Pippa Roscoe - A Ring To Take His Revenge

Antonio knew in his heart, in his blood, that he wouldn’t be here today without them. And they would say the same of him. And now, after a year, all three men—each of whom regularly featured in the newspapers as some of the greatest living business figures—would finally be together in the same room again.

As he made his way towards the table in the private dining area a small blonde was hastily leaving, casting him with a frowning glance as she passed.

‘What did I miss?’ Antonio asked, taking in the appearance of his friends.

Wrongful imprisonment had taken its toll on Dimitri, yet his powerful Greek features still turned the heads of any nearby female. And Danyl didn’t need to rely on his royal status as Sheikh in line to the Terhren throne. Brooding intensity radiated from him—as Antonio’s last assistant had remarked.

Only the might of the American legal system had put a halt to their quarterly meetings—the one immovable feature in Antonio’s increasingly full diary. But within the year Dimitri’s innocence had been realised and proclaimed, and now they were finally back together again.

‘A proposition,’ Dimitri replied in response to Antonio’s question.

‘In public? During the day? Gentlemen, you’re putting my scandalous reputation to shame,’ Antonio asserted.

‘A professional proposition,’ growled Danyl through gritted teeth.

‘She—’ nodding to the exit made by the blonde woman ‘—wants to race for the syndicate in the Hanley Cup,’ Dimitri clarified.

‘We have a jockey,’ interjected Danyl.

‘She says she can win all three races.’

Antonio was mildly intrigued. ‘That’s not been done since...’

‘Since her father trained the horse and rider twenty years ago,’ supplied Dimitri.

Antonio’s mind raced through the implications. ‘ That was Mason McAulty?’

A rather undignified grunt emerged from Danyl’s direction.

Antonio considered the possibilities...the amount of the winning purse, the attention from the global press. News of their racing syndicate had ebbed and flowed over the years, but no one could argue with the level of their success. Founded shortly after their university days, it had been the perfect venture for three men who loved the high-stakes world of gambling, horseflesh and adrenaline.

Antonio had once been a serious contender for international-level polo, but that had been before Michael Steele’s actions had all but destroyed his family. Biting back the familiar anger that was never far away from his thoughts of the man, Antonio forced his attention back to the proposition.

‘Can she do it?’ he asked.

Dimitri shrugged, but Danyl seemed to be giving it some thought.

‘Most likely,’ he eventually said.

‘I’m in,’ Antonio stated with an innately Italian shrug of his shoulders. If Mason McAulty managed it, the win would be incredible. If she failed... Well, was there any such thing as bad press? Antonio liked the edge that it would place them on. Hell, he practically lived on it.

‘Why not?’ Dimitri said, throwing his hat into the ring.

Danyl nodded almost reluctantly, his lips a grim line of determination. Antonio might not know the source of the furious look Danyl cast towards the exit Mason Mcaulty had left through, but he very much hoped she knew that she was playing with fire.

‘Whisky?’ Dimitri queried as Antonio finally took his seat.

‘Absolutely,’ Antonio replied, relaxing back and drinking in the sight of his friends. ‘It’s good to have you back.’

‘Say that again and I’ll know you’ve gone soft,’ came Dimitri’s terse reply.

‘If I wanted to listen to a bunch of women gossip, I could have stayed at home and visited the harem,’ Danyl concluded.

Antonio scoffed. ‘You don’t have a harem. If you did we’d never see you.’

But instead of relishing the familiar bond he had with his two closest friends, Antonio found his mind returning to the woman he had just decided to make his new PA.

Emma Guilham...

CHAPTER ONE

Eighteen months later...

EMMA SWEPT THE long tendrils of dark hair back from her face and into a discreet neat bun with swift efficiency. Even had she not seen Antonio Arcuri’s occasional frown when a few strands would escape the hold these pins had on her hair, she instinctively knew that this was what her ruthless boss wanted from her. Discretion, speed and efficiency.

As she checked her appearance in the ladies’ bathroom at the New York office of Arcuri Enterprises, the shadowed silver insignia of the letters A and E conjoined in the corner of each large mirror snagged her attention and sent a thrill of satisfaction through her.

She had come so far from her mother’s small but comfortable home on the fringes of Hampstead Heath. She thought back to the quite outrageous way she had been interviewed by Antonio in that limousine, inching its way through London’s Christmas traffic. She had, in her mind, been brazen. But then Emma had honestly thought that she stood no chance of getting the job. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, she had simply spoken the truth.

She had meant every word she’d said, and had stuck to each and every one of them in the last eighteen months. She had fought so hard to be here—to be in New York, to be Antonio Arcuri’s PA. And she wouldn’t let his wholly uncharacteristic, unscheduled and increasingly imminent arrival now put her off her stride.

Ever since the ping had sounded on her phone at one in the morning, alerting her to the fact that Antonio would be back from Italy and in the office in less than six hours, Emma had felt something akin to panic. Only she had assured herself she no longer did panic. Instead, Emma had launched herself out of bed, scanned his appointments and found nothing in his diary to warrant such an unexpected return. So, she had no idea what to expect from her brooding Italian boss.

She had begun to look forward to the times when Antonio was away from the office. Whether it was for his immovable meetings with the other members of the Winners’ Circle syndicate, or his visits to his offices in London, Hong Kong and Italy, she relished the time when she only had to deal with him through the separation of email and the occasional video conference. She welcomed these reprieves from his presence. Because in reality, in the flesh, Antonio was simply...overwhelming.

It was more than his classic good-looks. His bitter-chocolate-coloured eyes, set against defined cheekbones and a determined jaw would be devastating enough on any man. Along with the smooth Italian tan that contrasted with the deep rich wine colour of lips that were almost cruelly sensual. Every inch of him was honed, powerful and predatory. But she knew that even all those attributes combined didn’t matter. It was the vitality—the authority that resonated from his very being—that really called to her.

But she had learned to temper her attraction. Refused to allow it to interfere with her work. She was here to do a job—not to lust after her attractive boss. She refused to fall into the trap so many other women had fallen into. Besides, she had goals—places she wanted to see, things she desperately wanted to do—none of which included Antonio Arcuri.

The door to the large office bathroom slammed open and a string of women rushed in, each armed to the hilt with make-up bags. Emma watched them for a moment, producing the tools of femininity that were used to enhance and seduce, delicately applying a million products as she once had, at the age of seventeen, using them with a heavy hand to mask the ravages of chemotherapy.

But she forced the memory aside. It wasn’t as if Antonio cared at all about her appearance. Just her ability. Emma smiled ruefully at the row of Arcuri’s female staff. Antonio had that effect on women. But not her. She might find her boss devastatingly attractive, but she wasn’t going to be distracted by him.