by Penny Jordan
‘Probably from the first time you touched me. I told myself it was merely your experience coupled with too much to drink, but deep down inside I know it wasn’t, and then you got at my part as Hero and I hated you as I’d never hated anyone before. You see, I thought you were trying to trap me into making a fool of myself so that you could dismiss me from Much Ado and your life, with one doubly humiliating blow.’
‘When in reality I was trying to tie you to me with as many strings as I could, praying that in time I could make you love me. I already knew you wanted me,’ he murmured, enjoying her blush. ‘But as you were ten years younger than me and still a virgin I couldn’t simply use sexual magnetism to trap you into a marriage you might later regret. But every time I thought I was making headway I came up against a brick wall.’
‘Because I thought you were using me to make Beverley jealous!’
‘Didn’t it occur to you ever that if I was I was using pretty drastic action?’ he asked. ‘And you still haven’t told me you love me,’ he reminded her.
‘Don’t you know?’
‘How should I? Because you responded to me physically?’ he mocked gently. ‘It was like wine to a man yearning for water. God, I wanted you, but I was terrified of losing my head; getting drunk on the wine of physical desire and frightening you away for ever. I want your love as well as your desire, Kirsty, and permanently—I’d never settle for anything less.’
‘You won’t have to.’
The shy words fell into a pool of silence which lasted so long that Kirsty thought after all she had misunderstood him and he didn’t love her, until she looked up into his face and saw the raw hunger mingled with a relief that found an aching response inside her.
‘Dear God,’ he exclaimed piously, ‘I feel as though, having attempted to climb it for years, I’ve suddenly reached the peak of Everest, and I can see the whole world spread out below it.’
‘Was it worthwhile?’ Kirsty asked mischievously.
‘I feel so good I can hardly believe it’s true. Perhaps you might convince me?’
Shyly at first and then with growing confidence, Kirsty slid her arms round him, lifting her face for his kiss. It was fiercely intense, burning away all the doubts and misunderstandings, and it left her breathless and weak with desire.
‘I want to make at least one thing clear.’ Drew was releasing her reluctantly. ‘There was never anything between Beverley and me of a romantic nature. She wanted to back one of my plays—that was the reason we were meeting in Winton. She wanted to keep it a secret, but I had second thoughts—I wasn’t so desperate for a backer that I needed to sell myself in exchange,’ he told her frankly. ‘Oh, and by the way—that crit which started the whole thing off?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m afraid I have a confession to make.’
Kirsty waited.
‘I didn’t actually write it. Oh, I saw the play and made a few notes—you were no worse than the others and obviously very inexperienced; the person who wrote the crit from my notes got the names mixed up. The person intended to bear the full brunt of my criticism was the lead actress. I hear they dropped her from the play when it reached New York, but by the time I realised about the mistake it was too late to rectify it. That’s why I asked Simon to give you a chance—although I must admit my reasons weren’t entirely altruistic. I knew you’d make an excellent Hero, but I also wanted to keep you where I could see you. When Beverley announced that we’d been sleeping together, I made the most of it. I only wish she’d been right,’ he added throatily. ‘These last weeks have been hellish frustrating, especially when every time I closed my eyes all I could see was you.’
‘They haven’t exactly been blissful for me either,’ Kirsty told him shakily. ‘I loved you so much…’
‘Show me.’
It was half an hour later before Drew reluctantly released her. Her small moan of protest was smothered by his mouth, before he pushed her away gently.
‘Having waited this long, I think I can wait until you become Mrs Chalmers. Don’t look like that—it won’t be very long, I promise you, and now we’d better get back to that damned party before your father comes after me with his shotgun!’
* * *
It was early in the morning before the party finally broke up. Kirsty would far rather have spent the time alone with Drew, but she acknowledged the wisdom of returning to join the others. He had been surprised and then delighted when she told him that once they were married she would probably give up the stage, apart from the odd temporary role, perhaps, filling in when vacancies came along.
‘Not entirely, I hope,’ he had counselled her. ‘I want a partner, Kirsty, and I want you to be happy.’
‘I’ll never have the dedication to get to the top,’ Kirsty told him honestly, ‘and I no longer want to.’
‘Kirsty, I’ve got a bone to pick with you,’ Chelsea interrupted, wandering over to join them, her arm linked with her husband’s. ‘You told me you weren’t going to fall in love until you were at least twenty-six,’ she reminded her niece, ‘and now I won’t have enough time.’
‘What for?’
