DEAR READER LETTER

By Sharon Kendrick

Dear Reader,

One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you - which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.

There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and…well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.

I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100th story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”

So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him… Wouldn’t you know it?

I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers.

Love,

Sharon xxx

Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

To Andy Thompson, dear friend—

who reminds me of cool cathedral squares

and almond croissants!

The Sheikh’s Unwilling Wife

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Cover

Dear Reader

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

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Coming Next Month

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

YOU didn’t have to be drowning for your life to flash before you. Nor to be sleeping to feel you had stumbled into a nightmare.

And this was her worst.

Alexa blinked her eyes rapidly, like someone emerging from the water—their vision blurred so that they couldn’t see clearly—and found herself thinking that maybe it wasn’t him. For a split second a fragment of optimism floated before her as she narrowed her eyes to watch the man who sauntered with such careless grace down the cobblestoned street. But hope died as he grew closer and she saw a group of women stop talking mid-sentence and turn their heads to follow his path.

He walked like the leader he undoubtedly was—a man born to money, as well as having made more than enough of his own. Tall and striking, he had crisp dark curls, hard black eyes and a proud and haughty look on a face which in repose looked faintly cruel.

His olive skin was dark—even for a Southern Italian—and a shamelessly exotic air had only added to his mystique in his native city of Naples. Glamorous mother; father unknown.

He was wearing a perfectly cut pale grey suit over a lean, hard body, and as he walked the women watching him almost melted on the spot. It would almost have been comic if it hadn’t made Alexa’s heart ache with a pain which should have disappeared a long time ago and yet deep, deep down was a feeling far more acute than pain.

Fear.

She licked her lips. Giovanni.

Giovanni—her husband.

Jealous, possessive, unrealistic, idealistic. Giovanni…

Silently she said the name she had tried to forget but never would—for how could she, when she was still tied to him by law, unresolved feelings and by something deeper still? Something so precious that if…if…

Alexa swallowed. Had he seen her? Her heart skipped a beat as that stupid hope flared into life once more. Did he know she was here?

But even before she met the ebony glitter of his eyes, training themselves on the shop window like a hunter’s gun, or watched him beginning to cross the road towards the building, she knew that it was a dumb question to ask.

Of course he knew she was here. Why else would the black-hearted millionaire be wandering down a quiet English road instead of swanning around his hot and noisy Naples in that sleek little sports car he used to drive, with all the men shouting Gio! and the girls smiling and swaying their hips as he passed?

What else did he know? Had he…found out?

Oh, please. The world began to blur again, and she clutched the flimsy piece of silk she was holding. Please don’t let him know.

Skin icing and heart beginning to pound, Alexa could feel the palms of her hands growing damp, and she put down the silk T-shirt she had been folding with shaking fingers. No wealthy customer would part with cash for an over-priced item if it was covered in splodges of her sweat. She licked her dry lips, telling herself it was insanity to try to second-guess the situation. Just see what he has to say and play it cool—surely you can do that, considering what’s at stake?

The shop door pinged, and she looked straight at him as he walked in, fixing a smile to her lips which she hoped was just the right mixture of formal politeness and mild curiosity. The kind of smile that any estranged wife would give to a husband who had given the dictionary a new definition for ‘unreasonable behaviour’.

‘H-hello, Giovanni,’ she said, but she heard her voice tremble, and he heard it too, for she saw the black eyes briefly narrow as he tried to interpret its origin. ‘This is a—’

‘What?’ he questioned, deadly as a snake.

‘Surprise.’ She swallowed, feeling her throat constrict on the word.

‘Ah! Such understatement, cara mia!’ he murmured ‘Did you really expect to go through the rest of your life without ever seeing me again?’

‘I hadn’t really given it much thought.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said softly, and his eyes flicked her a mocking look. Not think about him? The moon would fail to rise in the heavens before that should happen! ‘All women who have known me are obsessed with me—and in many ways you have known me better than most, for you are the only woman I ever married.’

But Giovanni knew that it had been more than just the legal tie of their marriage which made her knowledge of so unique—a marriage which had been far stronger and less easy to shrug off than he had anticipated. It was because Alexa had seen him with his guard down—she had witnessed Giovanni veering towards the vulnerable—and she had taught him a lesson that he should have known all along: women were never to be trusted.

Alexa’s fixed smile became a grotesque kind of grimace. ‘Did you…did you want to speak to me?’

Jet-black brows were raised in arrogant query. ‘The alternative being that I want you to sell me some women’s clothes—perhaps shopping here for one of my mistresses? What do you think?’

If only he knew! If only he had an inkling about the crazed thoughts which were swirling around in her mind like an out-of-control whirlwind. Because you know that what you have done to this man is wrong?

She willed the voice of her conscience to cease—dampening down its clamour with a reminder of the harsh and bitter words he had spoken to her. Everything she had done, she had done for a reason. ‘I can’t talk now. I’m working.’

‘So I see.’ He glanced around the shop’s interior, affecting interest—but in reality it was to allow the beating of his heart to steady. He was taken aback by its thunderous pounding—for he had underestimated her impact on his senses. Or maybe he had simply forgotten.

Hungrily, he let his eyes feast on her. Her bright hair was caught back in one of those severe French plaits you rarely saw these days, and she was wearing a black pencil skirt and white blouse—presumably some kind of uniform for working. Yet it didn’t look anything like a uniform when she was wearing it. With the slim skirt skimming the gentle curve of her hips and the silky shirt caressing the swell of her breasts, she looked like a favourite male fantasy—buttoned-up, yet red-hot and hungry underneath. Giovanni swallowed. Later.

