would you imagine I’d choose to ignore a guest in my home?’
‘Cut the polite verbal word play,’ Shannay advised. ‘There’s no need to insult my intelligence by pretending we’re anything other than opposing forces in all areas of our lives.’
‘Nicki being the one exception?’
‘The only exception.’
‘But a very important factor, wouldn’t you agree?’
He was doing it again, and she glared at him as she took a seat at the table.
‘I concede the need to maintain a friendly relationship in Nicki’s presence. But rest assured, the less I see of you, the better.’
‘Afraid, Shannay?’
‘Of you? No.’
‘Perhaps you should be,’ Marcello warned silkily as he indicated she should help herself to the chicken stew gently steaming in the serving dish.
‘Oh, please.’ She transferred a small portion of stew onto her plate, replaced the ladle and speared him a glittering look. ‘Cut me a break, why don’t you?’
He served himself a generous portion, then he selected a fork from the flatware displayed.
‘Almost four years,’ he drawled. ‘Yet the pulse at the base of your throat betrays you with a faster beat.’
‘Your ego astounds me.’
‘Have you not wondered how our lives would be now had you remained here?’
‘Not at all,’ she managed coolly, and knew she lied, aware of the nights she had lain awake imagining that very thing. How their pursuit of happiness had faltered, then fallen apart. Perhaps Nicki wouldn’t be the only child she’d bear … because for the life of her she couldn’t think of sharing her body with another man or having his child.
‘Interesting.’
Shannay carefully folded her linen napkin and placed it on the table, then she rose to her feet and shot him a killing look. ‘Go to hell, Marcello.’
‘Sit down, Shannay.’
‘Only to be picked apart and analysed merely for your amusement? Forget it.’
She turned away from the table and had only taken a few steps when firm hands closed over her shoulders.
In a strictly reactive movement she lifted her head and glared at him. ‘What next? Strong-arm tactics?’
‘No. Just this.’
He lowered his head down to hers and captured her mouth with his own in a hard kiss that took her by surprise and plundered at will.
The faint cry of distress rose and died in her throat, and almost as if he sensed it his touch gentled a little and became frankly sensual, seeking the sensitive tissues before stroking the edge of her tongue with the tip of his own in a flagrant dance that stirred at the latent passion simmering beneath the surface of her control.
She felt his hands shift as one slid to cup the back of her head, while the other smoothed down her back and brought her close against him.
Her eyelids shuttered down as she fought against capitulation. The temptation to return his kiss was unbearable, and she groaned as he eased back and began a sensual tasting, teasing the soft fullness of her lower lip, nipping a little with the edges of his teeth, until she succumbed to the sweet sorcery he bestowed.
Dear heaven. It was like coming home as he shaped her mouth with his own, encouraging her response, taking her with him in an evocative tasting that became more … and promised much.
Her breasts firmed against his chest, their sensitive peaks hardening in need … for the touch of his hand, his mouth, and she whimpered, totally lost in the moment.
The hardness of his erection was a potent force, and warmth raced through her veins, activating each pleasure pulse until she felt so incredibly sensually alive, it was almost impossible not to beg.
It was the slide of his hand over the curve of her breast, the way he shaped it, then slid to loosen the buttons that gave her a moment’s pause for thought.
It would be so very easy to link her hands behind his neck and silently invite him to rekindle the flame.
And she almost did. Almost.
Except sanity and the dawning horror of where this was going provided the impetus to pull away.
What was she doing?
Was she out of her mind?
‘I hate you.’ The words came out as a tortured whisper as she dropped her arms and attempted to move back a pace.
For what seemed an age Marcello examined her features, the dilated eyes so dark, almost bruised, with passion. The soft, swollen mouth trembling from his possession.
The shocked dismay.
‘Perhaps you hate yourself more,’ he offered quietly.
For losing control? Enjoying his touch?
And, dear lord … wanting it all.
He watched as she straightened her shoulders, tilted her chin and summoned a fiery glare.
‘I’m done. And that,’ she flung recklessly, ‘was a ridiculous experiment.’
Marcello let her go, watching as she moved towards the door and exited the room.
Experiment? Far from it.
A mark of intent.
And he was far from done.
The photograph had been taken with a telephoto lens. Had to be, for Shannay couldn’t recall seeing a photographer anywhere as they’d disembarked from Marcello’s private jet.
Marcello Martinez with a woman and child in tow had sent the news-hounds into a frenzy. How long would it have taken to filch out archival data and discover the woman was Marcello’s estranged wife … and determine the child was his own?
Not long.
The caption, even in Spanish, was unmistakable.
How difficult was it to interpret reconciliacón?
Or resurrect her knowledge of the language sufficiently to comprehend Señor Martinez’ remark, upon being requested to comment?
Anything is possible.
Really?
Anger suffused her body, coalescing into one great tide of fury, taxing her control to the limit.
With care she tore out the offending page, then folded it a few times and slid it into
