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Delucca's Marriage Contract
ABBY GREEN
MORE THAN HE BARGAINED FOR…Giancarlo Delucca has one aim – to go global. Even if it means marrying the O’Connor heiress to secure the contract.Keelin O’Connor wants a place on the board – and no part in this business ‘arrangement’! Gianni may have vowed to seduce his wayward bride, but Keelin is fighting him every step down the aisle.Happily ever after was never part of the bargain, but Gianni finds himself intrigued by Keelin’s feisty defiance. And suddenly he’s determined to turn the beautiful Irish redhead’s ‘I don’t’ into an ‘I do’!Welcome to The Chatsfield, Rome!
Gianni’s mouth twisted. ‘You might not want this situation but you want me, as much as I want you.’
The air seemed to throb and shimmer between them with heat and tension, and Gianni stared at her for such a long moment that Keelin almost begged him to stop, but then he lifted his hand and looked at the watch on his wrist. He looked at her again, coolness in his eyes now. ‘A stylist and beauty team are on their way here to get you ready for the party. I’ll be back later to pick you up.’
Clearly nothing she’d said had made one dent in his bid to secure this deal with her father; he was steamrollering ahead and taking her with him.
She put her hands on her hips, aware of the little betraying tremor. ‘Now wait just a minute, if you think that I’m going to just—’
The words died in her throat when Gianni stalked closer, a look of dangerous intent on his face. It didn’t scare Keelin that he might kiss her again, it excited her. But he didn’t.
‘This marriage is happening, Keelin. Now more than ever. And if you don’t start washing off that persona you’ve been playing with for the last forty-eight hours, then I’ll be more than happy to take you to the shower to help you. So what’s it to be?’
Delucca’s
Marriage
Contract
Abby Green
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABBY GREEN deferred doing a social anthropology degree to work freelance as an assistant director in the film and television industry—which is a social study in itself! Since then it’s been early starts, long hours, mucky fields, ugly car parks and wet-weather gear—especially working in Ireland. She has no bona fide qualifications, but could probably help negotiate a peace agreement between two warring countries after years of dealing with recalcitrant actors. Since discovering a guide to writing romance one day, she decided to capitalise on her long-time love for Mills & Boon
romances and attempt to follow in the footsteps of such authors as Kate Walker and Penny Jordan.
She’s enjoying the excuse to be paid to sit inside, away from the elements. She lives in Dublin and hopes that you will enjoy her stories. You can e-mail her at abbygreen3@yahoo.co.uk (mailto:abbygreen3@yahoo.co.uk).
This is for Paul Gallant, my Canadian pen pal since we worked waiting tables together in Dublin’s Temple Bar (pre stag/hen party era) in 1990. It’s been a pleasure communicating in the old-fashioned way with you. Here’s to many more years of Irish/Canadian dispatches. x
Contents
Cover (#ubed20229-43ab-52d3-9384-c70661b3dcf2)
Introduction (#u5700e170-842c-5308-b0d2-7a881bb5a21b)
The Chatsfield (#u33fe32a8-845c-5413-89ba-03fd2cd8f27b)
Title Page (#u145b7406-a3b4-5e17-94e7-9cb55d6b06d0)
About the Author (#u833d9134-e0e2-56bf-b8bf-bb7219f2ad7d)
Dedication (#ue4a42d1a-e575-5f53-b5c3-4fff4ef72a9f)
Harrington Family Tree (#u2c12d617-125d-5a37-9850-11a59ab28a98)
Chatsfield Family Tree (#u70b90d17-785d-503d-9514-64178d1874c7)
PROLOGUE (#uad958fc9-2b19-5ca4-82b2-a8d9c6ee7e21)
CHAPTER ONE (#ubc8b68cc-cefa-5256-bbb1-1c72fe3cbf5e)
CHAPTER TWO (#ubb8a8bb7-133b-51c7-b6f8-95ff5ddca5b3)
CHAPTER THREE (#u94af0cb9-c1b2-5bd1-8d89-13b729b2ff05)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Welcome Ms Green (#litres_trial_promo)
Welcome Mr. Delucca (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_03301dcc-4a6f-5cb7-80c0-9a43b8861003)
‘THAT’S THE DEAL, Delucca, take it or leave it. I don’t think I need to tell you that if you leave it the O’Connor brand won’t be affected.’
Giancarlo Delucca gritted his jaw at the arrogant tone. The unspoken insinuation from the older Irish man wasn’t subtle: But the Delucca brand might languish in European shopping aisles for years before making it globally.
Gianni, still reeling slightly, looked at Liam O’Connor, who sat in a leather chair with his back to the impressive view of Dublin’s financial district.
‘And what does your daughter think of this proposed arranged marriage?’
O’Connor’s grey eyes narrowed, and there was a barely perceptible tightening around his mouth. ‘Keelin is loyal to the family business.’
