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Lucy Monroe brings you a brilliant new story in her ROYAL BRIDES series, Forbidden: The Billionaire’s Virgin Princess, where Sebastian can’t ignore Lina’s provocative innocence! Be sure to look out next month for another royal bride! The Sicilian’s Ruthless Marriage Revenge is the start of Carole Mortimer’s sexy new trilogy, THE SICILIANS. Three Sicilians of aristocratic birth seek passion—at any price! And don’t miss The Greek Tycoon’s Convenient Wife by Sharon Kendrick—the fabulous conclusion to her GREEK BILLIONAIRES’ BRIDES duet.

Also this month, there are hot desert nights in Penny Jordan’s The Sheikh’s Blackmailed Mistress, a surprise pregnancy in The Italian’s Secret Baby by Kim Lawrence, a sexy boss in Helen Brooks’s The Billionaire Boss’s Secretary Bride and an incredible Italian in Under the Italian’s Command by Susan Stephens. Also be sure to read Robyn Grady’s fantastic new novel, The Australian Millionaire’s Love-Child!

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They seek passion—at any price!

A new series by Carole Mortimer

Sicilian heroes—with revenge in mind and romance in their destinies!

The Sicilian’s Ruthless Marriage Revenge

July 2008

At the Sicilian Count’s Command

August 2008

The Sicilian’s Innocent Mistress

September 2008

Carole Mortimer
THE SICILIAN’S RUTHLESS MARRIAGE REVENGE

All about the author…
Carole Mortimer

CAROLE MORTIMER is one of Harlequin’s most popular and prolific authors. Since her first novel was published in 1979, this British writer has shown no signs of slowing her pace. In fact, she has published more than 125 books to date!

Carole was born in a village in England that she claims was so small “if you blinked as you drove through it you could miss seeing it completely!” She adds that her parents still live in the house where she was born, and her two brothers live very close by.

Carole’s early ambition to become a nurse came to an abrupt end after only one year of training, due to a weakness in her back suffered after a fall. Instead she went on to work in the computer department of a well-known stationery company.

During her time there, Carole made her first attempt at writing a novel for Harlequin Books. “The manuscript was far too short and the plotline not up to standard, so I naturally received a rejection slip,” she says. “Not taking rejection well, I went off in a sulk for two years before deciding to have another go.” Her second manuscript was accepted, beginning a long and fruitful career. She says she has “enjoyed every moment of it!”

Carole lives “in a most beautiful part of Britain” with her husband and children.

“I really do enjoy my writing, and have every intention of continuing to do so for another twenty years!”

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

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

GONE.

It was all gone.

The money had been spent long ago. In the last year, his London apartment had gone too, plus the villa in France and his red Ferrari. All of them lost to the turn of a roulette wheel.

It was a sickness; he knew it was. But, hard as he tried, it was a sickness he didn’t seem to be able to find a cure for.

Last night he had lost the one thing that he had always sworn he would never use to finance his gambling, and he had let his family down in the worst way possible.

Oh, God…!

His hands tightened on the steering wheel of the car he drove—a hire-car; he had no money left to buy one of his own. His steering was instinctive as he negotiated the hairpin bends of the mountain road that took him away from Monte Carlo, the azure blue of the Mediterranean Sea sparkling invitingly far below. It was a journey which he knew, despite his efforts to fight the urge, he would make back again this evening, when the fever became too much for him and he once again returned to the fascination of the gaming tables.

How would he ever be able to face his father and Robin, and tell them what he had done? How could he ever explain his betrayal?

He couldn’t.

After all the heartache he had already caused them, he really couldn’t!

And that blue sea below did look so very inviting…

Maybe he wouldn’t bother to turn the wheel at the next sharp bend. Maybe that was the answer to the sickness that possessed him, like a fever in his blood, drawing him back time and time again to Lady Luck.

A lady that had completely abandoned him….

Over.

It was all over.

All her hopes and dreams meant nothing now that she knew Pierre had never loved her at all. Certainly he’d never had any intention of leaving his wife for her.

She had believed him a year ago when he’d told her he loved her, hadn’t cared that he was a married man, only wanted to be with him, to be loved by him, to love him in return.

She had been so sure that the son she had borne him three months ago would be the spur he needed to leave his wife. Instead, the coward had chosen to confess all to his wife, to beg her forgiveness in order to stay at her side!

Her poor little son.

Her Marco.

She had brought shame and disgrace upon her family to bring him into the world. And it had all been for nothing. Pierre didn’t love her. Last night, as she’d lain replete in his arms after their lovemaking, and had begged him to come to her and their small son, he had told her the truth—that he had never loved her, that she had merely been a diversion, another conquest in a long list of such affairs.

Tears streaked her face as she drove along the mountain road back to Monte Carlo and the family-owned hotel there. To her child. Her small, beautiful, fatherless child.

He would be better off without her!

She had no heart left now—knew that it was broken in two, that it would never mend.

If she were no longer here, then her brother Cesare would care for Marco, would protect him from the stigma attached to his birth, would care for him as his own, safeguarding him, so that nothing and no one could ever hurt him.

Could she do this? Could she end this now?

End the pain of Pierre’s rejection?

His lies had brought her to this desperation.

