His Wedding Ring Of Revenge. Julia James

      

      “So tell me, cara mia, what is to stop me persuading you to return what belongs to me?”

      The glitter in Vito’s eyes had intensified. Rachel’s breathing had quickened and adrenaline was coursing through her bloodstream.

      But she knew she was deceiving herself.

      She could feel her body responding to his presence; feel every nerve leap to quivering life.

      It mortified her. She had to damp it down hard, because she knew, with a terrible, sickening sense of doom, that she would feel this way about Vito Farneste for the rest of her life. She could never stop the tide of desire, of longing, of wanting, pulsing through her whenever she was near him. She was in thrall to him, and it was a captivity she could never escape….

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      His Wedding Ring of Revenge

      Julia James

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      COOL tranquil fountains jetted softly over the rounded stones, the water pooling, crystal clear, over polished granite. A tiny spout of wind gusted off the tall building and one of the gentle plumes of water wavered slightly, a minute spray of invisible droplets misting over Rachel as she walked past.

      It felt cool to her skin.

      And that was what she had to be. Cool, calm and composed. Not a trace of emotion. She was here to conduct a business deal. That was all.

      Because if she thought about what she was about to do in any other light then—

      No! Don’t think. Don’t feel. That way you can get through this.

      And, above all, don’t remember…

      A switch was thrown in her brain, cutting off the line of thought.

      Another mist of water flickered over her skin.

      She took in the serene tranquillity of the cunningly engineered water feature that graced the entrance to the gleaming new office block. As befitted the UK headquarters of one of Europe’s largest and most successful industrial conglomerates, Farneste Industriale, it was the most prestigious of all the blocks on this swanky new business park—situated on the edge of one of London’s oldest villages, Chiswick, conveniently placed for the M4 motorway and Heathrow Airport.

      She kept on walking, her high heels lifting her hips and making her sway elegantly in her expensively tailored suit. She had sat very carefully in the taxi on her way here, making sure she did not crush the lavender skirt or snag her expensive sheer stockings.

      She wanted to look—immaculate.

      It had taken her over two hours to get ready. Two hours of washing and styling her hair, delicately applying perfect make-up and nail varnish, carefully donning silky underwear, sheerest stockings, soft cream camisole, and then finally gliding the narrow pencil skirt over her slender hips and slipping her arms into the satin-lined, scoop-necked waisted jacket that subtly accentuated the swell of her breasts and the flatness of her stomach.

      She had slid her feet into soft Italian leather shoes, in exactly the same shade as the suit, as was the matching leather clutch handbag she carried, and her outfit was complete.

      It had taken her over two weeks to find it. After combing every upmarket department store and boutique from Chelsea to Knightsbridge, Bond Street to Kensington. It had to be exactly right.

      After all, the person she had to impress had demanding standards. Exceptionally demanding.

      She should know.

      She had once failed them. Dismally. Abjectly. Humiliatingly.

      She must not fail this time.

      And now, as she walked up to the huge double doors that opened automatically at her approach, she promised that she would not. This time, she knew, she could hold her head high against any female she was compared with.

      True, some might prefer petite brunettes or voluptuous, flashy redheads to her lean, chic blondeness, but of her style—if you liked that style—she was perfect.

      Soignée. That was what her mother would have called it, approvingly.

      Emotion clutched at Rachel’s heart. She subdued it instantly. Feelings of any kind would be fatal in this encounter. If she had any hope of succeeding she must be calm, confident and totally composed.

      She was here to do business. Nothing more.

      Absently, as she started to walk across the huge, echoing entrance lobby, she heard the automatic doors hiss softly shut behind her.

      As if she were a prisoner.

      A tiny prickle of apprehension snaked down her spine. She subdued it.

      She was not a prisoner. She was not even a hostage.

      She was here to propose a transaction, nothing more, which would