Mediterranean Men Unleashed: The Billionaire's Blackmailed Bride

She looked up. ‘How did you get this so quickly?’ she asked, no longer mesmerized but mad. Anton was so confident in his ability to get exactly what he wanted in life, including her, she realized bitterly.

‘I arranged for the card to be forwarded here the day we married, as I did your passport,’ Anton said, a hint of a satisfied smile quirking his wide mouth.

She affected a casual shrug. ‘You’re nothing if not thorough,’ she said coolly. But inside she was seething with a mixture of emotions, from hate to love and, yes, lust, she admitted. But her overriding desire was to knock the smug look off his face.

‘Thank you. But I don’t need your money; I have enough of my own.’

‘You won’t for much longer if you insist on this confrontational attitude,’ he drawled with a sardonic arch of one brow. ‘Give it up, Emily. You’re my wife—act like one. I’ll expect you on deck in an hour to take care of our guests.’

The timely reminder of his hold over Fairfax Engineering knocked all the defiance out of her. ‘Okay.’

She watched him walk out. He really was quite ruthless, and she had better not forget that. But if he thought she was going to be a meek little wife he was in for a rude awakening.

The number of gorgeous women lining the pit lane came as a shock to Emily. She would not have thought that so many women were keen on motor racing to bother coming for the time trials. She said as much to Max, and he gave her a grin.

‘It is not the cars they are interested in, but the men—they are motor-racing groupies.’ He chuckled. ‘Pit Ponies.’

‘Oh.’ It had never occurred to her, but now she saw exactly what he meant. No wonder Anton was such a passionate fan of motor racing. Fast cars and fast women lined for his delectation, she thought scathingly.

Personally she hated the scene. The noise was horrendous, the choking smell of oil took her breath away, and she cast a baleful glance at Anton. He was standing by a low-slung racing car having an animated discussion about the engine with the chief mechanic. He looked almost boyish in his enthusiasm and at that moment, as if sensing her scrutiny, he turned, his dark eyes clashing with hers. He smiled and in a couple of lithe strides was beside her. ‘So what do you think? Isn’t this great?’

‘Put it this way,’ she said dryly, ‘I can see now why they call it the pit. The place is full of men, noise, and stinks of oil and super-charged testosterone, and if it is all the same to you I think I’ll go back to the yacht.’

He grimaced. ‘You’re right—it is probably not the place for a lady. Max will take you back, and I’ll see you later.’

Back on the yacht, she heaved a sigh of relief when she learnt most of the guests had gone ashore. ‘I’m going to change and have a swim,’ she told Max and headed for the cabin.

She had spent yesterday being polite to their guests, and playing the perfect hostess. The nightclub in St Tropez had been a real eye-opener, all the beautiful people—she had recognized a famous American film star and a chart-topping singer to name just two. She had drunk champagne and smiled until her face ached and had hated every minute.

Then later when they had returned to the yacht she had vowed she would not respond to Anton. But when he had slid into bed naked and reached for her, her resolve had been strained to the limit. His kiss had been hungry, possessive, and passionate. She had tried to resist, her hands curling into fists at her side. But when he had lifted his head, and caught the strap of her flimsy nightgown and moved it down to palm her breast, a groan had escaped her.

‘Give it up, Emily,’ he said harshly. ‘You know you want to.’

He was right, shaming but true …

Now with Anton on shore she felt not exactly relaxed, but at least in control for the first time in two days. Slipping into a shockingly brief black bikini, courtesy of Helen, she headed for the swimming pool. She lathered her body with sun lotion, and was wondering how to do her back when Gianni appeared, and did it for her.

Anton stepped out of the helicopter, and took the stairs two at a time to the lower deck. He was feeling great, fired up … His passion for motor racing had been fulfilled with a day in the pit watching the time trials for tomorrow’s big race. The team he supported had pole position. He flexed his shoulders … and soon his other passion would be fulfilled with Emily.

She had appeared to accept his take on marriage without further argument, and yesterday she had proved to be a hit with their guests.

Last night had been incredible; his body stirred thinking about it. He had climbed into bed, taken her in his arms and kissed her. At first she had tried to play it cool, but within minutes she had gone up in flames just as she had every time before.