His utter betrayal of a love she had thought so beautiful and perfect…!

Yes, she accepted, as she looked at the Mediterranean glittering and beckoning so temptingly far beneath her, like a diamond. Yes, she could do this. She could drive off the edge of this cliff and end the pain once and for all…

He had no idea there was a car approaching from the other direction. He only had time to register that neither of them had attempted to turn the bend in the road. The two vehicles met, joining with a crunch of screeching metal, then hurtled off into nothingness.

He turned to look at the driver of the other car, to register the beauty of the young woman’s face, and she looked back at him with haunted dark eyes.

And then the two vehicles began to fall, plunging down towards the deep, mesmerising depths of the Mediterranean….

CHAPTER ONE

‘THE WOMAN WITH Charles Ingram—do you know who she is?’ Cesare demanded harshly.

‘Sorry?’ Peter Sheldon, his male acquaintance, frowned his confusion.

Cesare’s mouth tightened as he bit back his impatient reply. After all, despite being at a charity dinner, the two men had been in the middle of a business conversation when Cesare’s attention had wandered. He’d been captivated by the woman who stood across the room at Charles Ingram’s side, looking so glitteringly gorgeous.

Next to Cesare’s bitterest enemy!

Cesare gave a smile, which showed the even whiteness of his teeth against his olive skin, but which did not reach the darkness of his eyes. ‘I was merely wondering who the beautiful woman is accompanying Charles Ingram…’ he voiced more calmly, his tone deliberately neutral even as his narrow-eyed stare remained on the ill-matched pair.

Charles Ingram was aged in his late fifties, silver-haired, and still a handsome man. In a room full of beautiful women wearing glittering jewellery and designer gowns, and elegantly suave men in tailored dinner suits, the tall, graceful woman who stood at Charles Ingram’s side still managed to stand out as extraordinary.

Her hair was the colour of honey, falling in lustrous waves halfway down her spine, and her eyes, even from this distance, were, Cesare could see, a deep, deep violet. She was laughing at something Charles Ingram said to her now, those eyes glowing. Her skin was a creamy magnolia, her mouth a full, tempting pout, her neck long and smooth, and the deep swell of her breasts was visible above the simple white gown she wore that nevertheless hugged the perfection of her alluring curves.

One of her hands—slender hands that could and no doubt did caress a man to the edge of madness—rested slightly possessively on the arm of her escort, and Cesare found himself gritting his teeth at the air of intimacy, of exclusivity, that surrounded the couple, despite the vast difference in their ages.

‘A beauty, isn’t she?’ Peter Sheldon murmured appreciatively. ‘Beautiful, but unattainable,’ he added regretfully.

‘Ingram has exclusive rights, you mean?’ Cesare questioned hardly, his jaw clenching just at the thought of all that sensual beauty being wasted on Charles Ingram.

‘Not at all,’ his business acquaintance dismissed humorously. ‘The lady in question is Robin Ingram—Charles’s daughter,’ he explained dismissively, when Cesare looked at him blankly for several seconds.

Robin Ingram.

Charles Ingram’s daughter?

Not the mistress Cesare had imagined at all. She wasn’t a mistress whom, just as an amusement to himself, after noting her own interested gaze fixed upon him, Cesare had been happily contemplating seducing away from her aging lover.

In the last three months Cesare had gathered all the information that he could on Charles Ingram—wanted to learn everything that he could about his sworn enemy, up to and including his shirt size.

Ingram’s second child had been included in that information, of course. But Cesare had assumed—erroneously, it now seemed!—that Robin was Charles Ingram’s younger son, and as such of little real interest.

‘I had thought that Robin was a man’s name?’ Cesare enquired. His English was faultless. As was his native Italian, and his French, German and Spanish.

‘It can be,’ his companion acknowledged lightly. ‘But it’s also one of those names that can be used by either sex.’

So Charles Ingram’s second child—Robin—was a woman…A beautiful, sexually alluring woman.

Which perhaps changed the direction of Cesare’s plans for his revenge on the Ingram family….

‘Daddy, do you know that man? No, don’t look over yet,’ Robin pleaded huskily, as her father would have turned to look in the direction of her own fascinated gaze. ‘There’s a man across the room—a dark-eyed, foreign-looking man—’

‘A handsome, dark-eyed, swarthy-looking man?’ her father teased lightly.

‘Well…yes,’ she conceded with a slight grimace. ‘But that isn’t the reason I noticed him.’

‘No?’ Her father smiled indulgently.

‘No,’ she insisted. ‘He’s been staring at me for the last ten minutes or so—’

‘I would stare at you too, if you weren’t my daughter!’ Charles assured her laughingly. ‘You look exceptionally beautiful tonight, Robin,’ he added approvingly as he sobered. ‘I’m glad you persuaded me to come here with you this evening. You were right. We can’t keep hiding away from everyone just because they might mention Simon.’

Robin dragged her eyes away from the man staring at her so intently from across the other side of this crowded and noisy room and looked at her father instead, easily recognising the lines of grief that still creased his brow and grooved beside his nose and mouth.

The last three months hadn’t been easy for either of them—the unexpected death of her brother Simon in a car accident having ripped their lives apart.

