Modern Romance - The Best of the Year

‘It may have started out that way, but it ended up real, yineka mou.’ Acheron surveyed her steadily but she knew he was putting up a front because he was really, really tense.

‘How...real?’ Tabby questioned, her heart thumping like mad.

Acheron lifted his arms and spread his hands in an oddly defenceless gesture. ‘I fell in love with you...’

Tabby almost fell over in shock, her brain refusing to accept that he could have said that he loved her. ‘I don’t believe you. You’re just scared that I’m about to walk out on our marriage agreement and you’ll lose your company—but you don’t need to be scared of that happening because I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m still as determined to adopt Amber as I ever was, so I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to,’ she pointed out honestly.

‘When I try to say, “I love you” for the first time in my life to a woman, you could at least listen to what I’m saying and stop talking a lot of rubbish!’ Acheron shot back at her with scorching effect.

Tabby was struck dumb by that little speech. He was serious? He wasn’t joking, faking, trying to manipulate her in some nefarious way? She stared back at him fixedly.

‘And it was bloody hard to say too!’ Acheron added in angry complaint at her response.

‘I’m in shock,’ Tabby mumbled shakily. ‘I didn’t think you had any feelings for me.’

‘I tried very hard not to. I fought it every step of the way,’ Acheron admitted ruefully. ‘But in the end you got to me and you got to me so hard I ran away from it.’

‘Ran away?’ Tabby almost whispered in growing disbelief.

‘I was feeling strange and that’s why I took off on business...to give myself a little breathing space,’ Acheron qualified tautly. ‘But the minute I got away I realised I only wanted to come back and be with you.’

Tabby blinked slowly, struggling to react to that explanation when all her crazy head was full of was a single statement: that he loved her. He loves me. She tasted the idea, savoured it, very nearly careened across the terrace and flattened him to the tiles in gratitude, but mercifully retained enough restraint to stay where she was. ‘You got cold feet, didn’t you?’ she guessed.

Acheron nodded. ‘It was a little overwhelming when I realised what was wrong with me.’

Tabby moved closer. ‘No, it wasn’t anything wrong with you. It was a good thing, a wonderful thing...you love me. I love you.’

‘If you feel the same way I do, why the hell are you putting me through this torture?’ Acheron demanded rawly.

Tabby almost laughed, a sense of intoxication gripping her as she searched his darkly handsome features and the masculine bewilderment etched there. ‘Talking about love is torture?’

Acheron rested his arms down on her slim shoulders and breathed, ‘I thought once I said it, that would be that, but I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same way and that you wanted it all to be fake.’

Tabby closed her arms round him and snuggled close. ‘No, real is much better than fake. So, does this mean we’re really and truly married?’

‘Absolutely,’ Acheron confirmed, and bent to lift her up into his arms. ‘It also means we’re going to be adoptive parents together because I sort of developed a fondness for Amber as well. Seems this love business is contagious...’

‘Wow...’ Tabby framed as he carried her upstairs to their bedroom and Teresa, with the baby in her arms, retreated back into the nursery with a warm smile. ‘But how did it happen?’

Acheron arranged her on the bed with the care of a man setting up an art installation and stared down at her for what felt like ages. ‘I think it started when I realised I was with a woman who was willing to sacrifice her home and her business to look after her sick best friend and child. I respect that level of loyalty and unselfishness. I respect what you were willing to do to retain custody of Amber even though I was pretty rough and crude about everything at the time. You stuck it out...you stood up to me...’

‘And out of that came love?’ Tabby whispered in shock.

‘Out of those experiences came a woman I couldn’t live without,’ traded Acheron with a tender look in his lustrous dark eyes that she had never seen before. ‘Thee mou...if you had still wanted the fake marriage and the divorce I don’t know what I would’ve done.’

‘I don’t want a divorce...I don’t ever want to let go of you,’ Tabby confided against his shirtfront.

‘That desire is just about to come in very handy, agape mou,’ Acheron murmured thickly, claiming her ripe mouth with his own, sending a thrill of heat and anticipation travelling through her relaxed body.

