He halted her protest by placing his finger over her lips. ‘It is true. It has always been true. The first time I set eyes on you, I was hit by a thunderbolt so powerful that I felt as if you’d cast some kind of spell on me. And that spell never really faded. I love you, Alannah—even though I’ve been running away from the idea of love all my life. I saw what it did to my mother. I saw it as a weakness which sucked the life from everything in its path. Which blinded her even to the needs of her children.’
She bit her lip. ‘I can understand that.’
He sensed her absolution, but he was not finished. ‘But what I feel for you does not feel like weakness. I feel strong when I am with you, Alannah. As strong as a mountain lion. As if I could conquer the world.’
She let him put his arms around her and her head rested against his chest. ‘That’s funny, because right now I feel as weak as a kitten.’
His black eyes burned into her as he gently levered her face up so that she was looking directly at him. ‘The only thing I need to know is whether you love me?’
‘Of course I love you.’ The words came tumbling out as if she’d been waiting all her life to say them. She thought about the first time she’d seen him, when they’d just clicked. It had been a thunderbolt for her, too, and she had never been able to forget him. She thought about how empty her life seemed when he wasn’t there. He wasn’t the man she’d thought him to be—he was so much more. ‘I think I’ve always loved you.’
Then kiss me, my beautiful Alannah, he said softly. And let me show you my love.
Slowly and tenderly, he traced his fingertip along the edges of her lips before lowering his head towards hers and Alannah’s heart filled up with so much happiness that she felt as if she might burst with it.
EPILOGUE
‘I USED TO THINK you hated weddings.’
Niccolò looked down into Alannah’s face as he closed the door to their honeymoon suite, and smiled at her. ‘I did. But that was before I found the woman I wanted to marry. Now it seems that I’m their biggest fan.’
‘Mmm. Me, too.’ She looped her arms around his neck. ‘You did like the dress?’
‘You looked beautiful. The most beautiful bride in the world. But then, you could wear a piece of sacking and I still wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes away from you.’
‘Oh, Niccolò.’ She slanted him a look from between her lashes. ‘Whoever would have guessed that beneath that cynical exterior beat the heart of a true poet?’
‘It’s true,’ he said, mock-seriously. ‘Though I must be careful not to lose my edge. If my competitors find out how much I’m softening, then I will soon be toast in the world of finance.’
‘You?’ She laughed easily. ‘Yeah, sure. Like that’s ever going to happen!’
He began to unzip her dress. ‘Are you tired?’
‘Not a bit. Even though it’s been a very long day.’ She closed her eyes as the costly gown pooled to the ground around her feet. She had thought he would want a quiet wedding—something discreet, even a little hushed-up. Hadn’t she thought he’d want to keep the risk of press interest to a minimum, despite his protestations that her past no longer bothered him? Probably. But once again he had surprised her. It was funny how love had the power to change people and to alter their views on what was important. He had told her that he was going to announce their engagement to the world’s press and then he had gone out and bought her an enormous sapphire ring, which he said was the closest colour he could get to the denim-blue of her eyes.
Predictably, some of the old photos from Stacked magazine had made an appearance in the papers—but suddenly, they didn’t seem to matter. It was slightly surreal to hear Niccolò echoing his sister’s words—and believing them—by saying really they were very tame in comparison to a lot of the stuff you saw in contemporary music videos.
‘I am proud of you, tentatrice,’ he had murmured, crumpling the newspaper into a ball and hurling it into the bin. ‘Proud of all you have achieved and how you have kept your dignity intact. Most of all, I am proud that you have consented to be my wife.’
And she had smiled. ‘Oh, darling.’
The wedding was held in London’s oldest Italian church, in Clerkenwell, and there was a stellar number of guests. A fully recovered Luis Martinez was there—as was the Sultan of Qurhah, Murat ‘the Magnificent’. And naturally, Alekto Sarantos was at his dazzling best, even though he was barely visible through the sea of eager women who were clamouring round him. Michela was matron of honour—her silk gown cleverly hiding the beginning of a baby bump.
With Alannah’s encouragement, Niccolò had told Michela the truth about their parents’ death—and the admission had brought brother and sister much closer. Because secrets were always more dangerous than the truth, as he’d learned.
Alannah shivered with pleasure as Niccolò lifted her out of the discarded wedding dress and carried her over to the bed, wearing nothing but her underwear, sheer stockings and a pair of very high, white stilettos. As he undressed her she thought about the inhibitions which had once crippled her and which now seemed like a distant memory.
Tomorrow they were flying to the island of Niccolò’s birth. He had only been back to Sicily once, after his mother’s death—when he had been full of youthful rage and bitterness about the rejection she had suffered at the hands of her own family. But time had mellowed him and Alannah had helped him get some perspective. His maternal grandparents were dead—but he had cousins and uncles and aunts living there. A whole new family for them to get to know. And she was excited about that, too—looking forward to a big, extended family after so many years on her own.
He moved over her, his face suddenly very serious as he brushed her hair away from her cheek. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly.
She took his hand and kissed it. ‘For?’
