“I have a condition...”

Can she agree to her husband’s terms?

When heiress Skye learns her marriage to Matteo was built on lies, she demands a divorce. A pawn in his revenge, Skye’s heart shattered when she discovered her husband’s game. The clock is ticking; she needs his signature. But Matteo is not willing to let Skye go so easily—the price of her freedom is one last night together!

CLARE CONNELLY was raised in small-town Australia among a family of avid readers. She spent much of her childhood up a tree, Mills & Boon book in hand. Clare is married to her own real-life hero and they live in a bungalow near the sea with their two children. She is frequently found staring into space—a surefire sign that she is in the world of her characters. She has a penchant for French food and ice-cold champagne, and Mills & Boon novels continue to be her favourite ever books. Writing for Modern Romance is a long-held dream. Clare can be contacted via clareconnelly.com or at her Facebook page.

Also by Clare Connelly

Bought for the Billionaire’s Revenge

Innocent in the Billionaire’s Bed

Her Wedding Night Surrender

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Bound by the Billionaire’s Vows

Clare Connelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07242-7

BOUND BY THE BILLIONAIRE’S VOWS

© 2018 Clare Connelly

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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For Arlene, who is courage, strength

and resilience personified.

Not to mention a very dear friend.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Contents

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

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

Six years earlier

‘CAN YOU SEE IT, Matteo?’

The newspapers loved to say that Matteo Vin Santo didn’t have a heart, but they were wrong.

Observing his grandfather lying weak and pale against the ordinary hospital bed-sheets was making that very organ clutch and grip painfully. The certainty that the man had only hours left to live was ripping it apart completely.

‘See what, Nonno?’

‘Nonno?’ Alfonso Vin Santo smiled, but his lips were chapped and the pain turned the instinctive gesture into a wince. ‘You haven’t called me that in a long time.’

Matteo didn’t respond. His eyes fell to his grandfather’s hands. Hands that had shaped a corporate empire; hands that had been at the helm during its demise. He looked away, focusing on the uninspiring view of the outskirts of Florence.

‘See the water? You always loved the way the sun bounced off it, no?’

Matteo’s eyes swept shut. Though they were in a linoleum-floored hospital room, he pictured exactly what his grandfather was seeing. The view from the terrace of Il Grande Fortuna, the hotel they’d once owned in Rome, overlooking the Tiber in one direction and the Vatican in the other.

Anger—a familiar response when he thought of the hotel—churned his gut. It was fierce in that moment, so fierce it almost took his breath away.

‘Yes. It’s beautiful.’

‘It is more than beautiful. It is perfect.’ Alfonso sighed and then a ghost flickered across his face. A moment of clarity that brought with it pain. ‘It was my fault.’

‘No, Nonno.’ Matteo didn’t mention that bastard Johnson’s name. There was no need to hurt his grandfather further at the end of his life. But he was the man who was to blame. He was the cause of Alfonso’s sadness now—him and his stubborn refusal to sell the hotel back. A refusal he’d taken with him to the grave.

But Matteo could fix it.

He would fix it.

‘I will get it back for you,’ he said, and the words were spoken with such soft determination that it wasn’t clear if Alfonso had even heard. It didn’t matter, though.

The promise was one Matteo made to himself as much as the old man.

No matter what, no matter how, he would return the hotel to his family.

At any cost.

CHAPTER ONE

‘DO YOU HAVE an appointment?’

An appointment? With her own husband? Skye clutched her handbag tighter, thinking of the divorce papers contained within the soft kid-leather. A hint of perspiration ran between her breasts and she shifted uncomfortably. Though the luxurious foyer was well air-conditioned, Skye had been sweltering since touching down at Marco Polo airport earlier that day. Travel weariness, and the exhaustion that had dogged her since walking out on her marriage to Matteo, combined to give her a sense of overwhelming desperation at the task ahead.

‘Signor Vin Santo has a full afternoon. I’m sorry,’ the receptionist murmured, her expression offering no corresponding apology. If anything, it was all manicured smugness.

Skye’s voice was soft when she spoke, weakened by the difficulty of what lay ahead. Divorce was essential—and it had to be now. She’d go to almost any lengths to get Matteo to agree easily. She needed his signature on these papers so she could get the hell out of Italy. Before he discovered the truth. ‘If you tell Matteo I’m here, I’m sure he’ll cancel whatever he has on.’

The receptionist’s disdain was barely concealed. ‘Signorina...?’

Skye’s own smile reflected the other woman’s emotion. It was a common mistake. Skye was only twenty-two and she was often told she looked younger still. The make-up she’d applied painstakingly that morning had sweated off throughout the day, and she stood in the impossibly glamorous offices feeling as out of place as she had been in their marriage. Nonetheless, she had a right to be there. A reason. She tilted her chin, staring down at the receptionist as though this weren’t the culmination of all her nightmares.

‘Signora,’ Skye corrected emphatically. ‘Signora Skye Vin Santo.’

Skye had the satisfaction of seeing the other woman’s mouth form a perfect red ‘o’ of surprise, but she recovered swiftly, reaching for the telephone and lifting it to her ear. Her eyes dropped to Skye’s finger and Skye was glad she’d slipped the ten-carat solitaire back into place for the day. ‘Mi dispiace! I’m so sorry, Mrs Vin Santo,’ the receptionist said, pressing a button and waiting for the phone to connect. ‘I had no idea Signor Vin Santo was married.’

Skye’s nod was dismissive, but the words cut deeply. Why should this woman have known of her boss’s marital status? It wasn’t as though they’d been married long. Skye had walked out on him after just over a month. A month too long.