‘Still a shop assistant?’ he questioned sardonically. ‘Isn’t this where you came in—unless you own the place, of course?’

‘No, I don’t own it.’

So there had been no sudden change in her fortunes. No lover to lavish his wealth on her, having been reeled in with that unique blend of supposedly innocent sensuality. Those pale green eyes which could range from serene to feisty and a hundred expressions in between. She had the kind of body you wanted to cover in diamonds—and then slowly remove them, one by one.

Had it surprised him that she had not approached him for a hefty divorce settlement? He supposed it had—but maybe her lawyers had advised her that a mere three-month marriage would not yield much in the way of alimony.

‘Hardly what you’d call rapid promotion, is it?’ he mused. ‘Shop assistant in some small backwater of a place you grew up in.’

How effortlessly fluent was his English—and how brutally accurate was his contempt for her situation! Alexa gave him a non-committal smile. ‘Well, we can’t all be captains of industry,’ she said quietly. ‘Listen, Giovanni—no one was ever going to be in any doubt that you were the achiever in our relationship, but I really don’t have time to stand around and chat.’ Especially about something as painful and as potentially explosive as their past.

He glanced around the empty shop. ‘But you don’t have any customers!’ he observed caustically. ‘If this were my place then I’d give it a dramatic overhaul.’

‘Well, fortunately for me, it isn’t. So what is it that you want, Giovanni?’ She blinked up at him, wondering if he could hear the slight crack of pain in her voice—because sometimes emotions just crept up on you, whether you liked it or not.

What if he had come to tell her that he wanted his freedom? That he had met someone new and fallen in love—only this time it was the real thing, not some youthful cocktail of lust and unrealistic expectations. ‘You can tell me quickly.’

Giovanni heard the note of hope in her voice and gave a slow smile. ‘You think I’ve travelled from Italy to tell you quickly?’ he echoed silkily.

He had her senses spinning and she wanted it to stop. She wanted the rapid hammering of her heart and the feeling of faintness to pass, along with the regret and all the other things he had stirred up inside her within the space of a few minutes.

Alexa drew a deep breath. ‘You should have warned me you were coming,’ she said, in a low voice. And how would she have reacted if he had? Run away until she was certain the coast was clear, taking Paolo with her? But you couldn’t keep running away all your life. Suddenly, an intimation of terror began to whisper its way over her skin. ‘You should have warned me,’ she repeated, more urgently now.

Giovanni looked at her trembling lips. Not for a moment had he thought she might have grown immune to him—but Alexa’s reaction was very interesting.

She was edgier than he might have expected in the circumstances. And why was that? he wondered. Because she’d realised what she had thrown away? Or because she wanted him to take her into his arms and kiss her—to press his hard heat against the pliant softness of her body and drive his throbbing hardness deep inside her until she begged for release?

Giovanni’s sensual lips curved into a cruel smile as he felt the rush of heat to his groin and the powerful beat of anticipation—yet he experienced slight dismay, too and the faint prickle of anger, because the feelings she provoked in him defied all logic.

Memories of betrayal and deceit washed over him when he looked at the pale oval of her face, and yet there was lust, too—a fierce sexual hunger which he had never completely satisfied. Surely that must account for the sudden strange lurching of his heart?

The agenda which had brought him here today was simple: the invitation burning a hole in his pocket and a desire that his wife accede to his wishes. And yet there had been curiosity, too. A sense of something never quite completed, nor put to rest—a question that everyone whose marriage had failed must ask: what if?

Giovanni’s mouth hardened. But that was pure unnecessary sentiment—and he was not a man given to sentiment. Putting that aside, he knew what he really wanted, and it was more than her agreement to accompany him on such an important occasion. Ah, si. He intended to have her one last time. He would feast on her body and take his fill from it—and then…He swallowed. Then that last lingering legacy from their ill-fated marriage would be satisfied and he could move on.

Inside the luxurious interior of the store, the lights shone down and transformed her hair into pure spun gold. Yet the light played tricks just as the heart did, for her hair was not really gold, but a strange colour somewhere between red and gold—the colour they called strawberry-blonde. Such a rare shade to adorn a head, and especially so in his native Southern Italy.

Her eyes were the fresh colour of pistachio and her skin looked like creamy vanilla. The first time he’d met her he had told her she looked like an ice cream sundae, and only just stopped himself from adding that he wanted to lick her all over. Much later he had teased her that he wanted to dip his spoon in her—and her corresponding blush had sealed her fate. His face darkened.

She was his.

Alexa.

Alexa O’Sullivan. A name as unusual as her hair, as her soft curving body, pale with silken skin. She looked as innocent now as she had done on the day they had met. But innocents did not lie, nor did they cheat.

He was prepared for the anger, but unprepared for the regret. That he had ever married her in the first place? Or that he had let her pale green eyes and berry-coloured lips lull him into believing a fantasy?

‘What time do you finish?’ he said softly.

For a moment Alexa hesitated, recognising that he wasn’t going to go away until he’d got what he came for, no matter how much she wanted him to. The most sensible thing would be to arrange to meet him for lunch the next day—which would give her time to compose herself, prepare herself for any verbal battle. But that would mean him hanging around—maybe even staying in one of the local hotels—and then what? Giovanni asking questions—smarming his way into the confidence of adoring women staff, or—worse—local people beginning to look closely at his stunningly dark Mediterranean looks and putting two and two together.

‘I finish at six,’ she said quickly.

‘Good. Good.’ Giovanni’s black eyes glittered with satisfaction. The first part of his mission was accomplished—the second would be to decide where to take her. A hotel? With the convenience of a bedroom within walking distance? Why not start as he meant to go on? Hunger curved the edges of his mouth into a hard smile. ‘I’ll pick you up here.’

