The Italian's Blackmailed Mistress

When she had then begun to explain in detail the treatment and the side effects—the possible loss of virility, the freezing of sperm as a precaution against infertility—Max had actually felt sick. To reassure him, Gina had offered to contact a colleague at a clinic in America who was a renowned specialist in the field, in case a second opinion was needed.

He had suggested flying straight to America, but she had told him not to be so impulsive and added that as nothing was going to happen in the next few days he should try to have a relaxing weekend.

Max hadn’t been able to ignore Gina’s opinion because he trusted her completely. He had done since their parents had married, when he was four and she was five, and they had instantly become as close as biological siblings, with a genuine liking for each other that had lasted into adulthood. She had supported him in his ambition to be a geologist, and he had done the same for her in her medical ambition and in her personal life.

‘Max? Max!’

The sound of his name intruded on unpleasant memories of the past. He looked across the table at Gina, and the other two people in their party—Rosa and her husband Ted.

Gina and Rosa were lovers, and had been for years. Ted had his own reasons for keeping the secret—Rosa was the mother of his two children, and Max knew he had a long-term mistress. As for Max, he kept the secret because Gina wanted him to. She was convinced that their parents would be horrified if they knew the truth, and that the potential scandal of the relationship might harm her career prospects.

‘Sorry, Gina.’ He smiled. Personally, he thought Gina was wrong, and believed that not many people were bothered about a person’s sexual preference in the twenty-first century, but it wasn’t his secret to reveal.

‘You have seen her? Sophie Rutherford?’ Gina prompted. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, fine.’ He saw the concern in her eyes and added, ‘I can’t say I am impressed by her choice of partner.’ He cast a glance at the blond-headed Venus in question, his mouth curling in a cynical smile. ‘But I’m not surprised.’

Always a man of action, Max was not given to moods of reflection. But now, as he ate the food put before him, he found it hard to concentrate on the present when the woman responsible for so many painful memories of his past was seated just a few yards away. Seeing Sophie again had brought to mind in every vivid detail perhaps the worst episode in his life all those years ago….

Max had left Gina outside the restaurant, his mind in flux, and slowly walked back in the direction of his office. For a self-confident man who prided himself on always being in control, a man who made business decisions involving millions on a daily basis and never doubted his course of action, it had been sobering to realise he was just as susceptible as the next man to the unfamiliar emotions of doubt and fear. He enjoyed his work, was very successful and very wealthy, and he had gone his own way for years with very little thought to the future. But now he’d been forced to face the fact he might not have one, and suddenly everything he had achieved didn’t amount to much.

If he dropped dead tomorrow his family and a couple of friends might grieve for a while, but eventually it would be as though he’d never existed.

A few days before Max had thought he had all the time in the world, that marriage and children were something he wouldn’t have to consider for years. He had thought in his arrogance that the timing had not been right for an affair with Sophie—that he didn’t need her. But with the threat of serious illness hanging over him time had suddenly become vitally important.

Impulsively he had called his pilot, and an hour later had been flying back to Sicily—and Sophie. Alex be damned! He needed Sophie’s uncomplicated company, her open adoration, her stunning body, and he wasn’t going to wait. He was going to have her—and she might just be the last woman he had in this life.

Max had glanced around the familiar view of the hotel gardens. His dark eyes had narrowed on a group of three young boys in the swimming pool, playing water polo with a girl. The girl had been Sophie, and as he’d watched she had hauled herself out of the water and flopped down on a sunbed, the young boys sprawling on the ground around her.

The mere sight of her in the familiar pink bikini had knocked any lingering doubt from his brain and he’d felt his body stir and strode towards her.

‘Hello, Sophie. Still playing around, I see,’ he drawled mockingly, and tugged lightly on the long wet braid of her hair falling down her back.

Her head turned and her green eyes widened to their fullest extent. ‘Max—you’re back! I didn’t know.’ And the rush of colour and the welcoming smile on her face were all Max could have hoped for and more.

‘Dare I ask if you are free for the evening?’ Of course her answer would be yes. He never doubted it for a moment. And the events of the morning in Rome were pushed to the back of his mind as his dark gaze lingered over her scantily clad form. ‘I thought a drive along the coast, and a picnic, perhaps?’ He wondered why he had denied his own desire the day he met her, three weeks ago.

