“You’ll get your money,” Emma said.
“We’ll see.” Zarios smiled. “Till I do, you will be my fiancée. You will move into my home so that I can take care of you—or, rather, deal with the press and the questions….”
“We won’t…” Emma flushed. “I mean, there’ll be no…”
“I don’t understand what you are saying.” He flashed her an innocent smile.
“Oh, I think you do. I want to make it clear, very clear, that we won’t be sharing a bed.”
His mouth was mere inches from hers. Her mind was quailing, but her treacherous body flared in instant recall of their one dizzy time together.
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
Yes.
She didn’t say it, but the word snapped like a twig between them.
She wanted to forget, to escape…for just one moment. To forget this living hell and taste the heaven she had once witnessed, to accept the temporary relief his mouth would surely provide.
To be held instead of holding up.
He kissed her then, his mouth crushing hers. And she was kissing him back with all her might, pressing her body into his as if she wanted to climb inside him, to escape, reveling in the freedom that his touch, his kiss, his being somehow brought her. Oh, she was lost, lost, lost—and it was wonderful. She was back in oblivion and it tasted divine.
Dear Reader,
Harlequin Presents® is all about passion, power and seduction—along with oodles of wealth and abundant glamour. This is the series of the rich and the superrich. Private jets, luxury cars and international settings that range from the wildly exotic to the bright lights of the big city! We want to whisk you away to the far corners of the globe and allow you to escape to and indulge in a unique world of unforgettable men and passionate romances. There is only one Harlequin Presents. And we promise you the world….
As if this weren’t enough, there’s more! More of what you love every month. Two weeks after the Presents titles hit the shelves, four Presents EXTRA titles go on sale! Presents EXTRA is selected especially for you—your favorite authors and much-loved themes have been handpicked to create exclusive collections for your reading pleasure. Now there are more excuses to indulge! Each month, there’s a new collection to treasure—you won’t want to miss out.
Harlequin Presents—still the original and the best!
Best wishes,
The Editors
Carol Marinelli
BEDDED FOR PASSION, PURCHASED FOR PREGNANCY
All about the author…
Carol Marinelli
CAROL MARINELLI finds writing a bio rather like writing her New Year’s resolutions. Oh, she’d love to say that since she wrote the last one, she now goes to the gym regularly and doesn’t stop for coffee, cake and gossip afterward; that she’s incredibly organized; and that she writes for a few productive hours a day after tidying her immaculate house and taking a brisk walk with the dog.
The reality is Carol spends an inordinate amount of time daydreaming about dark, brooding men and exotic places (research), which doesn’t leave too much time for the gym, housework or anything that comes in between. And her most productive writing hours happen to be in the middle of the night, which leaves her in a constant state of bewildered exhaustion.
Originally from England, Carol now lives in Melbourne, Australia. She adores going back to the U.K. for a visit—actually, she adores going anywhere for a visit—and constantly (expensively) strives to overcome her fear of flying. She has three gorgeous children who are growing up so fast (too fast—they’ve just worked out that she lies about her age!) and keep her busy with a never-ending round of homework, sports and friends coming over.
A nurse and a writer, Carol writes for the Harlequin® Presents and Medical Romance lines, and is passionate about both. She loves the fast-paced, busy setting of a modern hospital, but every now and then admits it’s bliss to escape to the glamorous, alluring world of her heroes and heroines in Harlequin Presents novels. A bit like her real life actually!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
‘GUESS who’s coming tonight!’
Emma smiled at the excitement in her mother’s voice as Lydia Hayes replaced the phone receiver.
‘Half of Melbourne are coming!’
The party was all her mother had spoken about for the past few weeks, Emma’s father’s sixtieth birthday, and the intimate dinner they had initially planned had swelled to marquee proportions! Every inch of their sweeping bay view home had been commandeered to maximum effect, with the marquee open to reveal Port Phillip Bay in all its glory, and even the weather had obliged, with a clear sky allowing for city views. The dance floor had been laid, the band was setting up, caterers were milling, and Lydia was rattling with nerves as the hour approached. But the telephone call had, momentarily at least, halted her nerves.
‘We’ve got an unexpected guest!’ Lydia clasped her hands in delight. ‘Go on, Emma, guess who.’
‘Mum…’ Emma wailed, wrapped in a towel and painting her toenails. Having spent the day helping her mother prepare, she was already racing against the clock to be ready.
‘Just tell me.’
‘Zarios!’
A smudge of red nail varnish streaked across Lydia’s little toe. Pulling out a cotton bud, she dabbed at the area, refusing to let on that it mattered a jot that Zarios was coming tonight.
Oh, but it did.
Zarios—the single word that sent a tingle up every woman’s spine. A man who didn’t need to use his high-profile surname to be instantly recognisable.
His scowling but effortlessly beautiful face often appeared in the gossip columns. His reputation with women was appalling—so much so that it was a wonder, after so many blistering articles written on the man, that any woman might even consider getting involved with him.
