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Malachi turned and slowly, very slowly, smiled at her.
‘You see, that money didn’t come from King Industries. It came from me. From my personal bank account. And my terms are personal too.’
Addie swallowed—or tried to swallow, at least—past the lump in her throat. ‘What do you mean by personal?’ she croaked. Around her the air felt hot and leaden, and the room was growing darker. ‘What do you mean?’ she repeated, and the lump felt sharp and jagged now.
His voice was soft, just as it had been when he’d promised to love and honour and cherish her for ever. But the hard lines of his face were knife-sharp and harder than stone.
‘I’ve been very patient, but you owe me a honeymoon, sweetheart.’
‘I—I don’t understand.’
His gaze swept over her slowly. ‘Then let me explain. I want you to come away with me for a month. To be my mistress.’ His eyes locked on to hers, pinning her against the leather upholstery. ‘Do that and you can keep the money. And who knows? There might even be a little bonus in it for you.’
LOUISE FULLER was a tomboy who hated pink and always wanted to be the prince—not the princess! Now she enjoys creating heroines who aren’t pretty pushovers but are strong, believable women. Before writing for Mills & Boon she studied literature and philosophy at university and then worked as a reporter on her local newspaper. She lives in Tunbridge Wells with her impossibly handsome husband, Patrick, and their six children.
www.millsandboon.co.uk
To Jane Arnold.
For Friday coffee and shopping; for making it up to Southwold so many times; and for being my friend.
Thank you.
Contents
COVER
INTRODUCTION
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EXTRACT
COPYRIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
SHE SHOULD BE PLEASED. Good publicity was what charities like hers survived on. Only it was doing more than surviving, Addie Farrell thought with a small smile of satisfaction as she glanced down at the newspaper. It was just five years since they had opened their doors to offer music to disadvantaged children in the city, but the way things were going, they might be able to open a second centre soon.
Addie frowned. The article was one hundred per cent approving—even the photograph was flattering. So why did she feel so deflated? Her smile faded. Probably because the glossy red curls tumbling over her shoulders and the nervous excitement in her blue eyes hinted at a different Addie—an Addie she had been a long time ago, for a few blissful months. The Addie she might still be now if Malachi King hadn’t taken her heart and tossed it aside like some unwanted corporate gift.
Don’t go there! she warned herself. The article was about her hard work and determination. It had absolutely nothing to do with her rat of an estranged husband. Or their foolhardy and doomed marriage.
That was all in the past now.
Her present—her future—was a world away from that dark place she’d slipped into after Malachi had broken her heart. And she had survived worse than his defection. Her muscles tensed as she remembered the car accident that had shattered her dream of playing the piano professionally. It had been devastating, but she had not given up and now she had the best job in the world: bringing music to children whose lives were a constant battle with poverty and neglect.
She sighed. Only that would keep happening if she got on and knuckled down to her admin.
Opening her laptop, she began clicking through her emails. Twenty minutes later she reached across the desk and picked up a pile of envelopes from her in tray. Glancing at the one on top, she felt her breath catch sharply in her throat, the beat of her heart suddenly swift and urgent. As though mesmerised, she stared blankly at the embossed logo on the front of the envelope.
King Industries. Owned by her very rich, very handsome and very estranged husband Malachi.
The blood was roaring in her ears, and for a moment she imagined tearing up the letter and hurling the pieces into the warm Miami air. And then, with hands that shook slightly, she tore it open and read the letter inside.
It took three attempts before her brain could connect the words to their meaning. Not that the letter was badly written. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was polite and succinct, informing her that, after five years of funding, King Industries would be withdrawing their financial support from the Miami Music Project.
Heart pounding, Addie scanned through the lines, her eyes inexorably drawn to the signature at the bottom of the page. Bracing her shoulders, she felt her chest squeeze tight as she stared at her husband’s name.
Fury snapped through her bones like electric sparks. Was this some kind of cruel joke?
