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A Marriage Fit For A Sinner
Maya Blake


‘Now, il mio angelo, I make you mine.’Billionaire Zaccheo Giordano walks out of prison with one thing on his mind – revenge on the treacherous Pennington family who put him there. And he’ll start with his ex-fiancée Eva Pennington. When Zaccheo demands she wear his ring again, to save her family from his wrath, Eva has to agree. At least a marriage in name only means she won’t have to reveal the painful truth that she’s infertile. Until Zaccheo makes it clear that their marriage will be real in every sense…including giving him an heir… Seven Sexy Sins The true taste of temptation!Discover more at www.millsandboon.co.uk/mayablake









One eyebrow spiked. ‘You seem so confident I’m going to hand myself to you on a silver platter. Isn’t that a tad foolish?’


There was that tone again—the one that said she didn’t believe him. That she thought this was some sort of twisted game on his part.

‘I guess we’ll find out one way or the other when the sordid details are laid out for you on Monday. All you need to concern yourself about today is picking out an engagement ring that makes the right statement.’

Eva’s striking green eyes clashed with his and that lightning bolt struck again. ‘And what statement would that be?’ she challenged.

Zaccheo let loose the chilling half-smile that he knew made his enemies quake. ‘Why, that you belong to me, of course.’




Seven Sexy Sins (#ulink_52b1dfac-6b2b-5c88-9f3e-75885238e222)


The true taste of temptation!

From greed to gluttony, lust to envy, these fabulous stories explore what seven sexy sins mean in the twenty-first century!

Whether pride goes before a fall, or wrath leads to a passion that consumes entirely, one thing is certain: the road to true love has never been more enticing!

So you decide:

How can it be a sin when it feels so good?

Sloth—Cathy Williams Lust—Dani Collins Pride—Kim Lawrence Gluttony—Maggie Cox Greed—Sara Craven Wrath—Maya Blake Envy—Annie West

Seven titles by some of Mills & Boon Modern Romance’s most treasured and exciting authors!


A Marriage

Fit for a Sinner

Maya Blake






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


MAYA BLAKE’s hopes of becoming a writer were born when she picked up her first romance aged thirteen. Little did she know her dream would come true! Does she still pinch herself every now and then, to make sure it’s not a dream? Yes, she does!

Feel free to pinch her too, via Twitter, Facebook or Goodreads! Happy reading!


Contents

Cover (#u2c40f4a0-3671-5db4-9b99-bf873d4a020b)

Introduction (#ud0b4653e-b20e-5304-adf1-71d6db05c7da)

Seven Sexy Sins (#ufaf69817-50fa-526e-bc42-f1546368101e)

Title Page (#u4aa4c35a-5167-5b82-8a83-2bfe254a6850)

About the Author (#u485278f0-d074-5b0c-b92f-a29f0b35644e)

CHAPTER ONE (#uba57fcc3-28b4-5d77-8444-48ea4029a96c)

CHAPTER TWO (#uc4454301-7e38-5f2f-9672-34a9ca7d4337)

CHAPTER THREE (#u183def48-8d98-584c-8d12-871f63bba527)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u07d0d7d9-ce92-52b0-9584-0433fcf83f3f)

CHAPTER FIVE (#u792bc2bb-fb83-5272-830d-2fa39a2f16f2)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_3bf3ba9b-1d5e-5956-8e32-5c19c3d49a99)

‘ONE PLATINUM CHRONOGRAPH WATCH. A pair of diamond-studded cufflinks. Gold signet ring. Six hundred and twenty-five pounds cash, and...Obsidian Privilege Card. Right, I think that’s everything, sir. Sign here to confirm return of your property.’

Zaccheo Giordano didn’t react to the warden’s sneer as he scrawled on the barely legible form. Nor did he react to the resentful envy in the man’s eyes when his gaze drifted to where the sleek silver limousine waited beyond three sets of barbed wire.

Romeo Brunetti, Zaccheo’s second-in-command and the only person he would consider draping the term friend upon, stood beside the car, brooding and unsmiling, totally unruffled by the armed guard at the gate or the bleak South East England surroundings.

Had Zaccheo been in an accommodating mood, he’d have cracked a smile.

But he wasn’t in an accommodating mood. He hadn’t been for a very long time. Fourteen months, two weeks, four days and nine hours to be exact. Zaccheo was positive he could count down to the last second if required.

No one would require it of him, of course. He’d served his time. With three and a half months knocked off his eighteen-month sentence for good behaviour.

The rage fused into his DNA bubbled beneath his skin. He showed no outward sign of it as he pocketed his belongings. The three-piece Savile Row suit he’d entered prison in stank of decay and misery, but Zaccheo didn’t care.

He’d never been a slave to material comforts. His need for validation went far deeper. The need to elevate himself into a better place had been a soul-deep pursuit from the moment he was old enough to recognise the reality of the life he’d been born into. A life that had been a never-ending whirlpool of humiliation, violence and greed. A life that had seen his father debased and dead at thirty-five.

Memories tumbled like dominoes as he walked down the harshly lit corridor to freedom. He willed the overwhelming sense of injustice that had festered for long, harrowing months not to explode from his pores.

The doors clanged shut behind him.

Zaccheo froze, then took his first lungful of free air with fists clenched and eyes shut. He absorbed the sound of birds chirping in the late-winter morning sun, listened to the distant rumble of the motorway as he’d done many nights from his prison cell.

Opening his eyes, he headed towards the fifteen-foot gate. A minute later, he was outside.

‘Zaccheo, it’s good to see you again,’ Romeo said gravely, his eyes narrowing as he took him in.

Zaccheo knew he looked a sight. He hadn’t bothered with a razor blade or a barber’s clippers in the last three months and he’d barely eaten once he’d unearthed the truth behind his incarceration. But he’d spent a lot of time in the prison gym. It’d been that or go mad with the clawing hunger for retribution.

He shrugged off his friend’s concern and moved to the open door.

‘Did you bring what I asked for?’ he asked.

Romeo nodded. ‘Sì. All three files are on the laptop.’

Zaccheo slid onto the plush leather seat. Romeo slid in next to him and poured them two glasses of Italian-made cognac.

‘Salute,’ Romeo muttered.

Zaccheo took the drink without responding, threw back the amber liquid and allowed the scent of power and affluence—the tools he’d need for his plan to succeed—to wash over him.

As the low hum of the luxury engine whisked him away from the place he’d been forced to call home for over a year, Zaccheo reached for the laptop.

Icy rage trembled through his fingers as the Giordano Worldwide Inc. logo flickered to life. His life’s work, almost decimated through another’s greed and lust for power. It was only with Romeo’s help that GWI hadn’t gone under in the months after Zaccheo had been sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. He drew quiet satisfaction that not only had GWI survived—thanks to Romeo—it had thrived.

But his personal reputation had not.

He was out now. Free to bring those culpable to justice. He didn’t plan on resting until every last person responsible for attempting to destroy his life paid with the destruction of theirs.

Shaking out his hand to rid it of its tremble, he hit the Open key.

The information was thorough although Zaccheo knew most of its contents. For three months he’d checked and double-checked his sources, made sure every detail was nailed down tight.

He exhaled at the first picture that filled his screen.

Oscar Pennington III. Distant relative to the royal family. Etonian. Old, if spent, money. Very much part of the establishment. Greedy. Indiscriminate. His waning property portfolio had received a much-needed injection of capital exactly fourteen months and two weeks ago when he’d become sole owner of London’s most talked about building—The Spire.

Zaccheo swallowed the savage growl that rumbled from his soul. Icily calm, he flicked through pages of Pennington celebrating his revived success with galas, lavish dinner parties and polo tournaments thrown about like confetti. One picture showed him laughing with one of his two children.

Sophie Pennington. Private education all the way to finishing school. Classically beautiful. Ball-breaker. She’d proven beyond a doubt that she had every intention of becoming Oscar’s carbon copy.

Grimly, he closed her file and moved to the last one.

Eva Pennington.

This time the growl couldn’t be contained. Nor could he stem the renewed shaking in his hand as he clicked her file.

Caramel-blonde hair tumbled down her shoulders in thick, wild waves. Dark eyebrows and lashes framed moss-green eyes, accentuated dramatically with black eyeliner. Those eyes had gripped his attention with more force than he’d been comfortable with the first time he’d looked into them. As had the full, bow-shaped lips currently curved in a smouldering smile. His screen displayed a head-and-shoulders shot, but the rest of Eva Pennington’s body was imprinted indelibly on Zaccheo’s mind. He didn’t struggle to recall the petite, curvy shape, or that she forced herself to wear heels even though she hated them, in order to make herself taller.