‘For loving me. For being you.’
For being you. He didn’t want anyone else, she had come to realise. He just wanted her exactly as she was, with no changes or modifications. He didn’t want to rewrite her past, or pretend it hadn’t happened, because her past had made her the woman she was today. And he loved that woman.
Alannah sighed.
Just like she loved her man.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from TAKEN OVER BY THE BILLIONAIRE by Miranda Lee.
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.
Austin Treffen has the plan… Hunter has the money… Alex has the power!
Read each of their stories in the captivating Fifth Avenue trilogy,
only from Harlequin Presents:
Avenge Me by Maisey Yates (June 2014)
Scandalize Me by Caitlin Crews (July 2014)
Expose Me by Kate Hewitt (August 2014)
And don’t miss the Fifth Avenue prequel that started it all, Take Me, by Maisey Yates!
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CELEBRATE THE HOLIDAY
WITH CHRISTMAS TITLES FROM
CHRISTMAS IN DA CONTI’S BED [ISBN: 9781460343517]
by Sharon Kendrick
Billionaire Niccolo Da Conti has everything a man could want, but seeing the unbearably enticing Alannah Collins again has sparked his possessive streak. He’ll hire her, seduce her and cross her off his wish list once and for all!
TO CLAIM HIS HEIR BY CHRISTMAS [ISBN: 9781460343562]
by Victoria Parker
When Princess Luciana experienced heaven in the arms of her kingdom’s greatest enemy, she fled without telling him she was pregnant. Now Pri
nce Thane is determined to secure two very special Christmas gifts—Luciana and his heir!
MILLION DOLLAR CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL [ISBN: 9781460321164]
by Lucy Monroe
Vincenzo Tomasi needs a nanny for his niece and nephew by Christmas, and the million-dollar salary on offer is more tempting than anything in Santa’s sack! Will innocent Audrey risk everything in the most unlikely interview process ever?
HIS CHRISTMAS ACQUISITION [ISBN: 9781459281868]
by Cathy Williams
Ryan Sheppard’s hoping a Christmas trip to the Caribbean will entice his secretary, Jamie Powell, out of her pencil skirt and into a skimpy bikini! After all, surely there’s no harm in indulging in a little festive pleasure…?
HIS CHRISTMAS VIRGIN [ISBN: 9781426875922]
by Carole Mortimer
Jonas Buchanan never combines work and pleasure, and he steers clear of women who don’t play by his rules. Mary McGuire is as pure as the falling snow but by Christmas Day she may have Jonas breaking every rule in his book!
THE TWELVE NIGHTS OF CHRISTMAS [ISBN: 9781426874703]
by Sarah Morgan
This Christmas, it’s imperative Rio’s reputation appears spotless—but innocently enticing Evie Anderson is a temptation he can’t resist! Their scorching chemistry leads to twelve nights of endless pleasure. But will it last once the decorations come down?
THE CHRISTMAS LOVE-CHILD [ISBN: 9781426842771]
by Jennie Lucas
Roark Navarre is ruthless and relentless. He wants beautiful Lia and he will have her! When he discovers that she is a virgin, taking his prize becomes all the sweeter… But the innocent’s dark seduction has only just begun!
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Presents title.
You want alpha males, decadent glamour and jet-set lifestyles. Step into the sensational, sophisticated world of Harlequin Presents, where sinfully tempting heroes ignite a fierce and wickedly irresistible passion!
Enjoy eight new stories from Harlequin Presents every month!
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CHAPTER ONE
MURPHY’S LAW STATED that if anything could possibly go wrong, then eventually it would.
Jess did not subscribe to this theory, despite the fact that her surname was Murphy. But her father was a firm believer. Whenever anything annoying or frustrating happened, such as a flat tyre when he was driving a bride to her wedding—Joe owned a hire-car business—then he blamed it on Murphy’s Law: bad weather at the weekends; down-turns in the stock market. Recently, he’d even blamed the defeat of his favourite football team in the grand final on Murphy’s Law.
Admittedly, her dad was somewhat superstitious by nature.
Unlike her father, Jess’s view of unfortunate events was way more rational. Things happened, not because a perverse twist of fate was just waiting to spoil things for you without rhyme or reason, but because of something someone had done or not done. Flat tyres and stock-market crashes didn’t just happen. There was always a logical reason.
Jess didn’t blame Murphy’s Law for her boyfriend suddenly having decided last month that he no longer wanted to drive around Australia with her, having opted instead to go backpacking around the whole, stupid world for the next year! With a mate of his, would you believe? Never mind that she’d just gone into hock to buy a brand-new four-wheel drive for their romantic road trip together. Or that she’d started thinking he might be Mr Right. The truth, once she’d calmed down long enough to face it, was that Colin had caught the travel bug and obviously wasn’t ready to settle down just yet. He still loved her—he claimed—and had asked her to wait for him.
Naturally, she’d told him what he could do with that idea!
