‘I’m still weighing all the possibilities up—I assure you. Trophy wife versus convenient mistress?’ Damon shrugged. ‘Or should I just take custody of Mario and walk away…? The choices are endless.’
‘You wouldn’t get custody of Mario,’ Abbie told him heatedly. ‘And I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man left on the planet and lived in a gold-plated palace.’ She angled her head up proudly.
Damon laughed at that. ‘Oh, but we both know that you would.’
‘You always did have an inflated opinion of yourself.’
‘I just know how Ms Abigail Newland’s gold-digging mind works.’
‘You know nothing about me. I would rather die than go along with the idea.’
Kathryn Ross was born in Zambia, where her parents happened to live at that time. Educated in Ireland and England, she now lives in a village near Blackpool, Lancashire. Kathryn is a professional beauty therapist, but writing is her first love. As a child she wrote adventure stories, and at thirteen was editor of her school magazine. Happily, ten writing years later, DESIGNED WITH LOVE was accepted by Mills & Boon. A romantic Sagittarian, she loves travelling to exotic locations.
Dear Reader
I’m wishing a very happy 100th birthday to Mills & Boon. It is a pleasure to follow in the long and wonderful tradition of all that is great about romantic fiction.
THE ITALIAN’S UNWILLING WIFE is my thirty-fourth novel for Mills & Boon. I got the idea for this story when I was horse-riding on a beach in St Lucia. It was such a beautiful setting, and my imagination took over. I conjured up a heroine who lived alone there with her secret baby, and an Italian hero who had ruthlessly pursued her to find his child.
My hero Damon is a passionate man. He wants his son to be brought up with all the traditions that he holds dear, and he also wants the heroine back—but this time on his terms. So he sweeps both away to his home on the warm shores of Sicily, where he is planning a wedding.
I invite you to that wedding now, and hope you enjoy their story.
Love
Kathryn
THE ITALIAN’S UNWILLING WIFE
BY
KATHRYN ROSS
PROLOGUE
REVENGE was an ugly word. Damon Cyrenci preferred to think of his actions in more clinical terms. He had seen a business opportunity and had taken it.
The fact that he’d had his eye on the Newland Company for a while, and that this takeover gave him a greater sense of personal satisfaction than any other, was irrelevant. What was important was that John Newland’s days of trampling his opponents into dust were almost at an end.
As his chauffeured limousine travelled along the Strip, Damon watched the sun setting in a pink glow over the Las Vegas skyline. This was the city where his father had lost everything. It was also the city where Damon had made the mistake of allowing a woman to get under his skin. It seemed fitting that it should be the place where he would put everything right, get back what he wanted.
They passed the MGM Grand, Caesar’s Palace, New York New York and, as the pink of the sky turned to the darkness of night, the desert lit up with fiercely glittering light.
The limousine pulled up outside the impressive façade of the Newland building, and Damon allowed himself to savour the moment. His target was almost achieved. In a few moments he would meet John Newland face to face, and have him exactly where he wanted him.
For a second his thoughts drifted back to the last time they had met. How different that meeting had been.
Two and a half years ago it was John who had held the balance of power. He had faced Damon across a boardroom table and had calmly refused his request for a stay of execution on his father’s business.
One week—that was all Damon had needed in order to release valuable assets that were in his name and save everything. But Newland had been coldly adamant. ‘I am not a charity, Cyrenci; I’m in the business of making money. Your father must honour his commitments immediately and hand over the title deeds to all of his properties. However…’ He’d paused for a moment’s reflection. ‘Your family home in Sicily is listed as one of the company’s assets. I might allow you to keep that—on one condition.’
‘And what’s that?’ Damon had asked coolly.
‘You walk away from my daughter and never see her again.’
Damon could remember his incredulity and the hot fury in his stomach as he had looked across at the man. Somehow he had remained calm and impassive. ‘I am not going to do that.’
And that was when John Newland had laughed at him. ‘Abbie really fooled you, didn’t she? Let me enlighten you, Cyrenci. My daughter has been brought up with a certain standard of living. She enjoys a luxurious lifestyle—a lifestyle you can’t match now the family business has gone. I assure you, she won’t be interested in you now.’
‘That’s a risk I’ll take,’ Damon had told him smoothly.
‘Your choice.’ John Newland had shrugged. ‘But you lose all ways round. Abbie only dated you in the first place as a favour to me. I needed you out of my hair, and she was the perfect distraction. You think your weekend away together in Palm Springs was a wild impulse?’
John had asked the question scornfully and had shaken his head. ‘It was planned—all set up by me. Abbie knew I needed some time to finish my business with your father, and she was happy to help me—but then, just as long as the money is flowing, Abbie will be there. Believe me, she won’t hang around you now the game is over and your money is gone.’
The chauffeur opened up the passenger door for Damon, letting in the intense heat of the desert night, a heat almost as intense as the anger he had felt back then. It hadn’t been hard to discover that for once John Newland was telling the truth. Abbie had known what her father had been up to, and had in fact assisted him.
Just like her father, she was nothing but a cold-blooded, money-grabbing trickster.
Snapping out of his reverie, Damon stepped out of the limousine.
It had been a lesson hard learnt. But Damon had picked himself up and with strong determination he had seen to it that their fortunes had been reversed.
Briskly he walked up the red-carpeted steps into the cool of the air-conditioned foyer. The entrance to the Newland hotel and casino was palatial; gold-leafed ceilings and stained-glass windows gave it the air of a cathedral, and only the rolling sound of nearby slot machines revealed the truth.
With just a cursory nod to the hotel staff, he headed for the lifts. He knew his way to the boardroom and he strode with confidence towards the door he wanted. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
John Newland was sitting alone at the far end of the long polished table. The lighting in the room was dimmed, his face in shadow. Behind him the picture windows gave a panoramic view of Vegas, glittering like a mirror-ball in the night. But Damon wasn’t interested in the view.
‘I believe you are expecting me.’ He closed the door quietly behind him.
There was silence.
Damon advanced until he could see his nemesis clearly: grey-haired, thickset with glittering hooded eyes. The last time they had met, the man’s features had been alight with triumphant disdain. Today, however, his expression was carefully