Her grandfather had known that she’d fallen deeply in love with Liev; she was convinced of that now. Thankfully she didn’t think he knew that Liev had blackmailed her, but he had known she loved him and was holding back, denying herself love. ‘Do you know what my grandfather said just before we left?’
She felt Liev’s arms tense around her and his eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. ‘What did he say?’
‘He told me that whatever I did, I shouldn’t waste a chance of love if it comes along.’ She smiled at him, her heart beating hard with love for him. ‘And I don’t intend to waste it, Liev.’
He closed his eyes in relief, his arms losing their tension, but not lessening their hold on her. ‘Bianca, how can I ever make it up to you, put right all the wrong I’ve done?’
‘Love me.’
‘There was a moment in the park last week when I wanted to tell you I loved you...that I didn’t care about revenge, that all I cared about was you. Do you remember telling me I would one day do anything for love?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, remembering those exact words.
‘I was almost blinded with jealousy because of the love you had for your grandfather.’
‘It wasn’t my grandfather I was referring to—or the bracelet. It was you and that night at the villa.’
Liev didn’t answer her, at least not with words. Instead he claimed her lips, pulling her so hard against him that she could hardly breathe, but it was exactly where she wanted to be. His hands caressed her and beneath the business suit she wore her body burst into flames.
‘There is only one thing left to do.’ He held her away from him to look into her eyes, his full of desire matching that which raced through her. He stepped back and pulled the ring from his pocket, holding it between his fingers so it glinted beneath the lights. ‘You can choose a different ring if you want, but, Bianca Di Sione, will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife? My real wife.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. This was the happy ending she’d secretly longed for all her life, since reading that letter, the one so full of love. ‘Yes, Liev, I will and I don’t want a different ring—this one is just perfect.’
He kissed her more deeply than he’d ever kissed her and eventually his lips left hers, leaving her so breathless she could hardly utter a word. ‘Bianca Di Sione, I love you so very much. You have made my life complete.’
* * * * *
Billionaires: The Rebel
The Return of the Di Sione Wife
Caitlin Crews
Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress
Sharon Kendrick
A Di Sione for the Greek’s Pleasure
Kate Hewitt
The Return of the Di Sione Wife
Caitlin Crews
“I’ll have the earrings now. Or are there more hoops to jump through?”
Dario Di Sione should be feeling triumphant—he’s about to fulfill his grandfather’s wish and retrieve the precious earrings, but all he feels is fury. The beautiful lawyer handling the sale is the woman who betrayed him six years ago…his wife!
Discovering Anais has kept their child a secret makes Dario determined to be the father he never had. But Anais’s return to his side casts a new light on past events, and now it’s not just the child he wants to claim!
Book 3 of The Billionaire’s Legacy
THE HAWAIIAN ISLAND of Maui was tropical and lush, exactly as advertised, which irritated Dario Di Sione the moment he stepped off his private jet and into its unwelcome embrace.
The press of the island humidity felt intimate, and Dario didn’t do intimate. The thick air insinuated itself against his skin, making the faded jeans and expertly tailored jacket he’d worn on the long flight from New York City feel limp and too close as he strode across the tiny tarmac toward the Range Rover that waited there for him, as ordered. A gentle breeze carried the exotic scent of the island—deep green things in exultant growth and the rougher, deeper smell of sugarcane production from all those fields they’d flown over on the way in to land—playing across his face like so many unsolicited kisses.
It only annoyed him more. He was trying to conduct a business conversation, not indulge in sensory overload on a damned tarmac.
“Is the car waiting as promised?” his secretary, Marnie, asked through the top-of-the-line, brand-new smartphone he had clamped to his ear. He was a proud user of his company’s highly coveted products. “I was very clear about the need for a sports utility vehicle. The road out to the Fuginawa estate is very rough, apparently, and—”
“I can handle rough road,” Dario told her, trying to rein in his impatience. He didn’t want to be here so soon after the major product launch his company had pulled off this past weekend—or at all, for that matter—but that wasn’t his secretary’s fault. It was his. He should never have allowed an old man’s sentimentality to win out over his own hard-won rationality. This was the result. He was halfway across the planet—when he should have been in his office—surrounded by lazy palm trees and exotic smells, all to appease an elderly man’s whims. “The Range Rover is fine. And here, as ordered.”
Marnie moved on to the long list of calls and messages she’d fielded during his first absence from the office he’d actually been sleeping in these past few months, a flashback to the kind of stress he’d been under six years ago when he’d first started with ICE. Dario scowled as another sultry breeze licked over him. He didn’t like flashbacks and he didn’t like that breeze, either. It was fragrant and sensuous at once, moving through his hair like a caress and getting beneath the fine linen of the button-down shirt he wore. Like a woman’s fingers trailing down the length of his abdomen, suggestive and mischievous.
He rolled his eyes at his own flight of fancy, then scraped a hand over his unshaven jaw, aware that he looked a little more disreputable than the CEO of a major computer company, currently the darling of the tech industry and the smitten public, probably should. And he was about as interested in the intimate touch of Hawaiian breezes as he was in being here in the first place. Not at all.
This entire trip was a waste of his time, he thought as Marnie kept talking her way through the pile of messages and calls that needed his personal attention immediately, if not sooner. He ought to be back in his office in Manhattan today, handling all of this in person. Instead, he’d flown some ten hours down his grandfather’s memory lane to appease the very worst kind of nostalgic sentiment. Giovanni had sold off his collection of beloved trinkets years ago and had talked about them endlessly throughout Dario’s youth. Now, ninety-eight years old and facing down his impending death with his usual sense of theater