‘No!’ The word flew out before she could stop it, but Alexa wanted neutral territory—a bland, safe environment. Though was anywhere really safe with Giovanni? Didn’t the power of his presence subtly dominate his surroundings, so that no matter where you were all you were aware of was him? She met his questioning stare. ‘My boss doesn’t like anyone else in the shop while I’m emptying the till,’ she babbled. ‘I have to look after the takings.’

‘I shouldn’t think there’ll be much in the way of takings, judging by the lack of customers,’ he observed sardonically, raising his eyebrows. ‘You will have to do better than that for an excuse, cara.’

It was arrogant of him to suppose that she needed an excuse not to talk to him—but then, his arrogance had never been in question. ‘I won’t be able to concentrate if you’re breathing down my neck.’

He smiled. Better. Much better. ‘No, I can see that might be a problem,’he agreed evenly. ‘So, where shall I see you?’

Alexa’s mind was racing. She would have to phone the childminder, of course, and arrange a later pick-up, but that should be okay.

She ran through all the possible venues to come up with the one where she was least likely to know anyone—but as a woman who rarely went out in the evenings she had a pretty big field to choose from. ‘Meet me in the Billowing Sail,’ she said. ‘Just after six. It’s a little pub, tucked away in the corner of the harbour.’

‘A pub?’ he echoed.

‘That’s right.’

‘But I don’t like pubs, Alexa,’ he said softly. ‘You know that.’

And she didn’t like being forced into a meeting with a man who could still turn her emotions upside down. He—like she—would just have to put up with it. ‘I’m afraid that pubs are part of English life—and none of the coffee shops will be open at six.’

‘Then let’s have dinner instead.’

‘D-dinner?’

‘The meal that people eat in the evenings,’he enlightened her sarcastically. ‘You know.’

Alexa felt her heart slam nervously against her ribcage. One thing she knew for sure—no way could she endure the forced intimacy of a restaurant, with its subdued lighting and leisurely service.

She shook her head. ‘No—not dinner.’

His black eyes narrowed. ‘You mean you don’t want dinner, you don’t eat dinner—or you’re having it with somebody else?’

For a second she was tempted to say yes—that the man of her dreams would be waiting at home for her, with a warm smile and an even warmer bed. Because most men would give up and go away if they thought she’d moved on and found herself another man. But Giovanni wasn’t most men, and his jealousy was legendary. It had helped destroy their relationship with its warped, dark poison—and Alexa didn’t think she could face seeing it activated now.

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not having dinner with someone else. But I’m tired,’ she said truthfully. ‘It’s been a long week, and I don’t imagine we’re going to have a lot to say to each other—certainly not enough to fill a whole meal-time. A quick drink should do it.’

For a minute their eyes met in a silent battle of wills, and he thought about trying to impose his on her—but wouldn’t that put her defences up? Alexa had something he wanted, and so for now he would play this her way. And besides, he would soon talk her out of her dismissive suggestion—or maybe kiss her out of it. His heart began to race in anticipation. A quick drink, indeed!

‘Very well,’ he agreed. ‘I will see you in there, soon after six. Ciao, bella.’ And he turned his back on her and walked towards the door, seeming to take all the light and the colour with him as it shut behind him with a little pinging of the bell.

In a daze, Alexa watched him go, her knees feeling as if they were about to give way, scarcely able to believe that what she had most dreaded had just taken place.

Only it isn’t over yet. Not by a long way.

She turned round and reached for the box of tissues she kept beneath the counter, for customers to wipe off their lipstick before they slithered into costly items of clothing, and dabbed furiously at the tears which couldn’t seem to stop welling at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t even register that the shop door had opened again, and it wasn’t until she heard a voice behind her that she whirled round and saw her boss standing there—an elegant blonde in her fifties, a concerned look on her face.

‘Teri!’ she gasped. ‘I was miles away. I didn’t—’

‘I know you didn’t. That was your husband, wasn’t it?’ guessed Teri perceptively. ‘The Italian Stallion currently wowing the female population of Lymingham?’

Alexa nodded, trying to compose herself. ‘Ex-husband,’ she corrected, swallowing back the tears.

‘I didn’t think you were divorced?’

‘We’re not—officially—but divorce is just a piece of paper,’ said Alexa fiercely. ‘Just like marriage.’

‘You think so?’ questioned Teri wryly, and then a note of curiosity crept into her voice. ‘How come we’ve never seen him before?’

Alexa tensed. ‘Because he lives in Naples and I live here, and we don’t have a shared life together.’

‘That’s not what I mean, Lex,’ said Teri gently. ‘He’s Paolo’s father, isn’t he?’

There was a pause. It was just as Alexa had thought—the resemblance was as unmissable as a dark cloud suddenly obscuring the sun. The boy was a carbon copy of the man. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

Teri’s eyes narrowed in a slowly dawning comprehension, and she raised the tips of her fingers to her mouth. ‘And he doesn’t know, does he?’

There was a terrible silence.

‘No.’

‘Oh, Alexa.’

But Alexa shook her head, remembering Giovanni’s bitter words. The torture of living with him once he’d decided she didn’t measure up to his exacting standards of what a woman should be. The accusation he had flung at her as she had left his house and his city and his life. And she remembered his immense wealth and determination. Oh, no. She would be a fool to start having some kind of euphoric recall about the man she had married—and an even bigger one to underestimate his power.

‘He would take him away from me if he knew,’ she said flatly. ‘And that’s the truth.’

