by Maya Blake
‘Eva.’ Her name was a deep command. One she desperately wanted to ignore. It held a quiet triumph she didn’t want to acknowledge. The implications were more than she could stomach. She wasn’t one for burying her head in the sand, but if her father had done what Zaccheo had demanded, then—
‘Eva,’ he repeated. Sharper. Controlled but demanding.
Heart hammering, she glanced at him. ‘What?’
He stared back without blinking, his body deathly still. ‘Come here.’
Refusing to show how rattled she was, she stood, teetered on the heels she’d had no choice but to wear again, and strode towards him.
He tracked her with chilling precision, his eyes dropping to her hips for a charged second before he looked back up. Eva hated her body for reacting to that look, even as her breasts tingled and a blaze lit between her thighs.
Silently she cursed herself. She had no business reacting to that look, or to any man on any plane of emotion whatsoever. She had proof that path only ended in eviscerating heartache.
She stopped a few feet from him, made sure to place a dining chair between them. But the solid wood couldn’t stop her senses from reacting to his scent, or her nipples from furling into tight, needy buds when her gaze fell on the golden gleam of his throat revealed by the gap in his shirt. Quickly crossing her arms, she looked down at the newspapers.
That they’d made headlines was unmistakeable. Bold black letters and exclamation marks proclaimed Zaccheo’s antics. And as for that picture of them locked together...
‘I can’t believe you landed a helicopter in the middle of a fireworks display,’ she threw out, simply because it was easier than acknowledging the other words written on the page binding her to Zaccheo, insinuating they were something they would never be.
He looked from her face to the front-page picture showing him landing his helicopter during a particularly violent explosion. ‘Were you concerned for me?’ he mocked.
‘Of course not. You obviously don’t care about your own safety so why should I?’
A simmering silence followed, then he stalked closer. ‘I hope you intend to act a little more concerned towards my well-being once we’re married.’
Any intention of avoiding looking at him fled her mind. ‘Married? Don’t you think you’ve taken this far enough?’ she snapped.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You wanted to humiliate my father. Congratulations, you’ve made headlines in every single newspaper. Don’t you think it’s time to drop this?’
His eyes turned into pools of ice. ‘You think this is some sort of game?’ he enquired silkily.
‘What else can it be? If you really had the evidence you claim to have, why haven’t you handed it over to the police?’
‘You believe I’m bluffing?’ His voice was a sharp blade slicing through the air.
‘I believe you feel aggrieved.’
‘Really? And what else did you believe?’
Eva refused to quail beneath the look that threatened to cut her into pieces. ‘It’s clear you want to make some sort of statement about how you were treated by my father. You’ve done that now. Let it go.’
‘So your father did all this—’ he indicated the papers ‘—just to stop me throwing a childish tantrum? And what about you? Did you throw yourself at my feet to buy your family time to see how long my bluff would last?’
She flung her arms out in exasperation. ‘Come on, Zaccheo—’
They both stilled at her use of his name. Eva had no time to recover from the unwitting slip. Merciless fingers speared into her hair, much as they had last night, holding her captive as his thumb tilted her chin.
‘How far are you willing to go to get me to be reasonable? Or perhaps I should guess? After all, just last night you’d dropped to an all-time low of whoring yourself to a drunken boy in order to save your family.’ The thick condemnation feathered across her skin.
Rage flared in her belly, gave her the strength to remain upright. He stood close. Far too close. She stepped back, but only managed to wedge herself between the table and Zaccheo’s towering body. ‘As opposed to what? Whoring myself to a middle-aged criminal?’
He leaned down, crowding her further against the polished wood. ‘You know exactly how old I am. In fact, I recall precisely where we both were when the clock struck midnight on my thirtieth birthday. Or perhaps you need me to refresh your memory?’ His smooth, faintly accented voice trailed amused contempt.
‘Don’t bother—’
‘I’ll do it anyway, it’s no hardship,’ he offered, as if her sharp denial hadn’t been uttered. ‘We were newly engaged, and you were on your knees in front of my penthouse window, uncaring that anyone with a pair of decent binoculars would see us. All you cared about was getting your busy, greedy little hands on my belt, eager to rid me of my trousers so you could wish me a happy birthday in a way most men fantasise about.’
Her skin flushed with a wave of heat so strong, she feared spontaneous combustion. ‘That wasn’t my idea.’
One brow quirked. ‘Was it not?’
‘No, you dared me to do it.’
His mouth twitched. ‘Are you saying I forced you?’
Those clever fingers were drifting along her scalp, lazily caressing, lulling her into showing her vulnerability.
Eva sucked in a deep breath. ‘I’m saying I don’t want to talk about the past. I prefer to stick to the present.’
She didn’t want to remember how gullible she’d been back then, how stupidly eager to please, how excited she’d been that this god of a man, who could have any woman he wanted with a lazy crook of his finger, had pursued her, chosen her.