About an hour later, Acheron leapt naked out of bed to retrieve his trousers and dig into a pocket to produce a jewellers’ box, which he pressed into her hand. ‘I know it’s not your birthday for another twenty-four hours but this is burning a hole in my pocket,’ he admitted ruefully.

Tabby opened the box to find an unusual ring in the shape of a rose with a ruby at the centre.

‘What do you think?’ Acheron demanded anxiously. ‘I wanted you to know that it was made in the image of your tattoo because it will always remind me what made you the special woman you are.’

‘It’s...gorgeous!’ Tabby carolled as he removed his late mother’s engagement ring from her wedding finger and replaced it with the new ring. The diamonds on the rose petals caught the sunlight and cast a rainbow of little sparkling reflections across the white bedding. ‘But why on earth do you think I am so special when I’m so ordinary?’

‘You’re special because in spite of all the bad things that happened to you, you still have an open heart and a loving spirit. You love Amber, you love me—’

‘So much,’ Tabby emphasised feelingly as she smiled up at him. ‘Although you might feel you love me a little less when you see what I spent on my credit card.’

‘Never,’ Acheron contradicted. ‘You’re the least extravagant person I know.’

‘You might change your mind on that score,’ she warned him, hoping he at least appreciated the gift of the pen on his birthday in three days’ time.

‘I love you,’ he breathed softly, his attention locked on her smiling face.

He had fallen in love with her, he had genuinely fallen in love with her, Tabby savoured finally, and she allowed the happiness to well up inside her along with a sense of release from all anxiety. Somehow, by the most mysterious process of love known to mankind, two people who had loathed each other on sight because of their misconceptions had found love and formed a happy home and family and she was delirious with the joy of that miracle.

* * *

Tabby sucked in her tummy and studied the mirror. No, it was pointless: she was pregnant and there was no escaping that pregnant apple shape, no matter how well cut her maternity clothing was. With a wry smile at the foolishness of her vanity, Tabby went downstairs to check the last-minute arrangements for Amber’s fourth birthday party.

The party was a catered affair, everything set up to entertain a whole posse of Amber’s nursery-school friends. There was a bouncy castle in the garden of their London town house, purchased after the birth of their first child, Andreus, who was already a rumbustious noisy toddler. Closely pursued by his nanny, Teresa, who had become as much a part of the family as the children, Andreus hurtled across the hall to throw his arms up to be lifted by his mother.

Tabby tried not to wince at the weight of her son, but, at eight months along in her second pregnancy, lifting a child who was already outstripping his peers in size was becoming quite a challenge. He hugged her tight, black curls like his father’s silky against her throat, her own big blue eyes bright in his little smiling face. Sometimes, Tabby was still afraid that if she blinked her happy family life would disappear and she would discover she had been trapped in an inordinately convincing and wonderful daydream. And then she would look at Acheron and the children and she would be soothed by the closeness of their bonds.

Admittedly she would never have picked Acheron out as a keen father figure when she first met him, but exposure to Amber’s charms had soon raised a desire in Acheron to have a child of his own. By the time the legalities of Amber’s adoption had been settled and she had officially become their daughter, Tabby had been expecting Andreus. The little girl whom Tabby was currently carrying had been more of an accidental conception, thanks to a little spur-of-the-moment lovemaking on the beach in Sardinia where they had first found love, and which of all Acheron’s properties they visited the most, although they had quickly extended the house to add on more bedroom capacity.

His father’s widow, Ianthe, and her two surviving children had stayed with them there to attend Kasma’s funeral. It had been a sad and sobering occasion but it had also done much to build a bridge between Ash and his father’s former family. Ianthe had admitted to having been seriously worried about her daughter’s mental health but Ash’s late father, Angelos, had refused to face up to that reality. Kasma’s brother, Simeon, and his family also had young children and the two couples had become close friends since that last sad encounter.

The front door opened and Andreus scrambled down from his mother’s arms to hurl himself violently at Acheron, shouting, ‘Dad!’ at the top of his voice.

Tabby watched Acheron scoop his son up, and a warm smile curved her generous mouth because she never loved Acheron more than when she saw him with the children. He was kind, affectionate and patient, all the things that they had both so badly lacked when they were kids themselves. ‘I thought you wouldn’t make it back in time.’