‘But how…why?’ asked Teri in confusion. ‘I mean, how on earth has all this happened?’

How, indeed? Why did some people’s dreams get smashed to pieces while others merely faded away like the end of a film?

She could tell Teri that she had travelled to Naples and fallen in love with that vibrant, chaotic city which was flanked by Mount Vesuvius, the island of Capri and the crystal-blue waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Just as she had fallen in love with Giovanni—or thought she had. With his dark good looks and dangerous charm and his determination to possess her—yes, possess her—who could have resisted him?

Fresh out of university, and undecided about a future which had seemed to have a gaping hole in it since her mother had remarried and emigrated, Alexa had gone to Italy to brush up on a language at which she was already passably fluent.

It hadn’t taken her long to decide that Italian men were after one thing—easy, uncomplicated sex with women who were prepared to offer it to them on a plate. And Alexa hadn’t been. Her one foray into matters sensual had been enough to make her cautious—because the man to whom she had lost her virginity had had all the sensitivity of bull. But then she’d met Giovanni, and all her best intentions had flown out of the window.

Working in the air-conditioned splendour of the city’s biggest and plushest department store, Alexa had become a bit of a novelty. A foreigner who spoke cool and fluent Italian—and there certainly weren’t many English shop assistants in Naples! Customers had been charmed by her accent, and men in particular had come to purchase soft leather gloves from the pale-skinned creature with the green eyes and red-blonde hair and the pale, poised air. Sales had increased. She’d been given a raise and moved onto handbags.

And then one morning Giovanni had walked in, and everything had changed. In an instant she had become the victim of the feeling which had swamped over her—a feeling she’d never really believed in until it happened to her. But then no one ever did.

The world had stopped spinning, became suspended and frozen—and everything in it had blurred into insignificance except for the man who had sauntered in, seemingly oblivious of all the eyes upon him as he homed in on her like a moth to the flame. And Alexa had fallen in love.

She had not known that he owned the store, and several like it throughout Italy, or that he featured on all the Best-Dressed and Most Eligible lists—usually somewhere near the top. All she’d known was that he had eyes like ebony and skin which seemed especially dark—like sleek, polished wood—and that the suit he wore did little to conceal the hard, honed perfection of his body. Her mouth had dried, but she’d hidden it behind her polite shop assistant’s smile.

‘So, you are the woman who is causing all the excitement,’ he murmured.

Alexa glanced around the shop, taking deliberate note of all the women who were watching him, and she smiled as she answered him in Italian. ‘And you are the man who seems to be doing just the same!’

He was slightly taken back—as much by her retort as by her fluency. Giovanni had been told that she spoke his language, but he had not expected it to be so…so…perfect. ‘I have been told that you are very beautiful,’ he said huskily. ‘But words do not do you justice. I have never seen a mouth so begging to be kissed.’

Alexa’s eyes became shuttered. Because these were the kind of glib phrases she knew were meaningless. In the past weeks she had become a dab hand at spurning the advances of amorous men—though it had never seemed remotely difficult before. ‘Are you interested in buying a handbag, sir?’

Giovanni thought of a hundred ways he could react to her question. He could say yes, go through a flirtatious little pantomime of asking her advice and then buying the one she liked best—probably the most expensive one—and presenting it to her with a theatrical flourish before asking her out for dinner. But some cool reserve in the pale green eyes told him that this strategy would not get him the result he wanted. She was not flirting with him, he realised with a certain astonishment. Not flirting with him!

‘No, I am not interested in handbags. I am interested in showing you Naples.’

‘I have a map.’

‘And I have a car.’

Alexa glimmered him a smile. ‘I like to walk. But thank you all the same.’

‘I am used to getting my own way,’ he purred.

‘Then I have a feeling that this time you’re going to be disappointed.’

‘I am never disappointed when I set my heart on something.’

Alexa discovered that he was rich, and that he changed his women more often than his cars. She told herself that the best thing would be to avoid him—but Giovanni da Verrazzano laid siege to her, and the more she refused his invitations, the more ardent became his pursuit.

If she’d had been older and more experienced she would have realised that her unwillingness to go out with him was only increasing his determination, and his admiration. But she wasn’t doing it to play games. She was doing it because she was frightened of being hurt.

So that by the time she could refuse him no longer, and agreed to have a chaste lunch in a tiny restaurant scented with jasmine and overlooking the city, Giovanni had placed her on a pedestal as high as Vesuvius itself.

He swept her off her feet with a masterful arrogance which left her reeling—and yet it was his surprisingly tender restraint which ensnared her and fuelled the fires of a passion she hadn’t known she possessed. The almost reverential respect he showed for her determination not to fall into his bed meant that Alexa could relax.

For the first time in his life Giovanni listened to a woman, and talked with her—and it was a novel experience. She made him laugh—while he showed her that a sexy and virile man could have the soul of a poet.

He fell in love—was blown away by it—as innocent as a child beneath the onslaught of this powerful feeling. The cynical man of the world who had seen and done everything was as susceptible as the next when it came to the age-old vulnerability of the heart.

But nobody told them about brevity of the colpo di fulmine—the thunderbolt of love—which crashed into lives for such a brief moment before crashing out again. If anyone had tried, they’d have never believed them.

‘Marry me,’ he said one day.

Alexa’s heart lurched, and threatened to deafen her with its sudden wild pounding.

‘But—’

‘Marry me, Lex,’he said again—softly, sweetly—his lips brushing over hers in way which made her want to faint with pleasure.

Maybe it was madness, but in Giovanni Alexa saw her glorious future. He wanted to take care of her. Her beautiful, strong, old-fashioned Italian seemed to be the answer to something she hadn’t even been aware she was looking for.

