Immortal Billionaire. Jane Godman

else around the table, appeared to have picked up on the tense atmosphere generated by the story.

      “There has been much speculation. Perhaps it was Máximo’s personal charm—according to records kept at the time, he was accounted a very charismatic man—although the ability to enchant an entire warlike tribe must have been quite an achievement.”

      Watching his face as he spoke, listening to that, soft, lyrical voice, Connie could believe the Máximo of all those years ago had possessed that sort of magnetism. His descendant certainly did.

      “The most popular theory is a high-ranking Calusa maiden, possibly the daughter of a chief, appealed for mercy on his behalf.”

      “So Máximo was a bit of a ladies’ man?” Guthrie gave a smirk around the table.

      “What makes you say that?”

      Somehow, although she couldn’t say how, Connie sensed an undercurrent of anger in Sylvester’s question.

      “Well, you know...”

      “On the contrary. We don’t know. So let’s stick to the facts, shall we?”

      Guthrie, muttering under his breath in the manner of a sulky schoolboy, subsided into his seat.

      “Although we can only speculate about the reasons, Máximo lived among the Calusa for some months. It’s not clear how he parted company with them, or how he came to claim this island. One thing we do know is a curse was placed upon our family by the mother of the Calusa king. It was that curse which gives this island its name.” When Sylvester paused, the only sound was of the waves caressing the sands.

      “What was the curse?” Overcoming her nerves, Connie spoke directly to Sylvester for the first time. For some reason she really needed to know the answer to that question. Her mother’s words came back to her. They are a star-crossed family. Yes, there was that. But her yearning for more went deeper. Like the pull she felt to Sylvester himself, there was something drawing her into this story.

      Sylvester’s eyes returned to hers and, although she drew in a sharp breath as that electrical current of energy surged through her once more, she managed to maintain the contact. “It was in the dead language of the Calusa, but the translation was that Máximo’s descendants must forever remain pure of heart. If they do not, any drop of impurity contained within them will, from then on, be magnified a thousandfold, damning the house of de León forever. Word of the curse spread and that was how the name Corazón de Malicia came about.”

      “It seems a strange curse. Why not simply condemn him to die a horrible death? Surely that would be a more effective way of dealing with him?” Matt’s finely tuned legal mind honed in on the detail.

      “Revenge is a sweeter wine when sipped slowly. It seems to me the whole point of curses and hexes is to strike a fear into the soul of the receiver that lasts long after the point of contact with the person delivering it. This one certainly did that.

      “Instead of Máximo’s life, the old Calusa woman took from him all he cherished. His proud name, his heritage, his status. For generations she has defiled the de León family name, sapped our strength and eroded our pride. I am branded with an island home named Heart of Malice. Each of you, just like anyone who has heard of us, will be aware of the rumors about this place.” He encompassed his house with a sweep of one hand. “It’s the same old story. I’ve lost count of the number of newspaper and magazine articles that have been written about the family who have everything. Except good fortune. You know what the press say. Don’t marry a de León...unless you want to die young.”

      Connie winced. A quick glance around the table told her everyone was thinking the same thing. They were all remembering the shocking reports of car, plane and boat accidents, terminal illness, murder and suicide. How many ways could the members of one family die too soon? Fate seemed to grow ever more creative where the family was concerned. No wonder the world believed Corazón was doomed. And now Sylvester himself seemed to be providing irrefutable confirmation. This island’s beauty was a thin veneer beneath which black poison oozed.

      “So the curse became a self-fulfilling prophecy that has lasted almost five hundred years?” Matt’s skeptical voice broke the mood.

      “Yes. Far more effective, wouldn’t you say, than simply striking Máximo down on the spot?” Sylvester waited while the words sank in. “And now I suppose you must all be eager to discover why I have invited you—who are all de Leóns, however distant—to spend the next month here on my cursed island?”

       Chapter 4

      Throughout the remainder of the meal, Sylvester did his best to avoid looking in Connie’s direction. It wasn’t good for his heart rate or his self-control. Whenever he did lose the battle with his willpower and glance her way, she immediately made sure she was looking elsewhere. Once or twice she wasn’t fast enough and he caught those glorious dark eyes staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and something more. Something primeval and longing. She feels it, too! The realization sent a surge of triumph through him, like a wildfire singeing his nerve endings. Unlike him, she didn’t know what “it” was. How could she? That thought instantly quenched the fire.

      His eyes were drawn to the way her hand repeatedly touched the slender column of her neck, attempting to hide the disfigurement but drawing attention to it instead. The action touched him because it lacked guile yet it told a story. She wasn’t seeking attention. She was avoiding it.

      The white scars stood out in stark relief against the olive smoothness of her skin. No accident could have caused those linear marks. One scar went almost all the way across her throat from left to right. Then there were a series of other, smaller marks running parallel above and below it. Someone had taken a knife to Connie’s smooth flesh and dug it in deep. Someone, not something. His hand clenched hard on his thigh. He thought he was ready to face any challenge, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The thought came again, stronger and more despairing. Why now?

      Anger flared within him. It was two-pronged, directed at the person who had wielded that weapon, but also at a fate cruel enough to twist another knife. One that was cold steel tearing at his gut because, just as everything was in place, along had come Connie Lacey to turn his orderly plans upside down.

      Sylvester knew better than to let his feelings of rage spiral out of control. The de León family could never be cold-blooded. Their emotions ran deep and strong. It would be easy to blame the curse, to pass responsibility for their actions on to the story of the old Calusa woman. In the past, that was what many de Leóns had done. Because he knew what was to come, Sylvester had never allowed himself that luxury. If anything, the curse had made him keep a tighter rein on his emotions.

      His awareness that the darker side of his de León personality could easily become magnified had forced him into a heightened awareness of his own faults. Quick to anger, he had learned early how to keep his temper in check. A perfectionist, he had trained himself to relax and let the details go. Impatient of idle chitchat, he had cultivated a manner that hid his intolerance under a guise of genuine interest. No one, Sylvester had determined, would ever be able to say the master of Corazón had a “heart of malice.”

      Now he tightened his grip on the anger that wanted to become a frenzy. He wanted to fire questions at Connie about what had happened to cause those scars and that haunted, hunted look he saw in her eyes every now and then when she thought no one was looking at her. He also wanted to storm and rage at a set of circumstances that had brought him this dilemma.

      All the pathways in his well-ordered life had been leading him here. Everything he had ever done since that first conscious memory had brought him to this point and now he was confronted with...what? Not a change of plan. That can never happen. So Sylvester kept his anger to himself, finished his meal and maintained his role as the perfect host.

      Sylvester was aware his guests were all speculating on his story about the curse of Corazón. Oh, they were too polite to do so openly. The conversation over dessert was all about