Sweet Revenge. Эбби Грин

longed to tell him to go jump. She was on edge, angry, and feeling the effects of jet lag. The thought of sharing a meal with him held no appeal whatsoever.

      Yet it would provide the opportunity to vent … and she so badly needed to vent!

      He leant down and brushed his lips to Nicki’s temple.

      ‘Sleep well, pequena.’ He straightened, sent Shannay a piercing look, then he turned and left the room.

      She had the childish desire to pull a face behind his back, except she restrained herself and tended to her daughter.

      Two hours and five minutes later she descended the stairs and made her way towards the informal dining room.

      Five minutes over time was acceptable, and in her case deliberate, for she refused to conform to every one of Marcello’s dictates.

      She’d chosen to wear a black singlet top over which she wore a fine lace black blouse tied at her waist, pencil-slim black skirt, black stilettos, hair pulled back into a French twist secured by a jewelled comb, a slim gold bracelet, understated make-up and lipgloss.

      Dressed to kill was an adequate description.

      Ready for battle was more apt!

      Marcello was waiting for her as she entered the dining room, and one look at him was enough to set the pulse at her throat thrum to a faster beat.

      Attired in black tailored trousers, a white chambray shirt, his casual appearance belied the almost barbaric handsomeness of the man.

      Strength and power, a degree of ruthlessness made for a dangerous mix she had every reason to view with caution.

      Yet there was so much banked-up resentment and anger towards him, it took leashed control to avoid launching into attack mode.

      Play nice … for now, she reminded herself silently.

      Appear to enjoy a few sips of excellent vintage wine, be polite through the starter, aim for neutrality as they sampled the main course, then open the verbal discourse over coffee.

      That was the plan.

      ‘Shannay.’ His voice was a lazy, faintly accented drawl, and she unconsciously lifted her chin.

      ‘Marcello.’

      ‘Can I get you something to drink?’

      Civility. She could do that. ‘A light medium white, thank you.’

      He crossed to a storage cabinet, extracted the appropriate bottle, opened it, poured a quantity into a crystal goblet and extended it towards her.

      ‘Nicki settled well?’

      She was careful to avoid his fingers as she took the goblet from his hand. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

      ‘So polite, Shannay?’

      Her eyes sparked shards of golden fire. ‘I thought we’d feign peace and leave war until after dinner.’ Her chin lifted a little. ‘I have respect for my digestion.’

      His soft laughter was almost her undoing as he indicated the table set with fine china, silver flatware and no less than three crystal goblets. ‘Let’s eat, shall we?’

      Maria had surpassed herself with a delicate starter, followed by a seafood paella steaming aromatically beneath a covered serving dish.

      ‘Ramon is anxious to meet Nicki,’ Marcello informed as he touched the rim of his goblet to her own in a silent salute. ‘How do you feel about tomorrow?’

      ‘Perhaps it could be delayed by a day?’ Shannay countered. ‘Nicki has had to absorb a lot in the past week, followed by a long flight.’ She made a sweeping gesture with her hand to indicate his home. ‘All of this.’

      ‘I’ll make arrangements.’

      It was happening, the increase in Marcello’s control to the detriment of her own.

      Ramon she could cope with … even look forward to reconnecting with the generous elderly man.

      Ramon’s daughter, Penè, however, was a different matter.

      Ramon’s son, Marcello and Sandro’s father, had been killed instantly in a car crash when Marcello had been in his late teens.

      Nicki was the bonus … the one bright star in the Martinez firmament. No one, not even Penè, would be permitted to say a word out of place in Nicki’s hearing.

      Shannay sampled the starter, and insisted on a small portion of paella. She’d grown unused to eating so late, and she merely sipped her wine, choosing instead to drink chilled water, and declined dessert or coffee.

      ‘Finish your wine.’

      She met his faintly hooded gaze with equanimity. ‘I prefer to have a clear head.’

      Marcello sank back in his chair and regarded her with interest. ‘To indulge in verbal warfare?’

      ‘You doubt it?’ She barely hid an edge of bitterness in her voice. ‘I specifically requested our own accommodation.’

      ‘Yet I have provided accommodation, have I not?’ he offered reasonably.

      Far more luxurious than the most expensive hotel. ‘That isn’t the point.’

      ‘What is the point?’

      ‘You could have asked for my approval.’

      One eyebrow lifted in silent mockery. ‘And your answer would have been?’

      ‘Not in this lifetime!’

      He spread his hands wide. ‘Precisely.’

      She wanted to throw something at him. Anything to disrupt his chilling air of calm. ‘Doesn’t it matter that I don’t want to be here?’

      ‘In Madrid? This house? Or with me?’

      ‘All of that … and more!’ The words tumbled out with vehement ire.

      ‘Querida.’ His faintly accented drawl curled round her heart and tugged a little. ‘Perhaps you should have given thought to informing me of Nicki’s existence from the beginning, instead of hoping fate and distance would continue to keep me in ignorance.’

      ‘Don’t … call me that.’

      ‘Darling? Lover?’ He offered a faint smile. ‘But you are both, yes?’

      ‘Not any more. And never again,’ Shannay added with angry intent, and attempted to tamp down the vivid images that immediately flooded her mind.

      In his bed, theirs, she corrected. Naked, beneath him, her thighs wrapped around his waist, urging him on, pleading, begging for the release only he could give … the heat and the passion. Loving him with her heart and her soul. His … only his.

      ‘Careful, amada. I could view that as a challenge.’

      ‘In a pig’s eye,’ she managed fiercely, hating his silky indolence. Not to mention the instinctive feeling he was deliberately toying with her.

      He regarded her carefully. ‘Had I known you were pregnant, I’d have taken the next flight to Perth and dragged you back here.’

      As he had done now, she perceived. ‘It wouldn’t have changed my decision to file for divorce.’

      His pause was deliberately significant. ‘Yet you failed to do so until very recently.’

      ‘It was my choice to avoid all contact with you,’ Shannay offered coolly. ‘Even via legal channels.’ She waited a beat, and aimed the figurative dart. ‘Reciprocal, obviously.’

      ‘Yet circumstances have changed.’

      Suspicion clouded her eyes. ‘What are you implying?’

      ‘There will be no divorce.’