How had she been so fooled by him even for that period of time? Hell, why had she even married him? That was easy. Out of nowhere, an unwelcome image of Matteo flooded her mind’s eye, reminding her of how he’d been the evening they’d met. In a cocktail suit, so handsome and charming, so intent on seducing her. She’d been so easy to seduce and he’d been so persistent. Fate, she’d told herself at the time. Lies, she’d later discovered. All of it.

She heard the rapid-fire Italian conversation without comprehending. Her eyes were fixed to the view of Venice, a city she’d once adored with all of herself. A city she’d thought she’d spend the rest of her days in. She hardened her heart to its charms now, ignoring the way the gondolas glided past, full of grace and pride; the way the water formed glistening little sunlit peaks and troughs as it was stirred by the activity. She ignored the way the ancient buildings huddled together, singing the secrets of their souls, the way the bridges seemed to emote wisdom and strength. She ignored the dazzling colour of the sky and the birds she could see but not hear—she didn’t need to hear them to remember the way they sounded. The flapping of their wings was the breath sound of Venice.

It was beautiful, but it was no longer for her. Skye spun round, glad to turn her back on the view, even when it meant she was staring at the disdainful receptionist once more. The woman stood—she was taller than Skye had been able to appreciate while seated—and made her way to stand directly in front of Skye.

‘Signor Vin Santo will see you now. Is there something you would like? Some water? A soda?’

Vodka, Skye thought with a wry smile. ‘Mineral water would be good. Thank you,’ she tacked on belatedly. She hadn’t meant to sound rude. Her whole mind was now focused on the job ahead. The most important performance of her life. Getting Matteo to sign the damned papers so she could finally move on—far, far away from him.

‘Certainly, madam. This way.’ The receptionist moved a little ahead of Skye, swishing her hips as she went, and Skye felt a momentary jab of envy for the other woman’s curves. Skye had always been slim, but she’d desperately wanted larger breasts and hips when she was younger and had spent much of her teenage years stuffing her bras with tissues.

‘Here we are,’ the receptionist smiled, noticeably warmer now she knew to whom she was speaking, and stepped aside. ‘He’s waiting for you.’

Why did that conjure a very strong image of a wolf?

Because Matteo was all predator. All strong, ruthless, heartless predator.

And she’d been his prey.

Well, that was no longer the case.

Skye squared her shoulders defiantly, mentally bracing herself and straightening her spine, sucking in a deep breath which she hoped would bring courage.

Still, nothing could have prepared her for that moment. The moment when the door swung open and Matteo stood just inside it.

Nothing.

The air ceased to exist; it was sucked out and she stood in a vacuum. A space devoid of oxygen, gravity, reason and sense. There was just her and Matteo, her husband. Her beautiful, hyper-masculine, ruggedly handsome, lying, cheating husband.

Her throat was dry, her nerves quivering.

Strength be damned.

She wanted to run at him. But to kiss him? Or claw his eyes out? Probably, she realised with a sinking heart, the former. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and pull his head down, pull his mouth to hers, to greet him as though she still believed in love and happily ever after.

He looked good enough to eat. It was pure coincidence that he was wearing the suit she’d always loved—the navy-blue one that drew attention to his broad shoulders and dark tan. Her eyes lifted to his face: his square jawline with the stubble that was nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with his impatience with something as dull as shaving; higher, to his generous lips and patrician nose; to cheekbones that were firm and high, slashed into his face in a sign of his determination; and eyes that were so dark they were almost black but for the flecks of gold that glistened in their depths.

Eyes that were staring at her now, undertaking their own inspection, running down her body with the kind of passion and possession she had, once upon a time, found mesmerising and addictive. Eyes that missed nothing, that skated over her stiletto-clad feet, higher to her slim, bare legs and the floaty dress she wore that fell to just above her knees and covered her in a mysterious cloud of pale yellow fabric. Her arms were bare; he caught a glimpse of her wedding ring and grimaced.

Good.

Let him feel the awkwardness of this.

His eyes lifted higher to her face, roaming it freely...marking it for changes?

There were not many. In fact, Skye would have said she looked almost exactly as she had five weeks earlier when she’d left their house, their marriage, their life. All of her changes were internal, except for the heavy fringe she’d had cut a week or so earlier, having decided spontaneously that she needed a change. Some outward sign that she was no longer the same woman who’d been caught up in the Matteo Vin Santo Show.

She had grown up—a lot—in the short space of time. She barely recognised the woman she’d been. So naïve, stupid and so damned trusting!

‘Thank you for seeing me,’ she said, breaking the silence with a businesslike tone, pleased with how crisply she enunciated each syllable. ‘I won’t take up much of your time.’

Ah, how well she knew him! She saw the glint of sardonic mockery in his eyes and she resented him for that. His ability to make her feel foolish and immature even in this, the most adult of circumstances.

He said nothing, though, simply stepping deeper into the room, making room for her to enter his office. She did so with no degree of pleasure. She’d been in the room before, and her eyes fell to the table, taking in the very spot where she’d sat and started to sign the papers. The papers that had been the beginning of the end.

‘You don’t love me, do you?’ She stared at the documents and then her husband as all the pieces of information came together. ‘I asked my lawyer about this. He told me everything. You. My dad. The whole sordid history. This is why you married me!’

His surprise was obvious and it infuriated Skye.

‘You really didn’t think I’d find out? You didn’t think I’d ask about this?’ She waved the contract in the air. ‘It’s all been about this damned hotel, hasn’t it? A hotel my dad bought from your grandfather. A hotel you’ve been trying to buy back for fifteen years. My God! This is what our marriage is all about!’

Silence stretched between them. Silence that pulled, pulled and pulled at her nerve-ends until they snapped.

‘We should talk about this later,’ he said seriously. ‘Just sign the papers and we’ll go for dinner tonight.’

