JACQUELINE BAIRD - Mediterranean Men Unleashed - The Billionaire's Blackmailed Bride

‘And you’re the expert? Don’t make me laugh,’ she snapped.

‘I will certainly make you cry if you keep up this ridiculous fight. We can be civil to each other, the sex is great and we can have a good marriage, or you can turn it into a battlefield—it is up to you. I need a shower; you can join me, or make your mind up before I come back.’

There was only one answer, Emily realized.

Being civil and having sex … That was Anton’s idea of a perfect marriage. She could do civil and sex, and a lot more. He had said he had not intended telling her what he thought of her father, but his temper had got the better of him. Well, maybe she could convince him he was wrong about her father. Not now, not with a boatload of guests, but when they were finally alone.

He had said he would do anything to keep her. Maybe there was hope for their marriage, maybe he cared about her a lot more than he was prepared to admit … and pigs might fly …

The bottom line was, even if she proved her father had nothing to do with his sister, she could not escape the fact that was the main reason why Anton had married her.

Anton emerged from the bathroom and Emily hastily sat up in bed, dragging the cover up to her chin.

His only covering was a white towel slung precariously around his lean hips. And as she watched he moved to open one of the large wardrobes that covered one wall, withdrew something and turned.

‘So what is it to be, Emily?’ he asked, and discarded the towel, giving her a full-frontal view of his toned bronzed body, and stepped into a pair of Grigio Perla aqua shorts.

Emily recognized the brand because she had seen the James Bond movie that made them famous. On Anton they looked even better than the star of the movie. Fascinated by the sheer masculine perfection of his physique, she simply stared.

‘I asked you a question.’

‘What? Oh! Yes.’ She was so mesmerized by the sight of him, she replied without thinking.

‘Good,’ was all he said as he pulled a polo shirt over his head. ‘Make yourself decent. I’ll send the chief steward in with your breakfast, and you can have a chat with him. He knows how the weekend works. It is a pretty casual affair, but if there is anything you want to change just tell him.’

Who was it said fascination is the very absence of thought, the denial of reasonable brain function? Emily wondered. She was so mesmerized by Anton she could not think rationally.

‘I will see you on the pool deck when you are ready. Friday everyone tends to laze around until lunch. Then go ashore, the men to check out the cars and the women to shop. Later we all meet here to eat and then sail along to St Tropez for those who want to hit the Caves du Roy nightclub, a favourite among a few of our guests.’

He strolled over to the bed, and held out a credit card. ‘Take this—you will need it later.’

She took the card and turned it over in her hand. Mrs Emily Diaz was the name inscribed.

She looked up. ‘How did you get this so quickly?’ she asked, no longer mesmerized but mad. Anton was so confident in his ability to get exactly what he wanted in life, including her, she realized bitterly.

‘I arranged for the card to be forwarded here the day we married, as I did your passport,’ Anton said, a hint of a satisfied smile quirking his wide mouth.

She affected a casual shrug. ‘You’re nothing if not thorough,’ she said coolly. But inside she was seething with a mixture of emotions, from hate to love and, yes, lust, she admitted. But her overriding desire was to knock the smug look off his face.

‘Thank you. But I don’t need your money; I have enough of my own.’

‘You won’t for much longer if you insist on this confrontational attitude,’ he drawled with a sardonic arch of one brow. ‘Give it up, Emily. You’re my wife—act like one. I’ll expect you on deck in an hour to take care of our guests.’

The timely reminder of his hold over Fairfax Engineering knocked all the defiance out of her. ‘Okay.’

She watched him walk out. He really was quite ruthless, and she had better not forget that. But if he thought she was going to be a meek little wife he was in for a rude awakening.

The number of gorgeous women lining the pit lane came as a shock to Emily. She would not have thought that so many women were keen on motor racing to bother coming for the time trials. She said as much to Max, and he gave her a grin.

‘It is not the cars they are interested in, but the men—they are motor-racing groupies.’ He chuckled. ‘Pit Ponies.’

‘Oh.’ It had never occurred to her, but now she saw exactly what he meant. No wonder Anton was such a passionate fan of motor racing. Fast cars and fast women lined for his delectation, she thought scathingly.

Personally she hated the scene. The noise was horrendous, the choking smell of oil took her breath away, and she cast a baleful glance at Anton. He was standing by a low-slung racing car having an animated discussion about the engine with the chief mechanic. He looked almost boyish in his enthusiasm and at that moment, as if sensing her scrutiny, he turned, his dark eyes clashing with hers. He smiled and in a couple of lithe strides was beside her. ‘So what do you think? Isn’t this great?’

‘Put it this way,’ she said dryly, ‘I can see now why they call it the pit. The place is full of men, noise, and stinks of oil and super-charged testosterone, and if it is all the same to you I think I’ll go back to the yacht.’

He grimaced. ‘You’re right—it is probably not the place for a lady. Max will take you back, and I’ll see you later.’

Back on the yacht, she heaved a sigh of relief when she learnt most of the guests had gone ashore. ‘I’m going to change and have a swim,’ she told Max and headed for the cabin.

She had spent yesterday being polite to their guests, and playing the perfect hostess. The nightclub in St Tropez had been a real eye-opener, all the beautiful people—she had recognized a famous American film star and a chart-topping singer to name just two. She had drunk champagne and smiled until her face ached and had hated every minute.

Then later when they had returned to the yacht she had vowed she would not respond to Anton. But when he had slid into bed naked and reached for her, her resolve had been strained to the limit. His kiss had been hungry, possessive, and passionate. She had tried to resist, her hands curling into fists at her side. But when he had lifted his head, and caught the strap of her flimsy nightgown and moved it down to palm her breast, a groan had escaped her.

‘Give it up, Emily,’ he said harshly. ‘You know you want to.’

He was right, shaming but true …

Now with Anton on shore she felt not exactly relaxed, but at least in control for the first time in two days. Slipping into a shockingly brief black bikini, courtesy of Helen, she headed for the swimming pool. She lathered her body with sun lotion, and was wondering how to do her back when Gianni appeared, and did it for her.

Anton stepped out of the helicopter, and took the stairs two at a time to the lower deck. He was feeling great, fired up … His passion for motor racing had been fulfilled with a day in the pit watching the time trials for tomorrow’s big race. The team he supported had pole position. He flexed his shoulders … and soon his other passion would be fulfilled with Emily.

She had appeared to accept his take on marriage without further argument, and yesterday she had proved to be a hit with their guests.

Last night had been incredible; his body stirred thinking about it. He had climbed into bed, taken her in his arms and kissed her. At first she had tried to play it cool, but within minutes she had gone up in flames just as she had every time before.