So they married, in a ceremony which was intended to be simple—until Giovanni’s mother arrived back from a spending spree in Monte Carlo to turn it into something of a spectacle. But nothing could destroy Alexa’s slightly disbelieving pleasure in the unexpected twist her life had taken. It felt like a dream—it was a dream, she thought happily, forgetting that dreams didn’t stand up to the cold light of day.

And hers crumbled on their wedding night itself, when Giovanni made the discovery that his bright-haired and perfect bride was no virgin. He stilled, staring down at her in disbelief, words torn from his lips moments after he entered her.

‘There has been another?’

It was a question designed to break the bubble of her passion—though for a moment Alexa wasn’t quite sure she had heard properly. But then he repeated it—or rather, he shouted it—and the lovemaking which up until the moment of penetration had been like her wildest expectations come true—suddenly mushroomed into something else entirely. Something ugly. Something shameful. Giovanni’s face closed up—closing her out—but he didn’t stop what he was doing. He carried on moving inside her, and the only chink in his armour came in that brief moment when he lost control and cried out her name.

Afterwards, she lay back against the pillows, feeling as if he had ripped something from her heart and her soul, staring up in the moon-washed silence as his terse and furious interrogation began.

And the first night of their honeymoon was only the start of it—for his discovery had awakened the dark green serpent of a jealousy which up until that moment had lain dormant. Every move she made was watched; every statement she uttered was analysed. She had slept with five men, no—ten. Or was it more than that? And how many was she sleeping with now, other than him? She must tell him, for he needed to know!

Yet he seemed determined to give her satisfaction—almost as if he was demonstrating a master-class in sex. As if he wanted to show her how good it could be. And in some ways it was. In his arms, Alexa gasped out her pleasure time and time again, but the lack of emotion and the simmering anger on Giovanni’s face made her feel empty afterwards. Like a beach, when the tide had turned and flowed away.

It was a slow kind of torture, and Alexa lasted only three months of her doomed marriage. Then she had fled vowing never to revisit that black landscape of despair ever again—but she would never forget Giovanni’s snarled and angry words ringing in her ears.

At least we must give thanks that you aren’t pregnant—for how would we ever know the identity of the father?

Yes, the facts were simple—it was what lay behind them which was complex. She had been too young to know the difference between love and lust, or between protection and possession. She should have known something about Italian men—and Southern Italian men in particular—before she committed herself to marriage.

‘Are you going to tell him?’ asked Teri now, her concerned voice bringing Alexa back to the present. ‘That he has a son?’

Alexa wiped away the last tear and shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she said, swallowing defiantly. ‘I can’t afford to.’

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER Teri had left the shop, Alexa forced herself to deal with practicalities. She phoned the childminder, who said that, yes, of course Paolo could have his tea there.

‘I’ll pick him up at about seven-thirty,’ said Alexa, in a voice which suddenly sounded shaky. ‘Will you…will you send him my love?’ She heard the emotion trembling in her voice as the childminder said she would, and that they would see her later.

Alexa put the phone down. Her proud and beautiful little son would not be happy to have his normal routine changed, but he would soon have the childminder acceding to his every wish just by looking at her from beneath the thick curtain of his dark lashes and twisting her with that heartbreaking smile.

What would Paolo say if he knew that his daddy was in town? She bit her lip with pain and guilt—but it was pointless allowing her mind to go there. Hadn’t she gone over this, over and over again, and decided this was the only way that her son could be guaranteed a life that wasn’t filled with acrimony and trauma?

But by the time Alexa finally locked the shop door at the end of the day she was a bag of nerves, and knew she had to pull herself together. It was pointless trying to predict what she would say or how she would behave until she knew the reason why Giovanni had suddenly turned up here today. And if she walked into the pub looking like a shivering wreck, then his suspicions would only be alerted.

Changing out of her working clothes, she pulled on jeans, sweater and jacket, and stared back at her image, knowing that she was dressed in a way which was practical and smart rather than feminine. But appearances mattered—particularly to a man like her husband. He would judge her by what she was wearing and she would not, not be found wanting. So she brushed her hair and added a touch of lipstick, and rubbed her finger against her cheeks in an attempt to put some colour there.

At least the crisp breeze which blew in from the sea took her breath away and made her feel properly alive—even if her heart felt dead. She walked along to the harbour, where little boats bobbed in the water with their masts chattering and where seagulls cawed in their relentless search for food.

On such a cold evening there were few people hanging around, and it seemed so desolated and so very English that for a moment Alexa could scarcely believe that her estranged husband was sitting waiting for her—here, in this little town. Her territory, she thought. Not his.

The pub sign creaked, and Alexa hugged her coat tightly to her as she dipped her head to walk into the warm, beamed interior and look around for Giovanni.

He wasn’t hard to find. The pub was fairly quiet, with just a few office workers having a quiet pint before setting off home for the familiar evening routine, and Giovanni looked overwhelmingly exotic in comparison.

On a table in front of him stood two glasses of red wine, and his long, muscular legs were stretched out in front of him—pulling the material tight over his groin and unashamedly accentuating his masculinity.

Alexa thought how deeply olive his skin looked beneath the soft lighting—yet it gave off a soft golden radiance which contrasted with his thick hair, as black as the coal which lay waiting to be thrown onto the roaring fire.

And suddenly she felt a terrible yearning—like someone standing in an icy waste who had just sighted a thick cashmere blanket. For how long was it since she had looked on a man and felt anything approaching desire?

Not since Italy.

