Clare Connelly - Spaniard's Baby Of Revenge

With a grim expression on his face, he let himself quietly out of the house, walking towards his car with a growing sense of determination. The rain had stopped but the clouds were still overhead, covering the moon and the stars so everything was in pitch darkness.

The documents were on the front seat. He grabbed them out, tucking them under his arm before making his way back to the house. Silence came from upstairs.

He fought a desire to go and check on her, to see if she needed anything. A passionate encounter didn’t a relationship make—there was no need for him to play the part of the solicitous boyfriend. It was better for both of them if he focused on his reason for being in the cottage.

Revenge was close—so close he could feel it. And it would be better than anything he’d ever known—even the pleasure he’d just felt in the bed of his arch-enemy.

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