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A ruthless billionaire...
When Sicilian tycoon Raul Di Savo meets Lydia Hayward, it’s not only her cool elegance he desires—seducing Lydia will also deny his lifelong rival’s bid for her body...
An innocent in peril...
Desperate to escape being sold to a stranger, Lydia turns to Raul—he promises her only one night, but his expert touch awakens her to pleasure she cannot resist!
A nine-month consequence!
Discovering she’s a pawn in Raul’s game of revenge, Lydia leaves...until she realizes an unexpected consequence will bind her to Raul forever!
Lydia could feel heat hover between their mouths in a slow tease before they met.
Then they met.
And all that had been missing was suddenly there.
At first taste she was Raul’s and he knew it, for her hands moved to the back of his head and he kissed her as hard as her fingers demanded.
He slid one arm around her waist to move her body from the wall, closer to his, so that her head could fall backwards.
If there had been a bed, she would have been on it.
If there had been a room they would have closed the door.
But there wasn’t, so he halted them—but only their lips.
‘What do you want to do?’ he whispered against her skin, and then he blew on her neck, still damp from his kisses, and raised his head and met her eyes. ‘Tonight I can give you anything you want.’
Dear Reader,
This is my 100th title for Mills & Boon!
Rather than use this space to tell you about Raul and Lydia, I would like to thank you.
Whether this is the first or the hundredth time you have read me, I am so grateful to my readers. Even if we haven’t met face to face, or online, hopefully we’ve shared some time through words on a page, and had a smile or three when one of my heroes misbehaves, or one of my heroines messes up. They tend to do that a lot.
I often cry when I’m writing, but I also laugh often too.
I hope, in some way, my stories let you do the same.
Happy reading, and love always,
Carol xxxx
The Innocent’s Secret Baby
Carol Marinelli
www.millsandboon.co.uk
CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!
Books by Carol Marinelli
Mills & Boon Modern Romance
One Night With Consequences
The Sheikh’s Baby Scandal
The Billionaire’s Legacy
Di Sione’s Innocent Conquest
Irresistible Russian Tycoons
The Price of His Redemption
The Cost of the Forbidden
Billionaire Without a Past
Return of the Untamed Billionaire
Playboys of Sicily
Sicilian’s Shock Proposal
His Sicilian Cinderella
Mills & Boon Medical Romance
Their Secret Royal Baby
The London Primary Hospital
Playboy on Her Christmas List
Visit the Author Profile page
at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.
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For Lena, my mum.
You were wonderful as both and I will love you for ever.
Until we meet again…
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Dear Reader
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
Extract
Copyright
PROLOGUE
SURELY NOT?
As Raul Di Savo thanked the mourners who had attended his mother’s funeral a figure standing in the distance caught his attention.
He wouldn’t dare to come here!
Not today of all days.
The tolling of the bell in the small Sicilian church had long since ceased, but it still seemed to ring in Raul’s ears.
‘Condoglianze.’
Raul forced himself to focus on the elderly gentleman in front of him rather than the young man who stood on the periphery of the cemetery.
‘Grazie,’ Raul said, and thanked the old man for his attendance.
Given the circumstances of Maria’s death, and fearing Raul’s father’s wrath, most had stayed away.
Gino had not attended his wife’s funeral.
‘She was a whore when I married her and she goes into the ground the same.’
That was how he had broken the news of her death to his son.
Raul, having been told of a car accident involving his mother, had travelled from Rome back to Casta—a town on the Sicilian wild west coast—but he had arrived only to be told that she had already gone.
He had been too late.
Slowly, painfully, he had pieced together the timeline of shocking events that had led to Maria’s death. Now Raul performed his familial duties and stood graveside as the line of mourners slowly moved past him.
Condolences were offered, but small talk was strained. The events of the last few days and the savage condemnations that were now coursing through the valley made even the simplest sentence a mockery.
‘She was a good...’ A lifetime family friend faltered in his choice of words. ‘She was...’ Again there was hesitation over what should be said. ‘Maria will be missed.’
‘She will be,’ Raul duly replied.
The scent of freshly dug soil filled his nostrils and lined the back of his throat, and Raul knew there was no comfort to be had.
None.
He had left it too late to save her.
And now she was gone.
Raul had studied hard at school and had done so well in his exams that he had received a scholarship and, as he had always intended, been able to get out of the Valley of Casta.