It was a loss that neither of them had come to terms with yet, and perhaps they never would completely. But she had persuaded her father to come to this charity dinner with her this evening—had felt that it was time they picked up the threads of their lives again, and that it was what Simon would have wanted.

‘Anyway, let’s forget about that for now and get back to your handsome dark-eyed stranger.’ Her father deliberately infused jollity into his tone. ‘Which one is he?’ He turned to look across the room crowded with socialites who had paid five thousand pounds a head to attend this event this evening.

‘You can’t miss him,’ Robin replied ruefully, as she once again found herself the focus of eyes so dark that they appeared almost black. ‘Tall. Very tall,’ she amended as she realised the man stood several inches above most of the other men in the room. ‘Probably aged in his late thirties. With slightly overlong dark hair,’ she elaborated, affected by his glittering dark eyes. In spite of herself, a shiver of awareness ran the length of her spine. ‘He’s standing next to Peter Sheldon—what is it, Daddy?’ She turned to to her parent anxiously as she felt the way Charles’s arm suddenly tensed beneath her fingers.

‘I want you to stay well away from him, Robin!’ her father advised abruptly, and he deliberately moved so that he was standing protectively in front of her, rather than at her side.

‘But who is he?’ Robin stared up at her father, slightly taken aback by the grimness of his expression.

‘His name is Cesare Gambrelli,’ Charles bit out tensely.

Gambrelli…Why did that name sound so familiar to her?

Only the name, of course; if she had ever seen or met this man before Robin knew she would definitely have remembered him!

‘Italian, obviously,’ her father continued to explain. ‘Mega, mega-rich. Amongst other things, the owner of the Gambrelli hotel chain.’

That must be why his name sounded so familiar. Of course Robin knew of the exclusive Gambrelli hotels. She had even stayed in several of them on occasion.

But who didn’t know of the luxurious, exclusive establishments that graced most of the capital cities in the world? Or of the Gambrelli media consortium, the music and film studios, the Gambrelli airline?

And this man, Cesare Gambrelli, the man who had been staring at her so intently, was the owner of all of them…

Although that didn’t explain her father’s obvious aversion to him.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said, puzzled. ‘What—Don’t look now, Daddy,’ she exclaimed in a low voice, ‘but I think he’s coming over!’

At five feet ten inches tall, in her three-inch heeled white strappy sandals, Robin could quite easily see over her father’s shoulder that Cesare Gambrelli was making his way deliberately across the room towards them.

‘Charles,’ Cesare greeted the older man emotionlessly as he moved to stand between father and daughter, making no effort to offer the older man his hand before turning to look at Robin Ingram with narrowed dark eyes. ‘And I believe this is your beautiful daughter…?’ he enquired smoothly.

‘This is Robin, yes.’ Charles Ingram was obviously rattled by his sudden appearance. ‘I’m surprised to see you at an event like this one, Gambrelli.’

Cesare ran his vision slowly over the flawless features of Robin Ingram—the sensual pout of the fullness of her mouth was seductive, and those violet-coloured eyes were as beautifully alluring, the creamy swell of her breasts as full and tempting, as he had imagined! Then he slowly returned his attention to the older man. ‘You think me an uncharitable man, Charles?’ he challenged.

Robin had sensed already what her father thought of this man, and that impression was enhanced after only a couple of minutes in his company—he was dangerous!

A tall, dark, deadly predator!

And the most handsome man she had ever set eyes on. His eyes were so dark they appeared black, his nose was aquiline, his sculptured lips hard and unyielding, his chin square and determined, and his hair, as dark as ebony, was brushed back from his brow to rest silkily on the white collar of his evening shirt. His shoulders were wide and muscled, his body lithe and powerful. But he was also, without a doubt, the most dangerous looking man Robin had ever seen!

The way he had looked at her just now—those dark eyes had dissected every creamy curve of her face before lingering slightly suggestively on the warm swell of her breasts above the strapless white dress she wore—had only succeeded in deepening her awareness of him.

In fact, she could still feel the slight flush to her cheeks, and her breathing was uneven. Caused not by embarrassment or awkwardness in his company, but by the sharp, stinging sexual awareness which hardened her nipples and encouraged a moist heat between her thighs!

‘Not at all.’ Her father was answering Cesare dismissively. ‘But this dinner is in aid of a British charity—and charity begins at home, doesn’t it?’

That sculptured mouth tightened slightly. ‘So the saying goes,’ Cesare Gambrelli acknowledged softly. ‘But you are wrong concerning my nationality, Charles,’ he added. ‘I am Sicilian, not Italian.’

Robin was aware of her father swallowing hard as Cesare Gambrelli silkily supplied this information, at the same time realising there was an increase in her father’s tension at the challenge that could clearly be heard in the other man’s honey-coated voice.

What was going on here? Because it was clear to her that something other than surface conversation was simmering between these two men.

There was a friction, a double meaning to their exchange, that implied they weren’t talking about this charity dinner at all, but something much deeper…

‘My mistake,’ her father murmured in reply to the other man’s comment.

A costly one, as far as Cesare was concerned. Sicilian men were not known for their forgiveness. As Cesare did not forgive the Ingram family for taking his sister from him—for taking Marco’s mother from him.