‘Don’t.’ She slammed her palm down on the table. ‘Don’t you dare infantilise me! I deserve to know the truth. I want to hear it from your own mouth. This hotel is why you came to London. Why you met me. Right?’

His eyes narrowed and for a moment she wondered if he would say something to make this better, to alleviate the pain that was cracking through her soul.

‘Yes.’

Skye’s heart shook in her chest. She gripped the chair-back for support. ‘And why you married me?’

He was quiet for a long moment; it was a silence that tore her to shreds. And then he gave a simple, decisive nod that was the death knell to the fragile hopes she still held deep inside.

The memories were swirling through her, threatening to suck her back in time, but the door clicking shut jolted her into the present.

They were alone.

‘Well, Skye, this is...unexpected.’

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, ramming against her ribcage. God, his accent. How had she forgotten the sensual appeal of his husky, deep, Italian-edged voice?

Be strong. This will be over soon enough.

‘You must have known I’d come back at some point,’ she said with a shrug of her slender shoulders, pleased with how confident the words sounded, even as her fingers were shaking a little.

‘I knew no such thing,’ he countered. His accent was thicker—a sign of his fury, she knew. It was only in moments of deep emotional distress that this happened. ‘You disappeared into thin air after you left my office without so much as the courtesy of a goodbye.’

Skye’s caramel eyes flew wide. ‘Courtesy? You want to talk about courtesy?’

His eyes narrowed warningly. ‘I want to talk about where the hell you’ve been.’

‘Like you care,’ she said with a roll of her eyes.

‘My wife disappeared, leaving no way to contact her. You think I don’t care?’

‘This is all about acquisition and ownership for you, isn’t it? Your wife.’ She shook her head angrily, realising that she was fighting a losing battle. ‘I was in England,’ she said on a sigh.

‘Not at your house,’ he said, and for a second her heart squeezed. Because it was proof he’d looked for her. Proof he’d tried to find her.

‘No.’ A rejection of that tenderness.

She knew why he’d looked for her and it had nothing to do with their sham marriage. He must have been furious to discover that she’d cancelled his purchase. That she’d found out about the pieces he’d been casually, secretly, manoeuvring through their short, disastrous marriage. Had he thought he could keep her so sensually fogged that she wouldn’t wake up and realise what the hell was going on? He had almost been right. He’d come so close to taking the hotel from her without her even realising.

‘Where were you?’ he pushed, his own words hardened with something she knew to be anger. Because Matteo Vin Santo liked to win. He liked to win at all costs, and she’d found out just in time.

‘It’s none of your damned business.’ She glared at him now, the veneer of civility slipping away. She tried to grab it but being here with him, in this room, overpowered by how damned handsome he was, made something inside her snap.

‘You’re my wife,’ he corrected, moving closer so that she caught a hint of his masculine fragrance. Her knees almost buckled. ‘I have every right to know.’

But it was the wrong thing to say. His casual insistence of his rights fired every hint of anger in her body. ‘That’s outrageous.’ Her eyes held the strength of steel when they locked with his. ‘You have no rights. Not where I’m concerned.’

A muscle throbbed at the base of his jaw. ‘You’re my wife.’ As though that explained everything!

‘That’s what I’m here to talk to you about,’ Skye asserted forcefully in an attempt to regain control of the situation, reaching for her handbag at the same moment a sharp knock on the door preceded the interruption of the receptionist.

She brought a bottle of mineral water and a glass with ice cubes and a wedge of lemon into the room and placed them on the boardroom table.

‘Thank you,’ Skye murmured, relieved to have a form of distraction. She hoped it might calm her raging nerves. She twisted the lid, waiting for the hiss of bubbles to silence and the receptionist to leave the room, before tipping half the water into the glass.

‘What, exactly, are you here to discuss?’ he prompted, crossing his arms over his chest. She didn’t need to look at him to know how broad that chest was. She lifted her mineral water and moved towards the window instead, staring down at Venice without really seeing it.

‘Our marriage.’ The words were a ghost. They conjured all the memories she wanted to forget.

The love-at-first-sight romance. The wedding itself. The way their marriage had been marked by nights of complete sensual abandon. Long days of waiting for him to come home hadn’t mattered. She’d been so exhausted she’d napped and eaten, preparing for his return, and then she’d been his willing sex slave. Self-disgust at her stupidity gnawed at her gut.

She twisted the enormous diamond around her finger before sliding it off one last time. ‘And how we’re going to end it.’ She spun round, her back to the view, her eyes landing squarely on his face, locking to his. She bravely held his gaze as she placed the ring on the boardroom table, then hastily stepped away from it as though it might burn her.

His expression was grim, but he said nothing initially. There was no shock. No outrage. No attempt to argue. To win her back.

Because it had never really been about her.

It had been about him, his grandfather, her father, and some stupid hotel she’d never even heard of. A vendetta that she knew nothing about which seemed to have controlled the lives of all those she’d loved. Her father, her husband...

Skye straightened her back, wounded pride forming the shield she needed.

‘I have the divorce papers here,’ she said softly. ‘You just need to sign them and I’ll take care of the rest.’

He expelled a breath; his expression gave little away. ‘Show me.’

Skye could scarcely believe how well this was going! She’d been fretting about meeting Matteo again, yet he was being so reasonable... She told herself she was relieved.

‘Here.’ She pulled the document out of her handbag. It was only five pages long. She passed it to him, careful not to get too close, careful not to let their fingers touch.

His eyes, when they met hers, were scathing. He knew. He knew she was avoiding him.

He skimmed each sheet of paper, reading the words quickly, then placed them on the edge of his desk.

‘And if I don’t want to divorce you?’

Skye froze, the success she’d already been inwardly celebrating shattering. Her face drained of all colour. ‘Don’t be absurd.’ The words were whispered from her before she remembered that she needed to be strong. Confident. Matteo preyed on weakness.

