CHAPTER SIX
When Da Silva Breaks the Rules
When Falcone’s World Stops Turning
Abby Green
She has the power to change everything…
Rafaele Falcone runs his luxury auto empire and private life with the same ice-cold ruthlessness. Emotions play no part in his decisions, and he always demands the best, so he doesn’t hesitate to ask brilliant engineer Samantha Rourke to join his company—even though he walked away from her years before.
That sexy Italian accent still sends shivers down her spine, but gutsy Sam knows it’s not just about her impossible desire to feel his hands on her body once again. Because Falcone is about to discover her deepest secret—one that will send his world into a spin!
This is for Gervaise Landy without whose influence I would most likely still be speaking into a walkie talkie outside an actor’s trailer in a car park somewhere, in the rain, trying to explain what the delay is. Thank you for all the great conversations about Mills & Boon and that first memorable one in particular all those years ago. As soon as we recognised a fellow M&B fanatic in each other we were kindred spirits. You were the one who put the idea in my head in the first place about writing for Mills & Boon, and you were the one with the tape on how to write one, which I still have, and which I will return to you as soon as you promise me you’re going to sit down and finish that manuscript. With much love and thanks for sowing the seed of a dream in my head!
In thanking Gervaise, I also have to dedicate this book to Caitríona Ní Mhurchú at whose party I first met Gervaise. From the age of sixteen I have idolized this glamorous, confident, sexy, intelligent woman so if you see any of those traits in my heroines, it comes from a deep well of inspiration.
RAFAELE FALCONE LOOKED at the coffin deep inside the open grave. The earth they’d thrown in was scattered on top, along with some lone flowers left by departing friends and acquaintances. Some of them had been men, inordinately upset. Evidently there was some truth to the rumours that the stunning Esperanza Christakos had taken lovers during her third marriage.
Rafaele felt many conflicting emotions, apart from the obvious grief for his dead mother. He couldn’t say that they’d ever had a close relationship; she’d been eternally elusive and had carried an air of melancholy about her. She’d also been beautiful. Beautiful enough to send his own father mad with grief when she left him.
The kind of woman who’d had the ability to make grown men completely lose all sense of dignity and of themselves. Not something that would ever happen to him. His single-minded focus was on his career and rebuilding the Falcone motor empire. Beautiful women were a pleasant diversion—nothing more. None of his lovers were ever under any illusions and expected nothing more than the transitory pleasure of his company.
His conscience pricked at this confident assertion—there had only been one lover who had taken him close to the edge but that was an experience he didn’t dwell on...not any more.
His half-brother, Alexio Christakos, turned to him now and smiled tightly. Rafaele felt a familiar ache in his chest. He loved his half-brother, and had done from the moment he’d been born, but their relationship wasn’t easy. It had been hard for Rafaele to witness his brother growing up, sure in the knowledge of his father’s success and support—so different from his own experience with his father. He’d felt resentful for a long time, which hadn’t been helped by his stepfather’s obvious antipathy towards the son that wasn’t his.
They both turned and walked away from the grave, engrossed in their own thoughts. Their mother had bequeathed to both her sons her distinctive green eyes, although Alexio’s were a shade more golden than Rafaele’s striking light green. Rafaele’s hair was thicker and a darker brown next to his brother’s short-cut ebony-black hair.
Differing only slightly in height, they were both a few inches over six foot. Rafaele’s build was broad and powerful. His brother’s just as powerful, but leaner. Dark stubble shadowed Rafaele’s firm jawline today, and when they came to a stop near the cars Alexio observed it, remarking dryly, ‘You couldn’t even clean up for the funeral?’
The tightness in Rafaele’s chest when he’d stood at the grave was easing slightly now. He curbed the urge to be defensive, to hide the vulnerability he felt, and faced his brother, drawling with a definite glint in his eye, ‘I got out of bed too late.’
He couldn’t explain to his brother how he’d instinctively sought the momentary escape he would find in the response of an eager woman, preferring not to dwell on how his mother’s death had made him feel. Preferring not to dwell on how it had brought up vivid memories of when she’d walked