Or, as Raul and his friend Bastiano had called it, the Valley of Hell.
Raul had been determined to get his mother away from his father.
Maria Di Savo.
Unhinged, some had called her.
‘Fragile’ was perhaps a more appropriate word.
Deeply religious until she had met his father, Maria had hoped to join the local convent—an imposing stone residence that looked out on the Sicilian Strait. His mother had wept when it had closed down due to declining numbers, as if somehow her absence had contributed to its demise.
The building had long stood abandoned, but there was not a day Raul could remember when his mother hadn’t rued the day she had not followed her heart and become a novice nun.
If only she had.
Raul stood now, questioning his very existence, for her pregnancy had forced Maria into the unhappiest of marriages.
Raul had always loathed the valley, but never more so than now.
He would never return.
Raul knew his drunken father’s demise was already secured, for without Maria’s care his descent would be rapid.
But there was another person to be taken care of.
The man who had forced this tragic end.
Raul had made a vow as he’d thrown a final handful of soil into his mother’s open grave that he would do whatever it might take to bring him down.
‘I shall miss her.’
Raul looked up and saw Loretta, a long-time friend of his mother’s who worked in the family bar.
‘No trouble today, Raul.’
Raul found himself frowning at Loretta’s choice of words and then realised why she suddenly sounded concerned—he was looking beyond the mourners now, to the man who stood in the distance.
Bastiano Conti.
At seventeen, Bastiano was a full year younger than Raul.
Their families were rivals.
Bastiano’s uncle owned most of the properties and all of the vineyards on the west of the valley.
Raul’s father was king of the east.
The rivalry went back generations, and yet their black history had been ignored by the young boys and, growing up, the two of them had been friends. They had gone through school together and often spent time with each other during the long summer breaks. Before Raul had left the valley he and Bastiano had sat drinking wine from the opposing families’ vines.
Both wines were terrible, they had agreed.
Similar in looks, both were tall and dark and were opposed only in nature.
Bastiano, an orphan, had been raised by his extended family and got through life on charm.
Raul was serious and mistrusting and had been taught to be fickle.
He trusted no one but said what he had to to get by.
Though different in style, they were equally adored by women.
Bastiano seduced.
Raul simply returned the favour.
There had been no rivalry between the young men—both could have their pick of the valley and the fruits were plenty.
Yet Bastiano had used his dark charm on the weakest and had taken Maria as his lover.
Pillow talk had been gathered and secrets had been prised from loose lips.
Not only had Maria had an affair—she had taken it beyond precarious and slept with a member of the family that Gino considered his enemy.
When the affair had been discovered—when the rumours had reached Gino—Loretta had called her to warn her Gino was on his angry way home. Maria had taken out a car she didn’t know how to drive.
An unwise choice in the valley.
And Raul knew the accident would not have happened but for Bastiano.
‘Raul...’ Loretta spoke softly, for she felt the tension rip through him and could hear his ragged breathing. She held on to his hand, while knowing nothing could really stop him now. ‘You are Sicilian, and that means you have a lifetime to get your revenge—just don’t let it be today.’
‘No,’ Raul agreed.
Or did he refute?
Raul’s words were coming out all wrong, his voice was a touch hoarse, and as he looked down he could see the veins in his hand and feel the pulse in his temples. He was primed for action, and the only thing Raul knew for sure was that he hated Bastiano with all that he had.
He dropped Loretta’s hand and brushed past her, then shrugged off someone else who moved to try to stop him.
‘Raul!’ The priest shot him a warning. ‘Not here—not now.’
‘Then he should have stayed away!’ Raul responded as he strode through the cemetery towards the man who had sent his mother to an early grave.
Raul picked up speed—and God help Bastiano because hate and fury catapulted Raul those last few steps.
‘Pezzo di merda...’ Raul shouted out words that did not belong in such a setting.
Any sane man who saw murder approach would surely turn and run, but instead Bastiano walked towards Raul, hurling insults of his own. ‘Your mother wanted—’
Raul did not let him finish, for Bastiano had already sullied her enough, and to silence him Raul slammed his fist into Bastiano’s face. He felt the enamel of Bastiano’s tooth pierce his knuckle, but that was the last thing he felt.
It was bloody.
Two parts grief, several belts of rage and a hefty dose of shame proved a volatile concoction indeed.
Raul would kill him.
That was all he knew.