‘What’s absurd about wanting to stay married to you?’

And he strode across the room, closing the distance between them, his eyes locked to hers until she was quivering where she stood. Strength, apparently, deserted her at her moment of need.

‘This wasn’t a real marriage,’ she muttered, standing her ground with effort. ‘We both know that.’

His lips flicked with what she took to reflect silent agreement.

‘It felt real enough to me.’ The words were dangerously silky. His hand snaked around her waist, catching her completely by surprise. He jerked her against him, her softness meeting his hard strength in a way that was instantly familiar. Desire flooded her. Heat scorched her soul and a soft moan escaped her lips unbidden. It was foolish to stay so close to him, yet she did. She had denied herself this contact for long, miserable weeks, and now she wanted to enjoy it. Just for a moment. One last time.

‘It wasn’t,’ she said huskily. ‘I know that now.’

‘What do you know?’ The question was asked quietly. Almost gently.

‘I know everything.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I know about your father and my father. I know they fell in love with the same woman and your father married her. I know that my father was angry. I know that he went out of his way to hurt your family.’ Her words cracked as she glossed over the admittance of her father’s part in the angst. ‘I know he felt hurt and rejected and that he took it out on you financially.’

Matteo’s laugh was a grim rejection. ‘You make it sound so sterile. Believe me, this was not the case.’ He leaned forward, his expression menacing. ‘Carey Johnson bankrupted my grandfather. Your father destroyed everything my grandfather spent a lifetime building.’

His vehement passion paralysed her for a moment, but belatedly she found her voice. ‘And so you wanted to punish me?’

Silence fell around them, thick and caustic. She could see him weighing his words, carefully choosing what to say.

‘It was never about punishing you,’ he said finally.

‘Punishing him, then? Punishing my dad?’

What could he say to that? Wasn’t it the truth? Hadn’t he delighted in the final insult he’d held over that bastard Carey Johnson? Making Skye moan for him, Matteo, in his bed all night long? Yes. He’d wanted to take his revenge, one sweet night at a time, and Skye had been a very obliging pawn in his game.

‘You married me because you loved me.’ He returned to their original point with apparent ease, the question asked silkily. ‘Remember?’

God, she had loved him. She’d fallen for him, but it had all been an act. She noted dispassionately how he hadn’t included his own feelings in the neat summation. His feelings were irrelevant; no, his feelings were non-existent. ‘Love and hate are so close on the emotional spectrum, aren’t they? It amazed me, too, how quickly that love morphed into something else.’

‘You’re saying you hate me?’ he prompted, his free hand lifting to her hip, holding her where she was. She felt the stirring of his arousal and her breath snagged in her throat.

Sex.

That was the only truth of their marriage. Even he wasn’t that good an actor. The desire had been real. It had controlled him as much as it had her.

‘Of course I hate you,’ she hissed, knowing she needed to pull away from him—that she would, in a moment. ‘How could I feel anything else for you?’

His laugh was pure, sensual cynicism. ‘Careful, cara. You and I both know how easy it would be for me to prove you a liar.’ He rolled his hips, bringing his arousal into intimate contact with her body, and Skye felt a groan tear through her. Need, unmistakable and urgent, grew within her soul.

‘That’s just physical,’ she hissed, her eyes locked to the top button of his crisp, pale blue shirt. ‘And I’m sure you’ve had enough experience to know it doesn’t mean a damned thing.’

‘But you haven’t,’ he reminded her mercilessly, his eyes glowing with intensity. ‘You were all mine.’

More memories. Their first time together—her first time with any man. She bit down on her lip, hating the way her nerves jerked in response. He’d taken hold of her that night, body and soul. He’d unlocked parts of her she hadn’t even been aware of, and it had all been a part of his game. His plan for revenge. How easy she’d been to con into this marriage—into his bed!

‘And I think you still are.’

A garbled sound escaped from Skye’s throat. But it wasn’t a denial. Was it a sound of surrender? Because he was right. She was desperate to feel his body once more. To be with him one last time.

He would probably always have that power over her, but everything hinged on her being able to stay strong. To remember the reason she had to get the papers signed and get the heck away from him. There was no future for them. There couldn’t be. How could she stay married to a man she loved with all her heart, raise a baby with him, knowing that he’d used her in the most cynical of ways?

Her only hope was never to see him again. To go far from where he could find her. And that was her plan. Once he’d signed the papers she was going to disappear again. She thought of the ticket in her purse, a flight to Australia for later that night, where she planned to find her way to a remote corner of the country, somewhere with a view of the beach, and set about healing her broken heart.

‘You’re wrong.’ She pulled away from him with determination, moving back to the window and staring out at Venice.

‘Am I?’

‘Oh, fine.’ She shrugged her shoulders, not turning around. ‘Apparently, I still...desire you. So what? You were my first lover. I dare say my body won’t ever completely forget the lessons you taught me.’ Fragments of their nights cut through her determination. The way he’d kissed her for hours; the way his mouth had owned her body. The way they’d swum naked in the moonlit ocean off the coast of Sicily or in the rooftop pool at his Venetian mansion. The sensual massages he’d given her. She pushed those thoughts aside. ‘But nor will my heart.’

‘And what did I teach your heart, cara?’

‘Not to trust handsome strangers,’ she said, the humour of the comment sucked away by the desperation in her voice. ‘Sign the papers, Matteo. This marriage is over.’

‘And if I won’t?’ The words were thick with emotion. And for a second hope scorched her. But it was a foolish hope, the same blind love that had led her into the marriage.

‘You wanted revenge. You got it.’

‘I wanted the hotel,’ he said with a dangerous softness to his voice. ‘You were...a silver lining.’