He certainly didn’t struggle to recall her individual atrocity. He’d lain in his prison bed condemning himself for being astounded by her singular betrayal, when the failings of both his parents and his dealings with the establishment should’ve taught him better. He’d prided himself on reading between the lines to spot schemers and gold-diggers ten miles away. Yet he’d been fooled.

The time he’d wasted on useless bitterness was the most excruciating of all; time he would gladly claw back if he could.

Firming his lips, he clicked through the pages, running through her life for the past year and a half. At the final page, he froze.

‘How new is this last information?’

‘I added that to the file yesterday. I thought you’d want to know,’ Romeo replied.

Zaccheo stared at the newspaper clipping, shock waves rolling through him. ‘Sì, grazie...’

‘Do you wish to return to the Esher estate or the penthouse?’ Romeo asked.

Zaccheo read the announcement again, taking in pertinent details. Pennington Manor. Eight o’clock. Three hundred guests. Followed by an intimate family dinner on Sunday at The Spire.

The Spire...the building that should’ve been Zaccheo’s greatest achievement.

‘The estate,’ he replied. It was closer.

He closed the file as Romeo instructed the driver.

Relaxing against the headrest, Zaccheo tried to let the hum of the engine soothe him. But it was no use. He was far from calm.

He’d have to alter his plan. Not that it mattered too much in the long run.

A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. While all three Penningtons had colluded in his incarceration, this new information demanded he use a different tactic, one he’d first contemplated and abandoned. Either way, Zaccheo didn’t plan to rest until all of them were stripped of what they cherished most—their wealth and affluence.

He’d intended to wait a day or two to ensure he had Oscar Pennington where he wanted him before he struck. That plan was no longer viable.

Bringing down the family who’d framed him for criminal negligence couldn’t wait till Monday.

His first order of business would be tackled tonight.

Starting with the youngest member of the family—Eva Pennington.

His ex-fiancée.

* * *

Eva Pennington stared at the dress in her sister’s hand. ‘Seriously? There’s no way I’m wearing that. Why didn’t you tell me the clothes I left behind had been given away?’

‘Because you said you didn’t want them when you moved out. Besides, they were old and out of fashion. I had this couriered from New York this morning. It’s the latest couture and on loan to us for twenty-four hours,’ Sophie replied.

Eva pursed her lips. ‘I don’t care if it was woven by ten thousand silk worms. I’m not wearing a dress that makes me look like a gold-digger and a slut. And considering the state of our finances, I’d have thought you’d be more careful what you splashed money on.’ She couldn’t stem her bewilderment as to why Sophie and her father blithely ignored the fact that money was extremely tight.

Sophie huffed. ‘This is a one-of-a-kind dress, and, unless I’m mistaken, it’s the kind of dress your future husband likes his women to wear. Anyway, you’ll be out of it in less than four hours, once the right photographs have been taken, and the party’s over.’

Eva gritted her teeth. ‘Stop trying to manage me, Sophie. You’re forgetting who pulled this bailout together. If I hadn’t come to an agreement with Harry, we’d have been sunk come next week. As to what he likes his women to wear, if you’d bothered to speak to me first I’d have saved you the trouble of going to unnecessary expense. I dress for myself and no one else.’

‘Speak to you first? When you and Father neglected to afford me the same courtesy before you hatched this plan behind my back?’ Sophie griped.

Eva’s heart twisted at the blatant jealousy in her sister’s voice.

As if it weren’t enough that the decision she’d spent the past two weeks agonising over still made her insides clench in horror. It didn’t matter that the man she’d agreed to marry was her friend and she was helping him as much as he was helping her. Marriage was a step she’d rather not have taken.

It was clear, however, her sister didn’t see it that way. Sophie’s escalating discontentment at any relationship Eva tried to forge with their father was part of the reason Eva had moved out of Pennington Manor. Not that their father was an easy man to live with.

For as long as she could remember, Sophie had been possessive of their father’s attention. While their mother had been alive, it’d been bearable and easier to accept that Sophie was their father’s preferred child, while Eva was her mother’s, despite wanting to be loved equally by both parents.

After their mother’s death, every interaction Eva had tried to have with their father had been met with bristling confrontation from Sophie, and indifference from their father.

But, irrational as it was, it didn’t stop Eva from trying to reason with the sister she’d once looked up to.

‘We didn’t go behind your back. You were away on a business trip—’

‘Trying to use the business degree that doesn’t seem to mean anything any more. Not when you can swoop in after three years of performing tired ballads in seedy pubs to save the day,’ Sophie interjected harshly.

Eva hung on to her temper by a thread, but pain stung deep at the blithe dismissal of her passion. ‘You know I resigned from Penningtons because Father only hired me so I could attract a suitable husband. And just because my dreams don’t coincide with yours—’

‘That’s just it. You’re twenty-four and still dreaming. The rest of us don’t have that luxury. And we certainly don’t land on our feet by clicking our fingers and having a millionaire solve all our problems.’

‘Harry is saving all of us. And you really think I’ve landedon my feet by getting engaged for the second time in two years?’ Eva asked.

Sophie dropped the offensive dress on Eva’s bed. ‘To everyone who matters, this is your first engagement. The other one barely lasted five minutes. Hardly anyone knows it happened.’

Hurt-laced anger swirled through her veins. ‘I know it happened.’

‘If my opinion matters around here any more, then I suggest you don’t broadcast it. It’s a subject best left in the past, just like the man it involved.’

Pain stung deeper. ‘I can’t pretend it didn’t happen because of what occurred afterwards.’

‘The last thing we need right now is any hint of scandal. And I don’t know why you’re blaming Father for what happened when you should be thanking him for extricating you from that man before it was too late,’ Sophie defended heatedly.

That man.

Zaccheo Giordano.

Eva wasn’t sure whether the ache lodged beneath her ribs came from thinking about him or from the reminder of how gullible she’d been to think he was any different from every other man who’d crossed her path.

She relaxed her fists when they balled again.

This was why she preferred her life away from their family home deep in the heart of Surrey.

It was why her waitress colleagues knew her as Eva Penn, a hostess at Siren, the London nightclub where she also sang part-time, instead of Lady Eva Pennington, daughter of Lord Pennington.

Her relationship with her father had always been difficult, but she’d never thought she’d lose her sister so completely, too.

She cleared her throat. ‘Sophie, this agreement with Harry wasn’t supposed to undermine anything you were doing with Father to save Penningtons. There’s no need to be upset or jealous. I’m not trying to take your place—’

‘Jealous! Don’t be ridiculous,’ Sophie sneered, although the trace of panic in her voice made Eva’s heart break. ‘And you could never take my place. I’m Father’s right hand, whereas you...you’re nothing but—’ She stopped herself and, after a few seconds, stuck her nose in the air. ‘Our guests are arriving shortly. Please don’t be late to your own engagement party.’

Eva swallowed down her sorrow. ‘I’ve no intention of being late. But neither do I have any intention of wearing a dress that has less material than thread holding it together.’

She strode to the giant George III armoire opposite the bed, even though her earlier inspection had shown less than a fraction of the items she’d left behind when she’d moved out on her twenty-first birthday.

These days she was content with her hostess’s uniform when she was working or lounging in jeans and sweaters while she wrote her music on her days off. Haute couture, spa days and primping herself beautiful in order to please anyone were part of a past she’d happily left behind.

Unfortunately this time there’d been no escaping. Not when she alone had been able to find the solution to saving her family.

She tried in vain to squash the rising memories being back at Pennington Manor threatened to resurrect.

Zaccheo was in her past, a mistake that should never have happened. A reminder that ignoring a lesson learned only led to further heartache.

She sighed in relief when her hand closed on a silk wrap. The red dress would be far too revealing, a true spectacle for the three hundred guests her father had invited to gawp at. But at least the wrap would provide a little much-needed cover.

Glancing at the dress again, she shuddered.

She’d rather be anywhere but here, participating in this sham. But then hadn’t her whole life been a sham? From parents who’d been publicly hailed as the couple to envy, but who’d fought bitterly in private until tragedy had struck in the form of her mother’s cancer, to the lavish parties and expensive holidays that her father had secretly been borrowing money for, the Penningtons had been one giant sham for as long as Eva could remember.

Zaccheo’s entry into their lives had only escalated her father’s behaviour.

No, she refused to think about Zaccheo. He belonged to a chapter of her life that was firmly sealed. Tonight was about Harry Fairfield, her family’s saviour, and her soon-to-be fiancé.