‘You are enjoying the evening so far, Miss Ingram?’ Cesare deliberately turned his full attention on Robin, knowing by the way her breasts had tautened and hardened against the soft material of her gown, their quick rise and fall as she breathed, that although she was aware of the tension between her father and himself, she was also sexually aware of him.

Good, Cesare noted with inner satisfaction.

He hadn’t completely rethought his plans yet, but he already knew that his plans for revenge were no longer set so rigidly on Charles Ingram. The beautiful Robin Ingram offered a much more enjoyable form of revenge than her father ever could.

‘Yes—thank you,’ she answered huskily, and she lowered long dark lashes over her violet-coloured eyes.

Modestly. Shyly. Almost coyly. And yet Cesare already knew that Robin Ingram was none of those things.

Peter Sheldon, once prompted, had been quite knowledgeable about Robin.

She was twenty-seven—ten years younger than Cesare—but she had been previously married for three years, to a knight’s son, no less, although there were no children from the union. She had returned to using the name Ingram after her divorce a year ago, and had shown no inclination since to repeat the experience—hence Peter’s remark that she was ‘beautiful but unnattainable’.

Enough of a challenge to any red-blooded man, but even more so to one so bent on revenge as Cesare.

‘My friend Peter Sheldon tells me that you were involved in the organisation of tonight’s event, Miss Ingram,’ Cesare drawled evenly. ‘You are to be congratulated.’ He gave an abrupt inclination of his head.

‘Thank you,’ she repeated. ‘But as we haven’t even eaten yet your congratulations may be a little premature,’ she added with a tinkling laugh.

Cesare regarded her consideringly. It had irritated him slightly to learn of her marriage and divorce, although he accepted that at twenty-seven she was hardly likely to still be a virgin. Nevertheless, he was interested to know who had divorced who, and for what reason…

‘Unfortunately I will not be staying for the meal,’ he told her politely, inwardly pleased when her face registered surprise. ‘I have…personal commitments that require me to be elsewhere,’ he explained softly.

‘Really?’ Her voice had sharpened slightly.

Cesare held back a smile as he heard her displeasure at the obvious—and mistaken—assumption she had made about those ‘personal commitments’.

‘Yes, really,’ he confirmed mockingly. ‘But I trust that the rest of the evening will be as successful for you.’

‘I hope so too,’ Robin answered him, annoyed with herself for the way her imagination had gone into overdrive at the mention of Cesare Gambrelli’s personal commitments that required him to be elsewhere.

Though it wasn’t too difficult to imagine what those personal commitments might be.

And it could be of absolutely no interest to her if he was off to spend the rest of the night in bed with a lady-friend!

Could it…?

She hadn’t so much as had dinner with a man since her divorce a year ago, let alone felt herself sexually aroused just looking at one! Yet she was still aware of that tingling in her breasts, of the slight dampness between her thighs, of her hightened sexual awareness that made her conscious of every single thing about Cesare Gambrelli.

A man her father had very firmly warned her to stay away from…

‘I believe it’s time for us to go into the banquet,’ she said, noticing with relief the three hundred or so guests beginning to make their way through to the room where they were to eat and be entertained. ‘It was nice to meet you, Mr Gambrelli,’ she added—for graciousness’ sake, rather than out of any real sincerity.

This man unnerved her. His dark good looks unnerved her. The way he stared at her so intently with those glittering black eyes unnerved her.

Her father’s obvious wariness of Cesare Gambrelli, despite his own success as a wealthy businessman, unnerved her even more!

‘Was it?’ Cesare Gambrelli came back dryly, and his hard mouth curved derisively as he continued to look at her intently. ‘In that case, I must ensure that we meet again, Robin. Soon,’ he emphasised.

Robin swallowed hard, her throat moving convulsively, a nerve pulsing at its base. A movement closely watched by Cesare Gambrelli before he raised hooded lids to once again hold her gaze disconcertingly.

‘Very soon,’ he added softly, before nodding abruptly to her father and striding away on long, powerful legs.

‘I want you to stay away from that man, Robin,’ her father repeated emphatically, a slight pallor beneath his skin.

‘But why—’

‘Just trust me on this, Robin,’ her father interrupted, ‘and please just stay away from him. The man is dangerous. I can’t emphasise that to you strongly enough!’

Echoing the thoughts Robin had about Cesare Gambrelli only minutes ago!

And after the way Cesare had made her feel, with her body still thrumming with need, Robin had every intention of keeping away!

Although she had a feeling, after Cesare Gambrelli’s last comment—promise?—that he had every intention of doing exactly the opposite….

CHAPTER TWO

‘IT IS GOOD of you to receive me, Miss Ingram,’ Cesare Gambrelli murmured, and Robin rose gracefully to her feet as he was shown into the sitting room of her father’s London home.

Had she had a choice?

She didn’t think so!

The man had come to the door and asked to see her father, only to be told that her father was out but that Robin was at home. At which time Cesare Gambrelli had asked to see her instead.

Despite her father’s warnings—which, though she had urged him, he had adamantly refused to give a reason for—it would have appeared churlish, if not downright rude on her part, to have refused to see Cesare Gambrelli when he had already been told she was present.

So, not exactly a choice on her part, was it?

