The Billionaire's Defiant Acquisition

by Sharon Kendrick

  His mouth gave a flicker of a smile. ‘You’re missing the point, Amber.’

  ‘Am I?’ Her voice went very quiet. So quiet it was almost a whisper. ‘Yet you were the one who taught me that no sex was bad sex, unless one person happened to object to it.’

  ‘Yes, I know I did. But I lost control.’ He felt a lump in his throat. ‘For a moment I saw red. I felt consumed by something which seemed to consume me. It was as if I was powerless to stop what was happening and I didn’t like that.’

  ‘So what? Everyone loses control some time in their lives—especially after a blistering row. What’s the matter, Conall—did you think you were going to run off to find a handy canister of paint and start spraying graffiti all over the walls?’ She gave an impatient shake of her head. ‘I don’t have a degree in psychology, but I’ve seen enough therapists in my teenage years to realise that what you call staying in control means never letting any emotion out—so that when you do, it just explodes. So why not do what everyone else does and just let yourself feel stuff?’

  Her words made sense and deep down he knew it, but did he have the courage to admit that? The courage to reach inside himself for something he’d buried for as long as he could remember? Because yes, that something was emotion. His mother had been uptight, he recognised that now—she’d allowed herself to be defined by a youthful indiscretion, so keen never to repeat it that she had locked away all her feelings and desires. And hadn’t he done the same?

  There had been other factors, he recognised that, too. He’d grown up in a house where he’d never fitted in. A house where his intellect and natural athleticism had made him physically and mentally superior to the men who ruled the Cadogan household—but their wealth and power had allowed them to patronise him. Amber had accused him of having a chip on his shoulder right at the beginning of their relationship—and she had been right.

  But he’d learnt his lesson. Or tried to. He had come here today with only one thing on his mind, and that thing was her.

  He looked at her. ‘What if I told you that I agree with every word you say?’

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘And what’s the catch?’

  ‘No catch. If you can accept that I’ve been a fool. That I’ve been arrogant and stubborn and short-sighted in nearly letting the most wonderful thing which has ever happened to me slip through my fingers. And that is you. You I want. And you I miss.’ His voice deepened, but there was a break in it. ‘Because I love you, Amber, and I want you back.’

  She shook her head, struggling a little as she got out of the deckchair. ‘But you don’t do love,’ she said. ‘Remember?’

  ‘I didn’t do a lot of things. If you want the truth, I didn’t really live properly until I met you.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong—to the outside world I had everything. I made more money than I knew what to do with. I ate in fine restaurants and owned amazing houses, with great works of art adorning my walls. I could travel to any place in the world and stay in the best hotels, and date pretty much any woman I wanted.’ He stopped speaking and for a few seconds he seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

  ‘But I don’t want any other woman but you because everyone pales in comparison to you, Amber,’ he said, and his voice was raw. ‘I thought you represented everything I didn’t want—but it turns out you’re everything I do. You’re sharp. Irreverent. Adaptable. You make me laugh and, yes, you frustrate the hell out of me, too. But you always challenge me—and I’m the kind of man who needs a challenge. And so...’

  ‘So?’ she echoed a little breathlessly as he walked across the scorched brown grass and took her in his arms.

  ‘We did a lot of stuff in public—for the public. But this is private. This is just for us. I have something I want to give you, but only if you can tell me something—and I want complete honesty from you.’ He swallowed. ‘And that is whether you love me back.’

  Amber savoured the moment and made him wait for a few seconds—she felt almost as if it was her duty to do so. Because Conall had made her feel very insecure in his time and he needed to know that they shouldn’t put each other through this kind of thing, ever again. But she couldn’t hide the smile which had begun to bloom on her face. It spread and spread, filling her with a delight and a sunny kind of joy.

  ‘Yes, I love you,’ she said simply. ‘I love you more than I can ever say, my tough and masterful Irishman.’

  ‘Then I guess I’d better do this properly.’ He glanced around, but, although the garden was deserted except for a dejected-looking starling pecking at the bare ground, they were still visible to the bedroom windows of the adjoining houses.

  ‘Is there anywhere more private we could go?’

  Breathlessly she nodded and laced her fingers in his, leading him up the rickety old stairs until they reached the tiny box room which was her bedroom. She watched his face as he looked around, seeing disbelief become admiration and then avid curiosity. He walked across the bare floorboards to the painting she was halfway through, and stared very hard at the vibrant splashes of yellow and green, edged with black.

  Turning round, he looked at her. ‘You’ve been painting,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice was a little unsteady. ‘And I have you to thank for that. I realised that you were right. That you didn’t say things you didn’t mean—and your praise has somehow managed to resurrect my crushed self-belief.’ She smiled. ‘I may never be able to sell any of these—I may not even want to. But you made me believe in myself, Conall—and that’s worth more to me than anything.’