He hadn’t been in touch for five years. Five years! Not a phone call, an email, a text.
Nothing.
This was the first time he’d contacted her since their wedding day and it was some stock letter telling her that he was cutting the funding for her charity! It was despicable! And so cowardly when he hadn’t even had the guts to speak to her, let alone meet her face-to-face.
Somewhere beneath her ribs she felt something twist—a wrench, slight yet irrevocable. If she hadn’t known better she might have thought it was her heart.
Her whole body was shaking and she felt a sudden spasm of helpless rage. Wasn’t it enough that he’d crushed her romantic dreams? His support for her charity was the one good thing that had survived their marriage. Only now he wanted to wreck that too.
What kind of man would do something like that to his wife?
Her stomach cramped as she miserably remembered her wedding day, and how Malachi had promised to love her. Looking into her eyes with a shimmering heat that had made her heart quiver, he had made her believe he meant every word.
Gritting her teeth, she stared down at the face looking back up at her from the newspaper.
How could you have ever believed that he loved you?
Her face tightened. She’d known all about his reputation as a womaniser, a player of hearts as well as cards. But of course she’d believed him. Who wouldn’t? That was what Malachi did best. He looked into your eyes and smiled, a gorgeous, curving smile, and he made you believe.
He made the gamblers in his casinos believe they would beat the tables.
And he’d made her believe that he loved her.
But he hadn’t. Instead he had used her and exploited their relationship to improve his bad-boy image. Their marriage had been nothing more than a stunt conceived and executed by a man who had built a multibillion-dollar business by ruthlessly taking what he wanted. A man who liked playing games almost as much as he liked to win.
Her head snapped up and, lifting her shoulders, she eased her head from side to side, like a fighter about to step into the ring.
Maybe it was about time he found out what it was like to lose.
Breathing out slowly, Addie lifted up the letter and stared at it bleakly.
He might have had the ‘house edge’ during their relationship, but if he thought this letter would be the last word on their marriage he could think again. A lot had changed in the five years since they’d separated. She knew what lay behind his smile now, and she certainly wasn’t the same lovestruck young woman he’d married.
Rapidly typing into her keyboard, she narrowed her eyes as she picked up her phone and quickly punched in the number at the top of the letter.
‘Good morning! King Industries. How may I help you?’
Feeling her heart start to pound, Addie took a deep breath and said quickly, ‘I’d like to speak to Mr King!’
‘Could I take your name, please?’
Her shoulders stiffened. Gripping the phone tightly, she bit down hard on her lip. It was her last chance to change her mind. To leave the past sealed.
For a moment she almost hung up, and then, dry-mouthed, she closed her eyes and said hoarsely, ‘Addie Farrell.’
There was a pause.
‘I’m sorry, Ms Farrell, I don’t seem to have you down for an appointment.’
‘I don’t have one,’ she said, surprised and even a little impressed by the firm, even tenor of her voice. ‘But it’s important—vital that I speak to him!’
‘I understand that, Ms Farrell.’ The girl sounded young, and a little nervous. But despite her youth she had clearly been well-trained. ‘And I’ll do my best to help, but Mr King doesn’t speak to anyone without an appointment.’
Opening her eyes, Addie cursed softly. Of course he didn’t. Malachi was the CEO. His calls would obviously be screened and only the most important would be put through to him. She gritted her teeth. But who could be more important than his wife?
Somewhere at the back of her head a voice was warning her to hang up, but it was muffled by the angry, insistent beat of her heart. ‘He’ll speak to me,’ she said slowly. ‘Just give him my name.’
There was another, longer pause. ‘I can’t do that, Ms Farrell. But I can certainly arrange an appointment. Or if you’d like to leave a message—’
Addie smiled grimly. ‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘Tell him it’s his wife. I just wanted to remind him that it’s our wedding anniversary tomorrow.’
There was a total, frozen silence and she felt an unexpected but welcome ripple of satisfaction wash over her.