And she had never desired anyone the way she had Giovanni—how could she? Who could possibly follow a role model like him?

Well, she wasn’t going to think of that now. Keep focussed. Find out why he’s here and keep it simple. Pinning a smile to her lips, she began to walk towards him.

Giovanni’s eyes narrowed as he saw her, and again that alien and unexpected feeling wrenched at him. How pale her face looked, he thought with a frown. And how did she always manage to project that image of being all alone in the world—so that a man wanted to reach out and safeguard her? His frown deepened. Because that was the game she played—one that all clever and beautiful women engaged in. His own mother had excelled at it. Alexa was simply capitalising on her assets—emphasising her strange fragility and her pale, doe-like beauty.

Forcing himself to concentrate instead on the darkened bow of her mouth, the sway of her hips, and the thought of her breasts hidden beneath the bulky jacket, he was rewarded with a familiar leap in his groin. He rose to his feet as she approached, because his manners were always impeccable, even if the dark light flashing from his eyes was anything but conventionally polite.

‘Here I am,’ she said flatly.

‘So I see.’

They stared at one another like two new boxers in the ring, who were trying to psych the other one out.

He would never have allowed her to go out wearing such a bulky, waterproof jacket as the one which now sparkled beneath fine droplets of seawater, he thought. Yet the dilemma with someone who looked like Alexa was that on the one hand you wanted her to display that magnificent body of hers—while on the other you did not want other men seeing it. But they were separated now, and none of the normal rules counted. How she dressed was nothing to do with him, for he was interested only in seeing her without any clothes on at all.

His eyes flickered over her, to where her glorious hair tumbled down in windswept strands over her breasts. ‘At least you’ve let your hair down,’ he observed softly.

‘Giovanni, we aren’t here to…’

‘To what, cara?’ he questioned innocently.

‘To—to make personal remarks like that.’ To make her feel like a real woman for the first time in years and remind her of his consummate skill as a lover. And wasn’t she in danger of regarding even that through rose-tinted spectacles? She must force herself to remember the reality of their wedding night and its bitter conclusion. ‘It isn’t appropriate,’ she finished.

Giovanni heard the slightly despairing note of appeal in her voice and bit back his smile. This was good. What was it that the English said? He was getting under her skin. Just as she had once got under his, playing disingenuous games in order to hook him, as women had been attempting to do since he’d first started shaving.

‘Sit down,’he said, his eyes narrowing at her look of genuine hesitation.

‘I don’t know if I should.’

His mouth curved into a mocking line. Did she really imagine that he would let her walk away from him a second time?

‘I said, sit down,’ he repeated silkily.

Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure she could walk straight out again—even if he’d told her she could. The feelings which had surged over her since he’d entered the shop suddenly took their toll, and with legs which were suddenly weak Alexa sank down onto one of the overstuffed leather sofas, glancing around her as nervously as if she was a woman on a blind date.

Sometimes when she was out she felt self-conscious, or paranoid as if people were staring at her. But today they really were. And it was nothing to do with a winds-wept woman on her way home from work—but everything to do with the exotic man who had just sat down opposite her. He was lounging back in his chair like a dangerous, undiscovered species who needed a warning notice attached to him.

He pushed a glass of wine towards her. ‘You look as if you could use it.’

Alexa took the drink but didn’t touch it. Just looked straight into his eyes and willed herself not to respond to all those potent signals he was sending out. But most potent of all was the heartbreaking similarity between him and Paolo. The same thick forest of black lashes, and the slash of high, slanting cheekbones. The same dark curls—though Paolo’s were more of an ebony tumble and Giovanni’s had been expertly clipped to lovingly define the proud shape of his head. She shook the thoughts away.

‘How did you find me?’ she questioned, curling her fingers around the glass, as if doing that would warm their frozen stiffness.

‘Oh, finding you was simple, cara—far easier than I expected.’He shrugged. He had been surprised she was still here—but then, didn’t women always go back to somewhere they’d known? She had lived here before she had come out to Italy. Before her mother had moved off to live in the wilds of Canada, and before he had foolishly decided that Alexa needed looking after and had married her.

His mouth hardened. ‘I tried your old phone number and got your voice on the answer-machine.’

‘And if you hadn’t?’

He shrugged, but his eyes glittered. ‘Then I should have had to employ someone to find you. Anything is possible.’

‘A…detective?’

‘Something like that.’

‘But you didn’t? Get a detective, I mean?’ she questioned, until she saw his face and realised that she’d said too much. Underestimated his razor-sharp intelligence. He must surely have noticed her wide-eyed fear and be questioning its source. So better start back-tracking before it was too late.

‘Whatever is the matter, Alexa? Anyone would think you had something to hide from me.’

‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic!’ she said brightly, though inside she hated herself for the unspoken lie which fell from her lips. ‘I’m just fascinated to find out what has brought you here.’

‘Are you?’He traced his forefinger along his bottom lip thoughtfully. Of course she was going to be jumpy—what woman wouldn’t be, in her situation? Was she looking at him now and realising what a stupid mistake she had made? But she was the one who had to live with the consequences of her own stupidity—and that was not the reason he was here.

‘Yes, in truth it is a fascinating story,’ he agreed, but for once in his life the words did not come easily—there was no template for this kind of situation. He ran his finger around the rim of his wine glass and realised that although they were separated he was still treating her like a wife. For simply by marrying they had forged a deep bond he had experienced with no other woman—no matter what had happened between them subsequently. Why else would he be about to confide in her an incredible story he had told no other? ‘You remember my mother?’ he asked suddenly.