  ‘I’m hoping this might be worth something to you, too—in purely romantic terms, rather than monetary ones,’ he said gruffly as he produced a small box from the back pocket of his jeans.

  And to Amber’s shock he went down onto one knee as he held up a ring with an emerald at its centre—big as a green ice cube—surrounded by lots of diamonds. ‘Will you marry me again, Amber? Only in a church this time. Properly. Surrounded by family and friends?’

  Amber felt like a princess as she stared at the glittering ring, even though Conall had once reprimanded her for behaving like one. But this was different and she suddenly realised why. She was his princess and she always would be. He’d changed her in many ways, but she’d helped change him, too. He’d tamed her—a bit—and somehow she’d managed to tame him right back.

  She drew in a deep breath. ‘Yes, Conall, I’ll marry you again today, tomorrow, next year or next week. I’ll marry you any way you want, because you have given me back something I didn’t realise I’d lost—and that something was myself,’ she said, and now she didn’t bother to hide the tears which were welling up in her eyes, because how could she berate him for not showing emotion and then do exactly the same herself? Even so, it was a couple of minutes until she had stopped crying enough to be able to speak. ‘You made me realise that there was something inside the empty shell of a person I’d become,’ she whispered. ‘And I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart. It’s one of the many reasons why I love you with every cell of my body, my darling. And why I always will.’

  EPILOGUE

  OUTSIDE, THE NIGHT was dark and the snow tumbled down like swirling pieces of cotton wool. Conall looked at the layer of white on the ground which was steadily growing thicker. In a few short hours it had transformed the Notting Hill garden into a winter wonderland.

  ‘I really think...’ he turned away from the window and walked over to where his wife was just finishing brushing her hair ‘...that we ought to think about leaving.’

  Amber put the brush down and looked at him, a lazy smile on her face. ‘In a minute. There’s plenty of time—even with the snow. The table isn’t booked until eight. Kiss me first.’

  ‘You, Mrs Devlin, are a terror for wanting kisses.’

  Her eyes danced in response. ‘And you’re n
ot, I suppose?’

  ‘I confess to being rather partial to them,’ he admitted, pushing her hair away from her face and bending his head towards her, kissing her in a way which never failed to satisfy and frustrate him in equal measure. He never kissed her without wanting her and he couldn’t ever imagine not wanting her. They couldn’t get enough of each other in every way that mattered, and he thanked God for the day he’d walked into her life and seen her lying fast asleep amid the debris of a long-forgotten party.

  His vow to marry her properly had remained true and deeply important to him and their wedding had taken place in a beautiful church not far from their country house. He remembered slowly turning his head to look at Amber as she walked down the aisle, his heart clenching with love and pride. She’d looked like a dream in her simple white dress, fresh flowers holding in place a long veil which floated to the ground behind her. As Conall had remarked to her quietly at the reception afterwards, if there was any woman on the planet who was qualified to wear virginal white, it was her. And when challenged on the subject by his feisty wife, he agreed that it gave him a feeling of utter contentment to know he was the only man she had ever been intimate with. And although she might have teased him about his old-fashioned attitude, deep down he knew she felt the same.

  Ambrose had returned from his ashram in time for the ceremony, bronzed a deep colour, with clear eyes and looking noticeably thinner. He’d announced that he’d fallen in love with his yoga teacher and she was planning on joining him in England, just as soon as she got her visa sorted. Amber had briefly raised her eyebrows, but told Conall afterwards that she had learnt you had to live and let live, and that nobody was ever really in a position to judge anyone else. And Conall had opened up her mind to the realisation that her father wasn’t all bad—he just had flaws and weaknesses like everyone else. They all did.

  And families could be complicated. She knew that, but she also knew it felt better when they were together, rather than apart. She’d encouraged Conall to trace some of his mother’s relatives, discovering that the world had moved on and nobody was remotely bothered by the fact that a grown man had been born not knowing who his father was. Several of his aunts were still alive and he had lots of cousins who were eager to meet him, which was one of the reasons why they’d chosen Ireland as their honeymoon destination.

  Her half-brother Rafe even made it back from Australia in time for the wedding—causing something of a stir among the women present. Almost as much as the guest of honour—Prince Luc—who could be overheard telling Serena that he had played matchmaker to the happy couple.