‘I’d love it,’ she said, a smile curving her luscious mouth, and he couldn’t resist pulling her into his arms and kissing her.

Lifting his head, his brown eyes dark with need, he searched her lovely face. Dio! How he wanted this woman. There was certainly nothing wrong with his testosterone levels. In fact, if he didn’t get away fast the rest of the guests around the pool would be well aware of that, too.

He sucked in a deep, steadying breath and gently pulled her away from him. ‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’ And he turned and walked away.

Sophie watched Max’s departure, her eyes drifting lovingly over him, the misery and doubt of the last week forgotten in her euphoria at seeing Max again.

Later that evening Max helped her out of the car and, lifting a hamper from the back, he took her hand firmly in his.

‘Where are we?’ Sophie asked. He had stopped the car at the harbour of a small town, and she glanced around her with pleasure. Coloured lights danced in the darkness, following the curve of the harbour that had a dozen yachts bobbing in gently lapping water.

‘La Porto Piccolo,’ he said, looking down at her with a reminiscent smile on his starkly handsome face. ‘It was a favourite haunt of my friend Franco and I when we were younger. We bought our first yacht together when we were nineteen and hoping to impress the girls. We have always kept it here, away from our families’ prying eyes. It is small, but we had some great times.’ Taking her hand, he helped her on board.

Sophie wasn’t sure she liked the implication in his words. Was this some kind of love boat? And just how many girls had Max entertained on board? But then she spotted a table and two chairs set out on the polished wood deck. ‘We are eating here?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ He placed the hamper on the table and drew her gently into his arms. ‘It is a beautiful night, and I thought you would appreciate dining on the deck.’ He brushed his lips against her hair. ‘You have no idea how much I want to please you, in every way.’ His lips lowered to brush gently against her mouth and she was stunned by the gentleness in his gaze.

Max cared, he really cared for her, and involuntarily Sophie raised her hand to rest on his broad chest. ‘You already do,’ she said with blunt honesty. ‘I missed you so much when you were away. I missed your unruly black hair, your teasing smile…’ She flicked a silken lock from his brow. ‘I’m glad you are back.’

‘You can show me how much later.’ Max covered her hand on his chest with his own and bent his dark head so that his mouth lightly nuzzled her neck. Sophie shuddered when she felt the flick of his tongue against her sensitive skin. ‘But first a tour of the yacht, and then food,’ he prompted.

With his arm around her waist, his fingers splayed across the soft skin of her midriff, Sophie was too aware of the magic of his touch to notice the boat. She had a fleeting view of one small cabin, and heard Max’s comment about ‘two berths’, and then he was opening a door into the only other cabin.

‘Duck your head,’ he instructed, ushering her inside and closing the door behind them. The cabin was tiny, and lit only by the lights of the harbour, which were casting flickering shadows on the double bunk that almost filled the space. ‘It is only for sleeping,’ he murmured, his breath warm against her brow.

Sophie had never felt less like sleeping. And when Max’s hand tightened on her waist and turned her to face him all she felt was breathless. She looked up, every nerve-ending tingling at the close proximity of his great body, and stared as if mesmerised by his glittering dark eyes, any thought of caution vanished.

Then his mouth found hers, his tongue moving within it with a deeply erotic passion, and Sophie was lost to everything but the incredible sensations shooting through her body.

He lifted his head and looked searchingly down at her. ‘You want this?’ he prompted huskily, his voice barely audible as he gently brushed a strand of silken hair from her cheek.

‘Yes,’ she gasped, and in moments they were naked on the bed.

A long time later Sophie lay collapsed on top of him, breathless and shaking—she had never known such pleasure existed. Max gently lifted her chin with his index finger. ‘You should have told me I was your first.’

‘And my only,’ she sighed. ‘I love you so much.’

‘Oh, Sophie, I adore you. You are truly priceless—don’t ever change,’ he drawled softly.

‘I am changed now, thanks to you,’ she whispered.

