The Sicilian's Ruthless Marriage Revenge. Carole Mortimer

knew she would definitely have remembered him!

      ‘Italian, obviously,’ her father continued to explain. ‘Mega, mega-rich. Amongst other things, the owner of the Gambrelli hotel chain.’

      That must be why his name sounded so familiar. Of course Robin knew of the exclusive Gambrelli hotels. She had even stayed in several of them on occasion.

      But who didn’t know of the luxurious, exclusive establishments that graced most of the capital cities in the world? Or of the Gambrelli media consortium, the music and film studios, the Gambrelli airline?

      And this man, Cesare Gambrelli, the man who had been staring at her so intently, was the owner of all of them…

      Although that didn’t explain her father’s obvious aversion to him.

      ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, puzzled. ‘What—Don’t look now, Daddy,’ she exclaimed in a low voice, ‘but I think he’s coming over!’

      At five feet ten inches tall, in her three-inch heeled white strappy sandals, Robin could quite easily see over her father’s shoulder that Cesare Gambrelli was making his way deliberately across the room towards them.

      ‘Charles,’ Cesare greeted the older man emotionlessly as he moved to stand between father and daughter, making no effort to offer the older man his hand before turning to look at Robin Ingram with narrowed dark eyes. ‘And I believe this is your beautiful daughter…?’ he enquired smoothly.

      ‘This is Robin, yes.’ Charles Ingram was obviously rattled by his sudden appearance. ‘I’m surprised to see you at an event like this one, Gambrelli.’

      Cesare ran his vision slowly over the flawless features of Robin Ingram—the sensual pout of the fullness of her mouth was seductive, and those violet-coloured eyes were as beautifully alluring, the creamy swell of her breasts as full and tempting, as he had imagined! Then he slowly returned his attention to the older man. ‘You think me an uncharitable man, Charles?’ he challenged.

      Robin had sensed already what her father thought of this man, and that impression was enhanced after only a couple of minutes in his company—he was dangerous!

      A tall, dark, deadly predator!

      And the most handsome man she had ever set eyes on. His eyes were so dark they appeared black, his nose was aquiline, his sculptured lips hard and unyielding, his chin square and determined, and his hair, as dark as ebony, was brushed back from his brow to rest silkily on the white collar of his evening shirt. His shoulders were wide and muscled, his body lithe and powerful. But he was also, without a doubt, the most dangerous looking man Robin had ever seen!

      The way he had looked at her just now—those dark eyes had dissected every creamy curve of her face before lingering slightly suggestively on the warm swell of her breasts above the strapless white dress she wore—had only succeeded in deepening her awareness of him.

      In fact, she could still feel the slight flush to her cheeks, and her breathing was uneven. Caused not by embarrassment or awkwardness in his company, but by the sharp, stinging sexual awareness which hardened her nipples and encouraged a moist heat between her thighs!

      ‘Not at all.’ Her father was answering Cesare dismissively. ‘But this dinner is in aid of a British charity—and charity begins at home, doesn’t it?’

      That sculptured mouth tightened slightly. ‘So the saying goes,’ Cesare Gambrelli acknowledged softly. ‘But you are wrong concerning my nationality, Charles,’ he added. ‘I am Sicilian, not Italian.’

      Robin was aware of her father swallowing hard as Cesare Gambrelli silkily supplied this information, at the same time realising there was an increase in her father’s tension at the challenge that could clearly be heard in the other man’s honey-coated voice.

      What was going on here? Because it was clear to her that something other than surface conversation was simmering between these two men.

      There was a friction, a double meaning to their exchange, that implied they weren’t talking about this charity dinner at all, but something much deeper…

      ‘My mistake,’ her father murmured in reply to the other man’s comment.

      A costly one, as far as Cesare was concerned. Sicilian men were not known for their forgiveness. As Cesare did not forgive the Ingram family for taking his sister from him—for taking Marco’s mother from him.

      ‘You are enjoying the evening so far, Miss Ingram?’ Cesare deliberately turned his full attention on Robin, knowing by the way her breasts had tautened and hardened against the soft material of her gown, their quick rise and fall as she breathed, that although she was aware of the tension between her father and himself, she was also sexually aware of him.

      Good, Cesare noted with inner satisfaction.

      He hadn’t completely rethought his plans yet, but he already knew that his plans for revenge were no longer set so rigidly on Charles Ingram. The beautiful Robin Ingram offered a much more enjoyable form of revenge than her father ever could.

      ‘Yes—thank you,’ she answered huskily, and she lowered long dark lashes over her violet-coloured eyes.

      Modestly. Shyly. Almost coyly. And yet Cesare already knew that Robin Ingram was none of those things.

      Peter Sheldon, once prompted, had been quite knowledgeable about Robin.

      She was twenty-seven—ten years younger than Cesare—but she had been previously married for three years, to a knight’s son, no less, although there were no children from the union. She had returned to using the name Ingram after her divorce a year ago, and had shown no inclination since to repeat the experience—hence Peter’s remark that she was ‘beautiful but unnattainable’.

      Enough of a challenge to any red-blooded man, but even more so to one so bent on revenge as Cesare.

      ‘My friend Peter Sheldon tells me that you were involved in the organisation of tonight’s event, Miss Ingram,’ Cesare drawled evenly. ‘You are to be congratulated.’ He gave an abrupt inclination of his head.

      ‘Thank you,’ she repeated. ‘But as we haven’t even eaten yet your congratulations may be a little premature,’ she added with a tinkling laugh.

      Cesare regarded her consideringly. It had irritated him slightly to learn of her marriage and divorce, although he accepted that at twenty-seven she was hardly likely to still be a virgin. Nevertheless, he was interested to know who had divorced who, and for what reason…

      ‘Unfortunately I will not be staying for the meal,’ he told her politely, inwardly pleased when her face registered surprise. ‘I have…personal commitments that require me to be elsewhere,’ he explained softly.

      ‘Really?’ Her voice had sharpened slightly.

      Cesare held back a smile as he heard her displeasure at the obvious—and mistaken—assumption she had made about those ‘personal commitments’.

      ‘Yes, really,’ he confirmed mockingly. ‘But I trust that the rest of the evening will be as successful for you.’

      ‘I hope so too,’ Robin answered him, annoyed with herself for the way her imagination had gone into overdrive at the mention of Cesare Gambrelli’s personal commitments that required him to be elsewhere.

      Though it wasn’t too difficult to imagine what those personal commitments might be.

      And it could be of absolutely no interest to her if he was off to spend the rest of the night in bed with a lady-friend!

      Could it…?

      She hadn’t so much as had dinner with a man since her divorce a year ago, let alone felt herself sexually aroused just looking at one! Yet she was still aware of that tingling in her breasts, of the slight dampness between her thighs, of her hightened sexual awareness that made her conscious of every single thing about Cesare Gambrelli.

      A man her father had very