Even after learning the hard way that men in positions of power would do anything to stay in that power, that her two previous relationships had only been a means to an end for the men involved, she’d still allowed herself to believe Zaccheo wanted her for herself. Finding out that he was no better, that he only wanted her to secure a business deal, had delivered a blow she’d spent the better part of a year burying in a deep hole.
At first his demands had been subtle: a business dinner here, a charity event there—occasions she’d been proud and honoured to accompany him on. Until that fateful night when she’d overheard a handful of words that had had the power to sting like nothing else.
She’s the means to an end. Nothing more...
The conversation that had followed remained seared into her brain. Zaccheo, impatiently shutting her down, then brazenly admitting he’d said those words. That he’d used her.
Most especially, she recalled the savage pain in knowing she had got him so wrong, had almost given herself to a man who held such careless regard for her, and only cared about her pedigree.
And yet his shock when she’d returned his ring had made her wonder whether she’d done the right thing.
His arrest days later for criminal negligence had confirmed what sort of man she’d foolishly woven her dreams around.
She met his gaze now. ‘You got what you wanted—your name next to mine on the front page. The whole world knows I left with you last night, that I’m no longer engaged to Harry.’
His hand slipped to her nape, worked over tense muscles. ‘And how did Fairfield take being so unceremoniously dumped?’ he asked.
‘Harry cares about me, so he was a complete gentleman about it. Shame I can’t say the same about you.’
Dark grey eyes gleamed dangerously. ‘You mean he wasn’t torn up at the thought of never having access to this body again?’ he mocked.
She lifted a brow. ‘Never say never.’
Tension coiled his body. ‘If you think I’ll tolerate any further interaction between you and Fairfield, you’re severely mistaken,’ he warned with a dark rumble.
‘Why, Zaccheo, you sound
almost jealous.’
Heat scoured his cheekbones and a tiny part of her quailed at her daring. ‘You’d be wise to stop testing me, dolcezza.’
‘If you want this to stop, tell me why you’re doing this.’
‘I’m only going to say it one more time, so let it sink in. I don’t intend to stop until your father’s reputation is in the gutter and everything he took from me is returned, plus interest.’
‘Can I see the proof of what you accuse my father of?’
‘Would you believe even if you saw it? Or will you cling to the belief that I’m the big, bad ogre who’s just throwing his weight about?’ he taunted.
Eva looked down at the papers on the table, every last one containing everything Zaccheo had demanded. Would her father have done it if Zaccheo’s threats were empty?
‘Last night, when you said you and I...’ She stopped, unable to process the reality.
‘Would be married in two weeks? Sì, I meant that, too. And to get that ball rolling, we’re going shopping for an engagement ring in exactly ten minutes, after which we have a full day ahead, so if you require further sustenance I suggest you finish your breakfast.’
He dropped his fingers from her nape and stepped back. With a last look filled with steely determination, he picked up the closest paper and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER FIVE
THEIR FIRST STOP was an exclusive coat boutique in Bond Street. Zaccheo told himself it was because he didn’t want to waste time. The truth mocked him in the form of needing to cover Eva Pennington’s body before he lost any more brain cells to the lust blazing through his bloodstream.
In the dark cover of her family terrace and the subsequent helicopter journey home, he’d found relief from the blatant temptation of her body.
In the clear light of day, the red dress seemed to cling tighter, caress her body so much more intimately that he’d had to fight the urge to lunge for her each time she took a breath.
He watched her now, seated across from him in his limo as they drove the short twenty-minute distance to Threadneedle Street where his bankers had flown in the diamond collection he’d requested from Switzerland.
Her fingers plucked at the lapel of the new white cashmere coat, then dropped to cinch the belt tighter at her tiny waist.
‘You didn’t need to buy me a coat,’ she grumbled. ‘I have a perfectly good one back at my flat.’
He reined in his fascination with her fingers. ‘Your flat is on the other side of town. I have more important things to do than waste an hour and a half sitting in traffic.’
Her plump lips pursed. ‘Of course, extracting your pound of flesh is an all-consuming business, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t intend to stop at a mere pound, Eva. I intend to take the whole body.’
One eyebrow spiked. ‘You seem so confident I’m going to hand myself to you on a silver platter. Isn’t that a tad foolish?’
There was that tone again, the one that said she didn’t believe him.
‘I guess we’ll find out one way or the other when the sordid details are laid out for you on Monday. All you need to concern yourself about today is picking out an engagement ring that makes the right statement.’
Her striking green eyes clashed with his and that lightning bolt struck again. ‘And what statement would that be?’ she challenged.
He let loose a chilling half-smile that made his enemies quake. ‘Why, that you belong to me, of course.’
‘I told you, I’ve no intention of being your possession. A ring won’t change that.’
‘How glibly you lie to yourself.’
She gasped and he was once again drawn to her mouth. A mouth whose sweet taste he recalled vividly, much to his annoyance. ‘Excuse me?’
‘We both know you’ll be exactly who and what I want you to be when I demand it. Your family has too much at stake for you to risk doing otherwise.’