‘Where’s the birthday girl?’ Acheron enquired.

Amber came racing downstairs, a vivid little figure clad in a flouncy new party dress, and flung herself at her father with very little more circumspection than her toddler brother. ‘You’re here!’ she carolled. ‘You’re here for my party.’

‘Of course, I am,’ Acheron said in the act of producing a present from behind his back, only to laugh as the housekeeper opened the door to let Amber’s best friend and her mother enter and the two little girls went running off together. ‘So much for being flavour of the month there!’ he teased.

‘But you’re always my favourite flavour,’ Tabby rushed to assure him in an undertone before she went to greet the arriving guests.

Acheron watched her acting hostess with quiet admiration. His Tabby, the best and luckiest find he had ever made, always warm, sunny and bright and still the most loving creature he had ever met. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that he loved her more with every passing year.

* * * * *

Read on for an extract from A MAN WITHOUT MERCY by Miranda Lee.

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHAT DO YOU mean, I can’t have Vivienne?’ Jack said. ‘I always have Vivienne.’

Nigel suppressed a sigh. He didn’t like disappointing his best client but there was nothing he could do about it.

‘Sorry, Jack, but as of yesterday Miss Swan doesn’t work for Classic Design any longer.’

Jack’s head jerked back with shock. ‘You fired her?’

Now it was Nigel’s turn to look startled. ‘Hardly. Vivienne was one of my best designers. No,’ he added, with true regret in his voice. ‘She quit.’

Jack could not contain his surprise at this second piece of news. Admittedly, he didn’t know Vivienne all that well, despite her having worked for him on his last three building projects. She was an extremely self-contained young woman who didn’t engage in idle chitchat. When on a job, her focus was always on her work, which was simply brilliant. He had asked her not long ago why she didn’t open her own interior design firm, and she’d replied that she didn’t want that kind of stress, especially now that she was engaged to be married. She’d said she didn’t want to live just for work any longer, a sentiment which Jack had not appreciated—till yesterday.

He’d been driving around the Port Stephens area, looking for suitable land for another retirement village, when he’d come across a small acreage for sale which had totally blown him away. It wasn’t what he was looking for, not even remotely. Not the right kind of land, for starters; not flat enough. There’d also been a huge house smack dab in the middle of the lot, perched on top of a hill. A house unlike anything Jack had ever seen, with a name that was as unique as the building.

Despite knowing he was wasting his time, Jack had still felt compelled to inspect Francesco’s Folly. From the moment he’d walked inside and out onto the first of the many balconies which all faced the bay, he’d known he wanted the place. Not only wanted it but wanted to live in it. Crazy, really, since Port Stephens was a good three-hour drive north of Sydney. Jack’s normal place of residence was a conveniently located and relatively modest three-bedroomed apartment in the same CBD building which housed his construction company’s head office. Aside from its inconvenient location, Francesco’s Folly was as far removed from modest as a residence could get, with eight bedrooms, six bathrooms and an indoor/outdoor swimming pool which would have put a Hollywood mansion to shame.

As a confirmed bachelor who never entertained at home, Jack had no need for a house this size, but it was no use. He simply had to have it, telling himself that maybe it was time for him to relax and live a little. After all, he’d been flogging himself for two decades, working six and sometimes seven days a week, making millions in the process. Why shouldn’t he indulge himself for once? He didn’t actually have to live in the place twenty-four-seven. He could use it as a weekender, or a holiday home. So could the rest of his family. Thinking of their pleasure at having such a dream place at their disposal had sealed the deal for Jack, so he’d bought Francesco’s Folly that very afternoon, getting it for a bargain, partly because it was a deceased estate, but mostly because the interior was hideously dated—hence his need for an excellent interior designer, one whose taste and work ethics matched his. It annoyed Jack considerably that the one person whom he could trust to do the job, and do it well, was unavailable to him.

But then it suddenly occurred to Jack that maybe that wasn’t the case.

‘So who was the sneaky devil who head-hunted her?’ he demanded to know, excited by the possibility that he could still hire the decorator he wanted for the job.

‘Vivienne hasn’t gone to work for anyone else,’ Nigel informed him.