‘Why to produce a little flower girl, of course,’ she grinned. ‘Still, there is John Charles…’
‘Not unless he accompanies her down the aisle in his pram,’ Drew put in firmly. ‘I’m not waiting long—and certainly not long enough for him to learn to walk. I couldn’t,’ he added huskily, with a look for Kirsty that melted her bones to fluid.
‘Something tells me we’re de trop,’ Slade murmured sotto voce, ‘and besides…’
‘Besides what?’ his wife enquired as he led her discreetly away.
‘I’ve just realised how long it is since I’ve been alone with you, Mrs Ashford,’ he murmured wickedly. ‘Drew and Kirsty don’t have the monopoly on romance, you know.’
‘I don’t think they’d agree with you, somehow.’ They both looked across the room to where Kirsty’s head rested on Drew’s shoulder.
‘No second thoughts?’ Drew asked.
‘Just one.’
Kirsty felt him stiffen and relented immediately, delighting in the power she had over him.
‘Mmm. I’m wondering if I made the right decision allowing you to bring me here. Oh, Drew,’ she told him, her eyes suddenly darkening, ‘just think—if we’d stayed at the farmhouse, by now…’
‘We’d have been lovers,’ Drew finished for her. ‘A special licence and soon we can be. I want it as much as you, Kirsty—more, perhaps,’ he added wryly, ‘but I want you as my wife; tied to me so firmly that you can’t change your mind.’
‘I won’t,’ she promised against his lips, joy flooding her heart and mind. He loved her. Really loved her!
He started to laugh.
‘What’s the matter?’ Kirsty demanded half fearfully.
‘Nothing. I’m just thinking that Shakespeare, were he to have witnessed our behaviour these last few weeks, would probably have called it Much Ado About Nothing—don’t you agree?’
She was still laughing when he silenced the sound with his mouth.
* * * * *
ISBN: 978-1-408-99932-5
A SUDDEN ENGAGEMENT
© 1983 Penny Jordan
Published in Great Britain 2015
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal comp
uter, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ®are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk
The Suave Sicilian: Married for Revenge
Stefan Bianco is a man with one thing on his mind. Revenge. And the last person he expects to see hanging on the arm of his nemesis? The stunning Clio Norwood—the only woman to ever resist his near-lethal brand of seduction.
Clio’s life has become a mere shadow of what it once was. But Stefan’s searing gaze returns her to the fiery, passionate woman he once knew. Clio has the key to his revenge, and Stefan has the key to her freedom…but only if he agrees to her shocking proposal!
The world’s sexiest billionaires finally say “I do”!
The Sicilian’s Surprise Wife
Tara Pammi
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 ONE
SHE FELT LIKE GLASS, stretched so tightly that a gentle tap could shatter her forever.
Clutching her wrap tight in her fingers, Clio Norwood looked around for her fiancé, Jackson.
Ashley, his secretary, who had arrived unannounced and interrupted their meeting with a client Jackson was determined to add to his cap, was nowhere to be seen either. Something distasteful hovered in the back of Clio’s mind, as if waiting to strike.
With the small get-together of the ultrarich in full swing atop the Empire State Building, Manhattan glittered around them.
Usually, the vibrant, unrelenting pulse of the city that had become home to Clio over the past decade filled her with unending spirit for life. It had kept her going even when she had been struggling after graduation from Columbia University. And had helped her swallow her failures and her naive, broken expectations of making it by herself in the city that never slept.
But tonight, even New York couldn’t puncture the bubble of dread that had begun to pervade her of late.
Jackson had returned last night after three weeks from an overseas trip and had been in a stinker of a mood as he liked to call it, because he had missed out on some real estate deal.
They had barely exchanged a word all day today as she had been at work. When she had returned to the posh flat they had been living in for the past year, he had commanded her to get ready for this party tonight.
Commanded and not asked, much less requested. A pattern that was becoming more and more obvious to Clio. Still, she knew the stress of his business, understood the driving need to make one’s mark in the world, so she had given in.
Even if she was still bone tired from the out-of-season flu she had had a week ago.
Tonight, Jackson needed her help to convince Mrs. Alcott, an old friend of her parents’, to hire him as her personal investment banker. With her estates in Britain and substantial family business, Jane Alcott would be a coup for Jackson’s already flourishing career.
But they hadn’t even greeted Jane properly before Ashley had approached Jackson with a desperate glint in her eye.
Loath to create a scene, Clio had clenched her teeth and smiled serenely even as she saw the curious looks and stifled whispers among Jackson’s clients’ wives and girlfriends. Even the utter kindness of Jane’s question if everything was all right between Jackson and her had been unbearable.