‘A silver lining?’ she returned angrily. ‘For God’s sake, Matteo. I loved you! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’

He stared at her long and hard. ‘That wasn’t love you felt. It was infatuation. Sex.’

She swallowed past a lump of bitterness in her throat. He was wrong. She’d loved him with her whole heart. She wouldn’t tell him that now, but somehow knowing that their baby had been conceived with goodness in her heart, at least, mattered a whole lot to her.

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug. ‘It’s all academic now. Our marriage is over. There’s obviously no way on earth I could ever forget what you’ve done. Nor forgive you for it.’ She sucked in a breath and stared at him headlong. ‘You can have the hotel.’

He was instantly still, every nerve ending in his body in a state of stasis. ‘You’re saying you’ll sell me Il Grande Fortuna?’

‘On one condition,’ she said frostily, devastation at this final, damning proof seeping into her blood, turning it to ice. ‘Sign the damned papers and stay the hell out of my life.’

* * *

When Skye had walked out on their marriage, having learned the truth behind his motivations for pursuing her, he’d had to reconcile himself to the reality that he might never recover his grandfather’s beloved Il Grande Fortuna.

He’d put all his chips on the one square, gambling on marriage to the rich heiress as the best way to get what he wanted. And to have a little fun along the way.

His plan had been simple enough—seduce her and blind her with the passion they shared, making her willing to do, say or sign anything he asked of her. And he’d come so close. She had been eating out of the palm of his hand. Until she wasn’t.

Their marriage had always been about the hotel.

About returning his family’s property to its rightful owner—him.

It had been about righting a wrong of the past.

About avenging his nonno.

Hell, he’d married her because it had been the only way to get the hotel back into his family’s trust. Now she was giving him the thing he’d wanted all his adult life on a silver platter, yet he found himself hesitating.

Why the hell wasn’t he just agreeing to her terms?

Because he didn’t like to concede defeat. And, even though he’d have the hotel, he didn’t like the idea of Skye walking away from him before he was ready.

‘Sign the divorce papers, Teo.’ She used the diminutive form of his name by mistake. The way her face paled showed her remorse. That wasn’t who they were any more. Hell, they’d never been that couple. Not really.

He’d never even wanted a wife. He’d wanted the hotel, and their marriage had been the clearest way to achieve that aim, but Matteo Vin Santo was a bachelor from way back. If he signed this paper, he’d be rid of the wife he’d never really wanted and he’d have the hotel. The only thing to regret was that he wouldn’t have the pleasure of his wife’s body again. A small price to pay for achieving a decades-old goal, though. ‘Fine.’ His nod was curt.

Her relief was palpable. He tried not to take it personally. She’d be all kinds of stupid to want anything other than a divorce from him—and Skye Johnson was definitely not stupid.

‘But I have a condition of my own.’

Her brows shot up, her lips parted, and he ached to kiss her. To wipe that look of disdain from her pretty features. To remind her of just how she came apart in his arms. He’d always loved her in yellow. It showed off her flawless honey skin, the darkness of her hair, the innocence of who she was.

‘I want one more night with you.’

Skye froze, her eyes sweeping shut, her lips parting wider as she struggled for breath. He watched the words take effect; the way colour spread through her cheeks.

‘No.’ It was just a whisper. A husky denial. ‘Never.’

He laughed, a harsh sound of cynicism and frustration. ‘Never say never, cara. Not when you fall apart in my arms as you do...’

Skye tilted her chin, her eyes locked defiantly with his.

‘Desire is one thing, but I have no intention of acting on it.’

‘Then I have no intention of signing those papers,’ he threatened silkily.

Panic flooded her. Fascinating.

‘What’s the matter? Is the idea of being Mrs Matteo Vin Santo so abhorrent to you? I remember a time when you couldn’t wait to be my wife—and be in my bed.’

‘I didn’t know who you were then. Nor what you were capable of.’

‘And what am I capable of?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Haunted, miserable words that slammed against him. Guilt was not something Matteo had much experience of, but he felt a flush of it. He didn’t like it.

His obligation was to his family.

Not Skye.

But her hurt was obvious and it was a hurt he had caused.

Yes, he felt guilt. He felt remorse. He wished...what? That he could change it? That he could have procured the hotel without hurting her?

It wasn’t possible. He’d tried that. He’d spent years trying to lure her father into selling and the bastard had been determined.

‘Over my dead body.’ Those were the last words Carey Johnson had said to Matteo. If Carey had only listened to reason, if he hadn’t been driven by the stupid grudge that had led to his taking the hotel in the first instance, it would never have come to this.

But, looking across his office at his wife, Matteo wasn’t sure he cared about the hotel, his grandfather or her father. None of them mattered. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he could salvage their marriage—nor did he believe he wanted to. But he needed, desperately, to kiss her.

To touch her.

To wipe away the grief that was saturating her slender frame.

Like he used to, as though it were his God-given right to hold her in his arms. They were tinder and flame—together the effect had always been extraordinary.

‘Don’t.’ Her eyes held a warning. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

‘Like what?’ He moved closer, just a few steps, and there was still a table between them. Her ring caught his eye and he reached for it without realising, fingering its weight in his hand, remembering the day he’d bought it. He’d deliberately chosen something enormous, thinking it would be exactly what she would want. The heiress of the Johnson fortune surely valued enormity and extravagance over all else?

Only it had never really suited her. Over the weeks of their short marriage, he’d begun to imagine what he should have chosen instead. Something slender with an understated elegance, made of rose-gold and inlaid diamonds. Perhaps onyx, to match her hair.

He swallowed past the thought. It was a distraction, a red herring. What he needed was to remember the hotel. To remember the reason he’d done all of this.

‘Don’t look at me like you’re actually sorry this is happening. Like you didn’t expect it.’ She tilted her chin. ‘Like this has anything to do with you and me.’