It was also about her father’s health.

For that reason alone, she tried again with Sophie.

‘For Father’s sake, I want tonight to go smoothly, so can we try to get along?’

Sophie stiffened. ‘If you’re talking about Father’s hospitalisation two weeks ago, I haven’t forgotten.’

Watching her father struggle to breathe with what the doctors had termed a cardiac event had terrified Eva. It’d been the catalyst that had forced her to accept Harry’s proposition.

‘He’s okay today, isn’t he?’ Despite her bitterness at her family’s treatment of her, she couldn’t help her concern for her remaining parent. Nor could she erase the secret yearning that the different version of the father she’d connected with very briefly after her mother’s death, the one who wasn’t an excess-loving megalomaniac who treated her as if she was an irritating inconvenience, hadn’t been a figment of her imagination.

‘He will be, once we get rid of the creditors threatening us with bankruptcy.’

Eva exhaled. There was no backing out; no secretly hoping that some other solution would present itself and save her from the sacrifice she was making.

All avenues had been thoroughly explored—Eva had demanded to see the Pennington books herself and spent a day with the company’s accountants to verify that they were indeed in dire straits. Her father’s rash acquisition of The Spire had stretched the company to breaking point. Harry Fairfield was their last hope.

She unzipped the red dress, resisting the urge to crush it into a wrinkled pulp.

‘Do you need help?’ Sophie asked, although Eva sensed the offer wasn’t altruistic.

‘No, I can manage.’

The same way she’d managed after her mother’s death; through her father’s rejection and Sophie’s increasingly unreasonable behaviour; through the heartbreak of finding out about Zaccheo’s betrayal.

Sophie nodded briskly. ‘I’ll see you downstairs, then.’

Eva slipped on the dress, avoiding another look in the mirror when the first glimpse showed what she’d feared most. Her every curve was accentuated, with large swathes of flesh exposed. With shaky fingers she applied her lipstick and slipped her feet into matching platform heels.

Slipping the gold and red wrap around her shoulders, she finally glanced at her image.

Chin up, girl. It’s show time.

Eva wished the manageress of Siren were uttering the words, as she did every time before Eva stepped onto the stage.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t at Siren. She’d promised to marry a man she didn’t love, for the sake of saving her precious family name.

No amount of pep talk could stem the roaring agitation flooding her veins.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_fa263d1e-e7c0-52c7-bc5f-b736b6c323fb)

THE EVENT PLANNERS had outdone themselves. Potted palms, decorative screens and subdued lighting had been strategically placed around the main halls of Pennington Manor to hide the peeling plaster, chipped wood panelling and torn Aubusson rugs that funds could no longer stretch to rectify.

Eva sipped the champagne she’d been nursing for the last two hours and willed time to move faster. Technically she couldn’t throw any guest out, but Eight to Midnight was the time the costly invitations had stated the party would last. She needed something to focus on or risk sliding into madness.

Gritting her teeth, she smiled as yet another guest demanded to see her engagement ring. The monstrous pink diamond’s sole purpose was to demonstrate the Fairfields’ wealth. Its alien weight dragged her hand down, hammering home the irrefutable point that she’d sold herself for her pedigree.

Her father’s booming voice interrupted her maudlin thoughts. Surrounded by a group of influential politicians who hung onto his every word, Oscar Pennington was in his element.

Thickset but tall enough to hide the excess weight he carried, her father cut a commanding figure despite his recent spell in hospital. His stint in the army three decades ago had lent him a ruthless edge, cleverly counteracted by his natural charm. The combination made him enigmatic enough to attract attention when he walked into a room.

But not even that charisma had saved him from economic devastation four years ago.

With that coming close on the heels of her mother’s illness, their social and economic circles had dwindled to nothing almost overnight, with her father desperately scrambling to hold things together.

End result—his association with Zaccheo Giordano.

Eva frowned, bewildered that her thoughts had circled back to the man she’d pushed to the dark recesses of her mind. A man she’d last seen being led away in handcuffs—

‘There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

Eva started, then berated herself for feeling guilty. Guilt belonged to those who’d committed crimes, who lied about their true motives.

Enough!

She smiled at Harry.

Her old university friend—a brilliant tech genius—had gone off the rails when he’d achieved fame and wealth straight out of university. Now a multimillionaire with enough money to bail out Penningtons, he represented her family’s last hope.

‘Well, you found me,’ she said.

He was a few inches taller than her five feet four; she didn’t have to look up too far to meet his twinkling soft brown eyes.

‘Indeed. Are you okay?’ he asked, his gaze reflecting concern.

‘I’m fine,’ she responded breezily.

He looked unconvinced. Harry was one of the few people who knew about her broken engagement to Zaccheo. He’d seen beneath her false smiles and assurances that she could handle a marriage of convenience and asked her point-blank if her past with Zaccheo Giordano would be a problem. Her swift no seemed to have satisfied him.

Now he looked unsure.

‘Harry, don’t fret. I can do this,’ she insisted, despite the hollowness in her stomach.

He studied her solemnly, then called over a waiter and exchanged his empty champagne glass for a full one. ‘If you say so, but I need advanced warning if this gets too weird for you, okay? My parents will have a fit if they read about me in the papers this side of Christmas.’

She nodded gratefully, then frowned. ‘I thought you were going to take it easy tonight?’ She indicated his glass.

‘Gosh, you already sound like a wife.’ He sniggered. ‘Leave off, sweetness, the parents have already given me an earful.’

Having met his parents a week ago, Eva could imagine the exchange.

‘Remember why you’re doing this. Do you want to derail the PR campaign to clean up your image before it’s even begun?’

While Harry couldn’t care less about his social standing, his parents were voracious in their hunger for prestige and a pedigree to hang their name on. Only the threat to Harry’s business dealings had finally forced him to address his reckless playboy image.

He took her arm and tilted his sand-coloured head affably towards hers. ‘I promise to be on my best behaviour. Now that the tedious toasts have been made and we’re officially engaged, it’s time for the best part of the evening. The fireworks!’

Eva set her champagne glass down and stepped out of the dining-room alcove that had been her sanctuary throughout her childhood. ‘Isn’t that supposed to be a surprise?’

Harry winked. ‘It is, but, since we’ve fooled everyone into thinking we’re madly in love, faking our surprise should be easy.’

She smiled. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’

Harry laid a hand across his heart. ‘Thank you, my fair Lady Pennington.’

The reminder of why this whole sham engagement was happening slid like a knife between her ribs. Numbing herself to the pain, she walked out onto the terrace that overlooked the manor’s multi-acre garden.

The gardens had once held large koi ponds, a giant summer house and an elaborate maze, but the prohibitive cost of the grounds’ upkeep had led to the landscape being levelled and replaced with rolling carpet grass.

A smattering of applause greeted their arrival and Eva’s gaze drifted over the guests to where Sophie, her father and Harry’s parents stood watching them.

She caught her father’s eye, and her stomach knotted.

While part of her was pleased that she’d found a solution to their family problems, she couldn’t help but feel that nothing she did would ever bring her closer to her sister or father.

Her father might have accepted her help with the bailout from Harry, but his displeasure at her chosen profession was yet another bone of contention between them. One she’d made clear she wouldn’t back down on.

Turning away, she fixed her smile in place and exclaimed appropriately when the first elaborate firework display burst into the sky.

‘So...my parents want us to live together,’ Harry whispered in her ear.

‘What?’

He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I convinced them you hate my bachelor pad so we need to find a place that’s ours rather than mine.’

Relief poured through her. ‘Thank you.’

He brushed a hand down her cheek. ‘You’re welcome. But I deserve a reward for my sacrifice,’ he said with a smile. ‘How about dinner on Monday?’

‘As long as it’s not a paparazzi-stalked spectacle of a restaurant, you’re on.’

‘Great. It’s a date.’ He kissed her knuckles, much to the delight of the guests, who thought they were witnessing a true love match.

Eva allowed herself to relax. She might find what they were doing distasteful, but she was grateful that Harry’s visit to Siren three weeks ago had ended up with him bailing her out, and not a calculating stranger.

‘That dress is a knockout on you, by the way.’

She grimaced. ‘It wasn’t my first choice, but thank you.’

The next series of firework displays should’ve quieted the guests, yet murmurs around her grew.

‘Omigod, whoever it is must have a death wish!’ someone exclaimed.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. ‘I think we may have a last-minute guest.’

Eva looked around and saw puzzled gazes fixed at a point in the sky as the faint thwopping sound grew louder. Another set of fireworks went off, illuminating the looming object.

She frowned. ‘Is that...?’