‘I know.’ Max kissed her swollen lips again—he couldn’t help himself. ‘But it is I who should be thanking you. You have given me something precious and worth much more than you can ever imagine.’

Never before had he made love to a virgin, and never before had he met with such a wild reciprocal passion. He had lost touch with everything but the incredible agonising pleasure he had felt as he came inside her.

But that was the problem. He had done just that—forgotten protection. He looked into her happy love-lit eyes, about to tell her, but couldn’t bring himself to spoil the moment. Instead he heard himself say, ‘Marry me.’ And realised he meant it…. Whatever the future held, Sophie was to be his and his alone….

With anger simmering just below the surface, Max cast a hard, cold glance at the catalyst of his trip down memory lane. With the benefit of hindsight he realised his proposal had probably been a simple gut reaction to the massive blow his male ego had suffered at the thought of testicular cancer. But at the time, after having sex with her, he had deluded himself into believing it was something more and asked her to marry him.

Max glanced across at Sophie again, and this time his gaze lingered, his dark eyes narrowing as he saw her smiling and charming the men either side of her. He saw Abe Asamov stroke her cheek with one finger, and his mouth curled in a bitter, cynical smile—a smile that was strained to the limit as she got up to dance with the man. The easy familiarity between Sophie and Abe was unmistakable.

Dio! Sophie was certainly sleeping with him, and it could only be for one reason—money. Disgust churned his gut. When he saw them leave the dance floor, and watched her kiss the fat Russian on the cheek, he dismissed any notion of waiting a week or two to speak to her. In fact another minute was too long, and he changed his plan accordingly.

It was said that revenge was best taken cold, and Max told himself he felt nothing but ice-cold anger for the beautiful Sophie and what she had become. He rose to his feet and excused himself. He had once thought the timing wasn’t right for an affair with Sophie, and then changed his mind. Two days later he had been dumped unceremoniously by the heartless witch. Now he had changed it back again, and this time he would be the one to walk away. But not until he had sated himself in her gorgeous body….

CHAPTER THREE

EVERY SELF-PROTECTIVE instinct Sophie possessed was telling her to turn and run. She’d known coming back to Italy was not a good idea, and seeing Max confirmed it. But she knew she had to get through this dinner—if only to prove that she was a true professional and Max Quintano meant nothing, in fact less than nothing, to her.

Luckily for Sophie, Abe had asked her to interpret Cesare’s conversation and she readily agreed; if she kept her eyes on Cesare and Abe she could almost pretend that Max and Gina didn’t exist.

Back at university, after her brief affair with Max, it had been hard—but with the help of her friends and by throwing herself into work she had finally got over him and convinced herself she didn’t care. Now it was galling to have to admit that it still hurt to see Max with Gina.

For the next hour Sophie ate, drank and smiled in all the right places, but she was intensely conscious of Max Quintano’s powerful presence. She felt as though his eyes were on her, and that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It took every bit of will-power she had to chat normally and avoid glancing back at the hateful man. The realisation that just the sight of him could upset her so much after all this time gnawed away at her. To compensate she sparkled all the brighter with the clearly admiring Cesare, so much so that Abe picked up on her distress.

He raised a finger to her cheek and stroked her jawline. ‘Sophie?’ She looked into his shrewd blue eyes. ‘You are trying too hard—whoever it is you are trying to avoid, my dear,’ he murmured, ‘use me, not young Cesare. You could hurt him. But I have broad shoulders, and I don’t mind playing the game.’

‘You see too much,’ Sophie sighed, and when Abe asked her to dance she managed an almost natural smile and rose to her feet, going gracefully into his arms.

Surprisingly, for all his bulk, Abe was a good dancer, and Sophie relaxed into the music, her tall, graceful body drawing the eye of many appreciative males—and one in particular.

‘You’re a very beautiful woman, as I’ve told you before,’ Abe said as the music ended and with a guiding hand around her waist he led her back towards the table. ‘Whoever he was, he was a fool, and he didn’t deserve you in the first place. You are worth the best, and don’t you forget it.’

She looked at Abe’s hard face and realised that not only was he an extremely nice man, but also extremely astute—no wonder he was a billionaire oil mogul.

