Fascination: The Sicilian's Ruthless Marriage Revenge

Brooding, darkly sexy and very demanding! These Sicilian heroes are every woman’s fantasy. Share our

Fascination

Three dramatic and intense romances brought to you by popular, beloved author Carole Mortimer

About the Author

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Mills & Boon®. Carole has six sons, Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, “I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.”

Look out for Carole Mortimer’s new novels, which will be available soon from Mills & Boon® Modern™.

Carole

Mortimer

Fascination

The Sicilian’s Ruthless

Marriage Revenge

At the Sicilian

Count’s Command

The Sicilian’s

Innocent Mistress

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Sicilian’s Ruthless

Marriage Revenge

Carole Mortimer

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.