‘It is our marriage we’re discussing ending.’

‘Marriage!’ She spat the word and his gut rolled. It was as though a blade had been plunged through him. Her anger and disbelief filled the room. ‘This was never a marriage! It was a damned trick. A machination. Nothing more. You win, okay? You win! Take the hotel! I don’t want it. I don’t want anything that will ever remind me of you!’ Her voice was loud. He’d put bets on his receptionist Anastasia having heard every word but he didn’t care.

Skye’s pain was palpable and he longed to kiss her to wipe it away. It was the only way he could think of to remove the ache from her eyes; the tears that glistened on her lashes were tiny, moist recriminations that landed squarely in his chest.

‘How you must have loved the knowledge that you had such a sweet revenge over my father! How you’d done something he would have hated, something I would never have agreed to if I’d known about your feud. How you must have been laughing at me! Every night when you came home you found me so happy to see you, and all the while you were lining up the pieces, getting ready to finally swoop.’

A muscle jerked on the hard ridge of his jaw. ‘Yes, Skye. I’m only human. Do you want me to lie to you now? To tell you that our marriage had nothing to do with the fact your father was the biggest bastard on earth? That the fact I hated him with every fibre of my being didn’t have anything to do with why I married you?’

She held a hand up. Her fingers were shaking and her face was so pale that, momentarily, he felt a clutch of anxiety for her. She looked terrible; ill. Matteo was torn between anger at the situation and a strange concern for his wife.

Tears spilled out of her eyes now, rolling down her cheeks. She was so weary. All the planning and coping had taken its toll, and she was utterly exhausted. It showed in the tremble of her voice and the grey of her cheeks. ‘No. There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear. In fact, I can’t bear to be in the same room as you for a moment longer. Just sign the divorce papers. Please. Take the hotel and leave me alone.’ She bit down on her lip as she tried to keep her sobbing at bay.

It was everything he’d wanted. He’d come to accept that he would never get the hotel back—not once Skye had learned the truth. And here she was, offering it to him on a silver platter just to be rid of him.

Was that it? Was his pride wounded by her desperation to be free of their marriage? Was that why he wanted to rail against her insistence? To remind her of what they’d shared—physically—one last time?

His eyes dropped to the divorce papers and then lifted with a heavy grimness towards her face. ‘Fine. If that’s what you want.’

‘I never want to see you again.’

* * *

The heat of Venice slapped her in the face as soon as she stepped out of his office. It was early afternoon and the city was packed. Workers were jostling along the street, tourists were busy taking photographs and Skye was in the midst of them, surprise at what she’d just accomplished moving through her.

She took a step towards the crowds, her mind numb. What now?

Her breath was shallow.

Shock, she supposed, reaching for a pillar to support her. Stars flew in her eyes and heat spread through her body followed by weakness and an odd, soul-deep exhaustion.

It was over.

She was free.

Her hand pressed to her stomach and another wave of tiredness hit her. She didn’t want anything to do with Matteo, but she was going to raise their baby. Could she do it and never think of him?

She’d have to. Matteo was in her past and this baby was her future.

The baby was all that mattered.

She sucked in a breath, but it didn’t seem to reach her lungs.

‘Eh, you okay, miss?’

A kindly gondola operator lifted his brows, waiting for an answer, so she nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she was. ‘Just hot,’ she said, fanning her face.

But the simple, tiny exertion of moving her hand up and down was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Darkness enveloped her.

CHAPTER TWO

MATTEO WASN’T LOOKING out of the window in the hope of seeing her. He’d simply been standing and staring in that direction ever since she’d left. Really, he was barely aware of the flow of traffic in and out along the busy tourist strip.

He saw Skye.

The anguish on her features.

The pain of her heart that she wore so visibly.

He’d used her, and that hadn’t bothered him. Causing pain to her had been something he’d been more than willing to gamble. It was her own father’s fault—if Skye was hurt, it was because of Carey Johnson’s intractable bull-headedness.

But he hadn’t banked on witnessing her pain. He hadn’t enjoyed that. He was a driven businessman, not an out-and-out bastard. Witnessing the tears gliding down her soft, pale cheeks, the accusation in her eyes...he hadn’t been prepared for how that would gut him. How it would make him feel unpleasantly remorseful, even when he knew he would make all the same decisions over again, given the chance.

He lifted his fingers to his chin, rubbing the stubble there, before a commotion dragged his attention down to ground level.

It was the pastel yellow of her dress that caught his eye first. The way it seemed to crumple as she fell, her body, slender and unmistakable, toppling backwards. She fell as she did everything—with grace.

It was the work of a moment. Skye was collapsing, then she was dropping over the edge of the railing into the murky, germ-infested waters of Venice. Had he stayed still a little longer, he would have seen the moment her head cracked against the side of a gondola.

But he didn’t.

Adrenalin galvanised him.

Matteo ran from his office faster than he’d known was possible, tearing through the foyer and bursting onto the footpath just as a gondola operator in his distinctive black-and-white-striped shirt dived into the water. The dress made her easy to spot. Though Matteo could see the boatswain had wrapped an arm around her waist, he couldn’t stand idly by. Instincts alone drove his actions. A gentle ribbon of blood swirled through the water; he dove through it.

‘Is she breathing?’ Matteo pulled Skye to him, holding her as he swam to the edge of the canal. A crowd had formed and someone held their hands down, urging Matteo to lift her out. He passed her body up, then climbed out himself.

She was so peaceful. As though she were asleep.

More blood.

It seeped onto the pavement beneath her head and he gently fingered her scalp, a grim line on his mouth. ‘Call a water ambulance,’ he demanded, used to being obeyed and not doubting for one second that someone would do as he’d commanded.