He looked just as tall and arrogant as he had when they’d met six days ago, although today he was dressed in a dark business suit and a pale blue shirt, with a navy blue tie neatly knotted at this throat, rather than the formal evening clothes of their last meeting.

After his final comment to her at the charity dinner—the promise in his voice—Robin had known she would see him again, of course. She just hadn’t known when or where. Certainly she hadn’t expected that he would actually come to her father’s city house, into which she had moved back since her separation and divorce.

‘Won’t you sit down, Mr Gambrelli…’ she invited and she indicated one of the sumptuous armchairs that matched the sofa she had been reclining on, reading a book, before his arrival.

‘Thank you,’ Cesare accepted.

Robin had made the suggestion as a way of perhaps lessening the nerve-tingling effect of his powerful presence on her. He seemed to dwarf the spacious room. But even as he sat down, she knew it hadn’t worked; she was still just as aware of him—could feel the flush in her cheeks and the way her nipples had hardened beneath the cream silk blouse she wore with casual black trousers.

Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her with those dark brown eyes, from beneath hooded lids—as if he were stripping each piece of clothing from her body to reveal the creamy curves beneath.

Whatever the reason, she was just as aroused by this man as she had been a week ago—could almost feel those long hands caressing her, the feel of his lips against her flesh as he tasted her…

She sat down on the edge of the sofa, lacing her slightly trembling hands together to look across at him enquiringly. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Gambrelli?’

Many things, Cesare acknowledged to himself as he regarded her, a knowing smile curving his lips.

This woman, whose beauty was no less striking today, with that honey-coloured hair loose about her shoulders, had the sort of body that could give a man so much pleasure she would have the ability to drive him completely out of his mind.

Not Cesare, of course. Any relationship he had with this woman would be of his choosing, his design, his control.

A nerve pulsed in his jaw and his mouth tightened before he answered her. ‘Perhaps we could start by having you call me Cesare…?’ he invited smoothly, and he saw the flush deepen in her cheeks.

Not the blush of a maiden—at twenty-seven, having been married and divorced, she certainly wasn’t that! But the heated colour of sexual arousal. Her eyes had become almost purple with the depth of her response.

He could see her breasts through the sheer material of her blouse, through the cream outline of her bra, their dark, aroused tips clearly visible through those thin layers of silky fabric as they pouted invitingly.

Though she looked almost prim and proper, sitting on the edge of the sofa, her hands modestly linked, her knees pressed together, as Cesare’s gaze moved slowly down over those aroused breasts to her slender waist and below, he knew without a doubt that she wasn’t sitting like that out of modesty—that she would be moist between her thighs as her body readied itself with the sexual desire she was unable to hide from him.

Robin Ingram—the unattainable Robin Ingram—wanted him with a fierceness she couldn’t hide!

Which should make the next few minutes much simpler for both of them.

This was awful, Robin decided, and she shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, very aware of the heat of her body just from looking at this man.

Damn it, if he ever stripped off in front of her, revealing that dark, muscled body in all its naked glory, she would probably have an orgasm right then and there!

‘Very well…Cesare,’ she accepted tautly, forcing her gaze to meet his. ‘I believe you wanted to see my father?’

‘No,’ he came back dismissively. ‘It was always my intention to call on you.’

Robin blinked, frowning slightly. ‘But I thought you asked to see my father…’

He gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘In the knowledge that he was not here.’

Robin stared at him, no longer sure what was going on. If Cesare had known her father was away from home when he called, then why had he bothered to ask?

‘I don’t understand.’ She gave a puzzled shake of her head.

‘No,’ he accepted dryly. ‘But I can assure you that you very soon will.’

The threat in his tone was unmistakeable now, causing a shiver of apprehension down Robin’s spine.

She stood up abruptly, her cheeks warm with anger now. ‘I don’t know what game it is that you’re playing, Mr Gambrelli, but I can assure you—’

‘No game, Robin,’ he cut in, dark eyes glittering as he looked up at her, his expression scornful, his jaw clenched. ‘Sit down,’ he instructed coldly.

‘How dare you—’

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

‘Must I remind you that you’re a guest in my home, Mr Gambrelli? An unwelcome guest at that!’ she snapped. ‘And that I don’t take orders from anyone!’ she added furiously.

‘You will sit down,’ Cesare told her calmly once again. ‘The two of us will talk. Or rather, I will talk, and you will listen,’ he amended. ‘And when your father returns home later this afternoon you will inform him that you have decided to become my wife.’

‘Your—your—’ Robin stuttered in stupefied outrage. ‘I most certainly will not!’ she scorned incredulously. ‘Are you taking medication, Mr Gambrelli?’ she exclaimed. ‘Would you like me to call you a doctor?’

‘I am not taking anything, Robin,’ he assured her with icy calm. ‘Neither am I insane,’ he added, as he saw the wary way she was now looking at him.

With not a trace of sexual arousal left in her tensed-for-flight body, he noted with hard amusement.

No matter. There would be plenty of time for that once she was his wife. He envisaged a lifetime of exploring the delights of this woman’s body.

