The Italian's Unwilling Wife

‘I’m still weighing all the possibilities up—I assure you. Trophy wife versus convenient mistress?’ Damon shrugged. ‘Or should I just take custody of Mario and walk away…? The choices are endless.’

‘You wouldn’t get custody of Mario,’ Abbie told him heatedly. ‘And I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man left on the planet and lived in a gold-plated palace.’ She angled her head up proudly.

Damon laughed at that. ‘Oh, but we both know that you would.’

‘You always did have an inflated opinion of yourself.’

‘I just know how Ms Abigail Newland’s gold-digging mind works.’

‘You know nothing about me. I would rather die than go along with the idea.’

Kathryn Ross was born in Zambia, where her parents happened to live at that time. Educated in Ireland and England, she now lives in a village near Blackpool, Lancashire. Kathryn is a professional beauty therapist, but writing is her first love. As a child she wrote adventure stories, and at thirteen was editor of her school magazine. Happily, ten writing years later, DESIGNED WITH LOVE was accepted by Mills & Boon. A romantic Sagittarian, she loves travelling to exotic locations.

Dear Reader

I’m wishing a very happy 100th birthday to Mills & Boon. It is a pleasure to follow in the long and wonderful tradition of all that is great about romantic fiction.

THE ITALIAN’S UNWILLING WIFE is my thirty-fourth novel for Mills & Boon. I got the idea for this story when I was horse-riding on a beach in St Lucia. It was such a beautiful setting, and my imagination took over. I conjured up a heroine who lived alone there with her secret baby, and an Italian hero who had ruthlessly pursued her to find his child.

My hero Damon is a passionate man. He wants his son to be brought up with all the traditions that he holds dear, and he also wants the heroine back—but this time on his terms. So he sweeps both away to his home on the warm shores of Sicily, where he is planning a wedding.

I invite you to that wedding now, and hope you enjoy their story.

Love

Kathryn

THE ITALIAN’S UNWILLING WIFE

BY

KATHRYN ROSS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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PROLOGUE

REVENGE was an ugly word. Damon Cyrenci preferred to think of his actions in more clinical terms. He had seen a business opportunity and had taken it.

The fact that he’d had his eye on the Newland Company for a while, and that this takeover gave him a greater sense of personal satisfaction than any other, was irrelevant. What was important was that John Newland’s days of trampling his opponents into dust were almost at an end.

As his chauffeured limousine travelled along the Strip, Damon watched the sun setting in a pink glow over the Las Vegas skyline. This was the city where his father had lost everything. It was also the city where Damon had made the mistake of allowing a woman to get under his skin. It seemed fitting that it should be the place where he would put everything right, get back what he wanted.

They passed the MGM Grand, Caesar’s Palace, New York New York and, as the pink of the sky turned to the darkness of night, the desert lit up with fiercely glittering light.

The limousine pulled up outside the impressive façade of the Newland building, and Damon allowed himself to savour the moment. His target was almost achieved. In a few moments he would meet John Newland face to face, and have him exactly where he wanted him.

For a second his thoughts drifted back to the last time they had met. How different that meeting had been.

Two and a half years ago it was John who had held the balance of power. He had faced Damon across a boardroom table and had calmly refused his request for a stay of execution on his father’s business.

One week—that was all Damon had needed in order to release valuable assets that were in his name and save everything. But Newland had been coldly adamant. ‘I am not a charity, Cyrenci; I’m in the business of making money. Your father must honour his commitments immediately and hand over the title deeds to all of his properties. However…’ He’d paused for a moment’s reflection. ‘Your family home in Sicily is listed as one of the company’s assets. I might allow you to keep that—on one condition.’

‘And what’s that?’ Damon had asked coolly.

‘You walk away from my daughter and never see her again.’

Damon could remember his incredulity and the hot fury in his stomach as he had looked across at the man. Somehow he had remained calm and impassive. ‘I am not going to do that.’

And that was when John Newland had laughed at him. ‘Abbie really fooled you, didn’t she? Let me enlighten you, Cyrenci. My daughter has been brought up with a certain standard of living. She enjoys a luxurious lifestyle—a lifestyle you can’t match now the family business has gone. I assure you, she won’t be interested in you now.’

‘That’s a risk I’ll take,’ Damon had told him smoothly.

‘Your choice.’ John Newland had shrugged. ‘But you lose all ways round. Abbie only dated you in the first place as a favour to me. I needed you out of my hair, and she was the perfect distraction. You think your weekend away together in Palm Springs was a wild impulse?’

John had asked the question scornfully and had shaken his head. ‘It was planned—all set up by me. Abbie knew I needed some time to finish my business with your father, and she was happy to help me—but then, just as long as the money is flowing, Abbie will be there. Believe me, she won’t hang around you now the game is over and your money is gone.’