Gianni responded with a hint of incredulity. ‘Loyal enough to agree to a marriage of convenience?’
Suddenly feeling agitated, Gianni didn’t wait for a reply and went to stand at one of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. He put his hands in his pockets to stop himself from running them impatiently through his hair—a bad habit. He felt claustrophobic. Marriage. That word called up all sorts of dark images and bad memories. He’d only ever seen the worst a marriage had to offer so he’d vowed never to take that route himself. But the unpalatable fact was that he needed this merger with the vastly successful O’Connor Foods brand to break into the more lucrative global market, and namely, America.
That would take him away from the bitter memories of his childhood and young adulthood. It would civilise the Delucca name, make him invulnerable, and in time no one would ever remember that Delucca had once been one of the Mafia’s most notorious names.
O’Connor’s voice came from behind him. ‘Keelin is a beautiful woman. Well educated. She’ll be an asset on your arm as you move forward and expand.’
Gianni’s mouth tightened as the kind of domestic scenario he hadn’t ever envisaged took root in his mind, much to his disgust. He didn’t want O’Connor to see the myriad emotions he was feeling in his eyes, so didn’t turn around. ‘You think that I can’t find a wife of my own choosing?’ Not that he’d contemplated it!
Liam O’Connor laughed dryly. ‘Delucca, I have no doubt that you could click your fingers and find a wife in seconds. Your reputation—’
Gianni swung around then, cutting the other man off. He forced his voice to sound calm when inside he felt hot, irritated. ‘Be very careful, O’Connor.’
The other man stood up from behind his desk and came around it. He was tall and imposing. Handsome, with a head of thick silver hair. The older alpha male squaring up to the younger one, even if Gianni was taller, younger and infinitely more handsome than O’Connor ever had been. Gianni knew all about alpha males; he’d squared up to the most alpha of them all: his father.
O’Connor spoke bluntly. ‘No other company can give you the instant sheen of respectability that we can, merely by association. If we merge, people trust our name enough to automatically trust you. Your products will be on shelves across the world within months. I am offering you the chance to prove your commitment to both your brand and your family name. You don’t need me to tell you that the people you will be dealing with will be more likely to put their trust and investment in a family man.’
Again the unspoken rang as loudly as a bell in the room: And in someone who didn’t have links to the underworld, or who had the damaging reputation of a playboy. Damn him. O’Connor was right. So how badly did he want this? Badly enough to embark on a union he’d never wished for? For the sake of a deal? Social acceptance? Professional respectability?
But it’s the deal of a lifetime, whispered a little voice.
Wanting to assert his position more, Gianni pointed out, ‘That may very well be the case but don’t forget that your own business will be reinvigorated by a new association with a luxury Italian brand of products, the first merger of its kind.’
O’Connor inclined his head with a spark in his eyes. He obviously didn’t like to be reminded that his motives weren’t exactly altruistic.
And then Gianni asked abruptly, ‘Why is it so important to you that marriage to your daughter is part of the deal?’
The spark in O’Connor’s eyes was quickly veiled as he said easily, ‘She’s our only child and heir. I’m an old-fashioned man, Delucca. I want her future to be secure, and through her and you, we keep our name alive.’
Gianni felt a niggle of suspicion but then something caught his peripheral vision and he looked past O’Connor to where a group of framed photos were hung on a wall. He walked over. There were pictures of O’Connor with various celebrities, including two American presidents, and then presumably his wife—an attractive woman with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes.
And below them all was an image of a young woman on a horse, head back and wide generous mouth open, clearly laughing. Slim shoulders. A snug T-shirt hugged generous firm breasts. He could just make out a narrow waist, gently flaring hips. Taut thighs. She was stunningly beautiful. Almond-shaped green eyes, lighter than her mother’s. Vibrant red hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Pale skin with flushed rosy cheeks. Freckles.
Something deep in Gianni’s gut clenched at her unadorned beauty. Even though she wasn’t remotely his type.
He barely picked up on the faintly smug tone in O’Connor’s voice when the man said, ‘That’s my daughter, Keelin. So have you come to a decision?’
Gianni didn’t answer out loud. He didn’t need to. They both knew the answer.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_8e859e02-2faa-54cf-a2f1-96cb211cf667)
KEELIN O’CONNOR SURVEYED the lavishly decorated hotel room in the exclusive Harrington Hotel in Rome. Almost nothing was visible because glossy shopping bags covered every surface. As a shopping novice, she hoped she’d gone far enough, not really knowing what constituted gross levels of consumerism beyond what she saw on some trashy reality-TV programmes of the rich and famous.
Her fiancé—who also happened to be a complete stranger—was due any minute and she hated that the palms of her hands were sweaty with nerves when her blood still boiled with anger and humiliation at what her father expected her to do.
‘You can’t be serious.’ She’d looked at her father two weeks ago and battled a very familiar sense of angry futility.