Once she had married him…

He had made a more thorough investigation of Robin Ingram—briefly Mrs Robin Bennet—during the last six days, and now he even knew exactly what her bra size was, amongst other things that she would probably rather he nor anyone else didn’t know about her.

Cesare’s mouth tightened as he thought of her failed first marriage, of the real reason her husband had divorced her. And it had nothing to do with the ‘incompatibility’ that had been quoted on the petition.

Many things would change for Robin once she was his wife. She would become Marco’s mother, of course. But Cesare also intended her to bear him more sons and daughters. He intended for the beautiful, the accomplished, the elusive Ms Ingram to become Mrs Cesare Gambrelli, and to spend at least the next few years barefoot and pregnant!

Suitable retribution, Cesare believed, for this woman’s brother taking the life of his own sister, Carla—for depriving Marco of his mother.

Although he very much doubted that Robin was going to see it the same way he did.

Not that it mattered what her objections were. He had other inducements, to bend her to his will—if necessary. And, from the look of rebellion on her exquisite face, it seemed as if that was going to be the case.

Again, it did not matter. He would not be thwarted in this. Robin Ingram would become his wife, and Marco’s mother, whether she wanted to or not.

‘Sit down before you fall down!’ he ordered.

Was her apprehension—her fear of this man—so obvious? Robin wondered with an inward wince.

Well, of course it was! What woman wouldn’t be nervous in the company of a man—a man she barely knew—who had come into her home and arrogantly informed her she was to be his wife?

‘I would rather stand, thank you,’ she informed him with dignity. ‘And I really would like you to leave now,’ she added firmly. ‘You’re obviously suffering under some delusion that I wish to marry you, and—’

‘Let me assure you that I am not suffering under any delusions at all where you are concerned, Robin,’ he informed her with a hard, humourless laugh. ‘You are the spoilt, pampered, overindulged daughter of a man who had absolutely no control over either of his children—’

‘Would you please leave!’ Robin cut in forcefully, trembling.

‘—and you are the sister of the man responsible for killing my young sister!’ Cesare Gambrelli continued harshly, as if she had never spoken.

Robin stared at him, her eyes deep purple smudges in a face gone suddenly white.

Gambrelli…!

She had thought the name sounded familiar a week ago, but once her father had explained he was the multimillionaire Cesare Gambrelli she had reasoned that must be why she recognised it.

But now she remembered.

Now she knew!

Her brother Simon’s car had collided with another vehicle when he had been so tragically killed in Monaco three months ago. And the driver of that other vehicle, who had also died, had been a young woman called Carla Gambrelli.

Cesare Gambrelli’s sister…?

It had been a very traumatic time for all of them. But she was sure, once her father had recovered sufficiently, he had sent a letter of condolence to Carla Gambrelli’s family. To Cesare Gambrelli…?

She shook her head. ‘As my father wrote at the time, we’re so very sorry for your loss, Mr Gambrelli—as we are for my brother’s—’

‘I do not want your apologies!’ he rasped forcefully, and he surged to his feet, once again dominating the room with his powerful presence as he glared at Robin with fiercely black eyes. ‘No amount of apologies can bring my sister back to me,’ he grated.

‘Or my brother Simon,’ she reminded him quietly, her chin raised in challenge.

Her father had never mentioned whether or not he had received any acknowledgement of his note—although from Cesare Gambrelli’s behaviour now, she somehow doubted it!

Cesare gave a scornful snort. ‘Your brother was a wastrel and a gambler. A man without honour. A man who was no loss to anyone. Whereas—’

‘How can you say that?’ Robin gasped incredulously.

‘I say it because it is true,’ he told her, every inch the arrogant Sicilian that he was. ‘Your brother had lost everything to his gambling habit; he was a disgrace to his family—’

‘I believe that is for my father and I to decide,’ Robin interrupted emotionally. ‘Look, I realise that you’re upset about the death of your sister, Mr Gambrelli. And I can sympathise with that—really I can. But your sister and Simon collided on a steep and winding mountain road. No one knows who was responsible. You can’t seriously place the blame for your sister’s death on Simon—’

‘I can and I do!’ he assured her fiercely, once again filled with the frigid rage he had felt on hearing how his sister had met her death.

For so long it had just been the two of them—Cesare and Carla—their mother having died when Carla was born and Cesare was only eleven years old. The bringing up of his baby sister had been left to Cesare as his father took to drink, which had eventually killed him when Cesare was twenty-two and Carla eleven.

Cesare had loved his sister dearly, had cared and protected her all her life—and Simon Ingram had killed her!

‘Your brother had been at the casino the whole of the evening before the accident occurred,’ he continued disgustedly. ‘Several witnesses have confirmed that he was extremely upset by his losses, that he was belligerant and aggressive, and that he got into a fight with one of the other patrons before he left the casino,’ Cesare sneered scathingly. ‘Whereas Carla had been to dinner with friends in Nice that night—I have spoken to Pierre and Charisse Dupont, and they both confirmed that Carla was happy and cheerful when she left them. My sister was a careful driver, Robin—of the two, which do you think more likely to have caused the accident?’ he finished.

If anything, Robin Ingram looked even more beautiful with her face so deathly pale, her deeply violet eyes huge in that pallor, the fullness of her mouth trembling slightly.