The chauffeur opened up the passenger door for Damon, letting in the intense heat of the desert night, a heat almost as intense as the anger he had felt back then. It hadn’t been hard to discover that for once John Newland was telling the truth. Abbie had known what her father had been up to, and had in fact assisted him.

Just like her father, she was nothing but a cold-blooded, money-grabbing trickster.

Snapping out of his reverie, Damon stepped out of the limousine.

It had been a lesson hard learnt. But Damon had picked himself up and with strong determination he had seen to it that their fortunes had been reversed.

Briskly he walked up the red-carpeted steps into the cool of the air-conditioned foyer. The entrance to the Newland hotel and casino was palatial; gold-leafed ceilings and stained-glass windows gave it the air of a cathedral, and only the rolling sound of nearby slot machines revealed the truth.

With just a cursory nod to the hotel staff, he headed for the lifts. He knew his way to the boardroom and he strode with confidence towards the door he wanted. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

John Newland was sitting alone at the far end of the long polished table. The lighting in the room was dimmed, his face in shadow. Behind him the picture windows gave a panoramic view of Vegas, glittering like a mirror-ball in the night. But Damon wasn’t interested in the view.

‘I believe you are expecting me.’ He closed the door quietly behind him.

There was silence.

Damon advanced until he could see his nemesis clearly: grey-haired, thickset with glittering hooded eyes. The last time they had met, the man’s features had been alight with triumphant disdain. Today, however, his expression was carefully schooled, but Damon could see the signs of strain in the pallor of his skin and the tight way he held his mouth.

It was hard to believe that this was Abigail’s father. For a second a picture of her drifted into Damon’s mind.

He remembered the day he had met her. She had been swimming here in the hotel pool, and he had watched as she’d pulled herself out. Water had dripped in silver beads over her toned skin. He remembered the sensational curves of her body in the scanty bikini, the perfection of her features, the wide blue eyes, the softness of her lips.

How he had wanted her.

The sudden memory of how badly he had wanted her made heat rise inside him.

‘You’re early, Cyrenci. The board isn’t due to meet for another half an hour.’

John Newland’s terse words focussed Damon’s thoughts back to where they should be. He would have time to concentrate on Abbie later.

‘We both know that the board meeting is just a formality, Newland.’ Damon put his briefcase down on the table and opened it. ‘You are on your way out.’

John Newland blanched. ‘Look—Damon—we’ve had our differences in the past. But I hope we can put all that behind us and perhaps come to some mutually acceptable deal.’ The brusque tone was gone now, replaced by pure desperation. ‘I’ve spoken to a few members of the board—’

‘It’s over,’ Damon said coolly. ‘I think you would be advised to just accept that.’

‘But you could help me if you wanted to.’

Was the man serious? Damon looked at him with incredulity. ‘Why would I do that? To quote something you said to me years ago, John: I’m a businessman, not a charity.’

‘I have a few bargaining chips left.’ The man shrugged.

‘Such as?’ Damon was barely listening. He was taking papers out of his case and his eyes were running down a list of the company’s assets—assets that now belonged to him. He knew John Newland held no aces, because they were all right here in his hand.

‘Well—I recall you once wanted my daughter…’

The words trailed away as Damon fixed him with a cool, penetrating stare. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

‘In fact, you wanted her so badly you were willing to give up your family home for her,’ John reminded him tentatively.

‘We all make mistakes.’ Damon’s voice was icy.

‘She had her twenty-first birthday last week, and I assure you she is even more beautiful now than she was,’ John Newland continued swiftly. ‘And her mother was Lady Annabel Redford, you know. Abbie has some influential connections in England that could open doors to a businessman like you.’

‘I’m not interested.’

‘I think you should be. And if I were to have a word with her…’

‘Still at Daddy’s bidding, is she?’ Damon remarked scathingly.

‘I have influence.’

‘You have nothing.’ Damon put his list of the company assets down on the table in front of the man.

‘That’s her, isn’t it—the property that’s marked a few lines underneath my old family home in Sicily?’ Damon pointed to a line almost at the bottom of the page. ‘Redford Stables, St Lucia.’

John Newland made no reply, just stared down at the list.

‘Do you think Abbie will be happy to assist you, John, when she finds out her luxurious lifestyle and her home are lost as part of the company’s assets?’

Still the man made no reply, but he started to drum his fingers with agitation against the table.

‘No, I didn’t think so. As we both know, Abbie’s loyalty is to the highest bidder. So I don’t believe you or indeed your daughter are in any position to negotiate,’ Damon continued smoothly. ‘But rest assured I will be looking over my new property with close attention to detail. In fact, I’m heading out to St Lucia tomorrow. Have you any message you would like me to pass on to your daughter?’