Liam O’Connor’s expression was as hard as flint. ‘I am.’
Keelin had spoken slowly as if to make sure she wasn’t in the middle of a nightmare. ‘You’ve sold me off in some marriage deal to a complete stranger—’
Her father slashed a hand through the air. ‘It is not like that. Giancarlo Delucca is one of Italy’s most innovative entrepreneurs. Italian food and wine exports are booming and in the space of only three years the Delucca name has gained respect all over Europe, not to mention tripled its profits, which is unheard of at the moment.’
‘So what the hell does that have to do with me?’
Her tall father had put his hands on his desk and leant forward. ‘What it has to do with you, my girl, is everything. I want a merger with this man to secure the future of O’Connor Foods and as my daughter you are part of the deal.’
Keelin’s hands curled to fists but she’d barely noticed her nails digging into soft skin. ‘This is archaic.’
Her father straightened up and said scathingly, ‘Don’t be so naive. This is about business. Giancarlo Delucca is a young man, and good-looking. Rich. Any woman would be delighted to have him as her husband.’
Keelin had responded bitterly. ‘Any woman, perhaps, with about two brain cells to rub together.’ She’d ignored her father’s darkening expression and tried to call up the little she knew of Delucca from her overheated brain. ‘Doesn’t he have links to the Mafia?’
Her father replied tautly. ‘His father had links to the Mafia. And he’s dead. That’s all in the past now. Delucca is determined to put it behind him and prove to people that he’s respectable. That’s why he’s willing to marry and settle down.’
Keelin laughed but it sounded strangled and semi-hysterical. ‘Lucky me!’
Liam O’Connor’s grey gaze, so different to Keelin’s own green one, narrowed on her. ‘Haven’t you always wanted me to involve you in the business?’
‘Yes,’ she’d said huskily, emotion a tight ball in her chest to be reminded of how comprehensively she’d been shut out. ‘But as the person who stands to inherit the O’Connor brand. Not as some chattel to be sold off to the highest bidder.’
Her father’s mouth had tightened. ‘You’ve hardly given me the confidence that you can be trusted to inherit anything, Keelin.’
Futile anger rose in a dizzying rush and, terrified emotion might leak out of her eyes, she’d stalked over to the large window which showcased an impressive view of a soaring modern bridge, named after the great playwright Samuel Beckett, over the River Liffey. Dublin had sparkled benignly in the spring sunshine.
But she’d seen none of it. She’d felt only an inner tsunami of pain to be so misunderstood, still. She’d known for ever that she was a disappointment to her parents: to her mother for not being the girlie girl she wanted to show off. And to her father for being a girl, and not a worthier boy. And as soon as Keelin had recognised that as a distinct lack of love, it had seared a need into her psyche to get her father’s attention at all costs, which had manifested in a series of teenage rebellions that had been as futile as they were excruciating to remember now.
And even though she’d matured and left those petty rebellions behind, nothing had really changed. Her parents hadn’t even deigned to come and see her graduate from university recently.
Her own reflection was distorted in the glass-pale face, huge eyes. Red hair. Too red. It had always marked her out as far too easy to pinpoint when there was trouble, unwittingly helping her to act out her pathetic bid for love and attention.
When she’d felt composed enough she’d turned around again. ‘And what about our name? If I marry him it’ll die out anyway!’
Her father had shaken his head. ‘No, it won’t. Delucca has agreed that our name and branding will remain and be passed down to your sons.’
Her sons. With a complete stranger. A gangster.
Her father had walked around the desk to come and stand a few feet away from her, his face softening slightly. Emotion had gripped her again. Was she such a sucker for any sliver of affection that she would fall for this thinly veiled act?
He’d sighed heavily. ‘The truth is that O’Connor Foods is struggling, like almost every other business out there.’
Keelin had frowned; she’d been aware that the company hadn’t been doing as well as in previous years but not badly enough to merit alarm. And how would she really know when she was kept firmly excluded from the inner sanctum? ‘Struggling—how do you mean?’
He’d waved a hand, avoiding a direct answer. ‘Aligning with Delucca will give us the boost we need, and the protection, going forward. And then there’s you. I want to know that your future is secured.’
Keelin hadn’t been fooled for a second that he genuinely cared for her welfare even though a weak part of her yearned for it. She’d taken advantage of his softer stance to try to make him see that she was serious about wanting to be involved. ‘But my future will be secure. I can work with you to help shore up the defences, take the company forward. I’m ready to—’
He’d lifted a hand, any trace of softness disappearing. ‘If you truly want to prove that you can be part of this company in a meaningful way, then this marriage is the only solution, Keelin.’
A tiny flame of hope sputtered out. It mocked the defences she thought she’d honed over years of neglect. She shook her head, a sense of betrayal rising within her. ‘I won’t do it.’