Yet Bastiano refused to go quietly and fought back.
There were shouts and the sounds of sirens in the distance as the two men battled it out. Raul felt nothing as he was slammed against a gravestone. The granite tore through the dark suit and white shirt on his back with the same ease that it gouged through muscle and flesh.
It didn’t matter.
His back was already a map of scars from his father’s beatings, and adrenaline was a great anaesthetic.
Only vaguely aware of the wound that ran from shoulder to flank, Raul hauled himself up to stand, took aim again and felled his rival.
Yet Bastiano refused to submit.
Raul pinned Bastiano and slammed his fist into his face, marring those perfect features with relish, and then he held him to the ground and told him he should have stayed the hell away from his mother.
‘Like you did!’
Those words were more painful than any physical blow, for Raul knew that he had done just that—stayed away.
CHAPTER ONE
ROME AGAIN... ROME AGAIN...
The City of Love.
Wrapped in a towel, and damp from the shower, Lydia Hayward lay on the bed in her hotel suite and considered the irony.
Yes, she might be in Rome, and meeting tonight with a very eligible man, but it had nothing to do with love.
There were more practical matters that needed to be addressed.
Oh, it hadn’t been said outright, of course.
Her mother hadn’t sat her down one evening and explained that, without the vast and practically bottomless pit of money that this man could provide, they would lose everything. Everything being the castle they lived in, which was the family business too.
And Valerie had never said that Lydia had to sleep with the man she and her stepfather were meeting tonight.
Of course she hadn’t.
Valerie had, however, enquired whether Lydia was on the Pill.
‘You don’t want to ruin your holiday.’
Since when had her mother taken an interest in such things? Lydia had been to Italy once before, on a school trip at the age of seventeen, and her mother hadn’t been concerned enough to ask then.
Anyway, why would she be on the Pill?
Lydia had been told to ‘save’ herself.
And she had.
Though not because of her mother’s instruction—more because she did not know how to let her guard down.
People thought her aloof and cold.
Better they think that than she reveal her heart.
And so, by default, she had saved herself.
Lydia had secretly hoped for love.
It would seem not in this lifetime.
Tonight she would be left alone with him.
The towel fell away and, though she was alone, Lydia pulled it back and covered herself.
She was on the edge of a panic attack, and she hadn’t had one since...
Rome.
Or was it Venice?
Venice.
Both.
That awful school trip.
She had said yes to this trip to Rome, hoping to lay a ghost to rest. Lydia wanted to see Rome through adult eyes, yet she was as scared of the world now as she had been as a teenager.
Pull yourself together, Lydia.
And so she did.
Lydia got up from the bed and got dressed.
She was meeting Maurice, her stepfather, at eight for breakfast. Rather than be late she just quickly combed her long blonde hair, which had dried a little wild. She had bought a taupe linen dress to wear, which had buttons from neck to hem—though perhaps not the best choice for her shaking hands.
They are not expecting you to sleep with him!
Lydia told herself she was being utterly ridiculous even to entertain such a thought. She would stop by for a drink with this man tonight, with her stepfather, thank him for his hospitality and then explain that she was going out with friends. Arabella lived here now and had said they should catch up when Lydia got here.
In fact...
Lydia took out her phone and fired off a quick text.
Hi, Arabella,
Not sure if you got my message.
Made it to Rome.
I’m free for dinner tonight if you would like to catch up.
Lydia
And so to breakfast.
Lydia stepped out of her suite and took the elevator down to the dining room. As she walked through the lavish foyer she caught sight of herself in a mirror. Those deportment classes had been good for something at least—she was the picture of calm and had her head held high.
Yet she wanted to run away.
* * *
‘No, grazie.’
Raul Di Savo declined the waiter’s offer of a second espresso and continued to read through reports on the Hotel Grande Lucia, where he now sat, having just taken breakfast.
At Raul’s request his lawyer had attained some comprehensive information, but it had come through only this morning. In a couple of hours Raul was to meet with Sultan Alim, so there was a lot to go through.
The Grande Lucia was indeed a sumptuous hotel, and Raul took a moment to look up from his computer screen and take in the sumptuous dining room that was currently set up for breakfast.
There was the pleasant clink of fine china and a quiet murmur of conversation and, though formal, the room had a relaxed air that had made Raul’s stay so far pleasurable. There was a certain old-world feel to the place that spoke of Rome’s rich history and beauty.