‘If you wouldn’t mind passing that message on? I don’t mind holding,’ she said sweetly.
* * *
Outside the window of his private jet an ethereal pale blue sky stretched to the horizon. It was beautiful, humbling. But Malachi King was oblivious to the view. Instead his gaze was locked to the screen in front of him, his dark grey eyes moving swiftly over the columns of figures that filled the page.
‘What happened on Table Twenty-five?’ he asked abruptly, looking up at the thickset, middle-aged man seated opposite him.
‘There was an incident. A bunch of guys on a stag night got a bit messy. But I dealt with it. Nice and smooth, Mr King.’
‘That’s what I pay you for, Mike. To keep it all smooth!’
Glancing at the message on the screen of his phone, Malachi gave a small, tight smile. If only he could smooth out his parents’ messy lives so easily. But unfortunately Henry and Serena King were showing no sign of giving up their decadent habits any time soon, and as their only son he had no option but to clean up after them.
There was a knock on the cabin door and both men watched in silent appreciation as a sleek brunette wearing the uniform of the King Industries private airline sashayed into the room.
‘Your coffee, Mr King! Will there be anything else?’
Malachi’s smile shifted. Breathing in sharply, he let his eyes linger on the almost ludicrous swell of the woman’s bottom against the navy fabric of her skirt. He felt his body stir—
Will there be anything else?
Surely that was one of the advantages to owning your own plane? Sex with a beautiful woman at forty-one thousand feet? It certainly beat an in-flight movie and a packet of peanuts. He let his gaze drift over the woman’s body. She was very beautiful. And desirable. But he would never sleep with her. Not only because she worked for him—that, of course, put her off limits—but because she was just too available. There was no excitement, no challenge in bedding a woman like her.
He didn’t miss a beat.
‘No, thank you, Victoria. Just the coffee.’ His intonation was perfect, polite but neutral, making it clear that while he might remember her name that was the beginning and the end of their relationship.
He turned his attention back to his security chief. ‘It all looks good, Mike. I’m going to chill for ten minutes, so enjoy the rest of the flight.’ It was a dismissal, but again done with exactly the right blend of warmth and efficiency. Leaning back in his seat, he heard the door shut and, reaching forward, clicked the phone on the desk. ‘No more calls, Chrissie.’
Closing his laptop, he breathed out slowly. Now he could enjoy the view!
He didn’t really understand why but it was something of a guilty pleasure for him, watching the sky stretch out and away—a giant, vaulted ceiling of blue. Was it something to do with the colours? He frowned. Maybe. Or maybe it was because the serenity and calm was so unlike the chaotic debauchery of life with his parents.
He shifted in his seat, feeling it for the first time: that soft pressure, like a finger pushing against a bruise. A memory of eyes that exact colour, widening, changing from light to dark, cool to hot—eyes that set off a jangling alarm inside his head.
He gritted his teeth. He tried never to think about Addie. His wife. But this time of year, this month—tomorrow, in fact—always made him unusually tense. He had to dig deep to calm himself, to stop his nerves from ringing.
He jolted forward in his seat. The ringing wasn’t inside his head. It was his phone. Mouth hardening, he stared at it in disbelief and then, frowning, snatched it up. ‘This had better be good,’ he said tersely. ‘Or at least entertaining enough for you to have disturbed me—’
There was a short, tense silence, and then he heard his personal assistant breathe out nervously.
‘I’m sorry, Mr King—I didn’t want to do the wrong thing. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but she said it was important so I put her on hold. Is that okay?’
She! In other words, his mother. Gritting his teeth, Malachi felt a surge of irritation. But he couldn’t really blame his assistant. Serena King could make a broken nail sound like a diplomatic incident if she chose.
Imagining his mother’s likely mood, he grimaced. Please let it not be something too sordid. Or illegal. ‘It’s fine, Chrissie. I’ll speak to her now,’ he said slowly.
Better just to take the call, for Serena would not take kindly to being fobbed off after having been kept on hold. And her unkindness was not something he wanted to provoke.