Oh, but they did—over and over they did. And without fail it always ended in tears—or, to be more exact, the woman’s tears.
‘Why?’ Curiosity got the better of Emma, and, screwing back the top on her nail varnish, she just couldn’t stop herself asking.
Their fathers might be best friends, but why would Zarios D’Amilo even entertain the thought of coming to her father’s celebration? Shouldn’t he be sleeping with some supermodel on a Saturday night? Or crossing the equator on the way to some exclusive star-studded function? Certainly not on his way to celebrate Eric Hayes’s sixtieth birthday.
Rocco D’Amilo had arrived in Australia nearly half a century ago, at eleven years of age. The son of Italian immigrants, he had been teased and goaded in his first hellish days at school. Unable to speak English, his lunchbox full of smelly meat, he had been an easy target, until Eric Hayes, who had suffered his own share of teasing in his time, had blackened the eye of the ringleader. The unlikely pair had been firm friends ever since.
Rocco had started out his working life as a builder, Eric as a real estate agent, and they had remained in touch even when Rocco had taken his young bride and new baby son back to Italy. They had been best man at each other’s weddings, godparents at christenings, and their friendship had been the support Rocco needed when his young wife had walked out on her husband and four-year-old child.
Eric had done well for himself over the years and a few wise property investments meant his family lived comfortably. He had followed the ‘worst house, best street’ rule, and had bought a rundown home on a rundown acre in an exclusive beachside suburb, refurbishing it slowly until it gleamed with the same majesty as its view. Rocco, too, had achieved success, both here and in Rome, yet it was his son Zarios who had turned the family business into the empire it was today. His father’s strong work ethic, combined with a private school education and a brilliant brain, had proved a dizzying recipe for success.
Zarios had emerged from university with big plans, which he had rapidly implemented, turning the modest but successful building company into a global property and finance company. D’Amilo Financiers had multiple branches throughout Europe and Australia and was stretching its golden fingers ever further across the globe. Now, with Rocco’s retirement imminent, Zarios was expected to officially take the helm.
If only he would behave!
‘He’s on a final warning!’ Even though there were only the two of them in the room, Lydia spoke in a loud whisper. ‘Your father was telling me that apparently the board are sick of Zarios’s caddish ways. They’re uncomfortable with the prospect of him being the majority shareholder…’
‘That’s up to Rocco, surely…?’ Emma frowned.
‘Rocco’s fed up with him, too. He’s given that boy everything, and look how Zarios repays him. If the rest of the directors band together…’ Lydia’s voice lowered another octave ‘…and it sounds as if they might now. If the rumours that Zarios has split up with Miranda are true—she was his one saving grace.’
‘They were only going out four months!’ Emma pointed out.
‘Which is a long time in dog years!’
Oh, how they laughed at that.
Emma’s parents infuriated her at times—most of the time, in fact. The blatant preference they had for Emma’s brother Jake, the way they repeatedly dismissed her career choice, as if by being an artist she didn’t have a real job, and yet she adored them. Her mother was, and always had been to Emma, the funniest woman she knew.
And wrapped in a towel, doubled over in laughter as her mother hooted with mirth and the early evening sun dipped lower over the bay, drenching the living room in gold, somehow, on some level, Emma knew that this moment was precious.
She could have had no idea how precious, rich and good life was that gorgeous summer evening. No idea how many times she’d find herself playing it over and over again.
‘Come on!’ Dabbing her eyes, Lydia hurried her daughter up. ‘Where on earth can I put him?’
‘He’s staying the night?’ Emma’s eyes widened at the very thought of Zarios D’Amilo sleeping here in this house.
‘Yessss!’ Lydia hissed, the joking well and truly put aside now, as her already high stress levels rocketed. ‘I knew Rocco was—but Zarios! He’ll have to have your room!’
‘He jolly well won’t.’
‘We can hardly give him the trundle bed in the study—Jake’s squeezed into his old room, Rocco’s in the guestroom…Zarios will have to have yours. Come on, it’s time to get dressed,’ Lydia said, refusing to debate the point, buoyed at the prospect of having such a high-profile guest. ‘My friends are going to simply die with jealousy—can you imagine Cindy’s face when she finds out? You did buy something nice for tonight, I hope?’
‘Like a bridal gown?’ Emma said, firmly tongue in cheek.
‘Well, he has broken up with Miranda!’
Emma’s sarcasm was entirely wasted on her mother. Lydia Hayes had spent her married life clinging on to the middle rung of the social ladder, and was determined that her children would rise to the heights she had never achieved.
‘Australia’s most eligible bachelor is joining us to celebrate your father’s sixtieth birthday, Emma. Surely you’re just a little bit excited?’
‘Of course I’m excited.’ Emma smiled. ‘About Dad’s birthday…’
‘Get ready, then,’ Lydia chided, and then, wincing slightly, massaged her temples. ‘They’ll be arriving soon…’
‘Mum, calm down.’
‘What if they’re expecting something spectacular?’