‘You’re right.’ She smiled and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you.’ Why was she wasting her time getting upset all because she had had one disastrous love affair with a womanising bastard? It was time she moved on with her life, she thought determinedly.

‘Excuse me,’ a deep, dark voice drawled mockingly, and Max Quintano appeared in front of them. ‘May I claim your partner for the next dance?’

Abe looked up at Max, not in the least intimidated by his great height, and slowly let his eyes inspect the man, before quirking an enquiring brow at Sophie and demanding in his own language to know what had been said. She was too shocked by Max’s sudden interruption and request to think of lying, and she told Abe.

‘Ah.’ He looked back at Max. ‘You want my woman?’ he managed in English, and his blue eyes danced with a wicked light.

Sophie knew Abe was enjoying himself, and she glanced up at Max through the thick veil of her lashes. The look of cynical contempt on his harshly handsome face infuriated her. Abe had implied that she was his lover, and it was obvious Max believed him. He had a nerve to sneer at her, when he was the one with a legion of lovers and his long-term lover sitting at the other side of the dance floor. So why was he insisting on dancing with her given his obvious distain?

‘I hope you will allow me the pleasure of dancing with your charming companion. Sophie and I are old friends.’ His dark eyes narrowed challengingly on Abe.

Abe let go of her waist and threw up his hands in a theatrical gesture. ‘I am not her keeper—ask her.’ Abe suddenly seemed to know a lot more English than anyone had given him credit for—Sophie included.

Max’s dark head turned and his gaze captured hers. ‘May I have this dance, Sophie? Your partner does not seem to mind,’ he opined, with a sardonic curl of his firm lips.

‘Max—what a surprise,’ she said coldly. Words couldn’t begin to describe the anger that had swelled up inside her as the two men talked over her as if she wasn’t there. ‘I didn’t know you could dance. Did Gina teach you?’ she asked pointedly. The two-timing toad had the nerve to take a dig at her in front of everyone, and still demand that she dance with him.

‘As a matter of fact she did. Amongst other things,’ he said, grinning.

Shock kept her silent for a moment, his brazen reply adding insult to injury. Then, realising that standing in silence, sandwiched between two men on the edge of the dance floor, was arousing the antennae of the company around them, she said sweetly ‘I’m sure she did. And, given she is your companion for the evening, shouldn’t you be dancing with her?’

‘No, Gina has other things on her mind,’ he replied with an amused glance across at his table.

His callous indifference amazed her, and she allowed her gaze to rake angrily over him. He hadn’t changed much. His black hair was cut shorter, and liberally sprinkled with grey, and the lines bracketing his mouth were slightly more pronounced. There was a hard edge about him, which was in direct contrast to the laughing, teasing man she had known, but he was still strikingly attractive.

‘I’m surprised you want to dance with me,’ she finally said bluntly.

Max moved closer and held out his hand. ‘You shouldn’t be, Sophie. After all, we were once extremely close friends.’ His glittering eyes mocked her, and for a moment she hesitated. But she didn’t trust him not to blurt out something even more compromising if she refused, and the gossip it would cause was not something she wanted.

‘I’d be delighted to dance with you, Mr Quintano,’ she said with a coldly polite social smile, and put her hand in his.

Max sensed she hated the idea but was too polite to say so, and he deliberately linked his fingers through hers and felt the slight tremble in her hand. ‘Now, that wasn’t so hard,’ he said, dipping his dark head to murmur in her ear as he led her onto the dance floor. He had won the first battle without her putting up much of a fight

As he stopped, he caught her other hand and deliberately held her at arm’s length. ‘You are looking well.’ He allowed his dark gaze to sweep insolently over her. She was. Sophie Rutherford had turned into an exquisitely elegant lady—even if she did have the morals of an alley cat. ‘More beautiful than ever, in fact. But I’ve been watching you, and some things never change. You are still as eager as ever where men are concerned—and Abe Asamov is quite some catch! You do realise he is a married man?’ Max prompted cynically, and did what he had been aching to do since he’d first set eyes on her tonight. He pulled her close against his hard body and guided her expertly around the floor to the slow music.

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