The Italian's Unwilling Wife

‘You’re early, Cyrenci. The board isn’t due to meet for another half an hour.’

John Newland’s terse words focussed Damon’s thoughts back to where they should be. He would have time to concentrate on Abbie later.

‘We both know that the board meeting is just a formality, Newland.’ Damon put his briefcase down on the table and opened it. ‘You are on your way out.’

John Newland blanched. ‘Look—Damon—we’ve had our differences in the past. But I hope we can put all that behind us and perhaps come to some mutually acceptable deal.’ The brusque tone was gone now, replaced by pure desperation. ‘I’ve spoken to a few members of the board—’

‘It’s over,’ Damon said coolly. ‘I think you would be advised to just accept that.’

‘But you could help me if you wanted to.’

Was the man serious? Damon looked at him with incredulity. ‘Why would I do that? To quote something you said to me years ago, John: I’m a businessman, not a charity.’

‘I have a few bargaining chips left.’ The man shrugged.

‘Such as?’ Damon was barely listening. He was taking papers out of his case and his eyes were running down a list of the company’s assets—assets that now belonged to him. He knew John Newland held no aces, because they were all right here in his hand.

‘Well—I recall you once wanted my daughter…’

The words trailed away as Damon fixed him with a cool, penetrating stare. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

‘In fact, you wanted her so badly you were willing to give up your family home for her,’ John reminded him tentatively.

‘We all make mistakes.’ Damon’s voice was icy.

‘She had her twenty-first birthday last week, and I assure you she is even more beautiful now than she was,’ John Newland continued swiftly. ‘And her mother was Lady Annabel Redford, you know. Abbie has some influential connections in England that could open doors to a businessman like you.’

‘I’m not interested.’

‘I think you should be. And if I were to have a word with her…’

‘Still at Daddy’s bidding, is she?’ Damon remarked scathingly.

‘I have influence.’

‘You have nothing.’ Damon put his list of the company assets down on the table in front of the man.

‘That’s her, isn’t it—the property that’s marked a few lines underneath my old family home in Sicily?’ Damon pointed to a line almost at the bottom of the page. ‘Redford Stables, St Lucia.’

John Newland made no reply, just stared down at the list.

‘Do you think Abbie will be happy to assist you, John, when she finds out her luxurious lifestyle and her home are lost as part of the company’s assets?’

Still the man made no reply, but he started to drum his fingers with agitation against the table.

‘No, I didn’t think so. As we both know, Abbie’s loyalty is to the highest bidder. So I don’t believe you or indeed your daughter are in any position to negotiate,’ Damon continued smoothly. ‘But rest assured I will be looking over my new property with close attention to detail. In fact, I’m heading out to St Lucia tomorrow. Have you any message you would like me to pass on to your daughter?’

There was a moment’s considered silence before John looked up. ‘No, but I have one for your son—tell him his granddad says hello.’

John Newland watched the shock hit Damon Cyrenci and felt a gleam of satisfaction.

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS hurricane season in St Lucia and the warnings had gone out. ‘Michael’ was a category three, but was gathering pace at sea and heading for shore. The weathermen were predicating a direct hit sometime within the next twenty-four hours.

But for now the sun was setting in a perfect blaze of glory over the lush rainforests, and not a breath of air rustled the tall palms that encircled the stables.

Abbie, however, was not taken in by the deceptive calm. She had experienced the full force of a hurricane the previous year; it had taken the roof off her house and almost decimated the stables. It had taken a long time to put everything right, and financially she was still reeling from the disaster. She couldn’t afford another direct hit.

So she had spent the afternoon trying to prepare. She had nailed down everything she could, and long after most of her hired help had gone home for the day she was still moving heavy equipment into the storerooms.

‘Abbie, your father has been on the phone for you again,’ Jess called across to her as she came out of the house. ‘He’s left another message on the answer machine.’

‘OK, thanks.’ Abbie brushed her blonde hair distractedly back from her face. She had nothing to say to her father, and she wasn’t interested in his messages, but she couldn’t help but wonder why he had started ringing her again.

Putting the last of her work tools away, she headed up to the veranda. Mario was in Jess’s arms, and as he saw his mother walk towards them his eyes lit with excitement and he held out his arms to her.

With a smile, Abbie reached to take her baby. He snuggled in against her and she kissed him, breathing in the clean scent of his skin. Mario was twenty-one months now, and adorable. He was the one thing in Abbie’s life that made everything worthwhile.

‘Do you want to get off now, Jess? You’ve got a date tonight, haven’t you?’ she asked as she cuddled the child.

‘Yes. If you are sure you can manage, that would be a great help.’

‘Absolutely. You go and have a good time.’

For a moment Abbie stood and watched as the young woman strolled towards her four-wheel drive. At eighteen, Jess was the youngest member of her staff, and also the hardest working. Not only was she a qualified child-minder and a superb horsewoman but she helped out a lot around the stables. Sometimes Abbie wondered how she would manage without her.

She waved to Jess as she reversed and pulled away down the long driveway.

Darkness was closing in now. The stables were on a lonely track leading down to a deserted cove. Her nearest neighbours were miles away, and very few cars passed this way. Usually Abbie didn’t mind being on her own; she enjoyed the solitude. But for once as Jess’s car disappeared she was acutely conscious of her isolation.

It was probably the approaching storm that was making her feel so on edge, she told herself as she went back into the house. Plus all these phone calls from her father.

As she stepped inside, her eyes were immediately drawn towards the phone, where a flashing light proclaimed there were now ten messages.

Whatever her father wanted, she wasn’t interested. She would put Mario to bed and delete the calls later, she told herself as she headed for the stairs.

The child went down into his cot easily. Abbie set the musical mobile playing above his head and watched over him until he fell asleep. Then, leaving the night light on, she crept from the nursery to her bedroom across the corridor to shower and change.

Abbie had just put on her silk dressing-gown and was about to go back downstairs to make herself a drink when the phone in her room rang again, and the answer machine clicked on.

‘Abbie, where the hell are you?’ Her father’s irate tones seemed to fill the house. ‘Have you received any of my messages?This is important.’

It was strange how just hearing his voice made her nervous. She supposed it was all those years of conditioning—of being afraid to ignore his commands.

Wrapping her dressing gown more closely around her body, she reminded herself fiercely that her father no longer had a hold over her—he couldn’t hurt her any more.

‘Do you hear me, Abigail?’