It was not the opening Alexa had been expecting, and it took her off guard. ‘Yes, of course I remember her,’ she answered slowly. ‘She’s a pretty unforgettable character.’ Natala—his glamorous, gorgeous mother, with her penchant for diamonds and those slinky black satin dresses which were as tight as a second skin. Until Alexa had met Natala she hadn’t realised that mothers could look like film stars.

‘How is she?’ she questioned, not quite sure of the etiquette in asking after a woman who had once been overheard pronouncing her as—‘ordinary. And she has no money, Gio!’

His lashes came down, concealing all but a dark gleam of light in his eyes. ‘She died last year,’ he said bluntly.

Alexa gasped, everything else forgotten—because his mother had been relatively young. ‘Oh, Giovanni—I’m so sorry,’ she said instinctively, and only just stopped herself from leaning forward to touch him.

Giovanni’s eyes narrowed and she saw in them the brief chink of pain. But then it was gone—clicked out—like the shutter of a camera.

‘Did you come here just to tell me that?’ she questioned uncertainly.

His black eyes hardened. ‘No. Of course not.’

There was a pause as he seemed to search for the right words. It was so uncharacteristic of Giovanni to hesitate that Alexa felt herself stiffening with apprehension.

‘What, then?’ she said nervously, because precious minutes were ticking away—and it wasn’t just that she wanted to be back on time for Paolo and not to alienate the childminder by taking advantage. She also wanted to be away from the still-powerful sexual pull her husband exerted—away from the foolishness in her heart which made her want to put her arms around him and draw him close in a gesture of comfort.

He tapped his long olive fingers against the polished surface of the table. ‘After she died I was going through her papers and I made a discovery.’

‘What…kind of discovery?’

Sifting and sorting through the files of information in his mind, Giovanni began for the first time to place them in some kind of coherent order. ‘The unwelcome kind—that informs you that you have been labouring under an illusion for most of your life,’ he said, and his voice sounded suddenly harsh.

‘What illusion?’

His voice hardened. ‘As you are aware, I grew up believing that my father was a Spanish aristocrat—one who refused to publicly acknowledge me, even though he was prepared to pay generously for my upkeep and my mother’s jewels. My mother told me that her silence about his identity to the rest of the world would guarantee her a lifetime’s riches. And it did.’ The stony expression in his eyes matched the sentiment at the heart of his words. ‘She also led me to believe that he had died—and I had no reason to distrust her.’

‘You mean she was lying?’

Giovanni threw her a look of mockery. ‘Why? Would you feel an affinity with her if you knew that to be the case?’ he questioned acidly.

‘I’m not interested in raking up old scores, Giovanni,’ she answered quietly. ‘What are you trying to say?’

‘That my father is not Spanish at all—and he is not dead. Though he is very old, nearing the end of his life, and—’

‘And?’ she prompted, on a whisper.

‘I am the son of a sheikh,’ he said at last, aware even to his own ears—how bizarre his words must sound. He could see his own reaction mirrored in her widened eyes.

‘What?’

‘My father is a sheikh.’ But through the haze of unreality bubbled a feeling of intense…satisfaction. It was as if he had found the missing bit of himself—which, in a way, was exactly what had happened. ‘More specifically, he is Sheikh Zahir of Kharastan,’ he added. And then, as if to lessen the emotional impact of his words, he raised his jet brows in question, as if he were a university professor quizzing a student. ‘You have heard of it, perhaps?’

For a moment Alexa forgot their history, forgot her own dark secret and her fear of the man she had married—because his startling piece of information wiped all other thoughts completely from her mind. She didn’t even stop to question it—Giovanni wouldn’t lie about something like that. Why on earth would he? He had the riches and the power that most men hungered for—he wouldn’t invent royal blood unless it were true. And wouldn’t that just make him a million times more attractive to the opposite sex? she thought, with a sudden pang of wistfulness.

‘Of course I’ve heard of it,’ she breathed. ‘The papers have been talking of nothing else for weeks. There’s a big royal wedding taking place there soon, isn’t there?’

She tried to remember a bit more, but she had mainly looked at photos of the handsome groom and his beautiful fiancée while she’d been sitting in the hairdressers. What with working full-time, looking after her son and running a home some things had to give—and reading the foreign news section of the papers was unfortunately one of them. Alexa frowned. ‘But I thought it was the Sheikh’s son who is getting married. And isn’t he half-French?’

Giovanni gave a grim smile, for in a way she had made this easier for him. ‘Yes. He is. The Frenchman’s name is Xavier,’ he said. ‘And he is—as you say—the Sheikh’s son. He is also my half-brother.’

‘You mean there’s more than one son? I…don’t understand, Giovanni.’

Hadn’t he thought exactly the same thing himself, when the incredible facts had first been presented to him by the Sheikh’s aide—the man they called Malik? For in one swoop Giovanni had gone from being a man with no family to finding himself a father and a half-brother.

‘Although he had a long marriage, it seems that the Sheikh had two illegitimate offspring who were born in Europe during that time. Xavier was one and I am the other,’ he explained slowly. ‘Neither of us was acknowledged publicly, for fear of offending the Sheikh’s wife, but after her death it was his dearest wish to be reconciled with both sons, and for them to meet each other.’ Giovanni’s face was implacable. ‘And that is what has happened.’

‘You mean—you’ve met them?’

Giovanni nodded, his black eyes brilliant-seeking, restless, almost yearning. As if starting out on this bizarre quest had wakened some kind of dormant wanderlust in his blood. As a man who—apart from his one ill-fated experience with Alexa—was used to encasing his feelings in ice, it was strangely unsettling to feel this way.

