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his attention to Nicki. ‘Not much longer, pequena, and we will be there.’

      Nicki regarded him solemnly. ‘What did you call me?’

      ‘Pequena,’ he said gently. ‘It’s an affectionate name for a little girl.’

      She tried it out, copying his intonation, and his smile broadened with gentle warmth as he complimented her, resulting in a beam of childish delight.

      They were bonding well … and that had to be a good thing, Shannay accepted. So why did it hurt so much?

      She met his gaze, attempted to read his expression, failed miserably, and transferred her attention to the scene beyond the limousine window.

      Marcello did enigmatic very well.

      What did she expect? For his expressed warmth towards her in Nicki’s presence to contain a grain of genuine emotion?

       Please.

      She didn’t feel a thing for him. Did she?

      Whatever was causing her heart to quicken its beat, or the butterflies having a ball in her stomach, was merely tension. The stress of ensuring Nicki’s emotional welfare remained on an even keel.

      Nearly four years’ absence had wrought few changes, and a slight frown creased her forehead when the limousine branched off the main arterial route leading into the city.

      It took a few kilometres for her tension to escalate as suspicion finally dawned.

      No. Please, please let me be wrong.

      Shannay kept her voice light, when inwardly she was beginning to silently seethe. ‘Where are you taking us, Marcello?’

      ‘My home in La Moraleja.’

      She shot him a look that inaudibly expressed you have to be joking. ‘A hotel suite would be more convenient.’

      ‘Ensuring difficulty in enforcing necessary security measures.’

      His voice held a degree of steely purpose she couldn’t fail to recognise … as he had meant her to.

      Her eyes sparked anger as they clashed with his, and if she could have hit him, she’d have lashed out and to hell with the consequences.

      Except Nicki was closeted between them, blissfully unaware of her mother’s rapidly mounting anger.

      But wait, just wait, her scathing look silently promised, until I get you alone, behind closed doors and well out of Nicki’s hearing.

      It was difficult to maintain a sense of calm during the time it took to reach La Moraleja, one of Madrid’s exclusive and luxurious suburbs.

      Marcello’s home was a testament to his wealth and position. Set in beautiful grounds, behind high walls and guarded by electronic gates, the mansion stood as a craftsmen’s masterpiece of rambling structural design combining two levels in cream stucco, a cream and terracotta-tiled roof and large curved windows with folding doors, most of which opened out onto a wide terracotta-tiled forecourt.

      The entrance was amazing with huge double wood-panelled doors studded in polished brass, reached from a porte cochère whose floor featured an exquisite detailed design in marble, accented in polished brass.

      She told herself she didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be reminded of the painful memories … or the good ones.

      It was too personal, too painful, and too much.

      Marcello had to know how being here would impact on her.

      A house with rooms where they’d argued, fought, made love …

      Yet it would become Nicki’s temporary home for designated periods of time throughout the year.

      Years, she corrected mentally. A place her daughter needed to familiarise herself with, feel welcome in, comfortable.

      Being here now made sense … for Nicki.

      For Shannay, it represented a torture that would stretch her nerves to breaking point over the next three weeks.

      He knew it, had planned it, and had deliberately kept her in the dark.

      For that he would pay … big time, she vowed as she stepped from the limousine and accompanied Nicki into the large formal foyer where they were greeted by Maria and Emilio, trusted staff of Marcello’s who lived in and took care of the house and grounds.

      Marble floors, a sweeping staircase, which curved elegantly to the upper floor, a glittering crystal chandelier against a backdrop of coloured patterned glass.

      Antique furniture rested against cream walls on which hung original works of art, interspersed with decoratively corniced mini-alcoves displaying an eclectic mix of exquisite vases, bowls and Venetian glassware.

      The mansion bore two wings separated by a wide oval balustraded gallery … one designed for formal entertaining with a large dining room, lounge, gourmet kitchen on the first level, while the upper floor held a large study, adjoining library, entertainment room and informal lounge. The west wing comprised three formal guest suites separated by an informal lounge on the first level, with five private suites reposing on the upper level.

      The grounds held an infinity pool, a cabana, a well-equipped gym and a tennis court. There were separate self-contained staff quarters built above a large six-car garage.

      A large home for one man, Shannay reflected … aware he used it as his main base in between frequent flights to various major cities in various European countries, wheeling and dealing as head of the Martinez corporation.

      Marcello’s personal portfolio was enviable, providing him with billionaire status in a business world frequented by the ruthless drive for power.

      Shannay wondered if he continued to entertain on a regular basis, whether he was active on the social scene and continued to support a few selected charities.

      In four years there had to have been at least a few women in his life. Imagining Marcello as a celibate was beyond the bounds of credibility.

      Which inevitably led to Marcello’s former lover … and Shannay’s nemesis. Estella de Cordova.

      Was the über socialite still on the scene?

      And if so, did Marcello intend to marry Estella after they divorced?

      A cold hand clutched her heart and squeezed mercilessly hard.

      Please, dear God, no.

      The thought Estella might have any part in Nicki’s welfare was enough to make Shannay want to throw up.

      ‘You’ve had a long flight,’ Maria began quietly. ‘I have tea and some light food prepared. Afterwards, perhaps you would like to rest.’

      Carlo brought in their bags and took them upstairs.

      ‘Tea would be lovely. Perhaps a glass of milk for Nicki,’ Shannay suggested as Marcello indicated the staircase.

      ‘First, I’ll show you to your rooms.’

      A personal escort? Somehow she expected him to disappear into his home office.

      ‘It’s a big house,’ Nicki voiced quietly as they reached the upper level. ‘Do other people live here?’

      ‘Sometimes there are guests,’ Marcello said gently, meeting her dark, solemn gaze.

      ‘Like Mummy and me.’

      ‘Yes.’

      Shannay felt her stomach execute a slow somersault as he turned away from the wing containing the guest suites and moved down the opposite passage.

      She knew the family wing well. Elegant suites, beautifully furbished and furnished.

      Did Marcello sleep alone in the master suite, or had he chosen another?

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