‘Yes, sir.’ The girl hesitated. ‘And Happy Anniversary for tomorrow, Mr King!’
Suddenly his jaw was clenched so tightly he could feel his teeth vibrating. His whole body was on high alert, his mind rewinding their conversation.
There was only one other person aside from himself who knew that tomorrow was his wedding anniversary. And it certainly wasn’t his mother. He’d made damn sure that his parents had been kept well away from his marriage.
He breathed out slowly. ‘I think we might be speaking at cross purposes.’
Glancing down, he saw that his hand was curled tightly over the armrest, the knuckles protruding whitely against his skin. With an effort, he splayed the fingers apart.
‘Who exactly have you got on hold, Chrissie?’
She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, her voice was high and nervous. ‘I—I’m sorry, Mr King,’ she stammered. ‘I thought you understood. It’s your wife. Ms Farrell!’
Malachi stared across the cabin. Outside the window the sky had clouded over. Everything was the same pure white as newly settled snow. The same pure white as the dress Addie had worn when she’d spoken her wedding vows. His throat tightened. His motives for marrying might have been a little self-serving—even a little manipulative. But either way, she’d promised to love and cherish and honour him. Only her promises had been as fragile and tenuous as the clouds breaking apart outside the window.
Why now? he wondered. Why, after all this time, had she chosen this moment to get in touch? For a moment random thoughts collided in his head—irritation, curiosity, disquiet—and then abruptly he sat up straighter.
‘What a charming surprise,’ he said smoothly. ‘You’d better put her through.’
The phone line clicked and his stomach tensed as, for the first time since their wedding, he heard the light, clipped voice of his wife.
‘Malachi? It’s me. Addie!’
‘Apparently so,’ he drawled softly.
It had been five years, but nothing in his manner gave any hint of how unsettling it was to hear her again. Nor would it. Years spent playing high-stakes poker had taught him early and hard the value of never giving anything away. He grimaced. That and being Henry and Serena’s son. It was just a pity he hadn’t remembered that lesson when he’d first met Addie.
‘It’s been a long time, sweetheart,’ he murmured. ‘To what do I owe the honour?’
Addie felt the walls of her office shift and shrink around her.
In her haste to call him she hadn’t considered how he might react. But now, hearing his voice, she felt confused and thwarted, for he sounded exactly as he always had: cool, smooth, in control. Almost as though the last five years had never happened.
She gritted her teeth. What had she expected? Anger? Outrage? That would mean being emotional, and Malachi King didn’t do emotional.
Her hands felt suddenly hot and clammy and, closing her eyes, she gripped the phone more tightly. She might not like it, but the truth was that it would take more than hearing from his estranged wife to make Malachi lose his cool. After all, even when their marriage had been disintegrating he had been like the eye of the storm: calm, detached. Separate.
But that was all in the past now. This phone call wasn’t about raking over their personal history. It was about her husband’s despicable behaviour now. And its impact on children’s futures. Breathing out, she opened her eyes.
‘How can you even mention the word honour after how you’ve acted? And don’t act so surprised to hear from me. I sent you an email ten minutes ago—’
She broke off suddenly, anger making her trip over her words, the misery and pain suddenly as fresh as it had been five years ago. How could that be? It didn’t seem fair to feel like that. But then she had never really got over his deception. Nothing—not even her job—had ever really filled the void that Malachi had left.
A shiver ran through her body and she was grateful that he couldn’t see her face, see just how strongly he affected her. Her eyes narrowed. There was no way she was about to give him the satisfaction of hearing it in her voice either and, trying to project poise and confidence, she said coolly, ‘I know you’re short on empathy, Malachi, and that you have the morals of a shark, but I didn’t think even you would stoop this low.’
The plane was turning. They were making their descent. Frowning, Malachi flipped open his laptop, punching the keyboard, his face impassive as he searched through his emails.
