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For a moment Nicki looked hesitant, then she nodded as Marcello offered a few soft, reassuring words.
‘Holà, Bisabuelo.’
Shannay’s eyes widened in startled surprise. The pronunciation was good. Who? Marcello … of course, possibly coached by Maria.
For a moment she had mixed feelings, then they were overcome by Ramon’s obvious delight.
‘Nicki. A beautiful name for a beautiful little girl,’ he said gently.
‘Marcello—my daddy—sometimes calls me pequena,’ Nicki said solemnly. ‘That means little.’
His smile melted Shannay’s heart. ‘Indeed it does. You must visit often, and I will teach you some Spanish.’
‘I’ll have to ask Mummy if it’s OK.’
‘Of course,’ Ramon agreed with equal solemnity, and cast Shannay an enquiring glance.
‘It will be a pleasure.’ How could she say anything else?
‘Marcello shall bring you.’
Nicki looked momentarily unsure. ‘Mummy, too?’
‘Naturally. We shall make it mornings, then you will have the rest of the day to explore.’ He glanced up at the slight sound of a door opening. ‘Ah, here is Sophia with our tea.’
Tea with delicious bite-size sandwiches and pastries, some pleasant conversation, after which Marcello indicated they should leave.
‘Hasta mañana.’
Until tomorrow.
Carlo drove them past the Warner Bros Park, a visit to which Marcello promised as a treat in store.
‘You’re a busy man,’ Shannay protested lightly.
‘Impossible I have learnt to delegate?’
‘Improbable.’
‘You are wrong.’
She looked at him carefully. ‘We don’t expect you to give up your time.’
Dark eyes travelled to her mouth and lingered there a moment too long. ‘It is my pleasure to do so.’
Pleasure being the operative word, and unmistakable.
Shannay could feel colour tinge her cheeks, and she shot him a dark glance before becoming seemingly engrossed in the scene beyond the car window.
It was during dinner that evening that she brought up his social life, and a firm reiteration she didn’t require to be entertained … especially by him.
‘Won’t your—er—’ she paused with deliberate delicacy ‘—current lover,’ she lightly stressed, ‘become impatient at your absence?’
One eyebrow slanted in silent mockery. ‘From her bed?’ And noted with interest the increased thud of a pulse at the base of her throat. ‘Possibly,’ he drawled, and took his time in adding, ‘If I had one.’
She refused to rise to the bait. ‘Estella has become the consummate mistress?’
‘Something you would need to ask of her husband.’
Estella had married? ‘I find it difficult to believe she gave up on you.’
His smile was a mere facsimile. ‘It takes two, amada, and I was never a contender.’
It wasn’t easy to feign indifference, but she managed it. ‘Could we change the subject?’
‘Yet you brought it up,’ he reminded with hateful simplicity.
‘Is Ramon in much pain?’ She kept the faintly desperate edge from her voice, and had the impression it didn’t fool him at all.
Marcello’s gaze didn’t shift from her own as he inclined his head. ‘He has ongoing medical attention with a doctor and nurse in residence. It is his wish to remain at home.’
Shannay knew his condition, and the odds. There was little to be done, except keep him comfortable.
‘I would ask that you and Nicki remain here until Ramon slips into a coma.’
She should have seen it coming, and she cursed herself for not foreseeing just this eventuality.
‘I have a job,’ she reminded. ‘We have an agreement. After three weeks Nicki and I return to Perth.’
‘I’m sure your leave can be extended on compassionate grounds.’
It could. If she wanted it extended.
The truth being she didn’t trust herself to stay in Marcello’s company any longer than she had to.
They shared a history, a potent chemistry she didn’t dare stir into vibrant life.
He was dangerous, primitive, and intently focused.
A surge of helpless anger rose to the fore at his manipulation, and her gaze hardened as she sought a measure of control.
‘You believe I brought you here with an ulterior motive in mind?’
How could she doubt it? ‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps you’d care to elaborate?’
His voice was a silky drawl as his eyes pierced her own, silently daring her to avoid his gaze.
‘I think you’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you get what you want,’ she retaliated heatedly.
‘And what is it you imagine I want?’
‘Nicki.’
His expression didn’t change. ‘Of course. What else?’