‘Si,’ he said, his voice now rough with a passion he had not expected to feel for any country other than his Italian homeland. ‘I have met them. I flew to Kharastan. To a palace which is bluer than the brightest sky of high summer. To a land where falcons dominate the stark desert and hunger waits around every corner for the unwary. And there I was introduced to my…’ He toyed with the word family as a cat might play with a mouse before striking. But Giovanni did not strike. His lips curved, for the intimate title seemed inappropriate for a couple of men he barely knew—no matter what their blood-tie was. ‘I met the Sheikh and Xavier,’ he said carefully. ‘And the woman Xavier is to marry. They want me to go to their wedding.’

There was a pause while Alexa tried to digest the incredible facts he had told her. In any other circumstances she might have flung her arms around his neck and told him she was happy for him. Or she might have delved deep into his mind and asked him how he felt about suddenly discovering that he had a ready-made family?

But Alexa could not afford to do any of those things—even if their relationship had been the kind which would allow it. They had parted bitterly—with too much said which could never be unsaid. And there was too much at stake for her to risk asking him anything other than the time of his flight back to Italy.

‘It’s a very interesting story,’ she said carefully, and put her glass down on the table. ‘But I don’t understand why you’ve come all the way from Italy to tell me about it when we’re…’

‘When we’re what, Lex?’ he prompted softly. ‘Neither married, nor divorced? What is it that you say in England—neither fish nor fowl?’

‘We’re separated. Estranged.’

‘But still legally bound—so in theory we are still family. Why is that, I wonder? Why did you not file for divorce, cara?’ he questioned softly. ‘Did some clever lawyer advise you to bide your time—telling you that il tempo viene per chi sa aspettare?’

‘All things come to those who wait?’ Alexa translated slowly, for her command of the language had grown rusty. She hadn’t used it for years. Hadn’t wanted to—just the sound of it took her back to a place too hurtful to reside in.

‘Bravo, bella,’ he applauded softly. ‘Yet—while you may go to the top of the class—you have avoided answering my question. Have you been advised by a divorce lawyer? Closely watching my business dealings and then slowly closing in to make the maximum financial kill?’

Alexa felt the rapid skitter of her pulse, sensed a sudden and unknown danger. ‘You’re a cynic, Giovanni.’

‘Maybe life made me that way—and still you avoid my question.’

Because if she answered him then the whole story of Paolo would come tumbling out. Yet she could not avoid divorce for ever, could she? She’d somehow imagined that Giovanni would file for divorce early on after their split, and that whole subject would come up within the sanctity of a legal framework. Protected by lawyers, she would have been safe. But now too much time had elapsed—and that created its own problems. She honestly couldn’t see a way out of the maze she had helped create.

How could she tell him the truth when it was so blurred in her mind and in her heart that she wasn’t really sure any more about what was real and what was not?

And if you show him any weakness he will pounce on it.

‘I saw no reason in filing for divorce.’

‘Not even for the settlement?’

Alexa hesitated. She could have done with a settlement. But pride had stopped her. She had chosen independence and freedom from his obsessive jealousy over all else—so in the circumstances could hardly ask him for any money. If she did that then the truth would come out, and the chance of a generous settlement was too high a price to pay if it meant that Giovanni could wrench Paolo away from her.

‘Perhaps you wish to remain married to me?’ His black eyes were gleaming as he continued with his relentless line of enquiry. ‘Maybe you regret that the division of our relationship ever occurred? Did you walk out thinking that there might be a million other men like me out there, only to discover just how wrong you could be?’

Alexa opened her mouth to question his arrogance—to remind him of his unrealistic expectations of her which could never be fulfilled. But not only were accusations and recriminations futile, they also had the potential to be dangerous. Because was there the tiniest intimation of truth behind them? Just go. Get up and go.

‘There’s no point in making inflammatory remarks, Giovanni.’ She bent down to retrieve her handbag, repressing a sigh of relief that her ordeal was almost over. Yet there was some part of the feminine psyche—and hers in particular—that made her experience a terrible, tearing pang at the thought that this really might be the last time she saw him. And part of her was longing to ask him a stream of questions about his discovery. But it’s none of your business, she reminded herself. He’s not part of your life.

Isn’t he?

The goading question inside her head disturbed her more than it should have done, and Alexa gripped the strap of her handbag as if her life depended on it. ‘If that’s everything you wanted to say, then I really must be on my way. It really was…’ She shrugged a little helplessly. ‘Fascinating.’

‘Do not be absurd, Alexa,’ he warned silkily. ‘You can’t just get up and leave.’

‘I can do anything I please,’ she returned. Because now the hammer of fear was beginning to strike at her heart—until she reminded herself that not even Giovanni would dare to keep her there by force. ‘That’s the joy of being single!’

Stung to anger, she had given away the fact that there was no man on the scene—but Giovanni did not feel it necessary to allow himself a quiet smile of satisfaction. Even if she’s had a lover he would soon have been dispatched—for who on earth would ever win a woman over Giovanni da Verrazzano?

‘You still haven’t heard the reason why I have come here today, Alexa—surely you are a little bit curious?’

She feigned uninterest but suddenly her senses prickled. There was an air of thinly veiled excitement about him. And something else too—something she couldn’t put her finger on.

Was he going to ask for a divorce? she wondered, and to her astonishment felt her heart plummet like a coin dropped from the top of a tall building. Wasn’t it strange how something as sensible and as irrevocable as the legal termination of a long-dead marriage should have the power to hurt, even after all this time? ‘Okay, I’m curious. Tell me.’

He smiled. ‘I want you to accompany me to Kharastan. I want you at my side for the wedding of my half-brother.’

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