She felt her stomach lurch. ‘What makes you think that?’
He opened a drawer to the left of him and took out a sheet of paper and handed it to her across the desk. She took it with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. It was a faxed copy of a note addressed to Angelo, written in her brother’s writing. It said: This is for my sister.
Natalie gulped and handed back the paper. ‘I don’t know what to say … I have never said anything to Lachlan about … about us. He was only thirteen when we were together. He was at boarding school when we shared that flat in Notting Hill. He never even met you.’
Nor had any of her family. She hadn’t wanted Angelo to be exposed to her father’s outrageous bigotry and her mother’s sickening subservience.
‘You must have said something to him,’ Angelo said. ‘Why else would he write that?’
Natalie chewed at her lip. She had said nothing to anyone other than that her short, intense and passionate affair with Angelo was over because she wanted to concentrate on her career. Not even her closest girlfriend, Isabel Astonberry, knew how much her break-up with Angelo had affected her. She had told everyone she was suffering from anxiety. Even her doctor had believed her. It had explained the rapid weight loss and agitation and sleepless nights. She had almost convinced herself it was true. She had even taken the pills the doctor had prescribed, but they hadn’t done much more than throw a thick blanket over her senses, numbing her until she felt like a zombie.
Eventually she had climbed out of the abyss of misery and got on with her life. Hard work had been her remedy. It still was. Her interior design business had taken off soon after she had qualified. Her online sales were expanding exponentially, and she had plans to set up some outlets in Europe. She employed staff who managed the business end of things while she got on with what she loved best—the designing of her linen and soft furnishings range.
And she had done it all by herself. She hadn’t used her father’s wealth and status to recruit clients. Just like Angelo, she had been adamant that she would not rely on family wealth and privilege, but do it all on her own talent and hard work.
‘Natalie?’ Angelo’s deep voice jolted her out of her reverie. ‘Why do you think your brother addressed that note to me?’
She averted her gaze as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I don’t know.’
‘He must have known it would cause immense trouble for you,’ he said.
Natalie looked up at him again, her heart leaping to her throat. ‘A hundred thousand pounds is a lot of money, but it’s not a lot to pay for someone’s freedom,’ she said.
He gave an enigmatic half-smile. ‘Ah, yes, but whose freedom are we talking about?’
A ripple of panic moved through her as she held his unreadable gaze. ‘Can we quit it with the game-playing?’ she said. ‘Why don’t you come straight out and say what you’ve planned in terms of retribution?’
His dark eyes hardened like black ice. ‘I think you know what I want,’ he said. ‘It’s the same thing I wanted five years ago.’
She drew in a sharp little breath. ‘You can’t possibly want an affair with someone you hate. That’s so … so cold-blooded.’
He gave a disaffected smile. ‘Who said anything about an affair?’
She felt a fine layer of sweat break out above her top lip. She felt clammy and light-headed. Her legs trembled even though she had clamped them together to hide it. She unclenched her hands and put one to her throat, where her heart seemed to have lodged itself like a pigeon trapped in a narrow pipe.
‘You’re joking, of course,’ she said, in a voice that was hoarse to the point of barely being audible.
Those dark, inscrutable eyes held hers captive, making every nerve in her body acutely aware of his sensual power over her. Erotic memories of their past relationship simmered in the silence. Every passionate encounter, from their first kiss to their blistering bloodletting last, hovered in the tense atmosphere. She felt the incendiary heat and fire of his touch just by looking at him. It was all she could do to stay still and rigidly composed in her chair.
‘I want a wife,’ he said, as if stating his desire for something as prosaic as a cup of tea or coffee.
Natalie hoisted her chin. ‘Then I suggest you go about the usual way of acquiring one,’ she said.
‘I tried that and it didn’t work,’ he returned. ‘I thought I’d try this way instead.’
She threw him a scathing look. ‘Blackmail, you mean?’
He gave an indifferent shrug of one of his broad shoulders. ‘Your brother will likely spend up to four years waiting for a hearing,’ he said. ‘The legal system in Italy is expensive and time consuming. I don’t need to tell you he is unlikely to escape conviction. I have enough proof to put him away for a decade.’
Natalie shot to her feet, her control slipping like a stiletto on a slick of oil. ‘You bastard!’ she said. ‘You’re only doing this to get at me. Why don’t you admit it? You only want revenge because I am the first woman who has ever left you. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Your damned pride got bruised, so now you’re after revenge.’
His jaw locked down like a clamp, his lips barely moving as he commanded, ‘Sit down.’
She glared at him with undiluted hatred. ‘Go to hell.’
He placed his hands on the desk and slowly got to his feet. Somehow it was far more threatening than if he had shoved his chair back with aggressive force. His expression was thunderous, but when he spoke it was with icy calm.
‘We will marry as soon as I can get a licence. If you do not agree, then your brother will face the consequences of his actions. Do you have anything to say?’
She said it in unladylike coarseness. The crude words rang in the air, but rather than make her feel powerful they made her feel ashamed. He had made her lose control and she hated him for it.
Angelo’s top lip slanted in a mocking smile. ‘I am not averse to the odd moment of self-pleasuring, as you so charmingly suggest, but I would much rather share the experience with a partner. And, to be quite frank, no one does it better than you.’
She snatched up her bag and clutched it against her body so tightly she felt the gold pen inside jab her in the stomach. ‘I hope you die and rot in hell,’ she said. ‘I hope you get some horrible, excruciatingly painful pestilent disease and suffer tortuous agony for the rest of your days.’
He continued to stare her down with irritatingly cool calm. ‘I love you too, Tatty,’ he said.
Natalie felt completely and utterly ambushed by the use of his pet name for her. It was like a body-blow to hear it after all these years. Her chest gave an aching spasm. Her anger dissolved like an aspirin in a glass of water. Her fighting spirit collapsed like a warrior stung by a poison dart. Tears sprang at the back of her eyes. She could feel them burning and knew if she didn’t get out of there right now he would see them.
She spun around and groped blindly for the door, somehow getting it open and stumbling through it, leaving it open behind her like a mouth in