There was a moment’s considered silence before John looked up. ‘No, but I have one for your son—tell him his granddad says hello.’

John Newland watched the shock hit Damon Cyrenci and felt a gleam of satisfaction.

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS hurricane season in St Lucia and the warnings had gone out. ‘Michael’ was a category three, but was gathering pace at sea and heading for shore. The weathermen were predicating a direct hit sometime within the next twenty-four hours.

But for now the sun was setting in a perfect blaze of glory over the lush rainforests, and not a breath of air rustled the tall palms that encircled the stables.

Abbie, however, was not taken in by the deceptive calm. She had experienced the full force of a hurricane the previous year; it had taken the roof off her house and almost decimated the stables. It had taken a long time to put everything right, and financially she was still reeling from the disaster. She couldn’t afford another direct hit.

So she had spent the afternoon trying to prepare. She had nailed down everything she could, and long after most of her hired help had gone home for the day she was still moving heavy equipment into the storerooms.

‘Abbie, your father has been on the phone for you again,’ Jess called across to her as she came out of the house. ‘He’s left another message on the answer machine.’

‘OK, thanks.’ Abbie brushed her blonde hair distractedly back from her face. She had nothing to say to her father, and she wasn’t interested in his messages, but she couldn’t help but wonder why he had started ringing her again.

Putting the last of her work tools away, she headed up to the veranda. Mario was in Jess’s arms, and as he saw his mother walk towards them his eyes lit with excitement and he held out his arms to her.

With a smile, Abbie reached to take her baby. He snuggled in against her and she kissed him, breathing in the clean scent of his skin. Mario was twenty-one months now, and adorable. He was the one thing in Abbie’s life that made everything worthwhile.

‘Do you want to get off now, Jess? You’ve got a date tonight, haven’t you?’ she asked as she cuddled the child.

‘Yes. If you are sure you can manage, that would be a great help.’

‘Absolutely. You go and have a good time.’

For a moment Abbie stood and watched as the young woman strolled towards her four-wheel drive. At eighteen, Jess was the youngest member of her staff, and also the hardest working. Not only was she a qualified child-minder and a superb horsewoman but she helped out a lot around the stables. Sometimes Abbie wondered how she would manage without her.

She waved to Jess as she reversed and pulled away down the long driveway.

Darkness was closing in now. The stables were on a lonely track leading down to a deserted cove. Her nearest neighbours were miles away, and very few cars passed this way. Usually Abbie didn’t mind being on her own; she enjoyed the solitude. But for once as Jess’s car disappeared she was acutely conscious of her isolation.

It was probably the approaching storm that was making her feel so on edge, she told herself as she went back into the house. Plus all these phone calls from her father.

As she stepped inside, her eyes were immediately drawn towards the phone, where a flashing light proclaimed there were now ten messages.

Whatever her father wanted, she wasn’t interested. She would put Mario to bed and delete the calls later, she told herself as she headed for the stairs.

The child went down into his cot easily. Abbie set the musical mobile playing above his head and watched over him until he fell asleep. Then, leaving the night light on, she crept from the nursery to her bedroom across the corridor to shower and change.

Abbie had just put on her silk dressing-gown and was about to go back downstairs to make herself a drink when the phone in her room rang again, and the answer machine clicked on.

‘Abbie, where the hell are you?’ Her father’s irate tones seemed to fill the house. ‘Have you received any of my messages? This is important.’

It was strange how just hearing his voice made her nervous. She supposed it was all those years of conditioning—of being afraid to ignore his commands.

Wrapping her dressing gown more closely around her body, she reminded herself fiercely that her father no longer had a hold over her—he couldn’t hurt her any more.

‘Do you hear me, Abigail?’

He probably wanted to summon her back to Vegas to host one of his parties. She shuddered at the thought. She’d escaped from that life over two years ago—she would have thought he’d got the message by now. His bullying blackmail tactics no longer worked. She wasn’t going back.

She was on her way across her bedroom to switch off the machine when she heard him mention a name—a name that made her freeze and the world start to zone out as darkness threatened to engulf her. Damon Cyrenci.

For so long she had tried to block that name out of her mind, pretend he had never existed. And the only way she had been able to do that was by filling her every waking hour and making herself so bone-tired that personal thoughts were a luxury. But, even so, sometimes in the silence of the night he would come to her as she slept and she would see his darkly handsome face again. Would imagine his hands touching her, his lips crushing against hers, and she would wake with tears on her cheeks.

‘I’ve lost everything, Abigail—everything—to Damon Cyrenci, and that includes the stables because they are part of the company’s assets.’

Through the turmoil of her thoughts, Abbie tried to concentrate on what her father was saying. The stables were hers, weren’t they?

‘And he’s on his way out there now to look over his property.’