‘How do you know?’

‘She told me so. Look, Jack, if you must know, Vivienne’s not feeling well at the moment. She’s decided to have some time off work.’

Jack was taken back. ‘What do you mean, not feeling well? What’s the matter with her?’

‘I guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you. It’s not as though it isn’t public knowledge.’

Jack frowned. It certainly wasn’t public knowledge to him.

Nigel frowned also. ‘I’m guessing by the look on your face that you didn’t read the gossip columns in Sunday’s papers, or see the photos.’

‘I never read gossip columns,’ Jack replied. He did sometimes skim through the Sunday paper—mostly the property section—but he’d been busy yesterday. ‘So what did I miss? Though, truly, I can’t imagine a girl like Vivienne making it into any gossip column. She isn’t the type.’

‘It wasn’t Vivienne. It was her ex-fiancé.’

‘Ex-fiancé... Good Lord, when did that happen? She was solidly engaged last time I saw her a few weeks back.’

‘Yes, well, Daryl broke off their engagement about a month ago. Told her he’d fallen in love with someone else. The poor girl was shattered, but she was very brave and soldiered on. Of course, the rat claimed he hadn’t cheated on her whilst they were still engaged, but yesterday’s paper proved that was just rubbish.’

‘For pity’s sake, Nigel, just tell me what was in the darned paper!’

‘The thing is, the girl Daryl dumped Vivienne for wasn’t just any old girl. He left her for Courtney Ellison. You know...? Frank Ellison’s spoiled daughter. Vivienne did the decorating job on the harbourside mansion you built for Ellison, so I guess that’s how the two lovebirds met. Anyway, the bit in the gossip column was announcing their engagement. In the photos—there were several—the Ellison girl is sporting a diamond engagement ring the size of an egg—as well as a much bigger baby-bump, meaning their affair’s been going on for quite some time.

‘Naturally, there was no mention of Courtney’s handsome husband-to-be having been recently engaged to another woman. Darling Daddy would have quashed that. You don’t get to be a billionaire mining magnate in this country without having lots of connections in the media. As you can imagine, Vivienne is very cut up about it. She was in tears on the phone yesterday, which is not like her at all.’

Jack could not have agreed more. Tears were not Vivienne’s style. He’d never met any female as cool and collected as Vivienne. But he supposed everyone had their breaking point. He shook his head, regretting now that he’d recommended her to Frank Ellison. Jack hated to think that he was in some way responsible for Vivienne’s unhappiness. But how could he possibly have known that Ellison’s man-eating maniac of a daughter would get her claws into Vivienne’s fiancé?

Still...if ever there was a man willing and ready to be eaten by the likes of Courtney Ellison, it was Vivienne’s now ex-fiancé.

Jack had only met Daryl once—when he’d briefly dropped in on Classic Design’s Christmas party last year—but once had been enough to form an opinion. Okay, so darling Daryl was movie-star good-looking. And charming, he supposed, if you liked silver-tongued talkers who smiled a lot, touched a lot and called their fiancée ‘babe’. Clearly, Vivienne did, since she’d been planning on marrying him.

It saddened Jack that Vivienne had been unlucky enough to lose her heart to one of that ilk, but he had no doubt that she would, in time, see that she’d had a narrow escape from long-term misery as a result of Daryl’s defection. Meanwhile, the last thing that girl needed was to be allowed to wallow in her present misery. Jack understood that Vivienne was probably feeling wretched, but nothing would be achieved by cutting herself off from the one thing she was good at and would make her feel good about herself: her work.

‘I see,’ he said, quickly deciding on a course of action. ‘You wouldn’t have Vivienne’s address, would you, Nigel? I’d like to send her some flowers,’ he added before Nigel gave him some bulldust about privacy issues.

Nigel stared at Jack for a long moment before looking up the company files on his computer and writing down the address.

‘I don’t like your chances,’ he said as he handed the address over.

‘My chances of what?’ Jack replied, poker-faced.

Nigel smiled a dry smile. ‘Come now, Jack, you and I both know you don’t want Vivienne’s address just to send her flowers. You’re going to hotfoot it over to her place and try to get her to do whatever it is you want her to do. Which is what, by the way? Another retirement-home project?’

