Mediterranean Men Unleashed: The Billionaire's Blackmailed Bride

CHAPTER SIX

EMILY heard the sound of raised voices and realized the launch must have arrived with the guests, but she didn’t move, reluctant to go and face strangers with her emotions so raw.

A deep painful sigh escaped her. Short of discovering she had married a homicidal maniac, she must have had the worst first day of marriage in history. Still, it couldn’t possibly get any worse, she told herself, and, taking a deep breath, she turned.

‘Emily.’ Anton was moving towards her. He was dressed in a lightweight beige suit, his shirt open at the neck, and his black hair slicked severely back from his brow, and she realized with a sick sense of shame he looked more gorgeous than ever to her tortured mind.

‘I wondered where you were hiding,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘Our guests have arrived.’ He took her arm and led her into the salon.

Emily was wrong: the day could get worse …

Seated on Anton’s left, Emily glanced around the table. The dinner party from hell was a pretty fair assessment, she mused. They were seven couples in all, a single young man and, with the inclusion of Max, sixteen around the dinner table in the sumptuous dining area of the yacht.

Anton at his eloquent best had introduced her as his wife, and she would have to have been an idiot not to notice the surprise and outright disbelief at his pronouncement. While in an aside to her he had warned her to behave impeccably in front of his guests … or else …

Else what? Emily wondered. He could not hurt her any more than he already had. The congratulations were gushing, but the looks she got from the six other women on board varied from genuine pleasure to curiosity to almost pitying and, from one, simply venomous.

She smiled and Anton kept the conversation going with very little help from her through five courses that she barely remembered eating. She was in shock.

Wouldn’t you just know it? she mused. The first person she had seen was Eloise. Anton had introduced her to Eloise’s Italian husband, Carlo Alviano, and his twenty-two-year-old son from a previous marriage, Gianni.

She raised her glass and took another sip of wine, and glanced around the table. Sally and Tim Harding she recognized from a business dinner she had attended in London with Anton. As for the other four couples, they seemed pleasant enough. One couple was Swiss, another French, and a rather nice middle-aged American couple, and the last pair were Greek. It was a truly international gathering of the seriously rich, and, from the designer dresses and jewellery on show, she wouldn’t like to estimate how much their combined worth came to. Billions no doubt …

She glanced at the young man, Gianni, seated on her right. There was something familiar about him but she could not quite place him. She took another sip of wine, and let her gaze roam over him. He was classically handsome with perfect features and thick black curly hair. Maybe he was a model; perhaps she had seen a picture of him in a magazine.

‘More wine?’ the steward offered and Emily nodded. She knew she was probably drinking too much, but she was past caring and let her eyes stray to rest on Eloise, with a kind of morbid fascination.

Eloise was obviously Anton’s type of woman.

She was wearing a red minidress, that barely covered her voluptuous breasts or her bum. She was seated on the right of Anton and had spent most of the meal trying to hold his attention, gossiping away to him about old times with much touching of his arm and anywhere else she could reach. As for her husband, Carlo, who was seated next to her, she virtually ignored him.

Why Carlo put up with her Emily could not fathom. A sophisticated, handsome man in his fifties, he was quite charming and owned a merchant bank. Maybe that was why Eloise had married him, she thought cynically.

She took another sip of her wine. And maybe Carlo didn’t care so long as the sex was good … Maybe he was the same type of man as Anton—look at the reality of her marriage after one day—and she giggled, seeing the black humour in the situation.

‘Oh, please, you must share the joke,’ Eloise trilled, all fake smiles.

Emily glanced across at her, saw the spite in the other woman’s eyes and said, ‘It was nothing. Just a humorous thought.’

‘Let us be the judge of that,’ Eloise prompted. And for one moment Emily was tempted to tell her exactly what she had been thinking. But although she had consumed a little too much wine, it was far from enough for her to make a fool of herself.

‘No,’ she said and froze into immobility as Anton lifted a hand to her cheek and trailed his fingers down and around the nape of her neck, urging her head towards him.

‘Some coffee or water maybe.’ His gaze locked with hers and something moved in the dark depths of his eyes. ‘You have had a couple of very full days, my darling, as I know,’ he drawled, his finger pressing on the pulse that beat strongly in her throat.

Her eyes widened, and she barely controlled an involuntary shiver until he added, ‘Any more wine and you will fall asleep.’ And she realized that his show of affection was purely for the guests and to add insult to injury he had implied she was drunk … the swine.

She drew in a deep steadying breath. ‘You’re right as always, darling,’ she mocked, and reached up to remove his hand from her neck, digging her nails into his wrist in the process. ‘Coffee, thanks.’

Anton’s eyes narrowed, promising retaliation, then he turned to beckon the steward and coffee was provided.

Hot and angry, Emily silently seethed. The atmosphere stank, there was no other word for it, and she wished she could go out on deck for some clean air. Better still dive overboard and swim to shore—it couldn’t be more than half a mile …

‘That’s it,’ she cried and slapped her hand on the table, making the glass and cutlery rattle.