‘A helicopter heading straight for the middle of the fireworks display? Yep. I guess the organisers decided to add another surprise to the party.’

‘I don’t think that’s part of the entertainment,’ Eva shouted to be heard over the descending aircraft.

Her heart slammed into her throat as a particularly elaborate firework erupted precariously close to the black-and-red chopper.

‘Hell, if this is a stunt, I take my hat off to the pilot. It takes iron balls to fly into danger like that.’ Harry chuckled.

The helicopter drew closer. Mesmerised, Eva watched it settle in the middle of the garden, her attention riveted to its single occupant.

The garden lights had been turned off to showcase the fireworks to maximum effect so she couldn’t see who their unexpected guest was. Nevertheless, an ominous shiver chased up her spine.

She heard urgent shouts for the pyrotechnician to halt the display, but another rocket fizzed past the rotating blades.

A hush fell over the crowd as the helicopter door opened. A figure stepped out, clad from head to toe in black. As another blaze of colour filled the sky his body was thrown into relief.

Eva tensed as if she’d been shot with a stun gun.

It couldn’t be...

He was behind bars, atoning for his ruthless greed. Eva squashed the sting of guilt that accompanied the thought.

Zaccheo Giordano and men of his ilk arrogantly believed they were above the law. They didn’t deserve her sympathy, or the disloyal thought that he alone had paid the price when, by association, her father should’ve borne some of the blame. Justice ensured they went to jail and stayed there for the duration of their term. They weren’t released early.

They certainly didn’t land in the middle of a firework display at a private party as if they owned the land they walked on.

The spectacle unfolding before her stated differently.

Lights flickered on. Eva tracked the figure striding imperiously across the grass and up the wide steps.

Reaching the terrace, he paused and buttoned his single-breasted tuxedo.

‘Oh, God,’ she whispered.

‘Wait...you know this bloke?’ Harry asked, his tone for once serious.

Eva wanted to deny the man who now stood, easily head and shoulders above the nearest guests, his fierce, unwavering gaze pinned on her.

She didn’t know whether to attribute the crackling electricity to his appearance or the look in his eyes. Both were viscerally menacing to the point of brutality.

The Zaccheo Giordano she’d had the misfortune of briefly tangling with before his incarceration had kept his hair trimmed short and his face clean-shaven.

This man had a full beard and his hair flowed over his shoulders in an unruly sea of thick jet waves. Eva swallowed at the pronounced difference in him. The sleek, almost gaunt man she’d known was gone. In his place breathed a Neanderthal with broader shoulders, thicker arms and a denser chest moulded by his black silk shirt. Equally dark trousers hugged lean hips and sturdy thighs to fall in a precise inch above expensive handmade shoes. But nothing of his attire disguised the aura he emanated.

Uncivilised. Explosively masculine. Lethal.

Danger vibrated from him like striations on baking asphalt. It flowed over the guests, who jostled each other for a better look at the impromptu visitor.

‘Eva?’ Harry’s puzzled query echoed through her dazed consciousness.

Zaccheo released her from his deadly stare. His eyes flicked to the arm tucked into Harry’s before he turned away. The breath exploded from her lungs. Sensing Harry about to ask another question, she nodded.

‘Yes. That’s Zaccheo.’

Her eyes followed Zaccheo as he turned towards her family.

Oscar’s look of anger was laced with a heavy dose of apprehension. Sophie looked plain stunned.

Eva watched the man she’d hoped to never see again cup his hands behind his back and stroll towards her father. Anyone would’ve been foolish to think that stance indicated supplication. If anything, its severe mockery made Eva want to do the unthinkable and burst out laughing.

She would’ve, had she not been mired in deep dread at what Zaccheo’s presence meant.

‘Your ex?’ Harry pressed.

She nodded numbly.

‘Then we should say hello.’

Harry tugged on her arm and she realised too late what he meant.

‘No. Wait!’ she whispered fiercely.

But he was either too drunk or genuinely oblivious to the vortex of danger he was headed for to pay attention. The tension surrounding the group swallowed Eva as they approached. Heart pounding, she watched her father’s and Zaccheo’s gazes lock.

‘I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing here, Giordano, but I suggest you get back in that monstrosity and leave before I have you arrested for trespass.’

A shock wave went through the crowd.

Zaccheo didn’t bat an eyelid.

‘By all means do that if you wish, but you know exactly why I’m here, Pennington. We can play coy if you prefer. You’ll be made painfully aware when I tire of it.’ The words were barely above a murmur, but their venom raised the hairs on Eva’s arms, triggering a gasp when she saw Sophie’s face.

Her usually unflappable sister was severely agitated, her face distressingly pale.

‘Ciao, Eva,’ Zaccheo drawled without turning around. That deep, resonant voice, reminiscent of a tenor in a soulful opera, washed over her, its powerfully mesmerising quality reminding her how she’d once longed to hear him speak just for the hell of it. ‘It’s good of you to join us.’

‘This is my engagement party. It’s my duty to interact with my guests, even unwelcome ones who will be asked to leave immediately.’

‘Don’t worry, cara, I won’t be staying long.’

The relief that surged up her spine disappeared when his gaze finally swung her way, then dropped to her left hand. With almost cavalier laziness, he caught her wrist and raised it to the light. He examined the ring for exactly three seconds. ‘How predictable.’

He released her with the same carelessness he’d captured her.

Eva clenched her fist to stop the sizzling electricity firing up her arm at the brief contact.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Harry demanded.

Zaccheo levelled steely grey eyes on him, then his parents. ‘This is a private discussion. Leave us.’

Peter Fairfield’s laugh held incredulity, the last inch of champagne in his glass sloshing wildly as he raised his arm. ‘I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick there, mate. You’re the one who needs to take a walk.’

Eva caught Harry’s pained look at his father’s response, but could do nothing but watch, heart in her throat, as Zaccheo faced Peter Fairfield.

Again she was struck by how much his body had changed; how the sleek, layered muscle lent a deeper sense of danger. Whereas before it’d been like walking close to the edge of a cliff, looking into his eyes now was like staring into a deep, bottomless abyss.

‘Would you care to repeat that, il mio amico?’ The almost conversational tone belied the savage tension beneath the words.

‘Oscar, who is this?’ Peter Fairfield demanded of her father, who seemed to have lost the ability to speak after Zaccheo’s succinct taunt.

Eva inserted herself between the two men before the situation got out of hand. Behind her, heat from Zaccheo’s body burned every exposed inch of skin. Ignoring the sensation, she cleared her throat.

‘Mr and Mrs Fairfield, Harry, we’ll only be a few minutes. We’re just catching up with Mr Giordano.’ She glanced at her father. A vein throbbed in his temple and he’d gone a worrying shade of puce. Fear climbed into her heart. ‘Father?’

He roused himself and glanced around. A charming smile slid into place, but it was off by a light year. The trickle of ice that had drifted down her spine at Zaccheo’s unexpected arrival turned into a steady drip.

‘We’ll take this in my study. Don’t hesitate to let the staff know if you need anything.’ He strode away, followed by a disturbingly quiet Sophie.

Zaccheo’s gaze swung to Harry, who defiantly withstood the laser gaze for a few seconds before he glanced at her.

‘Are you sure?’ Harry asked, that touching concern again in his eyes.

Her instinct screamed a terrible foreboding, but she nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Okay. Hurry back, sweetness.’ Before she could move, he dropped a kiss on her mouth.

A barely audible lethal growl charged through the air.

Eva flinched.

She wanted to face Zaccheo. Demand that he crawl back behind the bars that should’ve been holding him. But that glimpse of fear in her father’s eyes stopped her. She tugged the wrap closer around her.

Something wasn’t right here. She was willing to bet the dilapidated ancestral pile beneath her feet that something was seriously, dangerously wrong—

‘Move, Eva.’

The cool command spoken against her ear sent shivers coursing through her.

She moved, only because the quicker she got to the bottom of why he was here, the quicker he would leave. But with each step his dark gaze probed her back, making the walk to her father’s study on the other side of the manor the longest in her life.

Zaccheo shut the door behind him. Her father turned from where he’d been gazing into the unlit fireplace. Again Eva spotted apprehension in his eyes before he masked it.

‘Whatever grievance you think you have the right to air, I suggest you rethink it, son. Even if this were the right time or place—’

‘I am not your son, Pennington.’ Zaccheo’s response held lethal bite, the first sign of his fury breaking through. ‘As for why I’m here, I have five thousand three hundred and twenty-two pieces of documentation that proves you colluded with various other individuals to pin a crime on me that I didn’t commit.’