‘One is on its way,’ someone replied.

Thank God. He crouched down beside her, running a hand over her face. ‘You’re okay, cara. You’re going to be fine.’

He had the vague impression of the gondola operator being helped out of the water, but his entire focus was on Skye. He spoke to her softly in his own language, urging her to wake up, not to worry, to trust him, knowing that if she’d been awake she’d have thrown that invitation back in his face.

It was only minutes before the scream of a water ambulance heralded its arrival, but it felt like a lot longer as Matteo stared down at her ashen face and wondered just what the hell had happened to make her fall into the filthy waters of Venice. The water ambulance pulled to a hasty stop beside them and two men began to call orders to the crowd. They climbed up nearby steps and ran to Skye, lifting her onto a flimsy backboard.

‘You’re with her?’ one of them asked Matteo.

He nodded. ‘I’m her...husband.’

‘You can come, then.’

He could have laughed at the medic’s apparent belief that he had any say in Matteo Vin Santo’s actions. Matteo paused for the briefest moment, just long enough to toss a thick pile of soggy bank notes at the gondola operator with a quick word of thanks, and then he followed behind.

The speedboat, bright yellow and sleek, accommodated Skye on a bed, and he watched her as the boat made its way speedily through Venice.

Only twice during the trip did her eyes open, and both times she looked at him with a mixture of confusion and non-comprehension.

The boat pulled up at the ospedale dock and there was a medical team waiting.

It all happened so quickly. She was admitted after a cursory examination, and there was enough concern on the nurse’s face to make Matteo wonder if she was gravely ill.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked, once she was ensconced in her own room.

No one answered. They were all busy working, checking her vital signs, rolling her onto her side and inspecting her head, checking for the damage that was causing the bleeding. A nurse drew several vials of blood and raced them from the room.

And then he was waiting, standing beside her bed, wondering what had happened, wondering if she’d be okay.

After an interminable time, a woman in a white coat entered the room and moved towards Matteo, her smile reassuring. ‘She is your wife?’

He nodded. ‘Yes.’ The word was hardened by years of being in command. Of calling the shots and asking the questions. ‘How is she?’

‘She’s had a bump to the head, but it doesn’t look too serious. Unfortunately, the tests we’d usually run to be sure are obviously impossible at the moment. She may be a little groggy when she wakes, possibly for a day or so. I don’t anticipate any other complications, though.’

None of her words eased Matteo’s concern. ‘What happened to her?’

‘My guess would be that she passed out. It’s not unusual, in her condition. The heat of the day wouldn’t have helped—’

‘Wait a moment,’ he said, lifting a hand to stop her. ‘What condition?’

The doctor pulled a face. ‘You don’t know?’

‘Know what, dottore?’

‘About the baby?’

The world stopped spinning. No. It lurched catastrophically off its axis, sucking Matteo with it. He was in freefall as the doctor’s words filtered through his mind. ‘What baby?’ he asked, the question gravelled.

‘Your wife is pregnant. It’s very early stages—it’s quite by accident that the nurse even tested for it. Does she know?’

Hell.

Matteo’s eyes were dragged to Skye, still so peaceful-looking. Despite the fact her dark hair was matted around her, her eyes were shut and she looked serene. Had she known?

I never want to see you, ever again.

A muscle clenched in his jaw. Had she really been planning to divorce him and keep their child from him?

An ache spread through him, an ache of misery and disbelief. Of anger and rage. Skye wasn’t capable of that deception, surely?

She couldn’t have known.

‘She hadn’t mentioned it,’ he said with a hint of the ruthless determination that had seen him rebuild a once-great empire from its ashes and ruins. But his mind was reeling. Shock was seeping through him.

Skye was pregnant? And she’d come to him, seeking a divorce? A divorce he’d agreed to because he’d known he owed her that much; because he’d wanted her to be happy. And he’d thought he was done making stupid, emotion-driven decisions!

Would Skye have insisted on a divorce if she’d known about the baby? He couldn’t believe it of his wife. And yet, she was the daughter of that bastard Johnson. Did he really have any idea what she was capable of?

His brow was fevered as he replayed every detail of their meeting, looking for signs that she knew her condition. Had she touched her stomach at all? What else would a pregnant woman do? He had no clue.

Hell.

The idea of a baby had never even really occurred to him; foolish, given how often they’d come together.

‘Perhaps she has not been symptomatic.’ The doctor shrugged, as though it didn’t matter. As though it weren’t the most important news Matteo had received in his life. As though Skye’s knowledge or lack thereof wouldn’t change everything.

How could he forgive her if she’d planned to keep it from him?

His nod was distracted. ‘Is the baby okay?’

‘So far as I can tell.’ The doctor smiled reassuringly.

They’d only ever talked about children briefly. Skye was too young to have been thinking of having babies and Matteo hadn’t entered into the marriage with procreation on his mind. But still! She must have known how much this child would mean to him.

And she’d been intending to take the Vin Santo heir away from him. To raise his child as a Johnson!

Fury whipped at the soles of his feet, spurring him forward. ‘Did my wife’s handbag...?’

‘Yes, I believe it was dropped off separately.’ The doctor nodded curtly. ‘Someone found it on the pavement.’

His expression was grim.

‘I’ll have it brought in.’

‘Thank you.’

He waited impatiently, staring at Skye, trying to make sense of this, trying to hold his temper together. But, the more time that passed, the more he came to suspect the worst.

She’d been so adamant about the divorce—that it had to be right now. She had no time to wait.

And she’d held out the perfect carrot to get him to fit in with her plans! The hotel! The damned hotel. He would have done anything to get it back, even marrying her. And, yes, even divorcing her.

He’d wanted the matter of their marriage and the hotel resolved and she’d given him that on a platter. What a fool he was! He’d almost let go of the most valuable thing in his life.

