one more thing before we go any further,” she said.
“What’s that?” he queried.
“Children.”
“At least two. I want them to have each other if something happens to us,” he affirmed.
“I was going to say six, but okay. Coward.”
“Ambitious,” he remarked in a drawl. “I can keep up if you can.” His smile was a slow dawn of masculine heat that twitched with amusement. “I’ve missed you, Tiffany. You make me laugh.”
She threw herself into his arms.
EPILOGUE
THE MILKY WAY stretched from one edge of the horizon to the other, diffusing into more stars against Zanzibar’s indigo sky than Tiffany had ever seen in her life. If Ryzard hadn’t kept her pressed firmly against his side as he steered them down the jetty toward the island bar, she likely would have stumbled into the lagoon.
“What the hell are you up to?”
“I know, I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen anything like—wait, what?” She realized Ryzard had been talking to a man in a mask who’d just passed them on the jetty. She glanced back the way they’d come to see the member break off his lip-lock with a petite q and hurry her toward the interior of the club.
“Who was that?”
“A friend. One who knows better than to play with Zeus’s toys.” He dragged his puzzled gaze to her expectant one. With a low sigh, he bent to whisper, “His name is Nic.” Straightening, he added, “Don’t ask me to say more than that. Even though you’re my wife, I still have an obligation to respect other members’ privacy.”
She grinned, pleased more by her title of “wife” than anything else.
The DJ’s electronica pulsed louder as they finished their walk into the open-air bar. Q Virtus members and petite q’s danced and jumped to the beat, making the wooden floor bounce.
Tiffany refused a drink offered by a passing petite q, but Ryzard drew her to a side bar. “Iced coconut. Nonalcoholic,” he said.
Her condition wasn’t official, especially since they’d been married only a day, but they’d stopped using protection weeks ago. She was pretty sure, and they were both so quietly, ferociously happy it was criminal.
The server tilted his array of cones for her to peruse. They were stunning, not merely shaved and frozen coconut with a splash of color, but intricately decorated works of art in more shades, flavors and hues than the stars above them.
Tiffany almost picked the one that looked like a bouquet of sweet peas, but maybe the mandala was prettier. The paisley?
“It just hit me,” Ryzard said in a tone of discovery. “It was never about the taffy apple being better optics. You couldn’t decide what color candy floss you wanted.”
Grinning, she admitted, “You caught me.”
“I’m convinced it’s the other way around, draga,” he retorted.
She laughed in delight, but contradicted, “I distinctly remember a kidnapping on the high seas.”
“I remember fireworks,” he said with a smoky look from behind his mask. “Choose something or we’ll miss these ones.”
Face warm with pleasure behind her own mask, she took two cones and gave him one, leaning her weight into him as he hooked his arm across her shoulders and steered her toward the rail overlooking the Indian Ocean.
“I see them every night, you know. Fireworks. ’Cause I’m spoiled.”
“You are,” he agreed, leaning down to bite at her cone before he offered his. “So am I.”
“Mmm. We’re in the right place for the privileged, aren’t we?” she mused, licking clove-and-orange-flavored coconut from her lips.
He stopped and turned her so they held each other in a way that felt perfect and familiar and right. “As long as I’m with you, I’m exactly where I belong.”
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this book, look out for the next instalment of THE 21st CENTURY GENTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE ULTIMATE REVENGE by Victoria Parker
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Ten years ago one devastating night changed everything for Austin, Hunter and Alex. Now they must each play their part in the revenge against the one man who ruined it all.
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CHAPTER ONE
SO MUCH FOR modern technology, Sophie thought as she pulled over to the side of the road and switched off the engine. Despite following the satellite navigation system’s directions she was hopelessly lost. The rolling landscape of the Chiltern Hills was spread out before her, but there was not a farmhouse or even a barn in sight, let alone an enormous stately home.
The country lane she had been sent down was so narrow that she shuddered to think what would happen if she met a vehicle trave
lling in the opposite direction. Sighing, she reached for the map on the seat beside her and climbed out of the car. At any other time she would have enjoyed the view of the English countryside in midsummer. The fields were lush and green beneath a cornflower-blue sky and the hedgerow on either side of the lane blazed with a colourful profusion of wildflowers. But Sophie was not on a sightseeing trip. Christos had sent her to Buckinghamshire to carry out a specific task and she was impatient to get on with it.
