Lynne Graham - Married For Revenge

As she was wondering what to make for her evening meal her cell phone beeped with a text.

Join me for dinner? I’ll cook. V

No, absolutely not, Zara thought in dismay and annoyance. What was he playing at? And then a more responsible inner voice reminded her that she was set to have a relationship with Vitale through her child that would stretch quite a few years into her future. Ignoring him, refusing to see him or speak to him might be tempting, but it would not be the sensible path to follow. Sadly, on one issue Vitale was correct. Her pregnancy did mean that everything had changed, although her feelings towards him hadn’t changed in the slightest: she still hated him like poison. Bolstered by that conviction, Zara texted back her agreement. After all, meeting up with Vitale would also provide her with an easy way of delivering the plan for the grounds of the Italian villa.

FLUFFY was watching television on the leather sofa when Vitale returned to his apartment that evening. He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes: the wretched bunny was watching music videos while basking in the comfort of a well-upholstered seat! But no sooner did Zara’s pet hear the noise of the front door closing than it raced like a furry streak for the safety of its home in the corner. And there, in spite of the food Vitale brought it, the rabbit stayed firmly out of sight.

But Fluffy had not spent an entirely lazy day, Vitale noted grimly, because the rug had been chewed and the wooden foot of a coffee table had been gnawed. It was a destructive bunny rabbit, utterly unsuited to civilised life in a luxury apartment. On the other hand, Zara had agreed to come to dinner, most probably because she wanted to see how her pet was doing.

The plan for the villa tucked below one arm, Zara arrived sporting an ice-blue dress teamed with incredibly high heels. The pale shade accentuated her eyes and her hair shimmered round her shoulders. For the first time ever Vitale admired a woman’s legs and then, quite unnervingly for him, thought of her safety instead. What if she stumbled and fell and got hurt?

‘Those shoes are like stilts,’ he remarked before he could think better of the comment, only to watch in amazement as Fluffy bounded out into the hall to greet her mistress and gambol round her feet in a welcoming display.

Zara petted Fluffy and talked to her. Anything was better than focusing on Vitale, breathtakingly handsome even casually clad in jeans and an open-necked black shirt. She decided that she was horrendously overdressed and felt as though she had lost face in some secret contest of who could act the most laid-back. Her heart was doing that bang-bang-bang thing again but that was just the natural effect of Vitale’s manifold attractions hitting her defences with all the subtlety of a ten-ton truck.

He served the meal immediately in the spacious dining annexe off the lounge. He had made steak and salad, nothing fancy, but she was impressed all the same, her one and only attempt to cook steak having resulted in a lump of tough and rubbery meat that nobody could eat. The silence stretching between them seemed to shout in her ears, reminding her with a painful pang of regret how easily they had once talked in Italy. That, of course, she recalled, had only been part and parcel of his deception.

‘How do you feel?’ Vitale asked her levelly.

‘Like I’m stuck inside a soap bubble. The baby doesn’t really feel real yet, probably because it’s such an unexpected development,’ she admitted.

‘I intend to give you all the support that I can.’

At that austere unemotional promise, a tight little smile formed on Zara’s lips. ‘Then give me space.’

Space was the very last thing Vitale could imagine offering her at that moment. In one of those infuriating shifts of awareness that infiltrated his formidable calm a surge of heat consumed him as he focused on her luscious mouth and recalled what she could do with it. Subjected to an instant erection, Vitale breathed in deep and slow, furiously willing his undisciplined body back under control and deeply resentful of the effect she could have on him. ‘I don’t think I can do that. I feel responsible for you now.’

Her eyes were cool and flat as glass. ‘But that’s not how I feel and not what I want.’

‘Don’t make our child pay the price for what I did in Italy,’ he urged her forcefully, already concerned about a future in which he might not be in a position to ensure that his child received the very best of care.

‘Maybe I’m thinking that after what you did to me you might be a bad influence to have in a child’s life,’ Zara told him honestly.

In receipt of that admission, his strong bone structure showed prominently below his bronzed skin and his jaw line clenched hard. In one sense he was outraged that Monty Blake’s daughter could question his integrity when her father had none whatsoever. But he could hardly expect her to appreciate that when he had deceived her in Tuscany. He should be grateful, however, that she refused to see him as her only support in a hostile world just because she had fallen pregnant by him. After all, just how much was he prepared to sacrifice to ensure his child’s welfare?

‘I’m trying to forge a new and different relationship with you,’ he delivered tautly.

She gazed into his stunning dark eyes and it was as if a thousand butterflies fluttered free in the pit of her stomach. Instantly she closed him out again, refusing to be entrapped by his raw physical appeal. ‘I can’t give you a fresh start with me. I don’t forgive men who try to use me.’

His brows drew together as he picked up on the pained note she could not suppress. ‘There was someone else? Who? What did he do?’

Zara dealt him a bleak look and then wondered what she had to hide. Maybe if she explained he’d understand that there was no way back into her good graces. ‘I met Julian when I was eighteen. He was twenty five and he told me he loved me. After he had asked me to marry him he took me away for a weekend. The first night he got me drunk in our hotel room …’ Her strained voice ran out of steam and power, her heart-shaped face drawn, her eyes haunted by unpleasant memories. ‘I must’ve passed out. When I came round he had me handcuffed half naked to the headboard of the bed—’

‘He had you … what?’ Vitale repeated in thunderous disbelief.

‘When I opened my eyes he had a camera trained on me. All he wanted was sleazy photos of me undressed, so that he could blackmail my father with them. He took my clothes off while I was unconscious. He hadn’t even bothered to wait until after he had slept with me—but then he wasn’t that interested.’ A laugh that had a wounded edge fell from her lips. ‘In fact he said I wasn’t really his type, he preferred curvy brunettes—’

‘Per amor di Dio!’ Vitale had a disturbing image of her naked and bewildered, innocent and frightened. The newly protective instincts he had formed since he learnt of her pregnancy were inflamed by the idea of her being stripped of her dignity and at the mercy of a man who only saw her as a source of profit. Julian had badly betrayed her trust when she was still very young and naïve. Vitale refused to think about the damage he might have done pursuing revenge on his sister’s account. Regretting the past was always, in his opinion, a waste of time.