‘What?’ Eva gasped, then the absurdity of the statement made her shake her head. ‘We don’t believe you.’

Zaccheo’s eyes remained on her father. ‘You may not, but your father does.’

Oscar Pennington laughed, but the sound lacked its usual boom and zest. When sweat broke out over his forehead, fear gripped Eva’s insides.

She steeled her spine. ‘Our lawyers will rip whatever evidence you think you have to shreds, I’m sure. If you’re here to seek some sort of closure, you picked the wrong time to do it. Perhaps we can arrange to meet you at some other time?’

Zaccheo didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Hands once again tucked behind his back, he simply watched her father, his body a coiled predator waiting to strike a fatal blow.

Silence stretched, throbbed with unbearable menace. Eva looked from her father to Sophie and back again, her dread escalating. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded.

Her father gripped the mantel until his knuckles shone white. ‘You chose the wrong enemy. You’re sorely mistaken if you think I’ll let you blackmail me in my own home.’

Sophie stepped forward. ‘Father, don’t—’

‘Good, you haven’t lost your hubris.’ Zaccheo’s voice slashed across her sister’s. ‘I was counting on that. Here’s what I’m going to do. In ten minutes I’m going to leave here with Eva, right in front of all your guests. You won’t lift a finger to stop me. You’ll tell them exactly who I am. Then you’ll make a formal announcement that I’m the man your daughter will marry two weeks from today and that I have your blessing. I don’t want to trust something so important to phone cameras and social media, although your guests will probably do a pretty good job. I noticed a few members of the press out there, so that part of your task should be easy. If the articles are written to my satisfaction, I’ll be in touch on Monday to lay out how you can begin to make reparations to me. However, if by the time Eva and I wake up tomorrow morning the news of our engagement isn’t in the press, then all bets are off.’

Oscar Pennington’s breathing altered alarmingly. His mouth opened but no words emerged. In the arctic silence that greeted Zaccheo’s deadly words, Eva gaped at him.

‘You’re clearly not in touch with all of your faculties if you think those ridiculous demands are going to be met.’ When silence greeted her response, she turned sharply to her father. ‘Father? Why aren’t you saying something?’ she demanded, although the trepidation beating in her chest spelled its own doom.

‘Because he can’t, Eva. Because he’s about to do exactly as I say.’

She rounded on him, and was once again rocked to the core by Zaccheo’s visually powerful, utterly captivating transformation. So much so, she couldn’t speak for several seconds. ‘You’re out of your mind!’ she finally blurted.

Zaccheo’s gaze didn’t stray from its laser focus on her father. ‘Believe me, cara mia, I haven’t been saner than I am in this moment.’


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_c471559a-e025-57ac-b613-a393a9fc53be)

ZACCHEO WATCHED EVA’S head swivel to her father, confusion warring with anger.

‘Go on, Oscar. She’s waiting for you to tell me to go to hell. Why don’t you?’

Pennington staggered towards his desk, his face ashen and his breathing growing increasingly laboured.

‘Father!’ Eva rushed to his side—ignoring the poisonous look her sister sent her—as he collapsed into his leather armchair.

Zaccheo wanted to rip her away, let her watch her father suffer as his sins came home to roost. Instead he allowed the drama to play out. The outcome would be inevitable and would only go one way.

His way.

He wanted to look into Pennington’s eyes and see the defeat and helplessness the other man had expected to see in his eyes the day Zaccheo had been sentenced.

Both sisters now fussed over their father and a swell of satisfaction rose at the fear in their eyes. Eva glanced his way and he experienced a different punch altogether. One he’d thought himself immune to, but had realised otherwise the moment he’d stepped off his helicopter and singled her out in the crowd.

That unsettling feeling, as if he were suffering from vertigo despite standing on terra firma, had intrigued and annoyed him in equal measures from the very first time he’d seen her, her voice silkily hypnotic as she crooned into a mic on a golden-lit stage, her fingers caressing the black microphone stand as if she were touching a lover.

Even knowing exactly who she was, what she represented, he hadn’t been able to walk away. In the weeks after their first meeting, he’d fooled himself into believing she was different, that she wasn’t tainted with the same greed to further her pedigree by whatever means necessary; that she wasn’t willing to do whatever it took to secure her family’s standing, even while secretly scorning his upbringing.

Her very public denouncement of any association between them on the day of his sentencing had been the final blow. Not that Zaccheo hadn’t had the scales viciously ripped from his eyes by then.

No, by that fateful day fourteen months ago, he’d known just how thoroughly he’d been suckered.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she muttered fiercely, her moss-green eyes firing lasers at him.

Zaccheo forced himself not to smile. The time for gloating would come later. ‘Exacting the wages of sin, dolcezza. What else?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I don’t think my father is in a position to have a discussion with you right now, Mr Giordano.’

Her prim and proper tones bit savagely into Zaccheo, wiping away any trace of twisted mirth. That tone said he ought to know his place, that he ought to stand there like a good little servant and wait to be addressed instead of upsetting the lord of the manor with his petty concerns.

Rage bubbled beneath his skin, threatening to erupt. Blunt nails bit into his wrist, but the pain wasn’t enough to calm his fury. He clenched his jaw for a long moment before he trusted himself to speak.

‘I gave you ten minutes, Pennington. You now have five. I suggest you practise whatever sly words you’ll be using to address your guests.’ Zaccheo shrugged. ‘Or not. Either way, things will go my way.’

Eva rushed at him, her striking face and flawless skin flushed with a burst of angry colour as she stopped a few feet away.

Out on the terrace, he’d compelled himself not to stare too long at her in case he betrayed his feelings. In case his gaze devoured her as he’d wanted to do since her presence snaked like a live wire inside him.

Now, he took in that wild gypsy-like caramel-blonde hair so out of place in this polished stratosphere her family chose to inhabit. The striking contrast between her bright hair, black eyebrows and dark-rimmed eyes had always fascinated him. But no more than her cupid-bow lips, soft, dark red and sinfully sensual. Or the rest of her body.

‘You assume I have no say in whatever despicable spectacle you’re planning. That I intend to meekly stand by while you humiliate my family? Well, think again!’

‘Eva...’ her father started.

‘No! I don’t know what exactly is going on here, but I intend to play no part in it.’

‘You’ll play your part, and you’ll play it well,’ Zaccheo interjected, finally driving his gaze up from the mouth he wanted to feast on more than he wanted his next breath. That’ll come soon enough, he promised himself.

‘Or what? You’ll carry through with your empty threats?’

His fury eased a touch and twisted amusement slid back into place. It never ceased to amaze him how the titled rich felt they were above the tenets that governed ordinary human beings. His own stepfather had been the same. He’d believed, foolishly, that his pedigree and connections would insulate him from his reckless business practices, that the Old Boys’ Club would provide a safety net despite his poor judgement.

Zaccheo had taken great pleasure in watching his mother’s husband squirm before him, cap in hand, when Zaccheo had bought his family business right from underneath his pompous nose. But even then, the older man had continued to treat him like a third-class citizen...

Just as Oscar Pennington had done. Just as Eva Pennington was doing now.

‘You think my threats empty?’ he enquired softly. ‘Then do nothing. It’s after all your privilege and your right.’

Something of the lethal edge that rode him must have transmitted itself to her. Apprehension chased across her face before she firmed those impossibly sumptuous lips.

‘Do nothing, and watch me bury your family in the deepest, darkest, most demeaning pit you can dream of. Do nothing and watch me unleash a scandal the scale of which you can only imagine on your precious family name.’ He bared his teeth in a mirthless smile and her eyes widened in stunned disbelief. ‘It would be my privilege and pleasure to do so.’

Oscar Pennington inhaled sharply and Zaccheo’s gaze zeroed in on his enemy. The older man rose from the chair. Though he looked frail, his eyes reflected icy disdain. But Zaccheo also glimpsed the fear of a cornered man weighing all the options to see how to escape the noose dangling ever closer.

Zaccheo smiled inwardly. He had no intention of letting Pennington escape. Not now, not ever.

The flames of retribution intensifying within him, he unclasped his hands. It was time to bring this meeting to an end.

‘Your time’s up, Pennington.’

Eva answered instead of her father. ‘How do we know you’re not bluffing? You say you have something over us, prove it,’ she said defiantly.

He could’ve walked out and let them twist in the wind of uncertainty. Pennington would find out soon enough the length of Zaccheo’s ruthless reach. But the thought of leaving Eva here when he departed was suddenly unthinkable. So far he’d allowed himself a brief glimpse of her body wrapped in that obscenely revealing red dress. But that one glimpse had been enough. Quite apart from the rage boiling his blood, the steady hammer of his pulse proved that he still wanted her with a fever that spiked higher with each passing second.

