Rakanti's Indecent Proposition

by Clare Connelly

  She laughed. “God, I’m so nervous.”

  “That’s good. Everyone is before they perform.”

  “Even you?” She prompted sceptically.

  “Are you kidding me?” He twitched the curtain aside for her to peer out. “Look at this. You’re about to play for a packed Carnegie Hall. There hasn’t been as much interest in a classical pianist since I came on the scene.” He winked, earning a tight laugh from her. “Use your nerves, Ellie. Use them to your advantage.”

  She nodded.

  “You’ve got this.”

  “I know.” And the second she walked on stage, she did. It was just her, the piano, and the music. The audience ceased to matter. The press. The guy who’d come from SONY and was hounding her to sign up to their classical label and release an album. That was just flotsam in the ether.

  A single spotlight flooded the stage.

  Elle was radiant.

  Christos could barely contain his love and pride as he watched her play. He always loved her. For three years he’d woken up every morning and made good on his promise to cherish and adore her. Of course they argued from time to time, but Christos never allowed them to sleep without resolving whatever issue had been troubling them. Elle was his match. In every way.

  And with every day that passed he grew more and more convinced that he’d won the lottery the night he’d met her.

  But in that moment, while she weaved magic through song, he could only watch, transfixed, like every other member of the two thousand strong audience. She wasn’t his lover in that moment. She was everyone’s. She was an entity of force, a spirit of nature and culture, humming amongst them.

  She was a gift.

  He sat immobile; completely frozen, for the entire performance. Finally, when the last piece began, he exhaled. He knew it was the finale because he’d heard her practicing for months. But he’d never heard it like this. The keys were loaded with emotion, each and every one.

  The final note struck and the audience was silent. Then, as one, it erupted, standing and applauding. The noise was deafening. Christos couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He stood, and her eyes went straight to his. He understood her relief, and also her fear.

  The gift she’d nurtured all of her twenty four years was no longer a secret.

  She was the public’s, and the public would want more and more of her.

  And he would be with her, by her side, supporting her, encouraging her, being whatever she needed.

  “She was amazing,” Filip said in his ear and Christos could only nod.

  “I had no idea,” Caroline shook her head. “I mean, obviously I knew she was talented, but …” Filip’s girlfriend’s statement trailed off as her eyes were drawn to the stage. Andre had joined Elle on stage. Rather than detract from her moment, he stood aside and clapped, then waved his hands in her direction.

  Elle bowed, then walked to Andre. He wrapped her in a hug and together they waved towards the crowd.

  When she stepped off-stage, she was shaking like a leaf. “Did that just happen?”

  He laughed. “Kiddo, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Miss Bradley?”

  Elle lifted her eyes. A tall man in a tuxedo with thick blonde hair was smiling at her. “That was magnificent.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Andre shook his head with amusement. “She’s got no idea who you are.”

  “I’m sorry,” she blushed.

  “Don’t be. I like to keep a low profile.”

  “Elle,” Andre said, “This is Kenneth Morton.”

  Her jaw dropped. “CEO of Morton Music.”

  “The same,” Kenneth grinned. “I’d love to take a few minutes of your time later tonight.”

  “Oh, um, sure. Of course.”

  The din of the applause wasn’t dying down and Andre winked at her. “You’re not done yet.” With a gentle nudge, he pushed her back for another bow. She took the piano, barely registering that Christos’s seat was now empty.

  Slowly she began to play. And this time, she chose a Tori Amos song. A modern classic, she thought to herself, as her fingers moved over the keyboard. The audience was hushed, and again, when she finished, the applause was deafening.

  She left the stage wondering if this was really her life.

  It was, and her dreams were falling so perfectly into place that she was barely surprised to find their apartment covered in flowers upon their return, later that night.

  “You did this?” She spun around to face Christos, her eyes enormous. Roses, tulips and lillies covered almost every surface. She breathed in their fragrance. “Thank you. It’s stunning.”

  “I was so proud of you tonight.” His words were thick with emotion. “I was nervous for you because I so badly wanted it to go well. And you killed it. You were sensational.”

  “You were nervous?” She shook her head. “I spent the last five minutes before I went on stage thinking of ways I could get out of it.”

  He grinned. “I’m very pleased you didn’t.”

  “Me too.”

  “You were a runaway success. At this rate, I’m going to be asking you to finance my next venture.”

  She laughed. “Hardly.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “It is nice to know that I can contribute around here.” She ran her finger over one of the crystal ducks that the decorator had installed. “I mean, maybe the next thingo like this can be on me.”

  He burst out laughing. “I don’t think we need anymore thingos like that. Weren’t we going to get rid of it? It’s ugly as hell.”

  “It’s growing on me.”

  “Oh, good. Kind of like I did.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. The duck can at least double up as a paperweight. What are you good for?” She wrapped her arms around him, linking them at his back. “I mean, apart from the obvious.”