Neither had Jess blamed Murphy’s Law for recently having lost her much-loved part-time job at a local fashion boutique. She knew exactly why she’d been let go. Some cash-rich American company had bought up the Fab Fashions chain for a bargain price—Fab Fashions was in financial difficulties—and had then sent over some bigwig who had threatened the managers of all the stores that, if they didn’t show a profit by the end of the year, all the retail outlets would be closed down in favour of online shopping. Hence the trimming of staff.
Actually, Helen hadn’t wanted to let her go. Jess was an excellent salesgirl. But it was either her or Lily, who was a single mother who really needed her job, whereas Jess didn’t. Jess had a full-time job during the week working at Murphy’s Hire Car. She’d only taken the weekend job at Fab Fashions because she was mad about fashion and wanted to learn as much as she could about the industry, with a plan one day to open her own boutique or online store. So of course, under the circumstances, she couldn’t let Helen fire poor Lily.
But she’d seethed for days over the greed of this American company. Not to mention the stupidity. Why hadn’t this idiot they’d sent over found out why Fab Fashions wasn’t making a profit? She could have told him. But, no, that would have taken some intelligence. And time!
Before she’d been let go last weekend, she’d asked Helen if she knew the name of this idiot, and she’d been told he was a Mr De Silva. Mr Benjamin De Silva. Some searching on the Internet just this morning had revealed a news item outlining the takeover of several Australian companies—including Fab Fashions—by De Silva & Associates, a private equity firm based in New York. When she looked up De Silva & Associates, Jess discovered that the major partner and CEO was Morgan De Silva, who was sixty-five years old and had been on the Forbes rich list for yonks. Which meant he was a billionaire. He was divorced—surprise, surprise!—with one son, Benjamin De Silva: the idiot they’d sent out. A clear case of nepotism at work, given his lack of intelligence and lateral thinking.
The office phone rang and Jess snatched it up.
‘Murphy’s Hire Car,’ she said, trying not to let her irritation show through in her voice.
‘Hi, there. I have a problem which I sure hope you can help me with.’
The voice was male, with an American accent.
Jess did her best to put aside any bias she was currently feeling towards American males.
‘I’ll do my best, sir,’ she said as politely as she could manage.
‘I need to hire a car and driver for three full days, starting first thing tomorrow morning.’
Jess’s eyebrows lifted. They didn’t often have people wanting to hire one of their cars and drivers for that length of time. Mostly, Murphy’s Hire Car did special events which began and ended on the one day: weddings; graduations; anniversary dates; trips to Sydney airport; that sort of thing. Based on the central coast a couple of hours north of Sydney, they weren’t an overly large concern. They only had seven hire cars which included three white limousines for weddings and other flash events, two white Mercedes sedans for less flash events and one black limousine with tinted windows for people with plenty of money who wanted privacy.
Recently her father had bought a vintage blue convertible Cadillac but it wouldn’t be ready for hiring till next week, having needed new leather seats. Jess knew without even looking up this weekend’s bookings on the computer that she wouldn’t be able to help the American. They had several weddings on. Not uncommon given that it was spring. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but we’re fully booked this weekend. You’ll have to try someone else.’
His weary sigh elicited some sympathy in Jess. ‘I’ve already tried every other hire car company on the Central Coast,’ he said. ‘Look, are you absolutely certain you can’t wangle something? I don’t need a limo or anything fancy. Any car and driver would do. I have to be in Mudgee for a wedding on Saturday, not to mention the stag party tomorrow night. The groom’s my best friend and I’m the best man. But a drunk driver ran
into me last night, wrecked my rental and left me unable to drive myself. I’ve a bunged up right shoulder.’
‘That’s terrible.’ Jess hated drivers who drank. ‘I truly wish I could help you, sir.’ Which she genuinely did. It would be awful if he couldn’t make it to his best friend’s wedding.
‘I’m prepared to pay over and above your normal rates,’ he offered just as she was about to suggest he try one of the larger hire car firms in Sydney. They could surely send a car up to him lickety-split. He might even have success hiring an ordinary taxi.
‘How much over and above?’ she asked, thinking of the hefty repayments she had to make on her SUV.
‘If you get me a car and driver, you can name your own price.’
Wow, Jess thought. This American had to be loaded. He could probably afford to charter a helicopter—not that she was going to suggest such a thing. Jess wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
‘Okay, Mr…er…?’
‘De Silva,’ he said.
Jess’s mouth dropped open.
‘Benjamin De Silva,’ he elaborated.
Jess’s mouth remained agape as she took in this amazing coincidence. With his being American and having such a distinctive name, he had to be the same man!
‘Are you still there?’ he finally asked after twenty seconds of shocked silence.
‘Yes, yes, I’m still here. Sorry, I…er…was distracted for a moment. The cat just walked onto my keyboard and I lost a file.’ In actual fact, the family moggie was sound asleep on a sun-drenched window sill, a good ten metres away from Jess’s desk.
‘You have a cat in your office?’
He actually sounded appalled. No doubt there were no cats allowed in the pompous Mr De Silva’s office.
‘This a home-run business, Mr De Silva,’ she said somewhat stiffly.
Christmas in Da Conti's Bed Page 15