Yes, life was just about perfect … He needed a shower. Maybe Emily would be in the cabin. She wasn’t and, ten minutes later, dressed in shorts and shirt, he walked out on deck looking for her. Carlo was leaning over the guard rail with Tim Harding and Max beside him, but there was no sign of Emily.

Anton strolled over. ‘Hi, guys.’ He leant against the railing next to him. ‘Have you seen Emily around?’

Max pointed to a small yacht anchored about two hundred metres away. ‘She is over there with Gianni. Apparently the boat belongs to friends of his and the pair of them decided to race each other across and back. They arrived there twenty minutes ago.’

The feel-good factor vanished. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach and realized it was gut-wrenching fear. His impulse was to dive off after them, but he realized it was pointless, and then blind rage engulfed him and he turned on Max.

‘You let my wife dive thirty feet off the bloody yacht,’ he swore. ‘Are you mad? You are supposed to be a bodyguard.’

He stilled, his chest tightening as he recognized the source of his rage. He felt an overwhelming need to protect Emily, something he had never felt for any other woman except his mother and sister.

‘Sorry, boss, I couldn’t stop them. They were balancing on the rail when I came out on deck. But you have nothing to worry about. Emily swims like a fish. In fact the three of us still can’t decide which one won.’

‘That is why we are waiting here to see them come back,’ Carlo said. ‘We have a little bet on the result.’

Anton could not believe his ears. ‘Forget your damn bet. Nobody is swimming back. I am getting the launch.’

Carlo lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes. ‘Too late.’

Anton looked across just in time to see two figures dive into the sea.

He’d kill her; he’d shake her till her teeth rattled. He’d chain her to him … But first he needed her back safely. A boat could cut across her path, she might get cramp—the opportunity for disaster loomed huge in his mind and with bated breath he watched with Carlo and Max as the swimmers drew closer.

Reluctantly he had to admit Emily was superb. She glided through the water with barely a ripple, her long pale arms rising and falling in a perfect crawl, keeping a punishing speed. He watched as they approached the stern and saw Emily grab the ladder first.

‘I won,’ Emily cried, hanging onto the ladder with one hand and brushing the hair from her eyes. Gianni’s arm came up and grasped her waist.

‘OK—so it is one all.’

Breathless and grinning, they scrambled up onto the deck.

Anton stood transfixed. Emily, wearing the briefest of bikinis, stood glowing with life and vitality laughing with Gianni. Jealousy ripped through him and he had to battle the urge to rush across and shove the younger man overboard.

‘Best of three. I’ll race you tomorrow,’ he heard Gianni say and his wife was totally oblivious of him as she responded.

‘Right, you’re on.’

Anton moved to grab Emily, but Carlo’s hand on his arm stopped him. He looked up at him and said softly, ‘So, my friend, now you know how it feels?’

‘What do you mean?’ Anton demanded.

‘You know Emily and Gianni are just friends, as I know you and Eloise are just friends. But when you love a woman it doesn’t always follow that you can easily accept her male friendships. Take my advice—don’t make an issue out of their harmless fun.’

Carlo’s words gave him pause for thought. Of course he did not love Emily. But he knew Carlo imagined he loved Eloise, and it had never occurred to him his friendship with Eloise might hurt Carlo.

Then again he wasn’t Carlo, and Emily wasn’t having fun with anyone but him …

‘You will not be racing tomorrow, Emily.’ He strode across and took her arm. ‘And you, Gianni, will not encourage my wife to risk her life in such a damn-fool way.’

‘Oh, don’t be such an old fuddy-duddy,’ Emily said, lifting her eyes to his. ‘You have your motor racing. I prefer a more natural race.’

He felt every one of his thirty-seven years and he did not appreciate the reminder. His dark eyes narrowed on her beautiful face. ‘Have you forgotten tomorrow we are all attending the Grand Prix? And Gianni is leaving on Monday so it is never going to happen,’ he said bluntly.

‘Oh, yes.’ She turned away from him. ‘Excuse me all, I need to shower and get ready for the party.’ And he had to let her go, as Tim Harding asked him a question about the time trials.