‘Then we’ll wheel out Zarios!’ Emma smiled again, but her mother was past jokes. ‘They’re expecting a birthday celebration, which this is,’ Emma said, walking across the lounge and taking her mother’s hands from her temples and holding them. ‘They’re coming to see you and Dad. That’s all that matters.’
‘Jake’s not even here yet!’ Lydia trilled. ‘My own son can’t make it on time. Do you think he’ll have remembered to order the pastries for breakfast?’ Emma could hear panic once again creeping into her mother’s voice and moved quickly to avert it.
‘Of course he’ll have remembered. You go and sort out fresh sheets for my bed, and I’ll go and get ready. And,’ she added with a wry smile, ‘I’ll give my room a quick tidy!’
Her bedroom was exactly the same as it had been seven years ago, when she’d left home to go to university to study art. Emma loved coming back and staying in her old room, amongst her old familiar things, but this evening she eyed it somewhat critically, wondering what Zarios would make of the paintings that adorned the walls, the curtains she had tye-died herself when she was twelve, the tatty overfilled bookshelves and the dressing table laden with childhood photos.
Emma had always intended to wear something nice for her father’s special night. Her tiny broom cupboard of an art gallery was in Chapel Street in Melbourne, and as well as her gallery the street boasted an array of designer boutiques. Slipping on the cerulean blue dress, Emma wondered what on earth had possessed her. It had caught her eye in the window—the shade of blue almost a replica of the view of the bay from her parents’ balcony. The price had been an instant dissuader, yet the assistant had suggested Emma at least try it on. Staring at her reflection, Emma let her teeth worry away at her bottom lip as she wondered if it wasn’t just a bit too much.
Or too little!
An inch shorter than she would have preferred, it clung provocatively in all the wrong places. Her bottom surely appeared massive, and her breasts as if they had instantly gone up a size, where the feather-light wool caressed her figure, only loosening its grip at mid-thigh, then hanging innocently, yet flaring as smoothly as a trumpet bell as she walked.
It was, quite simply, divine.
Worthy, Emma told herself as she pulled a shoebox from her case, of the horribly expensive strappy sandals she’d bought to go with it. Worthy of the hours of buffing and polishing her body had endured—and her first visit to a tanning parlour.
Running her ceramic straighteners for the final time over her long blonde hair, she stopped worrying her bottom lip and applied a final layer of lipgloss instead, thanking the gods who had looked after her these past days, who must have known that Zarios D’ Amilo would be coming tonight, and had, unbeknown to Emma, insisted that she look her best for the embarrassing task of facing him again after all these years.
Emma picked up one of the photos on her dressing table and stared at the wedding group. Even though it was ridiculous, even though it was only a photo, still she blushed as she looked into Zarios’s serious dark eyes.
She’d been nineteen…
A young and extremely naive nineteen-year-old, she had been dressed up like a vast pink blancmange, as bridesmaid at Jake’s wedding.
Zarios had been invited. He’d only been in Australia a few weeks back then, and his accent had been so heavy and rich Emma had struggled to understand his words—except she could have listened to him talk for ever. Put simply, he had been the most stunning man she had ever seen. The whole wedding had passed in a dizzy blur until finally, dutifully, he had danced with her. And because it had been Zarios D’Amilo holding her, and she’d had rather too much champagne, Emma had promptly fallen in lust.
Shoving the photo in a drawer, she turned it face-down and covered it with the drawer’s
contents, then slammed it closed. The last thing she wanted was for Zarios to see it—for Zarios to recall her exquisitely embarrassing mistake. But even with the photo safely tucked away Emma was struggling to beat her blush, struggling to banish the image of the two of them dancing that night. Zarios had lowered his head to say something and stupidly, blindly, she’d misinterpreted the action, closed her eyes and, lips poised, waited expectantly for him to kiss her.
Even six years on she burnt with the shame of the memory.
Could still hear his deep, throaty laugh as he’d realised what she thought he had intended.
‘Come back when you’re all grown up…’ He’d smiled at her and patted her bottom as the music had ended, merrily sending her on her childish way. ‘Anyway, my father would never forgive me.’
He’d probably forgotten, Emma consoled herself.
With all the women he’d dated, as if he’d remember a teenager’s clumsy attempt at extracting a kiss. Anyway, she was six years older now and light years wiser—she could see a man like Zarios exactly for what he was: a player.
She certainly wouldn’t make the same mistake again; she’d be aloof and distant, Emma decided, practising an aloof and distant look in the mirror. Maybe she should wear her hair up? Emma thought, piling her long blonde hair on her head and seeing if it made a difference, then deciding against. Maybe she should just make a joke about it, laugh the whole thing off…
Maybe she should tidy her room!
Her mother joined her, and the embroidered quilt was hastily replaced with crisp white linen as Lydia ran around the room removing stray bras, mascara wands and tampon boxes. Folded towels and washcloths were placed at the end of the bed, along with a little bar of Lydia’s expensive soap, and a jug of water and a glass was put beside the bed, covered with a little linen cloth.
Bedded for Passion, Purchased for Pregnancy Page 1