What was going on with him? What was going on between them?
Because Clio knew with a nauseating clarity that Ashley was just the tip of the iceberg for what was going on between her and Jackson.
Suddenly, it felt blatantly scandalous of Ashley to drag him away with a barely disguised proprietary claim on him.
Squaring her shoulders, Clio let her long stride eat up the space. She hated creating a scene, hated the pitying and speculative glances that had been coming her way far too frequently the past few months, but she had endured it all silently.
Tonight, she had had enough. She stilled as a tall, commanding figure came into her focus.
Clio blinked, the impact of those jade green eyes and generous but scornful mouth instantaneous.
Stefan Bianco.
Her first instinct was to head for the elevator before he could see her, leave the party. Even her parents, with their disapprovingly stifling silence, would have been welcome. She didn’t want the man she had known a long time ago, one of her oldest friends, to see her tonight.
Stefan, Christian, Rocco and Zayed made up the Columbia Four—the four young men she had known when they had all been at university together, who had turned into supersuccessful, ultrawealthy, sought-after bachelors for whom the world was a playground and its most beautiful women were playthings.
But before they had all become successful in their own right, she had known them, had seen them every day for four years, and had shared her deepest fears and hopes with them.
And the fact that she wanted to run away from one of the few people who had genuinely known her, had understood her, left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Was she that much of a failure, then? Was she running away from Stefan or was she running away from what she had become?
* * *
Stefan Bianco looked around at the glittering cityscape of Manhattan and gritted his jaw tight.
The vibrant pulse of it, the memories from almost a decade ago everywhere he looked, his own sheer naïveté when he had studied at Columbia with his other three friends—the memories rose up around him like a specter that wouldn’t let him breathe easy even for a few minutes.
And yet, as the head of a multimillion luxury real estate company, New York was unavoidable even though he tried to reduce the number of times he came here.
But this time, he had a reason for being at this exact party, on top of the Empire State Building.
It was high time he found a way to stop Jackson Smith.
The memory of his executive assistant Marco’s whitened face as he lay against the hospital bed after his suicide attempt, Marco’s five-year-old daughter’s chubby face wreathed in confusion as she asked Stefan about what had happened to her papa…
The powerlessness he had felt was like acid in his stomach.
Jackson had swindled Marco out of his savings, pushed him to bankruptcy, until his assistant had lost everything, had seen no way out…
The eviscerating self-doubt, the sense of being an utter failure, of letting down everyone that had counted on him—looking into Marco’s eyes had been like looking at his own reflection of a few years ago.
Guilt corroded his insides. If only he had found a way to stop Jackson years ago when he had swindled Stefan himself…
It had been the worst time of his life—Serena’s betrayal, h
is guilt driving him to not return to his parents in Sicily and the around-the-clock hours he had worked to secure a deal…
He had lost the little he had made because of Jackson’s treachery. He would have been in Marco’s place if it hadn’t been for his friends Rocco, Christian and Zayed anchoring him, if he hadn’t already been woken up to the reality of life by Serena, the woman who had professed to love him.
This time Jackson needed to be stopped, whatever it took.
As though Stefan thinking Jackson’s name invoked the very devil himself, the American laughed in a group not two feet from where Stefan stood.
A short blonde, dressed in jeans and a tight T-shirt, dragged Jackson away, interrupting the conversation. His craggy face tight with tension, Jackson leaned toward another woman in the group, a tall redhead, and whispered something.
An apology, Stefan assumed. That didn’t quite work, given the way the woman flinched and turned her head away. More curious than ever, Stefan looked on as the woman’s bare shoulders stiffened, bones jutting out of her shoulders.
Everything about her posture screamed tension and something more. Jackson let himself be dragged away even as the tall woman stood ramrod straight, her head held high and so perfectly still that Stefan wondered if she would break if someone blew a wisp of breath her way.
Her face wreathed in shadows, there was a quiet dignity to her. And then he noticed her hair. Even tucked away from that angular face and scrunched tight into an elaborate knot, that red hair was as unmistakable as the narrow, upturned nose and stubborn tilt of the chin.
That face would be perfectly oval and her eyes green, like glittering emeralds. When she smiled, one corner of her mouth turned upward in a crooked slant.
Clio Norwood, the one woman he had never tamed.
Every cell inside him went on high alert, as if he had been infused with a charge of live current. What the hell was Clio doing with Jackson Smith?
There had been intimacy in the way Jackson had bent closer to her and whispered something, in the way his open palm had caressed her bare arm.