‘Don’t mistake my inclination to go along with this farce to be anything but my need to get to the bottom of why you’re doing this. It’s what families do for each other. Of course, since you don’t even speak about yours, I assume you don’t know what I’m talking about.’
Zaccheo called himself ten kinds of fool for letting the taunt bite deep. He’d lost respect for his father long before he’d died in shame and humiliation. And watching his mother whore herself for prestige had left a bitter taste in his mouth. As families went, he’d been dealt a bad hand, but he’d learned long ago that to wish for anything you couldn’t create with your own hard-working hands was utter folly. He’d stopped making wishes by the time he hit puberty. Recalling the very last wish he’d prayed night and day for as a child, he clenched his fists. Even then he’d known fate would laugh at his wish for a brother or sister. He’d known that wish, despite his mother being pregnant, would not come true. He’d known.
He’d programmed himself not to care after that harrowing time in his life.
So why the hell did it grate so much for him to be reminded that he was the last Giordano?
‘I don’t talk about my family because I have none. But that’s a situation I intend to rectify soon.’
She glanced at him warily. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means I had a lot of time in prison to re-examine my life, thanks to your family.’ He heard the naked emotion in his voice and hardened his tone. ‘I intend to make some changes.’
‘What sort of changes?’
‘The type that means you’ll no longer have to whore out your integrity for the sake of the great Pennington legacy. You should thank me, since you seem to be the one doing most of the heavy lifting for your family.’
Zaccheo watched her face pale.
‘I’m not a whore!’
He lunged forward before he could stop himself. ‘Then what the hell were you doing dressed like a tart, agreeing to marry a drunken playboy, if not for cold, hard cash for your family?’ The reminder of what she wore beneath the coat blazed across his mind. His temperature hiked, along with the increased throbbing in his groin.
‘I didn’t do it for money!’ She flushed, and bit down on her lower lip again. ‘Okay, yes, that was part of the reason, but I also did it because—’
‘Please spare me any declarations of true love.’ He wasn’t sure why he abhorred the idea of her mentioning the word love. Or why the idea of her mentioning Fairfield’s name filled him with rage.
Zaccheo knew about her friendship with Fairfield. And while he knew their engagement had been a farce, he hadn’t missed the camaraderie between them, or the pathetic infatuation in the other man’s eyes.
Sì, he was jealous—Eva would be his and no one else’s. But he also pitied Fairfield.
Because love, in all forms, was a false emotion. Nothing but a manipulative tool. Mothers declared their love for their children, then happily abandoned them the moment they ceased to be a convenient accessory. Fathers professed to have their children’s interest at heart because of love, but when it came right down to it they put themselves above all else. And sometimes even forgot that their children existed.
As for Eva Pennington, she’d shown how faithless she was when she’d dropped him and distanced herself mere days before his arrest.
‘I wasn’t going to say that. Trust me, I’ve learned not to toss the word love about freely—’
‘Did you know?’ he sliced at her before he could stop himself.
Fine brows knitted together. ‘Did I know what?’
‘Did you know of your father’s plans?’ The question had been eating at him far more than he wanted to admit.
‘His plans to do what?’ she asked innocently. And yet he could see the caginess on her face. As if she didn’t want him to probe deeper.
Acrid disappointment bit through him.
He was a fool for thinking, perhaps wishing, despite all the signs saying otherwise, that she’d been oblivious to Oscar Pennington’s plans to make him the ultimate scapegoat.
‘We’re here, sir.’ His driver’s voice came through the intercom.
Zaccheo watched her dive for the door. He would’ve laughed at her eagerness to get away from the conversation that brought back too many volatile memories, had he not felt disconcerting relief that his question had gone unanswered.
He’d been a fool to pursue it in the first place. He didn’t need more lies. He had cold, hard facts proving the Penningtons’ guilt. Dwelling on the whys and wherefores of Eva’s actions was a fool’s errand.
He stepped out into the winter sunshine and nodded at the bank director.
‘Mr Giordano, welcome.’ The older man’s expression vacillated between obsequiousness and condescension.
‘You received my further instructions?’ Zaccheo took Eva’s arm, ignoring her slight stiffening as he walked her through the doors of the bank.
‘Yes, sir. We’ve adhered to your wishes.’ Again he caught the man’s assessing gaze.
‘I’m pleased to hear it. Otherwise I’m sure there would be other banks who would welcome GWI’s business.’
The banker paled. ‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Giordano. If you’ll come with me, the jewellers have everything laid out for you.’
It should’ve given him great satisfaction that he’d breached the hallowed walls of the centuries-old establishment, that he’d finally succeeded where his own father had tried so hard and failed, giving his life in pursuit of recognition.
But all Zaccheo could hear, could feel, was Eva’s presence, a reminder of why his satisfaction felt hollow. She was proof that, despite all he’d achieved, he was still regarded as the lowest of the low. A nobody. An expendable patsy who would take any treatment his betters doled out without protest.
We shall see.
They walked down several hallways. After a few minutes, Eva cleared her throat. ‘What instructions did you give him?’ she asked.