The words hit her like a hurricane at force five. Damon was on his way here! Her heart raced—her body felt weak. Damon—the love of her life, the father of her child, the one man she had given herself to completely. The memories that went along with all those facts twisted inside her like a serpent intent on squeezing her very soul. And along with the memories there was a fierce longing—a longing that had never really gone away, a longing that she had just learnt to live with.

She sat down on the bed behind her; it was either sit down or fall down. Damon was coming here. It was all she could focus on.

What would he look like now, what would he say to her? Would he still be angry with her? What would he say when he discovered he had a child?

Had he forgiven her? The wrench of yearning that idea brought with it was immense.

As the phone connection died, she buried her head in her hands.

She remembered the day she had first met Damon. She remembered that the blistering heat of the midday sun had come nowhere near matching the heat he had stirred within her. She remembered shading her eyes to look up at him as she’d climbed out of the pool. He was tall—well over six-foot-four and he had been wearing a lightweight suit that had sat perfectly on his athletic build.

‘You must be Abbie Newland?’ he had said quietly, and the attractive accent had added fuel to a fire that had quietly and instantly started to blaze inside her.

He was ten years older than Abbie, Sicilian, with thick dark hair and searing, intense dark eyes, and to say he was good-looking would be an understatement of vast proportions. He was quite simply gorgeous.

‘I’m Damon Cyrenci. Your father said I would find you here.’

The disappointment inside Abbie was almost as intense as her attraction for him. Because this was the man her father had ordered her to date. The command had infuriated her, but she wasn’t at liberty to refuse; her plan had been to snub him, then just walk away. Then she could honestly tell her father that he hadn’t invited her out. But, as soon as her eyes met with the handsome Sicilian, her body didn’t want to comply with that idea at all.

‘Do you want to join me for a drink?’ He nodded over towards a bar that was cocooned in the tropical shade of the gardens.

‘Maybe just for ten minutes,’ she found herself saying. ‘I haven’t got much time.’

‘Why, what else have you got to do?’ The question had been asked with a glint of humour, and it had been apparent right from the outset that he had judged her as little more than a social butterfly.

She didn’t really blame him. To the outside world, that was probably exactly how her life appeared, but the remark still smarted. She wanted to tell him that appearances could be deceptive, that she was in fact trapped within her gilded cage, forced to dance attendance on a father whose every whim was her command. But of course she didn’t—he wouldn’t have been interested and anyway, if word got back to her father that she had said anything, the consequences would have been dire.

So somehow she just forced herself to shrug. ‘Let’s see. I’m the rich, spoilt daughter of a millionaire—what else could I be doing this afternoon?’ She slanted him a sardonic look. ‘Apart from lying in the sun, shopping and visiting the beauty salon, you mean?’

He smiled, unapologetic. ‘Must be a tough life.’

‘It is. But someone has to do it.’ Although she tried to sound flippant, something of her annoyance or distress must have shown in her eyes, because suddenly his tone softened.

‘Shall we start again?’ he asked, and held out his hand. ‘I’m Damon Cyrenci, and I’m in town to negotiate the sale of a chain of restaurants owned by my father.’

She looked at the hand he held out, and she hesitated a moment before taking it. What exactly was her father up to? she had wondered. What harm would following his orders do?

Then her eyes met with Damon Cyrenci’s and she told herself that, no matter what her father was up to, this man was more than capable of looking out for himself.

‘Abigail Newland.’ The net was cast as she placed her hand in his. She liked the touch of his skin against hers, liked the feeling in the pit of her stomach when he smiled.

She remembered having dinner with him that night. She remembered him kissing her, a searing, intensely passionate kiss that had made her long for so much more.

She had dated him for five short weeks, but with each meeting her feelings for him had intensified. Her hands curled into tight fists just thinking about the way he’d made her feel. But because of the situation she had always forced herself to pull back.

Damon hadn’t been used to a woman pulling away from him, and somehow it had made him all the more determined to pursue her.

Yes, the net had been cast—but she had been the one caught in its fine weave, because somewhere along the way in those few short weeks she had fallen in love with Damon Cyrenci.

The phone rang again, interrupting Abbie’s thoughts, and she listened as once more the answer machine cut in.

‘Abbie, please pick up the phone.’

Abbie just sat numbly, listening. She hadn’t spoken to her father since her mother’s death just over two years ago. And, no matter what was at stake, she still couldn’t speak to him now.

‘This is about revenge, Abigail—and you are next on Cyrenci’s list. He knows what you did—knows you were perfectly complicit in his father’s destruction.’ Her father’s voice was abrasive. ‘But luckily I’m still thinking for both of us. I told him about Mario. He was shocked and angry, I could see it in his face. But the child gives us a bargaining chip—it means he doesn’t hold all of the aces.’

Abbie felt sick inside. She hated her father—hated the sordid, horrible way he even thought.