‘I feel your pain, sweetheart,’ he said softly, ‘and I wish I could help. But unfortunately I’m a little baffled as to what it is you think I’ve done.’
Despite the neutrality of his words, he felt her anger gritty on his skin. Five years of silence and she randomly decided to ring up and shout at him about his morals and his lack of empathy. He frowned again. For some inexplicable reason she had once managed to turn his world upside down and inside out. It was a little surprising, not to say unsettling, to discover that she could still do so.
But his surprise was forgotten as finally he found the source of her outrage. So that was why she was so upset!
Leaning back, he stared at the screen, his eyes fixed on his wife’s name. In theory, their conversation was over. He could and probably should simply hand the matter over to his social responsibilities department but—his eyes gleamed—where would be the fun in that?
‘As I’m sure you remember, I run a huge operation,’ he said disingenuously. ‘Perhaps you could explain exactly what it is you think I’ve done.’
Addie felt a flash of impatience.
First he pulled the financial rug from under her feet, and now he was pretending he didn’t know anything about it. She might have been idealistic and eager enough to take his words at face value when they’d first met, five years ago, but thanks to Malachi she’d become an expert in double-dealing.
‘Oh, please! Do you really think I’m that stupid? You can’t bluff your way out of this one, Malachi. This is not some game of cards!’
‘Indeed it is not. Card games have rules, and players don’t tend to screech unfounded accusations at one another.’
The taunting note in his voice made her heart bang in her throat, and suddenly she was gripping the phone so tightly her hand hurt.
‘They are not unfounded. And I’m not screeching,’ she snapped.
Damn him. He was so infuriating! Always twisting the facts. And so impossible to pin down. Unless she concentrated hard she was going to lose track of why she’d rung him in the first place, and probably end up saying or doing something stupid. Although not as stupid as agreeing to marry him.
Her blue eyes hardened like water turning to ice. Reining in her temper, she said crisply, ‘You signed the letter, Malachi. I have it in front of me.’
‘I sign lots of letters,’ he said smoothly. ‘It could be anything. Dry cleaning. Overdue library book.’
Addie gritted her teeth. She had rung him in anger, knowing that right was on her side. Only now he was making her fury seem out of place—comical, even—as though she was trying to rob a bank with a water pistol. Worse, she could feel herself responding to the teasing note in his voice.
It was suddenly hard to breathe. Memories of the past were pressing in on her. Memories of the man she had loved—not just because of his staggering good looks but because he was cool and funny. And flirty.
She felt her insides tighten and a prickling heat began to spread slowly over her skin.
Even the most prosaic of words sounded warm and honeyed when spoken in that slow, sexy drawl of his. For a moment she allowed herself to picture his handsome face, that wicked gleam in those dark, hypnotic eyes, the slight upward curve to his gorgeous lush mouth—
Her heart was banging.
Don’t forget the lies that spilled from that gorgeous lush mouth, she reminded herself coldly.
Particularly those he’d told her at the altar. Next time she felt like reminiscing over her husband’s charms she needed to remember those lies and how they’d left her struggling even to get out of bed some mornings.
Gripping the phone more tightly, she lifted her chin. ‘As you well know it’s about the centre. So quit pretending that you had nothing to do with stopping my funding.’
Staring at the screen in front of him, Malachi shifted slowly in his seat, waiting, thinking, deliberating.
Until two minutes ago her letter had just been one of the many that were handed to him every week. And yes, he’d signed it. But did she really believe he would do such a thing to her charity out of malice? His face tightened. Probably, and he knew she had reason to think so, but he didn’t like the fact that she thought so badly of him.
‘You’re right. I did sign the letter,’ he said coolly. ‘But, like I said before, I sign hundreds of letters every week. I don’t read them all—or even write them, actually. Except those that are personal.’
‘You mean like a letter to your wife?’ Addie said acidly.
Malachi stared straight ahead. Her words stung, as she’d intended them to.
‘I suppose I asked for that.’