And Raul wanted the hotel to be his.
Raul had been toying with the idea of adding it to his portfolio and had just spent the night in the Presidential Suite as a guest of Sultan Alim.
Raul hadn’t expected to be so impressed.
He had been, though.
Every detail was perfection personified—the décor was stunning, the staff were attentive yet discreet, and it appeared to be a rich haven for both the business traveller and the well-heeled tourist.
Raul was now seriously considering taking over this landmark hotel.
Which meant that so too was Bastiano.
Fifteen years on and their rivalry continued unabated.
Mutual hatred was a silent, yet daily motivator—a black cord that connected them.
And Bastiano would be arriving later today.
Raul knew that Bastiano was also a personal friend of Sultan Alim. Raul had considered if that might have any bearing on their negotiations but had soon discounted it. Sultan Alim was a brilliant businessman, and his friendship with Bastiano would have no sway over his dealings, Raul was certain of that.
Raul rather hoped his presence at the hotel might cause Bastiano some discomfort, for though they moved in similar circles in truth their paths rarely crossed. Raul, even on his father’s death, had never returned to Casta.
There had been no respects to pay.
Yet Casta had remained Bastiano’s base.
He had converted the old convent into a luxury retreat for the seriously wealthy.
It was actually, Raul knew, an extremely upmarket rehab facility.
His mother would be turning in her grave.
Raul’s black thoughts were interrupted when the portly middle-aged gentleman sitting to his right made his disgruntled feelings known.
‘Who do you have to sleep with around here to get some service?’ he muttered in well-schooled English.
It would seem that the tourists were getting impatient!
Raul smiled inwardly as the waiter continued to ignore the pompous Englishman. The waiter had had enough. This man had been complaining since the moment he had been shown to his table, and there was absolutely nothing to complain about.
Raul was not being generous in that observation. Many of his nights were spent in hotels—mainly those that he owned—and so more than most he had a very critical eye.
There were certain ways to behave, and despite his accent this man did not adhere to them. He seemed to assume that just because he was in Rome no one would speak English and his insults would go unnoticed.
They did not.
And so—just because he could—Raul gestured with his index and middle fingers towards the small china cup on his table. The motion was subtle, barely noticeable to many, and yet it was enough to indicate to the attentive waiter that Raul had changed his mind and would now like another coffee.
Raul knew that his preferential treatment would incense the diner to his right.
From the huff of indignation as his drink was delivered, it did.
Good!
Yes, Raul decided, he wanted this hotel.
Raul read through the figures again and decided to make some further calls to try to get behind the real reason the Sultan was selling such an iconic hotel. Even with Raul’s extensive probing he could see no reason for the sale. While the outgoings were vast, it was profitable indeed. The crème de la crème stayed at the Grande Lucia, and it was here that their children were christened and wed.
There had to be a reason Alim was selling, and Raul had every intention of finding out just what it was.
Just as Raul had decided to leave he glanced up and saw a woman enter the dining room.
Raul was more than used to beautiful women, and the room was busy enough that he should not even have noticed, but there was something about her that drew the eye.
She was tall and slender and she wore a taupe dress. Her long blonde hair appeared freshly washed and tumbled over her shoulders. Raul watched as she had a brief conversation with the maître d’ and then started to walk in his direction.
Still Raul did not look away.
She made her way between the tables with elegant ease, and Raul noted that she carried herself beautifully. Her complexion was pale and creamy, and suddenly Raul wanted her to be close enough so that he could know the colour of her eyes. She lifted a hand and gave a small wave, and Raul, who was rarely the recipient of a sinking feeling where women were concerned, felt one now.
She was with him, Raul realised—she was here to have breakfast with the obnoxious man who sat to his right.
Pity.
The blonde beauty walked past his table, and he could not help but notice the delicate row of buttons that ran from neck to hem on her dress. But he pointedly returned his attention to his computer screen rather than mentally undress her.
That she was with someone rendered her of no interest to him in that way.
Raul loathed cheats.
Still, the morning scent of her was fresh and heady—a delicate cloud that reached Raul a few seconds after she had passed and lingered for a few moments more.
‘Good morning,’ she said as she took a seat, and unlike her companion’s the woman’s voice was pleasant.
‘Hmph.’
Her greeting was barely acknowledged by the seated Englishman. Some people, Raul decided, simply did not know how to appreciate the finer things in life.