She gave a shake of her head, her honey-coloured hair moving silkily across the narrowness of her shoulders and the fullness of her breasts. ‘The police report was totally inconclusive as to the cause of the accident—’

‘I know what the police report said, Robin—I asked which of the two you think was responsible,’ Cesare cut in forcefully, black eyes gleaming.

Robin looked away from his accusing gaze, shaking slightly, not knowing quite how to answer him.

Both she and her father had been aware of Simon’s gambling habit. Of the fact that he’d become aggressive and upset when he lost. Which had been most of the time.

But for this man to imply—

No, he hadn’t implied anything—he had clearly stated that he held Simon responsible for his sister’s death.

But that still didn’t explain how Cesare Gambrelli jumped from that accusation to demanding that she marry him!

She straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin as she once again met that angry black gaze. ‘The accident was a tragedy for both our families, Mr Gambrelli.’ She spoke softly. ‘I don’t believe that either of us attaching any sort of blame as to its cause is going to help the situation. It certainly won’t bring my brother or your sister back to us!’

‘Or Marco’s mother,’ Cesare Gambrelli put in.

Robin hesitated. This conversation had become surreal several minutes ago, but now she had definitely lost the plot!

‘Marco…?’ she repeated.

His mouth twisted humourlessly. ‘Something else you have chosen not to acknowledge? Or did you seriously not know?’ he added scathingly, his dark eyes narrowed on her pityingly now.

‘Know what?’ she echoed dazedly.

‘That at the time of her death Carla was the mother of a three-month-old baby boy!’ Cesare declared.

Robin’s knees buckled slightly as nausea washed over her, and she staggered back slightly to drop down onto the sofa.

Carla Gambrelli had been a mother when she’d died so prematurely?

Her death had left a three-month-old baby motherless?

Robin swallowed hard, trying to fight down the nausea. Losing Simon had been traumatic—a tragedy neither she nor her father would ever get over. But Cesare Gambrelli’s loss was just too awful to contemplate…

She looked up sharply. ‘Where is the baby—your nephew—now?’

Cesare Gambrelli looked down his haughty nose at her, with no sign of softening in his expression at her obvious shock at what he had just told her. ‘Marco is with me, of course,’ he replied.

‘But I…What of his father?’ Robin prompted.

‘There is no father.’

Well, of course there was a father. There had to be a father! Even if, as Cesare Gambrelli’s manner indicated, he perhaps refused to acknowledge his son…?

Which, considering Carla’s brother was Cesare Gambrelli, was either very brave or very stupid of him!

‘There is no one but me,’ Cesare Gambrelli informed her tersely. ‘Which is why Marco is now my adopted son. A son who needs a mother,’ he concluded pointedly.

Robin gave a pained frown. Was this the reason? Was Marco the reason this man was demanding that she marry him? So that she could act as replacement mother for Marco, because Cesare believed her brother, Simon, had taken Carla away from him?

It was ridiculous.

Insane.

Cesare Gambrelli couldn’t seriously think she would ever—

He did, she realised, as she looked up into his hard, uncompromising face.

She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I really had no idea. But it still doesn’t change the fact that your marriage proposal is a preposterous idea—’

‘It was not a marriage proposal, Robin, but a statement of intent,’ Cesare told her, totally unmoved. ‘You will become my wife as soon as the arrangements can be made.’

‘You can’t force me to marry you, Mr Gambrelli,’ she came back defiantly.

‘I thought we had agreed that you would call me Cesare,’ he reminded her.

‘You decided that!’ Robin corrected. ‘And no amount of bullying on your part is going to make me marry you!’ she added determinedly.

Cesare remained impervious to her claim, seeing the two wings of angry colour in her cheeks as she looked across at him.

‘Is it not?’ Cesare’s voice was velvety soft. ‘Oh, but I think it will, Robin,’ he assured her.

She looked up at him uncertainly, her gaze searching the complete implacability of his expression.

His original plan of retribution on the Ingram family had not involved marriage, Cesare admitted, but since meeting Robin almost a week ago he had decided that this was a much more practical solution. Marco would once again have the mother he was so desperately in need of, rather than the nanny who cared for him now. A mother who, as Cesare’s wife, would also provide him with suitable entertainment.

Entertainment Robin Ingram had not seemed to view as so unpalatable a short time ago…

‘Come, Robin,’ he bit out impatiently. ‘Sharing my bed would not be so…unacceptable, would it?’

Sharing his bed. Robin’s panic-stricken thoughts echoed his words desperately.

Minutes ago she’d had only to look at this man to know she wanted him in a way she could never remember feeling before. But it was a desire that had completely deserted her once he’d told her that he intended marrying her out of misplaced revenge!

She had already escaped one marriage, which had been so disastrous she had no desire ever to repeat the experience. Had spent the last year totally avoiding even dating, let alone becoming seriously involved with anyone, knowing she had earned herself the reputation of being frigid and aloof.

Something Cesare Gambrelli’s overt sexuality didn’t even allow for!

She didn’t need to know any more about him to realise that a marriage between herself and Cesare Gambrelli would be even worse than the disaster of her first marriage!

She gave a firm shake of her head. ‘That question doesn’t even merit an answer—What are you doing?’ she gasped as Cesare Gambrelli reached her side in one forceful stride to pull her to her feet and straight into his arms.