She couldn’t bear to be in his presence a moment longer, and she stood to her feet, tossed aside her napkin and turned away from him.
‘One day you won’t run.’
Shannay swivelled and sent him a venomous glare. ‘You think?’
He had the strong desire to haul her over his shoulder and carry her kicking and protesting to his bed.
As he had done once in the past, when mere words had become an impossible means of communication. Kisses tempered by anger assumed reluctant passion, then became more, so much more, until there was no denial of need, or a mutual sensual recognition that overcame all else … until reality in the light of day intruded.
Was her memory of what they’d shared as hauntingly vivid as his own?
Did it keep her awake nights?
He was counting on it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHANNAY CHECKED her appearance, and wondered how she could look so calm, when her nerves were shot to pieces and it seemed as if a dozen butterflies were beating their wings madly inside her stomach.
She really didn’t want to do this.
Re-entering the Madrid social scene had never been part of the plan.
Hell, nothing that had happened in the past few weeks formed part of any plan she could have envisaged in her worst nightmare!
Yet the evening represented a fundraiser for a worthy charity, one of a few supported by the Martinez corporation.
Marcello’s attendance was a given and, as his purported newly reconciled wife, she was expected to appear by his side.
Something suitable to wear had been dealt with with remarkable ease. All it had taken was a phone call to a prominent boutique with her measurements to have a selection of gowns delivered to Marcello’s home.
Now she viewed the café-au-lait gown in silk organza with its elegant, finely pleated bodice, thin spaghetti straps and full-length soft, flowing skirt, the stiletto-heeled evening shoes … and felt reasonably confident her choice was the right one.
Understated make-up with emphasis on her eyes, a faint tinge of blush at her cheeks and lipgloss … with her hair in a smooth twist.
‘You look like a princess.’
Shannay turned towards Nicki and blew her a kiss. ‘Thank you.’
‘Gracias,’ her daughter corrected with a grin. ‘Me and Maria are going to watch Shrek.’
‘Just for a little while. When Maria says it’s time for bed, you won’t fuss. OK?’
‘‘Kay.’
Time to go downstairs, join Marcello, then step into a Martinez chauffeured limousine … secure in the knowledge Nicki would be well looked after in Maria’s care, with Carlo in charge, and a direct private line on speed-dial to both her and Marcello’s cellphone.
Shannay collected the matching evening bag, then held out her hand. ‘Come on, imp. Party-time.’
A faint knock on Nicki’s bedroom door accompanied by the sound of a familiar male voice had the little girl racing through the connecting en suite.
‘Daddy’s here!’
Large as life and far too stunningly attractive in dark evening wear, Shannay perceived as she attempted without success to still the warmth flooding through her veins at the mere sight of him.
Fine white shirt linen provided a stark contrast with his olive skin and dark, well-groomed hair, his tailored suit displaying an impeccable fit as it moulded his superbly muscled frame.
It was little wonder women of all ages felt emboldened to flex their flirting skills in his presence, for he possessed a raw sexuality combined with the hint of something forbidden, almost verging on the savagely primitive.
A modern-day warrior who fought daily with powerful brokers in numerous countries around the world, constantly seeking an essential edge … and always watching his back.
Dark inscrutable eyes took in her slim form, the child regarding him with dancing anticipation, and he leant down and scooped Nicki into his arms.
‘Isn’t Mummy beautiful?’ his daughter confided, and his mouth curved into a generous smile.
‘Beautiful,’ Marcello agreed. ‘Just like you.’
A compliment that earned him an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek.
Ten minutes later Shannay sat in the rear seat of the limousine as it cleared the gates and traversed the avenue leading towards the main arterial route into the city.
‘There’s something missing,’ Marcello drawled and reached into his jacket pocket, extracted a small velvet case and snapped it open.
‘Give me your hand.’
He sensed her hesitation and simply caught hold of her left hand, and slid the exquisite baguette-style diamond ring onto the appropriate finger.
Her wedding ring. The one she’d left behind the night she’d fled his home, his country.
‘I don’t—’
‘Want to wear it?’ His dark eyes met hers and held them. ‘But you will.’
‘Why?’
‘I would have thought it obvious.’
‘The orchestrated reconciliation,’ she acknowledged drily, and saw his cynical smile.
‘Need I remind you the marriage remains intact?’
