JACQUELINE BAIRD - The Italian's Blackmailed Mistress

Max cared, he really cared for her, and involuntarily Sophie raised her hand to rest on his broad chest. ‘You already do,’ she said with blunt honesty. ‘I missed you so much when you were away. I missed your unruly black hair, your teasing smile…’ She flicked a silken lock from his brow. ‘I’m glad you are back.’

‘You can show me how much later.’ Max covered her hand on his chest with his own and bent his dark head so that his mouth lightly nuzzled her neck. Sophie shuddered when she felt the flick of his tongue against her sensitive skin. ‘But first a tour of the yacht, and then food,’ he prompted.

With his arm around her waist, his fingers splayed across the soft skin of her midriff, Sophie was too aware of the magic of his touch to notice the boat. She had a fleeting view of one small cabin, and heard Max’s comment about ‘two berths’, and then he was opening a door into the only other cabin.

‘Duck your head,’ he instructed, ushering her inside and closing the door behind them. The cabin was tiny, and lit only by the lights of the harbour, which were casting flickering shadows on the double bunk that almost filled the space. ‘It is only for sleeping,’ he murmured, his breath warm against her brow.

Sophie had never felt less like sleeping. And when Max’s hand tightened on her waist and turned her to face him all she felt was breathless. She looked up, every nerve-ending tingling at the close proximity of his great body, and stared as if mesmerised by his glittering dark eyes, any thought of caution vanished.

Then his mouth found hers, his tongue moving within it with a deeply erotic passion, and Sophie was lost to everything but the incredible sensations shooting through her body.

He lifted his head and looked searchingly down at her. ‘You want this?’ he prompted huskily, his voice barely audible as he gently brushed a strand of silken hair from her cheek.

‘Yes,’ she gasped, and in moments they were naked on the bed.

A long time later Sophie lay collapsed on top of him, breathless and shaking—she had never known such pleasure existed. Max gently lifted her chin with his index finger. ‘You should have told me I was your first.’

‘And my only,’ she sighed. ‘I love you so much.’

‘Oh, Sophie, I adore you. You are truly priceless—don’t ever change,’ he drawled softly.

‘I am changed now, thanks to you,’ she whispered.

‘I know.’ Max kissed her swollen lips again—he couldn’t help himself. ‘But it is I who should be thanking you. You have given me something precious and worth much more than you can ever imagine.’

Never before had he made love to a virgin, and never before had he met with such a wild reciprocal passion. He had lost touch with everything but the incredible agonising pleasure he had felt as he came inside her.

But that was the problem. He had done just that—forgotten protection. He looked into her happy love-lit eyes, about to tell her, but couldn’t bring himself to spoil the moment. Instead he heard himself say, ‘Marry me.’ And realised he meant it…. Whatever the future held, Sophie was to be his and his alone….

With anger simmering just below the surface, Max cast a hard, cold glance at the catalyst of his trip down memory lane. With the benefit of hindsight he realised his proposal had probably been a simple gut reaction to the massive blow his male ego had suffered at the thought of testicular cancer. But at the time, after having sex with her, he had deluded himself into believing it was something more and asked her to marry him.

Max glanced across at Sophie again, and this time his gaze lingered, his dark eyes narrowing as he saw her smiling and charming the men either side of her. He saw Abe Asamov stroke her cheek with one finger, and his mouth curled in a bitter, cynical smile—a smile that was strained to the limit as she got up to dance with the man. The easy familiarity between Sophie and Abe was unmistakable.

Dio! Sophie was certainly sleeping with him, and it could only be for one reason—money. Disgust churned his gut. When he saw them leave the dance floor, and watched her kiss the fat Russian on the cheek, he dismissed any notion of waiting a week or two to speak to her. In fact another minute was too long, and he changed his plan accordingly.

It was said that revenge was best taken cold, and Max told himself he felt nothing but ice-cold anger for the beautiful Sophie and what she had become. He rose to his feet and excused himself. He had once thought the timing wasn’t right for an affair with Sophie, and then changed his mind. Two days later he had been dumped unceremoniously by the heartless witch. Now he had changed it back again, and this time he would be the one to walk away. But not until he had sated himself in her gorgeous body….

EVERY SELF-PROTECTIVE instinct Sophie possessed was telling her to turn and run. She’d known coming back to Italy was not a good idea, and seeing Max confirmed it. But she knew she had to get through this dinner—if only to prove that she was a true professional and Max Quintano meant nothing, in fact less than nothing, to her.

Luckily for Sophie, Abe had asked her to interpret Cesare’s conversation and she readily agreed; if she kept her eyes on Cesare and Abe she could almost pretend that Max and Gina didn’t exist.

Back at university, after her brief affair with Max, it had been hard—but with the help of her friends and by throwing herself into work she had finally got over him and convinced herself she didn’t care. Now it was galling to have to admit that it still hurt to see Max with Gina.

For the next hour Sophie ate, drank and smiled in all the right places, but she was intensely conscious of Max Quintano’s powerful presence. She felt as though his eyes were on her, and that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It took every bit of will-power she had to chat normally and avoid glancing back at the hateful man. The realisation that just the sight of him could upset her so much after all this time gnawed away at her. To compensate she sparkled all the brighter with the clearly admiring Cesare, so much so that Abe picked up on her distress.

He raised a finger to her cheek and stroked her jawline. ‘Sophie?’ She looked into his shrewd blue eyes. ‘You are trying too hard—whoever it is you are trying to avoid, my dear,’ he murmured, ‘use me, not young Cesare. You could hurt him. But I have broad shoulders, and I don’t mind playing the game.’

‘You see too much,’ Sophie sighed, and when Abe asked her to dance she managed an almost natural smile and rose to her feet, going gracefully into his arms.

Surprisingly, for all his bulk, Abe was a good dancer, and Sophie relaxed into the music, her tall, graceful body drawing the eye of many appreciative males—and one in particular.

‘You’re a very beautiful woman, as I’ve told you before,’ Abe said as the music ended and with a guiding hand around her waist he led her back towards the table. ‘Whoever he was, he was a fool, and he didn’t deserve you in the first place. You are worth the best, and don’t you forget it.’

She looked at Abe’s hard face and realised that not only was he an extremely nice man, but also extremely astute—no wonder he was a billionaire oil mogul.

‘You’re right.’ She smiled and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you.’ Why was she wasting her time getting upset all because she had had one disastrous love affair with a womanising bastard? It was time she moved on with her life, she thought determinedly.

‘Excuse me,’ a deep, dark voice drawled mockingly, and Max Quintano appeared in front of them. ‘May I claim your partner for the next dance?’