When she had set out from London two hours ago the weather had been beautiful. But now, although the sun was still shining, the air was strangely oppressive. Glancing over her shoulder, her heart sank when she saw ominous dark clouds on the horizon. Terrific! A storm was all she needed when she was stuck in the middle of nowhere. For a moment she thought the rumbling sound she could hear was thunder, but to her relief she saw a tractor trundling up the lane towards her.
‘I’m looking for Chatsfield House,’ she spoke to the tractor driver as he was about to turn into a field. ‘I think I must have gone wrong somewhere.’
‘Keep on going along the lane for another half mile or so and you’ll come to Chatsfield, miss.’
‘Along this track?’ Sophie looked doubtfully at the road that disappeared into dense woodland.
‘The road stops being a public highway from here and is privately owned by the Chatsfield family. But they don’t bother to maintain it.’ The man looked up at the darkening sky. ‘There’s rain on the way, and the potholes in the lane are deep. Be careful you don’t get a tyre stuck down one, or you’ll be stranded.’
‘Thanks,’ Sophie said drily as she slid back into the car.
The farmer gave her a curious look. ‘You’ve got business up at the house, have you? Not many visitors go to Chatsfield. The family left a long time ago.’
‘But Nicolo Chatsfield still lives there, doesn’t he?’
‘Aye, he moved back some years ago, but he’s rarely seen in the village. My wife’s sister works as a cleaner-up at the house and she says he spends all his time on his computer, doing some sort of financial stuff that has made him a fortune. It’s a pity he doesn’t spend a bit of his cash in the village pub. The King’s Head is in danger of closing down because of this here recession.’
The man stared at Sophie. ‘Don’t expect a warm welcome from Nicolo. And mind his dog, it’s the size of a bloody great wolf.’
Things were getting better and better! Sophie grimaced as she restarted the engine. She was tempted to turn the car around and drive straight back to London, but the idea of admitting failure to her boss was unacceptable.
Christos Giatrakos was the new CEO of the Chatsfield Hotel chain and had been appointed by the head of the family, Gene Chatsfield, to restore the once-famous brand name to its former glory. When Sophie had become Christos’s personal assistant she had realised that the only way to deal with his formidable personality was to stand up to him and show him that he did not scare her. The rest of his staff might treat him with kid gloves, but not her. Few things scared Sophie. Facing her own mortality when she had been a teenager had given her a different perspective on life. She was proud that Christos had picked her from hundreds of other candidates who had applied for the position of his PA, and her pride refused to admit defeat.
The trees lining the track were so overgrown that they formed a dark tunnel, and the faint light filtering through the leaves cast eerie green shadows. Any second now she would find herself in Narnia! Impatient with her overactive imagination, she carried on along the lane and drew a sharp breath when she rounded a bend and Chatsfield House came into view.
Her first impression of the huge, rambling building was that it looked like a nineteenth-century mental asylum. Built of dull red-brick, the architecture was decidedly Gothic, and the leaded-light windows gave the appearance of bars across the glass. Even the purple wisteria growing around the front door failed to soften the house’s grim facade. Sophie sensed that once it must have been a charming family home, but now the general air of neglect seemed intent on repelling any visitors.
Presumably that suited the only member of the Chatsfield family who lived here, she mused as she drove up the gravel driveway and passed an ornamental fountain that must have stopped working long ago. The pool had a couple of inches of muddy brown water at the bottom, and the stone statue of a water nymph had lost its head.
She recalled her conversation with Christos when she had arrived at the office at eight-thirty that morning. As usual, he had already been at his desk. He had ignored her breezy greeting and scowled when she placed a cup of coffee in front of him.
‘Hell and damnation! Sometimes I am seriously tempted to dump every one of the Chatsfield offspring on a deserted island and leave them there to rot.’
‘Ah.’ Sophie had immediately understood. ‘Which one of Gene’s children has annoyed you today?’