He would take what he’d foolishly and piously denied himself two years ago. He would take and use, just as they’d done to him. Only when he’d achieved every goal he’d set himself would he feel avenged.

‘You can’t, can you?’ Oscar taunted with a sly smile, bringing Zaccheo back to the room and the three aristocratic faces staring at him with varying degrees of disdain and fear.

He smiled, almost amused by the older man’s growing confidence. ‘Harry Fairfield is providing you with a bridging loan of fifteen million pounds because the combined running costs of the Pennington Hotels and The Spire have you stretched so thin the banks won’t touch you. While you desperately drum up an adequate advertising budget to rent out all those overpriced but empty floors in The Spire, the interest owed to the Chinese consortium who own seventy-five per cent of the building is escalating. You have a meeting with them on Monday to request more time to pay the interest. In return for Fairfield’s investment, you’re handing him your daughter.’

Eva glared at him. ‘So you’ve asked a few questions about Penningtons’ business practices. That doesn’t empower you to make demands of any of us.’

Zaccheo took a moment to admire her newfound grit. During their initial association, she’d been a little more timid, and in her father’s shadow, but it looked as if the kitten had grown a few claws. He curbed the thrill at what was to come and answered.

‘Yes, it does. Would you be interested to know the Chinese consortium sold their seventy-five per cent of The Spire to me three days ago? So by my calculation you’re in excess of three months late on interest payments, correct?’

A rough sound, a cross between a cough and a wheeze, escaped Pennington’s throat. There was no class or grace in the way he gaped at Zaccheo. He dropped back into his chair, his face a mask of hatred.

‘I knew you were a worthless bet the moment I set eyes on you. I should’ve listened to my instincts.’

The red haze he’d been trying to hold back surged higher. ‘No, what you wanted was a spineless scapegoat, a capro espiatorio, who would make you rich and fat and content and even give up his life without question!’

‘Mr Giordano, surely we can discuss this like sensible business-minded individuals,’ Sophie Pennington advanced, her hands outstretched in benign sensibility. Zaccheo looked from the hands she willed not to tremble to the veiled disdain in her eyes. Then he looked past her to Eva, who’d returned to her father’s side, her face pale but her eyes shooting her displeasure at him.

Unexpectedly and very much unwelcome, a tiny hint of compassion tugged at him.

Basta!

He turned abruptly and reached for the door handle. ‘You have until I ready my chopper for take-off to come to me, Eva.’ He didn’t need to expand on that edict. The or else hung in the air like the deadly poison he intended it to be.

He walked out and headed for the terrace, despite every nerve in his body straining to return to the room and forcibly drag Eva out.

True, he hadn’t bargained for the visceral reaction to seeing her again. And yes, he hadn’t quite been able to control his reaction to seeing another man’s ring on her finger, that vulgar symbol of ownership hollowing out his stomach. The knowledge that she’d most likely shared that hapless drunk’s bed, given the body he’d once believed to be his to another, ate through his blood like acid on metal. But he couldn’t afford to let his emotions show.

Every strategic move in this game of deadly retribution hinged on him maintaining his control; on not letting them see how affected he was by all this.

He stepped onto the terrace and all conversation ceased. Curious faces gaped and one or two bolder guests even tried to intercept him. Zaccheo cut through the crowd, his gaze on the chopper a few dozen yards away.

She would come to him. As an outcome of his first salvo, nothing else would be acceptable.

His pulse thudded loud and insistent in his ears as he strolled down the steps towards the aircraft. The fireworks amid which he’d landed had long since gone quiet, but the scent of sulphur lingered in the air, reminding him of the volatility that lingered beneath his own skin, ready to erupt at the smallest trigger.

He wouldn’t let it erupt. Not yet.

A murmur rose behind him, the fevered excitement that came with the anticipation of a spectacle. A scandal.

Zaccheo compelled himself to keep walking.

He ducked beneath the powerful rotors of his aircraft and reached for the door.

‘Wait!’

He stopped. Turned.

Three hundred pairs of eyes watched with unabashed interest as Eva paused several feet from him.

Behind her, her father and sister stood on the steps, wearing similar expressions of dread. Zaccheo wanted them to stew for a while longer, but he found his attention drawn to the woman striding towards him. Her face reflected more defiance than dread. It also held pride and not a small measure of bruised disdain. Zaccheo vowed in that moment to make her regret that latter look, make her take back every single moment she’d thought herself above him.

Swallowing, he looked down at her body.

She held the flimsy wrap around her like armour. As if that would protect her from him. With one ruthless tug, he pulled it away. It fluttered to the ground, revealing her luscious, heart-stopping figure to his gaze. Unable to stem the frantic need crashing through him, he stepped forward and speared his fingers into the wild tumble of her hair.

Another step and she was in his arms.

Where she belonged.

* * *

The small pocket of air Eva had been able to retain in her lungs during her desperate flight after Zaccheo evaporated when he yanked her against him. Her body went from shivering in the crisp January air to furnace-hot within seconds. The fingers in her hair tightened, his other arm sliding around her waist.

Eva wanted to remain unaffected, slam her hands against his chest and remove herself from that dangerous wall of masculinity. But she couldn’t move. So she fought with her words.

‘You may think you’ve won, that you own me, but you don’t,’ she snapped. ‘You never will!’

His eyes gleamed. ‘Such fire. Such determination. You’ve changed, cara mia, I’ll give you that. And yet here you are, barely one minute after I walked out of your father’s study. Mere hours after you promised yourself to another man, here you are, Eva Pennington, ready to promise yourself to me. Ready to become whatever I want you to be.’

Her snigger made his eyes narrow, but she didn’t care. ‘Keep telling yourself that. I look forward to your shock when I prove you wrong.’

That deadly smile she’d first seen in her father’s study reappeared, curling fear through her. It reeked with far too much gratification to kill that unshakeable sensation that she was standing on the edge of a precipice, and that, should she fall, there would be no saving her.

She realised the reason for the smile when he lifted her now bare fingers to his eye level. ‘You’ve proved me right already.’

‘Are you completely sure about that?’ The question was a bold but empty taunt.

The lack of fuss with which Harry had taken back his ring a few minutes ago had been a relief.

She might not have an immediate solution to her family’s problems, but Eva was glad she no longer had to pretend she was half of a sham couple.

Zaccheo brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed her ring finger, stunning her back to reality. Flashes erupted as his actions were recorded, no doubt to be streamed across the fastest mediums available.

Recalling the conversation she’d just had with her father, she tried to pull away. ‘This pound-of-flesh taking isn’t going to last very long, so I suggest you enjoy it while it lasts. I intend to return to my life before midnight—’

Her words dried up when his face closed in a mask of icy fury, and his hands sealed her body even closer to his.

‘Your first lesson is to stop speaking to me as if I’m the hired help. Refraining from doing so will put me in a much calmer frame of mind to deal with you than otherwise,’ he said with unmistakeable warning.

Eva doubted that anyone had dared to speak to Zaccheo Giordano in the way he referred, but she wasn’t about to debate that point with him with three hundred pairs of eyes watching. She was struggling enough to keep upright what with all the turbulent sensations firing through her at his touch. ‘Why, Zaccheo, you sound as if you’ve a great many lessons you intend to dole out...’ She tried to sound bored, but her voice emerged a little too breathless for her liking.

‘Patience, cara mia. You’ll be instructed as and when necessary.’ His gaze dropped to her mouth and her breath lodged in her sternum. ‘For now, I wish the talking to cease.’

He closed the final inch between them and slanted his mouth over hers. The world tilted and shook beneath her feet. Expertly sensual and demanding, he kissed her as if he owned her mouth, as if he owned her whole body. In all her adult years, Eva had never imagined the brush of a beard would infuse her with such spine-tingling sensations. Yet she shivered with fiery delight as Zaccheo’s silky facial hair caressed the corners of her mouth.

She groaned at the forceful breach of his tongue. Her arms drifted over his taut biceps as she became lost in the potent magic of his kiss. At the first touch of his tongue against hers, she shuddered. He made a rough sound and his sharp inhalation vibrated against her. His fingers convulsed in her hair and his other hand drifted to her bottom, moulding her as he stepped back against the aircraft and widened his stance to bring her closer.

Eva wasn’t sure how long she stood there, adrift in a swirl of sensation as he ravaged her mouth. It wasn’t until her lungs screamed and her heart jackhammered against her ribs did she recall where she was...what was happening.

