LITMIR.BIZ

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café was close by, upmarket with outdoor tables and boutique sun umbrellas. A meeting place where friends assembled over designer coffee and sumptuous food to talk business, chat and watch the world go by.

      There, seated outdoors, was Marcello.

      Absent was the designer business suit, for today he’d chosen casual dark chinos and a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck.

      It lent him a relaxed façade … one she knew to be misleading. Despite appearances to the contrary, Marcello rarely lowered his guard. It was what he’d become, who he was … and it showed.

      There was something exigent that wrought a second look, a curiosity, sometimes fleeting, to check the level of power he emanated. A hint of the primitive, which unleashed could cause untold sensual havoc to a woman’s equilibrium.

      A quality other men admired and coveted, but few possessed.

      Marcello glanced up as she approached, and she felt the full impact of those dark eyes as they seared her own, witnessing for one moment the naked vulnerability apparent before she successfully masked it.

      He signalled the waitress as Shannay slid into a seat opposite him.

      Make-up free, except for a touch of gloss to her mouth, her hair caught together with a decorative clip, and dressed in jeans and a singlet top she looked scarcely more than a teenager.

      Except looks could be deceptive, he mused, all too aware of the latent passion that lurked beneath that cool façade.

      He remembered too well the sensual delight of her body, the persuasive touch and her eagerness to share … everything.

      Heat unfurled and ran hot as he felt his own unbidden response, the need to render her willing and wanton. His, as she had been … and would be again.

      No other woman came close, and he’d wanted what he once had.

      Worse, he wanted her to pay for attempting to deny him any knowledge of his daughter.

      ‘Shannay.’

      The waitress delivered her latte, and she selected two sugar tubes, broke them open and stirred in the contents.

      Shannay took a deliberate sip of the frothy, milky liquid, then she carefully replaced the glass onto its saucer and met Marcello’s studied gaze.

      ‘Let’s get this over with, shall we?’ she suggested coolly.

      ‘Put our cards on the table, so to speak?’ Marcello drawled.

      He was a superb strategist who played the game according to his own rules … and inevitably saved the sting for a coup de grâce.

      Estimating precisely what that would encompass had kept her awake many nights and had haunted her dreams for a long time.

      ‘Yes.’ Delay wouldn’t achieve a thing, and wasn’t discovering the enemy’s game-plan half the battle?

      ‘The initial step is establishing legal evidence of my paternity.’

      ‘Something I won’t consent to without being fully aware of your intentions.’ Her voice was even, polite. ‘Immediate and long term.’

      His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Whatever is decided will be primarily in Nicki’s best interests,’ he assured with hateful ease.

      ‘How can that be so?’ Shannay demanded, glaring at him. ‘Establishing custody rights will provide a total disruption to her life. Schooling, friends, family. Any hope of stability.’ She could feel herself winding up. ‘I’m her mother, dammit.’

      He looked at her for what seemed an age, noting the fine edge of her anger, the restrained need to fight him … regardless of common-sense.

      ‘Nicki hasn’t displayed any curiosity about the absence of a father in her life?’

      She ignored the silkiness in his voice, the latent anger held in tight control, and her eyes sharpened beneath the dark inflexibility evident in his.

      ‘Inevitably, soon after she began attending kindergarten,’ she revealed.

      ‘And?’

      Her gaze didn’t waver. ‘I told her the very basic truth.’

      An eyebrow lifted. ‘Enlighten me.’

      ‘I left her father before she was born.’ She lifted a hand and smoothed it over her hair in an unconscious gesture. ‘A number of children have single parents nowadays.’

      Marcello leaned back in his chair and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Except you’re still married, Shannay. To me.’

      ‘Not for much longer.’

      His smile was a faint facsimile. ‘In four years you have only considered filing for divorce now?’

      ‘I’m not part of one of your business deals, Marcello. So quit playing psychological games.’ Shannay buttoned down her frustrated anger. ‘Spell out exactly what you intend.’

      For a moment she imagined she glimpsed a fleeting shadow in the depth of his eyes, only to dismiss it.

      ‘With Nicki?’

      ‘Of course, with Nicki!’

      ‘Initially, I want to gift a sick elderly man the opportunity to meet his only great-grandchild.’

      It wasn’t the answer she expected, nor was the mixture of emotions that tore at her heart. ‘Ramon is ill?’

      The one person who had attempted to smooth over the family discord at Marcello’s choice of a wife. Someone who saw more than anyone intended, and became her ally. ‘How ill?’

      ‘The medical professionals predict he has only a matter of months. Maybe less.’

      The implications assumed vivid reality. Achieving his objective would involve taking Nicki to Spain.

      Pain escalated as it raced through her body, consuming her mind with turmoil. ‘I won’t allow you to take her overseas.’ Rationality went out the window. ‘She doesn’t have a passport. Hell, she doesn’t even know you!’

      What if he didn’t bring Nicki back?

      What if Nicki became distressed, distraught …?

      ‘Naturally, you would accompany her.’

      Revisit a place where she had spent the worst twenty months of her life?

      Mix with a family who hid their disapproval of Marcello’s choice of a wife beneath a thin veneer of politeness? A former lover, touted not to be so former, who delighted in causing mischief and mayhem?

      ‘You have to be kidding!’

      ‘A few weeks,’ Marcello elaborated. ‘That’s all.’

      Shannay closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘No.’

      ‘I gave Ramon my word.’

      Something which only made the situation worse. ‘Ramon knows about Nicki?’

      ‘My grandfather was—’ he paused fractionally ‘—inadvertently appraised of Nicki’s existence.’

      It wasn’t difficult to do the maths. ‘Penè.’ Marcello’s widowed aunt, a disgruntled woman who took delight in running interference.

      She had no difficulty envisaging Sandro informing Marcello of his chance encounter a week ago, or the manner in which Penè came to hear of it.

      Happy families. Not.

      There was more. Ramon’s illness was only a part of it.

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘And?’

      One eyebrow slanted in silent query.

      She took a deliberate sip of coffee, then another, before replacing the glass onto its saucer as she speared him with

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