  The Prince had bought the Wheeler portrait and it now hung next to its sister painting in his Mediterranean palace and next month Conall and Amber were visiting the island of Mardovia, to see them together—at the Prince’s invitation. Amber was very excited about the prospect of speaking Italian in front of her husband, very aware that it turned him on to listen to her saying stuff he simply didn’t understand! Just as she was excited by the part-time art course she’d started to attend in London, where her tutor encouraged her distinctive style of painting just as much as her husband did.

  But tonight they were going to Clos Maggiore—their favourite restaurant—where they’d had the furious row which had been such a flashpoint in their relationship, but where tonight they would sit happily beneath the boughs of white blossom, as contented as any of the other couples who ate there. And Amber would refuse her customary glass of pink champagne and tell Conall what she suspected he would be delighted to hear, even though it had come as something of a shock to her when she’d found out. She thought they’d been so careful...

  She looked up into his shuttered eyes. Would he be a good father? A lump rose up in her throat. The very best. Just as he was the very best husband, lover and friend a woman could ever want.

  ‘I love you, Conall Devlin,’ she whispered.

  His eyes crinkled into a smile—a faint question in their midnight depths. ‘I love you, too, Amber Devlin.’

  And suddenly she didn’t want to wait until they were in the restaurant, gorgeous though it was. This was private, just for them, just like the time when he’d knelt on the bare floorboards of her tiny room in Bath and produced an emerald ring as big as a green ice cube. Feeling stupidly emotional, she tightened her arms around his neck and brushed her lips over his as the excitement grew and grew inside her. ‘And this might be a good time to tell you my news...’

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Sharon Kendrick

  THE SHEIKH’S CHRISTMAS CONQUEST

  CLAIMED FOR MAKAROV’S BABY

  THE RUTHLESS GREEK’S RETURN

  CARRYING THE GREEK’S HEIR

  CHRISTMAS IN DA CONTI’S BED

  Available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE SICILIAN’S STOLEN SON by Lynne Graham.

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  The Sicilian’s Stolen Son

  by Lynne Graham

  CHAPTER ONE

  LUCIANO VITALE’S LONDON LAWYER, Charles Bennett, greeted him the moment he stepped off his private jet. The Sicilian billionaire and the professional exchanged polite small talk. Luciano stalked like a lion that had already picked up the scent of prey in the air, impatience and innate aggression girding every step.

  He had tracked her down...at last. The thieving child stealer, Jemima Barber. There were no adequate words to convey his loathing for the woman who had stolen his son and then tried to sell the baby back to him like a product. It galled him even more that he would not be able to bring the full force of the law down on Jemima. Not only did he not want his private life laid open to the world’s media again, but he was also all too aware of the likely long-term repercussions of such a vengeful act. Hadn’t he suffered enough at the hands of the press while his wife was alive? These days Luciano very much preferred the shadows to the full glare of daylight and the endless libellous headlines that had followed his every move throughout his marriage.

  Even so, Luciano still walked tall and every female head in his vicinity turned to appreciate his passing. He stood six feet four inches tall, with the build of a natural athlete, not to mention the stunning good looks he had been born with. Not a single flaw marred his
golden skin, straight nose or the high cheekbones and hollows that combined to lend him the haunting beauty of a fallen angel. He cared not at all for his beautiful face, though, indeed had learned to see it as a flaw that attracted unwelcome attention.

  As it was, it was intolerable to him that in spite of taking every precaution he had almost lost a second child. Instantly he reprimanded himself for making that assumption. He could not know for certain that the boy was his until the DNA testing had been done. It was perfectly possible that the surrogate mother he had chosen for the role had slept with other men at the time of the artificial insemination. She had broken every other clause of the agreement they had signed, so why not that one as well?

  But, if the baby was his as he hoped, would it take after its lying, cheating mother? Was there such a thing as bad genes? He refused to accept that. His own life stood testament to that belief because he was the last in a long ruthless line of men, famed for their contempt for the law and their cruelty. There could be no taint in an innocent child, merely inclinations that could be encouraged or discouraged. He reminded himself that on paper his son’s mother had appeared eminently respectable. The only child of elderly, financially indebted parents, she had presented herself as a trained infant teacher with a love of growing vegetables and cookery. Unfortunately her true interests, which he had only discovered after she had run from the hospital with the child, had proved to be a good deal less respectable. She was a sociopathic promiscuous thrill-seeker who overspent, gambled and stole without conscience when she ran out of money.

  Time and time again he had blamed himself for his decision not to physically meet with the mother of his child, not to personalise in any way what was essentially a business arrangement. Would he have recognised her true nature if he had? He had not expected her to want to see him either, when he came to collect the child from the hospital after the birth, but in the event he had arrived there to learn that she had already vanished, leaving behind only a note that spelt out her financial demands. By then she had found out how rich he was and only greed had motivated her.