‘Gianni, I thought I knew you.’ She turned to the young man at her side, the first genuine smile of the evening lighting her face. It had come to her out of the blue when she had thought of swimming.

‘You were in the under-twenty-ones swimming team for Rome University at the European Universities’ sports challenge held in Holland four years ago.’

‘Yes, señora, I recognized you immediately, but I thought you did not remember me.’

‘Oh, please call me Emily—you did before,’ she reminded him. ‘I watched you win in an amazing split-second finish in the fifteen hundred metres—you were fantastic, and we met at the party afterwards.’

‘That’s right, and I saw you win the two hundred metres with two seconds to spare. You were brilliant.’

‘Thank you. That was one of my finer moments.’ She preened and laughed and so did Gianni.

His father intervened. ‘You two know each other.’ And his handsome face was wreathed in smiles. ‘What a happy coincidence.’

‘Yes. And you must be very proud of your son. Did you see him win that race? It was such a close finish after such a long race. He was incredible,’ Emily enthused.

‘Regrettably, no. I was in South America at the time,’ and Emily noticed his eyes stray to Eloise.

‘Enough about swimming,’ Eloise cut in. ‘That is all the boy ever talks about, that and the bank, just like Carlo,’ she said petulantly. ‘It is so boring.’

‘I found it rather enlightening,’ Anton said. ‘I never knew you were a champion swimmer, Emily.’

Emily caught the faintly sarcastic tone and a hint of anger in the dark eyes that met hers. ‘Why should you?’ She shrugged. ‘You have only known me a couple of months, and anyway I am not any more.’

Suddenly she felt bone-tired. Only an idiot could be unaware of the undercurrent of tension beneath the surface of the supposedly friendly conversation all evening, and it had given her a horrendous headache. That and the appalling realization that all she had to look forward to were countless more such encounters with Anton and his friends had stretched her nerves to breaking-point.

Pushing back her chair, she stood up. ‘Well, it has been a delightful evening meeting you all.’ She cast a social smile around the table. ‘But I am afraid I will have to call it a night. Please excuse me.’ The men made to rise. ‘No, please, Anton will keep you entertained.’

Anton placed an arm along the back of Emily’s waist and she stiffened in shock—she had not realized he had risen with her.

‘I will escort you to the cabin, Emily.’ His tone was as smooth as silk, and then, raising his voice, he added for his guests’ benefit. ‘If you need anything ask the steward. I’ll be back soon.’

‘A champion swimmer. I’m impressed,’ Anton declared as he stopped and opened their cabin door, and ushered her inside. ‘You are full of surprises, Emily, but if there are any more on the horizon pass them by me first,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘I do not appreciate being made to look a fool in front of our guests, while you flirt and reminisce with another man.’

‘You made to look a fool?’ She shook her head and twisted out of his arm to cast him a look of utter disgust. ‘I am the only fool around here, for being stupid enough to think I could ever love a man like you. A man who invites his mistress Eloise on his honeymoon.’

‘Eloise is not—’

‘Oh, please, you have had sex with her; it is in her eyes every time she looks at you. So don’t bother denying it.’

‘Once, a decade ago,’ he snapped. ‘Carlo is an old and valued friend of mine and I introduced them. I was best man at their wedding four years ago. Eloise is an old friend, nothing more.’

‘You don’t need to explain. I couldn’t care less, though I am amazed her husband puts up with it—he seems like a really nice man. Whereas you have to be the most devious, arrogant snake of a man it has ever been my misfortune to meet. And if you imagine for one second making me stay with you will change how I think of you … it won’t. Now go back to your guests, Anton. I have a headache and I am going to bed. Alone.’

Anton fought down the furious impulse to shut her smart mouth with his own. ‘Not alone, Emily,’ he said with implacable softness and took her arm.

She struggled to break free, but he tightened his grip. ‘You are my wife and sharing my bed—that is not negotiable.’

His dark brooding eyes held hers. He saw the anger, the pain she tried to hide in the blue depths, and surely not fear?

Shocked, he let go of her arm. He was a huge success at everything he did; women looked at him admiringly, hungrily, with adoration, wanting to please him, but never with fear. So how the hell had he managed to make his bride of one day actually look afraid of him?

‘You look worn out. I’ll get you some painkillers, and you can get some sleep.’

Hmm. Emily sighed her pleasure as a strong hand slowly massaged her breast. She settled back against a hard male body and arched her neck as firm lips caressed the slender length of her throat, a warm tongue lingering on the steadily beating pulse there. Her eyes half opened and fluttered closed as she gave herself up to the wondrous world of sensations engulfing her. Long fingers caressing, arousing her eager flesh, she was lost in a sensual dream, her heart beating with ever-increasing speed. She turned, restless heat spreading through every cell in her body, her hands curving over strong shoulders. His mouth was on hers, his muscular legs parting hers.

Her eyes flew open. It was no dream—it was Anton lying over her, the morning sun highlighting his blue-black hair, his dark molten eyes scorching through to her soul promising paradise and it was way too late to resist. She didn’t want to resist. She wanted him, burned for him. She felt the velvet tip of him against her and raised her pelvis, pressing up to him.

