Pregnancy of Revenge. Jacqueline Baird

that, as an adult, Anna was entitled to do the same.

      But not any more.

      Rage and regret welled up inside him. How could she have had an affair with, and posed naked for, a man who was old enough to be her father? How could she have driven when hopelessly drunk and killed herself? How could she have let a man do that to her?

      There was no answer, and the burden of his own guilt had weighed heavily on his mind since Anna’s death. He had lived with Anna from the moment she was born until she was six and with hindsight he knew he should have done much more to protect her.

      He had known about her relationship with Summerville. She had told him over one of their infrequent lunches in Nice two years ago. At that time she had still been working and living in an apartment Jake had bought for her, and although Jake had never heard of the man, he had not queried her choice, because she had so obviously been happy, and confident it was only a matter of time before they married.

      But now, remembering how appalled he had been when Anna had turned up at his home in Genoa five months ago, he bitterly regretted not investigating Summerville as soon as he’d heard the name.

      Looking a shadow of her former self, Anna had cried on his shoulder and told him the whole sorry story of the affair. How she had given up her job and had been living with the man for over a year, but Robert had sent her away three months before he’d died, all because of his daughter.

      He had explained she was his only child and had been spoilt by her mother. She was a bit insecure and very possessive of him, and flatly refused to meet Anna. He didn’t want to upset his daughter, so Anna had to leave while she was in residence. But he had assured Anna it would only be for a few weeks. In other words, to quote Anna, ‘Robert’s daughter was a selfish little spoilt brat.’ Anna had not even heard of his death in time to attend the funeral. For himself, after hearing the tale, if the man had not been dead already, Jake would have quite happily killed him.

      Anna’s tragic death a few weeks after their last meeting had gutted him, and it didn’t help that the man who in Jake’s mind was indirectly responsible was already six feet under and out of his reach. As for Anna’s parents, they were crippled with grief.

      Jake had spent the past three months simply being there for his foster-parents, his work for once taking second place.

      This was his first trip abroad since her death, and catching sight of that catalogue in Reception had ignited his fury all over again. But at least he now knew the painting was safely on its way to his home in Italy. He was still angry he had been unable to prevent its showing, but, as he intended to destroy the painting, with a bit of luck Anna’s parents need never know it had ever existed. It was the least he could do for them.

      Jake considered himself a modern, sophisticated man of the world. He enjoyed women and was rarely without a lover. Over the years he had had several affairs, and at least two of the women, as models, had been displayed naked on countless magazine covers. It hadn’t bothered him at all. Yet he saw nothing paradoxical in his reaction to the public exposure of Anna.

      But what he did see after meeting the lovely Charlotte was a way to get revenge on the family that had brought about her death…and thoroughly enjoy doing so.

      Spinning on his heel, he headed for the bathroom, and a cold shower. His last for some time, he reckoned, a predatory smile curving his firm mouth.

      Charlie took one last look at her reflection in the mirrored door of the wardrobe. Slim-fitting grey trousers traced her long legs, and with them she had teamed a soft pink cashmere sweater. A heavy chain belt that fastened with a large clasp was slung low around her hips. A grey hide purse and matching loafers completed her outfit. Comfortably casual, she told herself, but in reality she hadn’t much choice: the only dress she had with her was the one she’d worn last night and the rest of her holiday clothes consisted of trousers and casual tops. She tweaked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, and wondered again if she should pin it up. As it was it fell in loose curls to her shoulders. No, you look good, girl, she decided with a broad grin.

      Last night, tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep for thinking about Jake, replaying in her mind his every kiss and touch, her body aching for him, she had reached a momentous decision. Given the chance, she was going to pursue her relationship with Jake. He had said they could at least be friends, but innate honesty forced her to admit that she wanted much more from him. She had only known him for a few hours but he had tilted her world. She had no experience of love, but this intense physical desire for Jake, this flood of feeling that consumed all her senses, had to be love or something very like it.

      In her work with International Rapid Rescue she had witnessed death and destruction on a huge scale. If the job had taught her anything, it was that life was precious but could be snuffed out in an instant by an act of nature. She was a twenty-six-year-old virgin, probably because all her life she had been a tomboy and the few men she knew considered her more of a buddy than a woman. She was not totally inexperienced—she had kissed men, but had thought the experience vastly overrated. But all that had changed last night when she had met Jake.

      This holiday, the first she had taken in years, was supposed to be a complete change, a chance to rethink her hectic lifestyle. She was her own woman; she could do whatever she wanted, and what she wanted was Jake. She knew deep down on some elemental level that Jake could be her soul mate.

      The voice of the doorman boomed over the intercom telling her a Mr d’Amato had arrived and should he send him up? She dashed to answer it. ‘No need, I’ll be right down.’

      Her legs were shaking as she rode the lift to the ground floor and when the doors opened Charlie drew in a deep, calming breath, stepped out, and froze to the spot, her blue eyes fixed on the spectacular male animal leaning against the reception desk.

      In a business suit Jake had looked stunning, but today he took her breath away. He was wearing black jeans that lovingly clung to long legs and taut, masculine thighs. A black button-down shirt, left open at the neck, revealed the strong column of his throat, and a black leather jacket fitting casually across broad shoulders completed the picture.

      Telling her foolish heart to stop bounding, she wondered what it was about Italian men that enabled them to wear clothes with such casual elegance. She could not tear her fascinated gaze away. She saw his proud head lift as though scenting the air like some great jungle beast suddenly aware of his prey, and, straightening up, he turned towards her.

      ‘Charlotta-a…at last.’ He lingered over her name like a caress, his hooded dark eyes sweeping over her in blatant masculine appraisal as in a few lithe strides he covered the space between them. ‘You look exquisite.’ Before she could draw breath, a large male hand curved around her hips, another up her back to tangle in the loose fall of her hair.

      The swift, exquisitely gentle brush of Jake’s lips against her own turned her legs to jelly, and when he teased her lips apart, the arousing sweep of his tongue in the moist interior of her mouth suddenly filled her body with a molten heat.

      Charlie had thought the kisses they had shared in the car last night mind-blowing. But now, held in intimate contact with every hard inch of his big powerful frame, she was shocked by the force of his obvious arousal and secretly thrilled she could do that to him. Weak at the knees with wanting, she pressed unconsciously closer into his taut strength, and felt his great chest heave.

      ‘I promised you lunch,’ Jake rasped against her mouth and lifted his head.

      Charlie stared up. ‘What?’ she murmured, flicking the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip, an invitation in her sapphire gaze she didn’t realise was there.

      ‘Lunch.’ Jake stepped back, his hands resting on her shoulders to keep her steady. ‘Before we really give the doorman something to talk about.’

      Realising where she was and that she was staring at him far too hungrily, she dipped her head, a tide of red scorching her cheeks. ‘Yes, of course,’ she mumbled.

      ‘A lady who can still blush. I like it,’ Jake drawled, keeping an arm around her shoulder as he walked