His child.

How could he have been so stupid? Hadn’t he learned his lesson with the whole Maria debacle? He’d just been a boy then. A young, foolish boy. He’d fallen for her lies hook, line and sinker. He’d fallen in love with her too. And learned how stupid a notion love was. He’d sworn he’d never trust a woman again, and here he’d been about to take Skye’s request at face value. Damn it! She was a Johnson, first and foremost. When had he forgotten that?

A hospital staffer arrived minutes later, handing the handbag to him in a large plastic bag.

He took it without speaking, reaching for her bag and ripping it open. There were the damned divorce documents, alongside his purchase contract on the hotel. He removed both angrily and stuffed them in the still-damp pocket of his suit.

He was about to drop the bag to the floor when something else caught his eye.

Curiously, he reached for it, and his anger only darkened when he saw that the object was her passport with a ticket folded neatly inside. A quick inspection showed that it was to take her to Sydney, Australia, later that night.

The evidence was truly damning. All doubt evaporated and left inside him a seed of anger so powerful that it ripped his soul in half.

She had been going to take this child from him. His flesh and blood.

Nausea rolled through him, rising in his chest. He gripped his hands together, his eyes resting on his wife’s face—so beautiful, even like this.

Had she truly wanted to raise a child away from him? Without him ever even knowing?

The pain at the very idea was sharp.

‘Signor Vin Santo? We have spare clothes if you would like to get changed.’ A nurse was smiling at him kindly.

He didn’t return it. He couldn’t. ‘I’ll stay with my wife, thank you.’ The words rang with derision, yet the nurse didn’t seem to detect the undercurrent of Matteo’s tension.

Fury was at war with disbelief.

A machine was rolled through the door, its wheels making a soft squeaking noise as it was brought to rest beside Skye. The doctor he’d been speaking to earlier bustled in and sent him a look of reassurance.

‘Try not to be so worried,’ she said, pushing Skye’s dress up and arranging the blankets around her hips, exposing only her stomach. It was so flat. Was it possible that the doctor had got it wrong? How could a baby be developing inside her tiny frame?

His eyes devoured her body once more, purposefully looking for changes now. Her neat breasts were still small and round, just enough to fill his palms. But perhaps there was a new roundness to them he hadn’t appreciated before...

He swallowed past the bitterness. He would process her betrayal later. Once he knew his baby was okay.

The doctor lifted a part of the machine and pressed it to Skye’s belly, and Skye made a soft moaning noise.

‘Is it painful?’ Matteo asked instinctively.

‘No, not at all.’ The doctor spun the cart around so that Matteo could see the screen. He lifted his eyes to it and frowned.

‘What am I looking at?’

‘It’s too early to see anything clearly. I would say she is perhaps six weeks.’ The doctor smiled at him kindly. ‘Your baby is around the size of a lentil.’

‘A lentil?’

‘A legume,’ she clarified. ‘But I can see good blood-flow generally. There’s nothing here that worries me.’ She went to lift the wand but Matteo spoke, arresting her movement.

‘What is that?’ He pointed to a line at the bottom of the screen.

‘Ah. That is the heartbeat.’

‘The heartbeat?’ He closed his eyes as the reality began to thunder through him.

Emotions gripped him, so strong, so raw, and suddenly he wasn’t capable of speech. He stepped away from the bed, from his wife, from the doctor, and sucked in a deep breath of air.

‘Why don’t you get changed, Signor Vin Santo? You’ll be no help to her if you’ve come down with a flu.’

He didn’t answer. He was busy analysing the situation, trying to make sense of it.

Skye was pregnant with his child. With the Vin Santo heir. And she’d wanted to keep the information from him.

Unless... He turned slowly, his eyes locked to the doctor’s. Hope briefly flared in his chest. ‘You asked if she knew. Is there any way she wouldn’t have known?’

The doctor’s empathy was palpable. ‘Of course. It is still very early. If she hasn’t mentioned it to you, I think it is highly likely that she didn’t yet realise. It really depends on whether she had any other symptoms, and if she had a reason to do a pregnancy test. Were you trying to conceive?’

‘No.’ Their marriage was about one thing, and one thing only. The hotel. A child would just have complicated matters further.

How the hell had this even happened? She’d been on the pill, hadn’t she?

‘Your wife will be awake soon.’ The doctor leaned over and lifted one of Skye’s eyelids, then nodded confidently. ‘You will be able to ask her.’

It was suddenly imperative for Matteo to know the truth. No, it was imperative for him to know that she hadn’t known. He couldn’t believe that Skye would have planned to keep this information from him. Despite the evidence against her, he still had hope. A part of him believed she would never do something as calculated as taking a baby from its father.

No matter what he’d done, no matter what she believed, this was different. Their baby was not a pawn; it deserved better than to be used by either of them as a bargaining chip.

But worse was the belief she hadn’t intended to use it as a bargaining chip at all. Worse was the realisation that she had simply meant to disappear. To get on a plane and fly out of his life, taking his son or daughter with her.

He ground his teeth together and turned back to the bed.

His heart rolled.

It wasn’t possible.

‘Matteo? Where am I?’

Her thin, raspy voice drew his attention. He stared at her long and hard before speaking. ‘You’re in the hospital. In Venice.’ His expression was guarded, but he felt anger in his every expression, beneath the mask of civility he had donned with effort.

‘Hospital?’ Her eyes swept shut. ‘I fell. No, I fainted. That happens sometimes.’

‘Since when?’ he demanded icily, moving closer.

Her hands dropped to her stomach and he could see that she was in turmoil, that she was agonising over what to say. But apparently a need for reassurance eclipsed all other concerns. ‘Is he okay? Is my baby okay?’

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