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alone, and unless I see you change your lifestyle to reflect the core values of DSE, I cannot be certain you are the right man for the job.’

       CHAPTER THREE

      IT WAS A PITY, Constantin thought bitterly later that night as he let himself into the house in Grosvenor Square, that the conversation with his uncle had not taken place a week ago, before he had made it clear to Isobel that their marriage was over.

      It was past midnight and Whittaker had retired for the night, but the butler had left a decanter of malt whisky on the table in the sitting room with a note informing him that there were sandwiches in the fridge. Constantin had not eaten since lunch, but it had been a hell of a day, with meetings in Milan, Paris and London, and he had no appetite for food. He poured himself a large drink, sank down onto the sofa and picked up the television remote to flick through the channels.

      How could Alonso consider handing the chairmanship of DSE to Maurio? His cousin was a pleasant enough young man, but he wouldn’t last five minutes in the cut-throat corporate world. Constantin took a long swig of whisky and savoured its subtle warmth at the back of his throat. Nerve, daring and vision were the qualities required to head the billion-pound business that DSE had grown to be since he had become CEO. He had great plans for the future development of the company, but if his cousin was made Chairman, certain board members who were set in their ways would undoubtedly try to influence Maurio against him.

      He took another gulp of whisky, and it occurred to him that maybe he drank too much. He shrugged. Alcohol worked well as an anaesthetic when he needed to blank out painful memories. If he drank enough, he might be able to snatch a few hours’ sleep. Ever since Isobel’s visit a week ago, his old nightmares had returned to haunt him and remind him of why he could not risk being with her.

      He frowned as he recalled her strange reaction to the phone call she had received as she had been about to walk out of the door. He had not imagined the fearful expression in her eyes, although when he had asked her about the call she had denied anything was wrong. Beneath her air of self-confidence he had seen her vulnerability that had reminded him of the shy young secretary who used to watch him with her big, hazel eyes when she thought he was not aware of her.

      He swore, and swallowed the rest of his drink before refilling his glass. He accepted that he bore most of the responsibility for the disintegration of their marriage, but Isobel was not completely blameless. He had lost count of the times he had come home from work to an empty house, and spent the evening alone while she had been singing with her band in pubs and clubs. Isobel had accused him of not understanding how important music was to her, and if he was honest he had resented the fact that the Stone Ladies had become an increasingly big part of her life.

      When she had left him two years ago, he’d told himself it was best for both of them. Isobel had gone on to establish a hugely successful career. But now his career was under threat and the only way he could secure his rightful position as undisputed head of DSE was to persuade her to come back to him, days after he had admitted that the only reason he had married her was because she had been pregnant with his child. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. The expression that he had ‘burned his bridges’ could not be more apt, Constantin thought sardonically.

      The wildlife documentary on the television failed to hold his interest. He flicked over the channel to a popular chat show and his attention was suddenly riveted on the screen.

      ‘The Stone Ladies are arguably the most successful British folk-rock band of the past five years,’ the chat-show host said. He went on to list the band’s numerous music awards, but Constantin was only half listening as he stared at the image of Isobel that filled his TV screen. She was wearing a black leather minidress and thigh-high boots that drew attention to her endlessly long legs. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders and her lovely face was animated as she charmed the chat-show host with her quick wit and impressive self-assurance.

      It was hard to believe that she was the same Isobel who had been painfully shy and overawed when he had invited her to spend the weekend with him at his penthouse apartment in Rome, Constantin brooded. He had patiently drawn her out of her shell, but he had still been shocked on their first night together when he had discovered that she was a virgin. His gut clenched as memories flooded his mind. What she had lacked in experience she had more than made up for in her eagerness to please him, he remembered.

      On the television, the chat-show host had turned the interview with the band to questions about their personal lives. ‘Ben and Carly, you announced your engagement a few months ago, and I believe you are planning your wedding for later this year?’

      The couple, who were the drummer and keyboard player, confirmed that they were planning to marry in the autumn. The interviewer then turned to Isobel and the fourth member of the band, Ryan Fellows. ‘And how about you two?’ the chat-show host asked coyly. ‘You have never confirmed or denied the rumours that you are more than good friends. So, what is the exact nature of your relationship?’

      Constantin gritted his teeth as he watched the long-haired guitarist put his arm around Isobel’s shoulders. ‘It’s true that Izzy and I are very good friends.’ Fellows grinned at Isobel and she smiled back at him. ‘I may be making an announcement in the near future,’ the guitarist added.

      What did the blasted pretty-boy rock star mean by that? Anger boiled Constantin’s blood as it occurred to him that the reason Isobel had insisted he could not cite her desertion as a reason for their divorce might be because she did not want to look bad to her fans when she went public about her relationship with Ryan Fellows.

      Santa Madre! It was clear she had already got another man lined up to take his place. She had insisted that her relationship with Fellows was an innocent friendship, but as Constantin watched Isobel and the guitarist on the TV the closeness between the golden couple was evident for the world to see. Bile rose in his throat. How dared she flaunt her lover in public when she was still married to him? When they had married three years ago, their low-key wedding had gone unnoticed by the press. But, hell, he felt like a cuckold.

      Constantin reached for the whisky bottle and filled his glass once more, while his mind worked furiously. If Isobel was involved with Ryan Fellows, why had she looked at him with a hunger in her eyes that had tempted him to bend her over the arm of the sofa and pull her jeans down so that he could give them both the satisfaction they craved? Could it be that the pretty-boy guitarist did not satisfy her?

      His wife was a highly sensual woman, Constantin brooded. Dio! The scorching sexual chemistry between him and Isobel had been beyond anything he’d ever experienced with any other woman. When they had first been married they had spent hours indulging in erotic and highly satisfying lovemaking.

      Did Isobel miss those wildly passionate sessions? When she had surprised him in the gym the other night, the sexual chemistry between them had been tangible. He had come so close to tumbling her down onto the gym mat and taking her hard and fast—and she would not have stopped him. She had pretended to be outraged, and had denied that she wanted him, but her body language had betrayed her.

      Constantin’s thoughts turned to his uncle’s threat to deny him the chairmanship of DSE. When he had stormed out of Alonso’s office it had not entered his mind to comply with the old man’s ultimatum to resume his marriage in order to secure the position of Chairman. But as he stared at the TV screen and watched Isobel rest her hand on Ryan Fellows’s thigh as they sat close together on the sofa, the burning rage inside him grew cold and congealed into a hard knot of fury.

      DSE was his birthright. The company was the only thing that made him feel proud of being a De Severino. What was he otherwise? He was the son of a monster, taunted a voice inside his head. He dared not look too deeply inside himself for fear of what he might discover. He could not risk having a relationship that involved his emotions. DSE was his all-consuming mistress, his raison d’être, and he would do whatever it took to claim what was rightfully his.

      By walking out on him two years ago, Isobel had jeopardised his chance of becoming Chairman of DSE. But if he could persuade

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