  Christos put his arms around his wife’s narrow waist, and stared down at her grinning face. “Do you remember what I promised when you agreed to live here with me?”

  “Not to call me a whore?” She teased, arching one perfectly-shaped brow in her face.

  His nod was droll. “Other than that?”

  She bit down on her lower lip and shook her head. “What is it?”

  He laced his fingers through hers and lifted her hand to his lips. “For three years you have given my life purpose. Do you realise that you are on my mind all of the time? Your happiness is my priority in life.”

  “And I’ve never been happier,” she said seriously.

  “I hope with all my heart I can make you just a little happier,” he kissed her forehead softly and then released her. Elle frowned with a hint of confusion that only deepened when he knelt to the ground. Blinding clarity burst through her and suddenly she felt tears gliding down her flushed cheeks.

  “You know what you mean to me. When I think of how easily we could have not met, or not been brought together as we were, I am filled with dread. I fell in love with you the first time we met and I have loved you ever since. I promised you three years ago that I would not show my love for you with expensive presents and gifts, no matter how tempting I find it. So this is it. My single gift to you, which I hope you will agree to wear, for the rest of your life.”

  Elle looked down just as he slid an enormous diamond onto her hand. It glistened like ice on her finger. “It would have blinded my audience tonight,” she murmured, amused that this was her first thought.

  “Do you not like it?” He stared at the rock wondering if it was too ostentatious for her.

  “I like it,” she contradicted, lifting her hand to wipe her cheeks. “But I would have been just as happy with a piece of string. I don’t care about diamonds but I care a whole lot about marrying you.”

  “I love you,” he said simply, standing and pulling her to him.

  “I know.”

  He laughed. “You know, Elle Bradley, I think you are always going to have me just a little
on the back-foot, no?”

  “For as long as we both shall live,” she agreed, grinning as she pressed her lips to his.

  And all Christos Rakanti could think was that for all his empire and wealth, the woman in his arms was the truest asset in all the world.

  THE END

  IF you enjoyed RAKANTI’S RUTHLESS SEDUCTION, don’t forget to head over to Amazon and leave a review. Thanks, CC.x

  Following is an excerpt from MARRYING FOR HIS ROYAL HEIR, another sizzling New Release from Clare Connelly.

  MARRYING FOR HIS ROYAL HEIR

  Clare Connelly

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.

  All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.

  The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.

  First published 2016

  (c) Clare Connelly

  Photo Credit: dollarphotoclub.com/

  Contact Clare:

  http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk

  Blog: http://clarewriteslove.wordpress.com/

  Email: Clareconnelly@outlook.com

  Follow Clare Connelly on facebook for all the latest.

  Join Clare’s Newsletter to stay up to date on all the latest CC news. http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk/subscribe.html

  PROLOGUE

  Change has a nasty habit of sneaking up on you. It can come right out of nowhere, blindsiding those who had not thought to brace for its arrival. Sweeping change, devastating change, loss and death. These events arrive unheralded, their very nature ensuring things will never again be as they once were.

  As though a line had been marked in the desert sands of Ishala, change arrived unexpectedly, placing normality on one side and yawning grief on the other. The kingdom mourned for this change was as unwelcome as it was inevitable.

  She was dead.

  And now it was the small, mundane things that were the cruellest haunts. The way she’d flicked her fingers against her coltish knees when she’d been lost in thought. Her habit of singing nursery rhymes to herself even as a grown woman. The way she’d run as fast as the wind, so that her long, dark hair flowed behind her as a super-hero cape. Her love of books and ability to sleep through the loudest interruptions. The hatred of their desert heat that had led her to seek comfort in faraway climates.

  He had only these simple memories. A collection of behaviours that would not mean a thing to anyone else. But to Sheikh Malakhi Siti-Omari they breathed life back into his sister – her memory, at least.

  And with her body lifeless now for all eternity, memories were the only consolation he had.

  * * *

  She hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year.

  In truth, if she’d known the strange cacophony of numbers that had displayed on her screen heralded his intrusion, rather than a welcome phone call from her brother or beloved sister-in-law, Evie might have avoided answering.

  Might have? She caught herself on the errant thought. Definitely would have. Sheikh Malakhi Siti-Omari, with his brooding eyes, inherent cynicism and unmistakable arrogance, was a man she didn’t ever want to see again.

  “What do you want?” The question was brusque, even for how their relationship stood.

  “Where are you?” His voice. Oh, his voice. It was an invitation and it had the same effect on her now as it had then. Those spiced words with their exotic twists made her stomach roll uncomfortably; her insides clenched with longing.

  “Why? Are you planning on coming over for tea?” Evie forced the words to sound scathing, though suspected he could see past it. Her bright green eyes fixed to the photograph of Dave and a heavily-pregnant Sabra that was stuck to her fridge. Taken about twelve months ago it showed clearly the strength of their relationship.

  “No.” There was a pause and it crackled with poisonous tension. Evie squeezed her eyes shut. The less she had to do with this man the better – for her sanity’s sake.