‘You want me?’ Anton husked throatily.

‘Yes, oh, yes,’ she moaned.

His hands curved around her thighs, lifting her, and in a single powerful thrust he filled her. He thrust again harder and faster as her body caught his rhythm and they rode a tidal wave of sheer sensation. Emily climaxed in seconds with a convulsive pleasure so intense it blew her mind, and Anton followed, his great body jerking in explosive release.

Later when the tremors stopped Emily felt a wave of shame at her easy capitulation. She opened her eyes and lifted her hands to push at his chest; instead she found them gathered in one of his. He lifted his other hand and she felt him brush a few tendrils of hair from her forehead.

‘You okay, Emily?’

‘As okay as I will ever be as long as I am stuck with you.’

‘Hell and damnation.’ He swore. ‘We had a fight yesterday. It is over, done with. The two people we were fighting over are dead—that is the reality. Now we move on.’

‘The only place I want to move is out of here.’ She couldn’t help herself. He had cold-bloodedly deceived her, and he rubbed her up the wrong way with his blasted superior tone and his flaming arrogance.

‘Your trouble is you can’t admit that you want a man like me, can you?’ he grated, bending his head and crushing her mouth under his. Then he pulled back to look into her eyes.

‘You can’t face reality, that is your problem; you want love and sweet nothings, a fairy tale, when anyone with any sense knows the love you imagine does not exist.’

He ran a hand through his rumpled hair, and swung his legs off the bed to sit looking down at her, totally unconscious of his nudity.

‘Sexual chemistry brings a couple together, they marry and after a year or two the lust is burned out, but usually there is a child to cement the union. For a man it is a natural instinct to protect the mother and child, and in most cases a moral duty that ensures a marriage lasts.’

Emily listened in growing amazement. ‘Do you actually believe that?’

‘Yes.’ He stood up, stretching like a big, sated jungle beast, and turned to glance down at her. ‘Mind you, from where I am standing I can’t imagine ever not lusting after your naked body.’ And he had the nerve to grin.

Emily grabbed the sheet and pulled it up over herself, blushing furiously. ‘You are impossible.’

‘Nothing is impossible if you try, Emily.’ The amusement faded from his eyes. ‘That is what marriage is all about,’ he stated. ‘Having realistic expectations.’

He was completely sure of himself, his powerful, virile body magnificently naked, and she could feel her insides melting just looking at him, and in that moment she realized she still loved him … always would … and it saddened and infuriated the hell out of her.

‘And you’re the expert? Don’t make me laugh,’ she snapped.

‘I will certainly make you cry if you keep up this ridiculous fight. We can be civil to each other, the sex is great and we can have a good marriage, or you can turn it into a battlefield—it is up to you. I need a shower; you can join me, or make your mind up before I come back.’

There was only one answer, Emily realized.

Being civil and having sex … That was Anton’s idea of a perfect marriage. She could do civil and sex, and a lot more. He had said he had not intended telling her what he thought of her father, but his temper had got the better of him. Well, maybe she could convince him he was wrong about her father. Not now, not with a boatload of guests, but when they were finally alone.

He had said he would do anything to keep her. Maybe there was hope for their marriage, maybe he cared about her a lot more than he was prepared to admit … and pigs might fly …

The bottom line was, even if she proved her father had nothing to do with his sister, she could not escape the fact that was the main reason why Anton had married her.

Anton emerged from the bathroom and Emily hastily sat up in bed, dragging the cover up to her chin.

His only covering was a white towel slung precariously around his lean hips. And as she watched he moved to open one of the large wardrobes that covered one wall, withdrew something and turned.

‘So what is it to be, Emily?’ he asked, and discarded the towel, giving her a full-frontal view of his toned bronzed body, and stepped into a pair of Grigio Perla aqua shorts.

Emily recognized the brand because she had seen the James Bond movie that made them famous. On Anton they looked even better than the star of the movie. Fascinated by the sheer masculine perfection of his physique, she simply stared.

‘I asked you a question.’

‘What? Oh! Yes.’ She was so mesmerized by the sight of him, she replied without thinking.

‘Good,’ was all he said as he pulled a polo shirt over his head. ‘Make yourself decent. I’ll send the chief steward in with your breakfast, and you can have a chat with him. He knows how the weekend works. It is a pretty casual affair, but if there is anything you want to change just tell him.’

Who was it said fascination is the very absence of thought, the denial of reasonable brain function? Emily wondered. She was so mesmerized by Anton she could not think rationally.

‘I will see you on the pool deck when you are ready. Friday everyone tends to laze around until lunch. Then go ashore, the men to check out the cars and the women to shop. Later we all meet here to eat and then sail along to St Tropez for those who want to hit the Caves du Roy nightclub, a favourite among a few of our guests.’

He strolled over to the bed, and held out a credit card. ‘Take this—you will need it later.’

She took the card and turned it over in her hand. Mrs Emily Diaz was the name inscribed.

She looked up. ‘How did you get this so quickly?’ she asked, no longer mesmerized but mad. Anton was so confident in his ability to get exactly what he wanted in life, including her, she realized bitterly.