‘Nicolo,’ Christos snapped.
‘I take it he’s still refusing to attend the shareholders’ meeting in August?’
‘He’s as stubborn as...’
As you, Sophie was tempted to point out, but Christos’s glowering expression made her bite back the comment.
‘I’ve just spoken to him, and he informed me that he has no interest in the family’s hotel chain or his stake in the business, and therefore sees no point in coming to the meeting. He then advised me not to waste his time or mine by calling again, and hung up.’
Sophie winced as Christos growled a curse. People did not hang up on Christos Giatrakos—not if they knew what was good for them.
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘There’s only one thing for it,’ Christos announced. ‘I don’t have time to deal with Nicolo, so you’ll have to go to Chatsfield House and persuade him to come to London. I can’t implement the changes needed to turn the Chatsfield brand name around without his agreement on certain matters. If he is as uninterested as he says, he might be willing to sell his shares, but I need him to be at the meeting.’
‘What makes you think he’ll listen to me?’ Sophie argued. ‘You’ve already told me he’s lived as a recluse for years and avoids any kind of social contact.’
Christos ignored her protest. ‘I don’t care how you do it. Drag him by his ears if you have to. Just make sure you get Nicolo to the shareholders’ meeting! Incidentally, I’ll find it useful for you to be in Buckinghamshire. I want you to sort through some of the paperwork relating to a property owned by the Chatsfield estate in Italy. Gene worked from an office at the house in the early years and only started spending his time in London after the twins were born and his marriage to Liliana ran into problems.’
He smiled persuasively at Sophie. ‘It’ll be a nice break for you to get away from the city for a while and stay at an English country house. The grounds of the Chatsfield estate are extensive, and apparently there’s even a swimming pool, which should be lovely to use at this time of year.’
Sophie looked doubtful. ‘That’s supposing Nicolo invites me to stay, which seems unlikely.’
‘You don’t need an invitation from him. He lives at the house, but he doesn’t own it, and you have permission from Gene Chatsfield to stay as long as you like.’
* * *
Lucky me! Sophie thought now as she stared up at the imposing house. The huge front door was painted black and had an ugly brass knocker in the form of a ram’s head hanging in the centre. Taking a deep breath, she struck the knocker against the door and waited for a couple of minutes before knocking again. Presumably Nicolo employed some staff to run a house of this size, and she was sure her loud knock must have been audible to whoever was inside.
A sudden gust of wind sent a pile of dead leaves scurrying across the drive, and at the same time a dark cloud swallowed up the sun and Sophie felt a little frisson of unease run down her spine.
Get a grip, sh
e told herself impatiently. She peered through a window, but saw no signs of life inside the house. Damn it! Where was Nicolo Chatsfield? Christos had only spoken to him on the phone a few hours ago.
She had a perfectly legitimate excuse to drive back to London and tell Christos that she had been unable to find Nicolo, but giving up wasn’t in Sophie’s vocabulary. Ten years ago she had needed every ounce of determination and tenacity while she had fought for her life. Being diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer when she was sixteen had been a shattering blow. One minute she had been a happy, carefree teenager, and the next she had been facing the very real possibility that she might die.
She had never forgotten the sickening lurch of terror in the pit of her stomach when the consultant had given her the news, the fearful expression on her mother’s face. At that devastating moment Sophie had vowed to herself that if she survived her illness and the high doses of chemotherapy that were her only hope of a cure, she would live her life to the fullest, seize every opportunity and never be deterred by any problem, however insurmountable it might seem.
After everything she had been through, a solid door barring her entry to Chatsfield House was simply a minor inconvenience, she thought wryly.
Following a gravel path, she eventually came to the back of the house and found a huge, overgrown garden. She imagined the lawn must once have been trimmed regularly, but now it had turned into a wild meadow, and the roses in the flower beds were being strangled by weeds.
The air of abandonment was tangible. She tried the back door and found it was unlocked, which suggested that Nicolo could not be far away. After a moment’s hesitation she stepped into the kitchen and her attention was immediately drawn to the cast-iron range that looked as though it was an original feature.
‘Hello, is anyone home?’