  “Look, Malakhi,” she muttered darkly. “I’m in the middle of something.” A guilty flush stole across her cheekbones as she thought of the romance novel she was halfway through reading. “Can you get to the point?”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.” She straightened her shoulders. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”

  “There is something --,”

  A loud noise came from her front door. “Is that you?” She asked in disbelief, shaking her head as she crossed the room.

  “Is what me?” He was impatient, a dark warning frayed the edges of the question.

  “At the door?”

  “Stop.” The word rang with the authority that was not just his birthright but also his bearing. “Do not answer it.”

  Evie wasn’t usually so difficult and prickly, but something about Malakhi made her contrary to the extreme. Something? She knew exactly what it was. The night they’d made out and almost had sex.

  Determined to push that memory into the recesses of her brain, she wrenched the door inwards. Her spirit of jubilant defiance gave way almost immediately to confusion as dozens of photographers, littering the narrow staircase to her home, began to clamour forward like a tidal wave of invasion.

  Their voices rose as one and above the din she could discern only fragments of words. Crash. Brother. Ishala. Helicopter.

  She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, her auburn hair a spectacular cloud of colour framing her now-pale face. “Malakhi?” Her heart was hammering in her chest but she didn’t feel it above the squirming ache in her gut.

  “There’s been an accident.” Those simple words filled her with more pain than she had known possible. “It happened tonight. Hours ago.”

  “What’s happened? Is Dave … okay?”

  Another pause, this one radiating not with tension so much as grief. It throbbed with the stuff, strangling Evie around the throat.

  “No.”

  “What … Sabra?”

  “They are dead, Evie.”

  Her scream tore through the old house, high up on its hill in Brisbane. Her body slumped to the ground as reality began to shift strangely for her. A world without Sabra, Dave and their beautiful baby boy. “It can’t be true. What …”

  “I’m sending a driver for you from the embassy. You will come here to Ishala.”

  She sobbed but nodded. “Yes, yes. Of course. Thank you.” Her legs were shaking uncontrollably as she stood. Desperately she tried to marshal her thoughts into order but her brain was like uncooked fudge.

  “And your husband?” He enquired and in that moment of their combined grief, for once Malakhi didn’t speak of Nick with distaste.

  She shook her head, with no emotional room for the regrets she usually indulged when thinking of those two men. “No. I’ll come alone.”

  Another silence.

  “Evie? There is one other thing.”

  She physically braced herself on the kitchen bench as she passed it. “What?”

  “Our nephew was not in the helicopter.”

  Tears were falling thick and fast, dropping to the floor. “Kalem? He’s… do you mean…?”

  “Yes. The child lives.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Two months later

  The heat was suffocating. Sweat trickled between Evie’s breasts despite the skimpy singlet top and pants she wore. The fan overhead did little but circulate the hot, dry air around the luxurious room. She banged her pillow and rolled over, her eyes focused on the large shuttered windows that framed a view of desert and the blanket of milky stars overhead.

  One of the Athalin-aî let out a telltale cry from the trees surrounding the palace and goosebumps danced along her skin. How frightened she’d been when first she’d encountered its deep, musical call! How eerie it had seemed,
carried by the winds, telling of sadness and loss.

  Perhaps it was a presentiment of fear that kept Evie awake that night; or possibly, since losing Sabra and Dave, she had come to accept that she would never again feel relaxed and at ease.

  “Madam?”

  Evie pushed up instantly, her eyes swiveling in the darkness to pinpoint the source of the voice. One of the maids who attended her regularly was hovering just inside the door. Her English was excellent; Evie suspected it was the main reason she’d been assigned to her.

  “Yes, Amina?” Her voice was croaky. She cleared her throat but didn’t smile. Her intuition was tingling; the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. Amina moved deeper into the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

  Impatience flared through Evie. “What is it?”

  “I’m sorry, Madam, to disturb you like this.” Her eyes were nervous, they fidgeted in her face, flicking from Evie to the window, then back again.

  “It’s fine. What is it?” Evie toyed with the strap of her singlet.

  “His Highness is ill.”

  “Malakhi?” She frowned, confused by the relevance of this information to her. She had only seen The Man Himself, as she’d begun to think of him, three times since arriving at Ishala. At the formal, state funeral, and at the private ceremony, and then once by accident in the corridors of this private wing of the palace. Each time he had regarded her with the marked disdain of a man who considered himself to be many, many, social rungs above her. As though she were nothing to him beyond a bug under foot. Contrasted to the way they’d touched one another on her last visit to the country, his indifference made her chest hurt.

  “No, no. His Highness Kalem,” she corrected, her face etched with worry. “I wasn’t to bother you. The nurse isn’t worried. But I thought … you would …”

  “Oh, yes.” Evie’s voice throbbed with emotion. She stood quickly, pulling a robe around her shoulders and cinching it at the waist. “What is it? What’s wrong with him?”