And still she wanted to continue.

So much so she almost moaned in protest when firm hands set her back and she found herself staring into molten eyes dark with savage hunger.

‘I think we’ve given our audience enough to feed on. Get in.’

The calm words, spoken in direct counteraction to the frenzied look in his eyes, doused Eva with cold reality. That she’d made even more of a spectacle of herself hit home as wolf whistles ripped through the air.

‘This was all for show?’ she whispered numbly, shivering in the frigid air.

One sleek eyebrow lifted. ‘Of course. Did you think I wanted to kiss you because I was so desperate for you I just couldn’t help myself? You’ll find that I have more self-restraint than that. Get in,’ he repeated, holding the steel and glass door to the aircraft open.

Eva brushed cold hands over her arms, unable to move. She stared at him, perhaps hoping to find some humanity in the suddenly grim-faced block of stone in front of her. Or did she want a hint of the man who’d once framed her face in his hands and called her the most beautiful thing in his life?

Of course, that had been a lie. Everything about Zaccheo had been a lie. Still she probed for some softness beneath that formidable exterior.

His implacable stare told her she was grasping at straws, as she had from the very beginning, when she’d woven stupid dreams around him.

A gust of icy wind blew across the grass, straight into her exposed back. A flash of red caught her eye and she blindly stumbled towards the terrace. She’d barely taken two steps when he seized her arm.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Zaccheo enquired frostily.

‘I’m cold,’ she replied through chattering teeth. ‘My wrap...’ She pointed to where the material had drifted.

‘Leave it. This will keep you warm.’ With one smooth move, he unbuttoned, shrugged off his tuxedo and draped it around her shoulders. The sudden infusion of warmth was overwhelming. Eva didn’t want to drown in the distinctively heady scent of the man who was wrecking her world, didn’t welcome her body’s traitorous urge to burrow into the warm silk lining. And most of all, she didn’t want to be beholden to him in any way, or accept any hint of kindness from him.

Zaccheo Giordano had demonstrated a ruthless thirst to annihilate those he deemed enemies in her father’s study.

But she was no longer the naive and trusting girl she’d been a year and a half ago. Zaccheo’s betrayal and her continued fraught relationship with her father and sister had hardened her heart. The pain was still there—would probably always be there—but so were the new fortifications against further hurt. She had no intention of laying her heart and soul bare to further damage from the people she’d once blithely believed would return the same love and devotion she offered freely.

She started to shrug off the jacket. ‘No, thanks. I’d prefer not to be stamped as your possession.’

He stopped her by placing both hands on her arms.

Dark grey eyes pinned her to the spot, the sharper, icier burst of wind whipping around them casting him in a deadlier, more dangerous light.

‘You’re already my possession. You became mine the moment you made the choice to follow me out here, Eva. You can kid yourself all you want, but this is your reality from here on in.’


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_c74ad39a-d4c2-5959-92b4-5d727ab2de17)

@Ladystclare OMG! Bragging rights=mine! Beheld fireworks w/in fireworks @P/Manor last night when LadyP eloped w/convict lover! #amazeballs

@Aristokitten Bet it was all a publicity stunt, but boy that kiss? Sign me up! #Ineedlatinlovelikethat

@Countrypile That wasn’t love. That was an obscene and shameless money-grabbing gambit at its worst! #Donotencouragerancidbehaviour

EVA FLINCHED, her stomach churning at each new message that flooded her social-media stream.

The hours had passed in a haze after Zaccheo flew them from Pennington Manor. In solid command of the helicopter, he’d soared over the City of London and landed on the vertiginous rooftop of The Spire.

The stunning split-level penthouse’s interior had barely registered in the early hours when Zaccheo’s enigmatic aide, Romeo, had directed the butler to show her to her room.

Zaccheo had stalked away without a word, leaving her in the middle of his marble-tiled hallway, clutching his jacket.

Sleep had been non-existent in the bleak hours that had followed. At five a.m., she’d given up and taken a quick shower before putting on that skin-baring dress again.

Wishing she’d asked for a blanket to cover the acres of flesh on display, she cringed as another salacious offering popped into her inbox displayed on Zaccheo’s tablet.

Like a spectator frozen on the fringes of an unfolding train wreck, she read the latest post.

@Uberwoman Hey ConvictLover, that flighty poor little rich girl is wasted on you. Real women exist. Let ME rock your world!

Eva curled her fist, refusing to entertain the image of any woman rocking Zaccheo’s world. She didn’t care one way or the other. If she had a choice, she would be ten thousand miles away from this place.

‘If you’re thinking of responding to any of that, consider yourself warned against doing so.’

She jumped at the deep voice a whisper from her ear. She’d thought she would be alone in the living room for at least another couple of hours before dealing with Zaccheo. Now she wished she’d stayed in her room.

She stood and faced him, the long black suede sofa between them no barrier to Zaccheo’s towering presence.

‘I’ve no intention of responding. And you really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,’ she tagged on when the leisurely drift of those incisive eyes over her body made her feel like a specimen under a microscope.

‘I don’t sneak. Had you been less self-absorbed in your notoriety, you would’ve heard me enter the room.’

Anger welled up. ‘You accuse me of being notorious? All this is happening because you insisted on gatecrashing a private event and turning it into a public spectacle.’

‘And, of course, you were so eager to find out whether you’re trending that you woke up at dawn to follow the news.’

She wanted to ask how he’d known what time she’d left her room, but Eva suspected she wouldn’t like the answer. ‘You assume I slept at all when sleep was the last thing on my mind, having been blackmailed into coming here. And, FYI, I don’t read the gutter press. Not unless I want the worst kind of indigestion.’

He rounded the sofa and stopped within arm’s length. She stood her ground, but she couldn’t help herself ogling the breathtaking body filling her vision.

It was barely six o’clock and yet he looked as vitally masculine as if he’d been up and ready for hours. A film of sweat covered the hair-dusted arms beneath the pulled-up sleeves, and his damp white T-shirt moulded his chiselled torso. His black drawstring sweatpants did nothing to hide thick thighs and Eva struggled to avert her gaze from the virile outline of his manhood against the soft material. Dragging her gaze up, she stared in fascination at the hands and fingers wrapped in stained boxing gauze.

‘Do you intend to spend the rest of the morning ogling me, Eva?’ he asked mockingly.

She looked into his eyes and that potent, electric tug yanked hard at her. Reminding herself that she was immune from whatever spell he’d once cast on her, she raised her chin.

‘I intend to attempt a reasonable conversation with you in the cold light of day regarding last night’s events.’

‘That suggests you believe our previous interactions have been unreasonable?’

‘I did a quick search online. You were released yesterday morning. It stands to reason that you’re still a little affected by your incarceration—’

His harsh, embittered laugh bounced like bullets around the room. Eva folded her arms, refusing to cower at the sound.

He stepped towards her, the tension in his body barely leashed. ‘You think I’m a “little affected” by my incarceration? Tell me, bella,’ he invited softly, ‘do you know what it feels like to be locked in a six-by-ten, damp and rancid cage for over a year?’

A brief wave of torment overcame his features, and a different tug, one of sympathy, pulled at her. Then she reminded herself just who she was dealing with. ‘Of course not. I just don’t want you to do anything that you’ll regret.’

‘Your touching concern for my welfare is duly noted. But I suggest you save it for yourself. Last night was merely you and your family being herded into the eye of the storm. The real devastation is just getting started.’

As nightmarish promises went, Zaccheo’s chilled her to the bone. Before she could reply, several pings blared from the tablet. She glanced down and saw more lurid posts about what real women wanted to do to Zaccheo.

She shut the tablet and straightened to find him slowly unwinding the gauze from his right hand, his gaze pinned on her. Silence stretched as he freed both hands and tossed the balled cloth onto the glass-topped coffee table.

‘So, do I get any sort of itinerary for this impending apocalypse?’ she asked when it became clear he was content to let the silence linger.

One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘We’ll have breakfast in half an hour. After that, we’ll see whether your father has done what I demanded of him. If he has, we’ll take it from there.’

Recalling her father’s overly belligerent denial once Zaccheo had left the study last night, anxiety skewered her. ‘And if he hasn’t?’

‘Then his annihilation will come sooner rather than later.’

* * *

Half an hour later, Eva struggled to swallow a mouthful of buttered toast and quickly chased it down with a sip of tea before she choked.

A few minutes ago, a brooding Romeo had entered with the butler who’d delivered a stack of broadsheets. The other man had conversed in Italian with a freshly showered and even more visually devastating Zaccheo.