‘Well, if you do not know, Robin, then perhaps I had better show you!’ he came back mockingly, before his head lowered and his mouth claimed hers.

She was too surprised initially either to fight or respond to the sudden onslaught—was aware only of a leaping of her pulse rate, of the way her hands moved up to grasp the broadness of his shoulders in order to stop herself falling, of how strong and muscled they were, as was the rest of his leanly hard body as he pulled her in tight against his arousal.

Robin wanted to resist him. Knew she should resist him. That she should push him away, should once again ask him to leave.

But as he moved that hard arousal sensuously against her she felt the return of that moist heat between her thighs, groaning low in her throat as his tongue parted her lips even farther and plunged hard and hot into her mouth in a rhythm that matched his thighs as they moved so seductively against hers.

Her body felt consumed by liquid fire, every part of her alive and responsive to Cesare’s slightest touch. Her nipples were hard and throbbing as he tore his mouth from hers, to lower his head and capture one of those hard peaks though her thin blouse and bra into the burning heat of his mouth, teeth gently biting even as his tongue moved moistly against that sensitive tip. Robin’s spine arched as she sought a release for the spasms of pleasure between her thighs.

So aroused, so lost in that pleasure was she, that she could only stare up at Cesare dazedly when he suddenly raised his head to look down at her triumphantly.

‘No, Robin,’ he mused. ‘I do not think sharing my bed will be unacceptable to you at all!’

His words, the scorn in his tone, made Robin feel as if she’d had a cold shower sprayed over her, so quickly did the heat of her arousal die. She pushed hard against him, almost stumbling as his arms immediately fell from around her and he stepped back to survey her with contemptuous eyes, his triumph at her capitulation more than obvious.

‘You bastard!’ she breathed furiously, her face burning both at her response to him and at his obvious disdain at her response.

‘Probably,’ he accepted unconcernedly. ‘But you will marry me, Robin. And soon, if we do not want the first of our children to be exactly what you have just called me,’ he amended.

Robin felt embarrassed by her response to him seconds ago, angry with Cesare for being able to arouse her so easily, and not a little uncomfortable in her slightly damp blouse. She certainly wasn’t in any sort of mood to put up with this man’s supreme arrogance much longer!

‘I have no intention of marrying you,’ she gritted. ‘Now or in the future!’

‘Oh, but I think you will, Robin,’ he contradicted softly. ‘I think you will marry me very soon. And I think you will do so without any more histrionics.’

Robin looked at him searchingly—at his assured expression, the challenge in his gaze. His self-confidence was such that she sensed she hadn’t yet got all the facts. ‘What is it you haven’t yet told me?’ she finally voiced slowly.

‘Intelligent as well as beautiful,’ Cesare complimented her with a mocking inclination of his head—though he was not as unmoved by what had happened a few minutes ago as he liked to appear.

Robin Ingram really did have the most responsive body—a body that he knew had been on the point of orgasm when he’d decided to release her.

But he did not intend to make love to her in the sitting room of her father’s home. He wanted to be in bed, both of them naked, when he gave Robin that release—wanted to lie and watch her, feel her, touch her as her body spasmed and trembled with pleasure. And then he wanted to lie back again, and watch her, feel her, as she gave him the same pleasure.

‘What have I not yet told you?’ he repeated consideringly, his teeth bared in a wolfish grin. ‘How very astute of you, Robin, to realise I have saved the best until last.’

‘Oh, cut the sarcasm and just get on with it!’ she bit back impatiently.

His grin turned to a genuine smile. ‘Sexual frustration has not improved your temper, I see,’ he observed in amusement.

Her eyes narrowed to purple slits. ‘You have exactly thirty seconds to tell me why it is you’re so confident that I’ll marry you, after which I will call for the butler and have you removed—forcibly, if necessary—from my father’s house!’ she warned him heatedly.

‘Somehow I do not think so,’ he taunted confidently. ‘But, nevertheless, I have no objection to satisfying your curiosity.’ He gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘In fact, it was always my intention to tell you exactly why it is you have no choice but to agree to marrying me.’

‘I’m all ears!’ Robin came back wearily, wanting this man gone. Not just from the house, but from her life!

She wanted to sit and lick her wounds—her battle scars!—in private, away from this man’s all-seeing, all-knowing gaze.

‘On the contrary,’ Cesare Gambrelli continued derisively. ‘Your ears, though charming, are far from your best feature.’ His gaze moved slowly down to her breasts, lingering there.

It took all of Robin’s will-power not to look down at her breasts too—to check and see if the material had dried enough yet after the caressing of this man’s mouth for her nipples not to be clearly visible.

‘You have ten seconds left!’ she warned through gritted teeth.

He gave a confident smile even as he reached into the top pocket of his jacket, bringing out several pieces of paper that he began to unfold with infuriating slowness.

Robin watched him much as a fly must watch the spider that had caught it in its web. She was sure, from Cesare Gabrelli’s unshakeable manner, that whatever those papers contained he personally had no doubts it was enough to induce her to accept his marriage proposal.

The marriage proposal that hadn’t been a marriage proposal at all, but a statement of intent!

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