‘No,’ Jack said, despite thinking that Francesco’s Folly would make a perfect retirement home, when and if he ever actually retired. ‘It’s a personal project, a holiday house I’ve bought which badly needs redecorating. Look, it’ll do Vivienne good to keep busy.’

‘She’s very fragile at the moment,’ Nigel warned. ‘Not everyone is as tough as you, Jack.’

‘I’ve often found that the gentler sex are a lot tougher than we men think they are,’ Jack said as he stood up and extended his hand in parting.

Nigel tried not to wince when Jack’s large hand closed around his much smaller one. But truly, the man didn’t know his own strength sometimes. Didn’t know women as well as he thought he did, either. No way was Vivienne going to let herself be bulldozed into working for him. Aside from the fact that she was in a dreadful emotional state at the moment, she’d never overly liked the owner of Stone Constructions—something which Jack obviously didn’t know.

But privately she’d expressed the opinion to Nigel that Jack was a pain in the neck to work for, a driven workaholic with impossibly high standards which, whilst admirable in one way, could be very trying. Of course, he did pay very well, but that wasn’t going to help him where Vivienne was concerned. Money had never interested her all that much, possibly because she’d inherited plenty of her own when her mother had died a couple of years ago.

‘If you want some advice,’ Nigel called after Jack as he headed for the door, ‘Actually taking Vivienne some flowers—not red roses, mind you—might improve your chances of success.’

Though Nigel seriously doubted it.

Copyright © 2014 by Miranda Lee

When Falcone’s World Stops Turning

Abby Green

‘Samantha.’ Rafaele smiled. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in? It’s cold out here.’

Sam’s hand clenched tightly around the door. Panic rushed into her blood. Finally rousing her.

‘Now isn’t a good time. I thought I made it clear that I’m not interested.’

A dull flush accentuated Rafaele’s cheekbones, but Sam was barely aware of it when she heard the high-pitched, ‘Mummy!’ which was accompanied by small feet running at full speed behind her.

She felt Milo land at her legs and could almost visualise his little round face peeping out to see who was at the door. As if she were trying in vain to halt an oncoming train, Sam said in a thready voice, ‘Now really isn’t a good time.’

Rafaele stared at Milo for what seemed like an age. He frowned and then looked as if someone had just hit him in the belly. Dazed, he glanced up at Sam and she knew exactly what he was seeing. Her eyes were wide and stricken, set in a face leached of all colour.

Panicked. Guilty.

Just like that something in his eyes turned to ice and she knew that he knew.

BLOOD BROTHERS

Power and passion run in their veins

Rafaele and Alexio have learned that to feel emotion is to be weak. Calculated ruthlessness brings them immense success in the boardroom and in the bedroom. But a storm is coming with the sudden appearance of a long-lost half-brother and three women who will change their lives for ever …

Read Rafaele Falcone’s story in: WHEN FALCONE’S WORLD STOPS TURNING February 2014

Only one woman has come close to touching this brooding Italian’s cold heart, and he intends to have her once more. But Samantha Rourke has a secret that will rock his world in a very different way…

Read Alexio Christakos’s story in: WHEN CHRISTAKOS MEETS HIS MATCH April 2014

His legendary Greek charm can get him any woman he wants—and he wants Sidonie Fitzgerald for one, hot night. But when that night isn’t enough will he regret breaking his own rules?

And coming soon …

Cesar Da Silva’s story June 2014

The prodigal son is tormented by his dark past.

Can one woman save this Spanish billionaire’s tortured soul, or is he beyond redemption?

ABBY GREEN spent her teens reading Mills and Boon® romances. After repeatedly deferring a degree to study Social Anthropology (long story!) she ended up working for many years in the film and TV industry as an assistant director.

One day, while standing outside an actor’s trailer waiting for him to emerge, in the rain, holding an umbrella in gale force winds, she thought to herself, Surely there’s more than this and it involves being inside and dry?

Thinking of her love for Mills and Boon, and encouraged by a friend, Abby decided to submit a partial manuscript. After numerous rewrites, chucking out the original idea and starting again with a new story, her first book was accepted and an author was born.