Zaccheo’s smile after the short exchange had incited her first panic-induced emotion. He’d said nothing after Romeo left. Instead he’d devoured a hearty plate of scrambled eggs, grilled mushrooms and smoked pancetta served on Italian bread with unsettling gusto.

But as the silence spread thick and cloying across the room she finally set her cup down and glanced to where he stood now at the end of the cherrywood dining table, his hands braced on his hips, an inscrutable expression on his face.

Again, Eva was struck by the change in him. Even now he was dressed more formally in dark grey trousers and a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her eyes were drawn to the gladiator-like ruggedness of his physique.

‘Eva.’ Her name was a deep command. One she desperately wanted to ignore. It held a quiet triumph she didn’t want to acknowledge. The implications were more than she could stomach. She wasn’t one for burying her head in the sand, but if her father had done what Zaccheo had demanded, then—

‘Eva,’ he repeated. Sharper. Controlled but demanding.

Heart hammering, she glanced at him. ‘What?’

He stared back without blinking, his body deathly still. ‘Come here.’

Refusing to show how rattled she was, she stood, teetered on the heels she’d had no choice but to wear again, and strode towards him.

He tracked her with chilling precision, his eyes dropping to her hips for a charged second before he looked back up. Eva hated her body for reacting to that look, even as her breasts tingled and a blaze lit between her thighs.

Silently she cursed herself. She had no business reacting to that look, or to any man on any plane of emotion whatsoever. She had proof that path only ended in eviscerating heartache.

She stopped a few feet from him, made sure to place a dining chair between them. But the solid wood couldn’t stop her senses from reacting to his scent, or her nipples from furling into tight, needy buds when her gaze fell on the golden gleam of his throat revealed by the gap in his shirt. Quickly crossing her arms, she looked down at the newspapers.

That they’d made headlines was unmistakeable. Bold black letters and exclamation marks proclaimed Zaccheo’s antics. And as for that picture of them locked together...

‘I can’t believe you landed a helicopter in the middle of a fireworks display,’ she threw out, simply because it was easier than acknowledging the other words written on the page binding her to Zaccheo, insinuating they were something they would never be.

He looked from her face to the front-page picture showing him landing his helicopter during a particularly violent explosion. ‘Were you concerned for me?’ he mocked.

‘Of course not. You obviously don’t care about your own safety so why should I?’

A simmering silence followed, then he stalked closer. ‘I hope you intend to act a little more concerned towards my well-being once we’re married.’

Any intention of avoiding looking at him fled her mind. ‘Married? Don’t you think you’ve taken this far enough?’ she snapped.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You wanted to humiliate my father. Congratulations, you’ve made headlines in every single newspaper. Don’t you think it’s time to drop this?’

His eyes turned into pools of ice. ‘You think this is some sort of game?’ he enquired silkily.

‘What else can it be? If you really had the evidence you claim to have, why haven’t you handed it over to the police?’

‘You believe I’m bluffing?’ His voice was a sharp blade slicing through the air.

‘I believe you feel aggrieved.’

‘Really? And what else did you believe?’

Eva refused to quail beneath the look that threatened to cut her into pieces. ‘It’s clear you want to make some sort of statement about how you were treated by my father. You’ve done that now. Let it go.’

‘So your father did all this—’ he indicated the papers ‘—just to stop me throwing a childish tantrum? And what about you? Did you throw yourself at my feet to buy your family time to see how long my bluff would last?’

She flung her arms out in exasperation. ‘Come on, Zaccheo—’

They both stilled at her use of his name. Eva had no time to recover from the unwitting slip. Merciless fingers speared into her hair, much as they had last night, holding her captive as his thumb tilted her chin.

‘How far are you willing to go to get me to be reasonable? Or perhaps I should guess? After all, just last night you’d dropped to an all-time low of whoring yourself to a drunken boy in order to save your family.’ The thick condemnation feathered across her skin.

Rage flared in her belly, gave her the strength to remain upright. He stood close. Far too close. She stepped back, but only managed to wedge herself between the table and Zaccheo’s towering body. ‘As opposed to what? Whoring myself to a middle-aged criminal?’

He leaned down, crowding her further against the polished wood. ‘You know exactly how old I am. In fact, I recall precisely where we both were when the clock struck midnight on my thirtieth birthday. Or perhaps you need me to refresh your memory?’ His smooth, faintly accented voice trailed amused contempt.

‘Don’t bother—’

‘I’ll do it anyway, it’s no hardship,’ he offered, as if her sharp denial hadn’t been uttered. ‘We were newly engaged, and you were on your knees in front of my penthouse window, uncaring that anyone with a pair of decent binoculars would see us. All you cared about was getting your busy, greedy little hands on my belt, eager to rid me of my trousers so you could wish me a happy birthday in a way most men fantasise about.’

Her skin flushed with a wave of heat so strong, she feared spontaneous combustion. ‘That wasn’t my idea.’

One brow quirked. ‘Was it not?’

‘No, you dared me to do it.’

His mouth twitched. ‘Are you saying I forced you?’

Those clever fingers were drifting along her scalp, lazily caressing, lulling her into showing her vulnerability.

Eva sucked in a deep breath. ‘I’m saying I don’t want to talk about the past. I prefer to stick to the present.’

She didn’t want to remember how gullible she’d been back then, how stupidly eager to please, how excited she’d been that this god of a man, who could have any woman he wanted with a lazy crook of his finger, had pursued her, chosen her.

Even after learning the hard way that men in positions of power would do anything to stay in that power, that her two previous relationships had only been a means to an end for the men involved, she’d still allowed herself to believe Zaccheo wanted her for herself. Finding out that he was no better, that he only wanted her to secure a business deal, had delivered a blow she’d spent the better part of a year burying in a deep hole.

At first his demands had been subtle: a business dinner here, a charity event there—occasions she’d been proud and honoured to accompany him on. Until that fateful night when she’d overheard a handful of words that had had the power to sting like nothing else.

She’s the means to an end. Nothing more...

The conversation that had followed remained seared into her brain. Zaccheo, impatiently shutting her down, then brazenly admitting he’d said those words. That he’d used her.

Most especially, she recalled the savage pain in knowing she had got him so wrong, had almost given herself to a man who held such careless regard for her, and only cared about her pedigree.

And yet his shock when she’d returned his ring had made her wonder whether she’d done the right thing.

His arrest days later for criminal negligence had confirmed what sort of man she’d foolishly woven her dreams around.

She met his gaze now. ‘You got what you wanted—your name next to mine on the front page. The whole world knows I left with you last night, that I’m no longer engaged to Harry.’

His hand slipped to her nape, worked over tense muscles. ‘And how did Fairfield take being so unceremoniously dumped?’ he asked.

‘Harry cares about me, so he was a complete gentleman about it. Shame I can’t say the same about you.’

Dark grey eyes gleamed dangerously. ‘You mean he wasn’t torn up at the thought of never having access to this body again?’ he mocked.

She lifted a brow. ‘Never say never.’

Tension coiled his body. ‘If you think I’ll tolerate any further interaction between you and Fairfield, you’re severely mistaken,’ he warned with a dark rumble.

‘Why, Zaccheo, you sound almost jealous.’

Heat scoured his cheekbones and a tiny part of her quailed at her daring. ‘You’d be wise to stop testing me, dolcezza.’

‘If you want this to stop, tell me why you’re doing this.’

‘I’m only going to say it one more time, so let it sink in. I don’t intend to stop until your father’s reputation is in the gutter and everything he took from me is returned, plus interest.’

‘Can I see the proof of what you accuse my father of?’

‘Would you believe even if you saw it? Or will you cling to the belief that I’m the big, bad ogre who’s just throwing his weight about?’ he taunted.

Eva looked down at the papers on the table, every last one containing everything Zaccheo had demanded. Would her father have done it if Zaccheo’s threats were empty?

‘Last night, when you said you and I...’ She stopped, unable to process the reality.

‘Would be married in two weeks? Sì, I meant that, too. And to get that ball rolling, we’re going shopping for an engagement ring in exactly ten minutes, after which we have a full day ahead, so if you require further sustenance I suggest you finish your breakfast.’

He dropped his fingers from her nape and stepped back. With a last look filled with steely determination, he picked up the closest paper and walked out of the room.


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_688d75c4-bb41-5673-bafa-05a7c364e108)

THEIR FIRST STOP was an exclusive coat boutique in Bond Street. Zaccheo told himself it was because he didn’t want to waste time. The truth mocked him in the form of needing to cover Eva Pennington’s body before he lost any more brain cells to the lust blazing through his bloodstream.




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