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‘I don’t want any, Mummy.’
If Nico’s appetite didn’t pick up soon she would have to take him back to the doctor, Kristen thought worriedly. She forced a smile. ‘Try and eat a little bit, and then I’ll tell you something exciting.’
She was rewarded with a flicker of interest in Nico’s chocolate button eyes as he ran into the kitchen and took his place at the table. ‘What’s ic-citing?’
‘Well, I’ve been thinking that it would be nice if I took some time off work so that we could have a holiday by the seaside. Would you like that?’
Nico’s wide smile was all the answer she needed. It brought home to Kristen that she hadn’t seen his cheeky grin for weeks and her heart broke at the thought of her little boy’s sadness. She would make Nico happy again, she vowed. She would do whatever it took to see him return to his usual sunny nature, and if that meant swallowing her pride and asking his billionaire playboy father for financial help it would be a small price to pay.
* * *
‘Honestly, I’ve no idea why the newspaper printed an article about us being engaged.’ Felicity Denholm met Sergio’s frown with a guileless smile. ‘I admit I told a journalist that you’re in London to finalise a business deal with my father, and I may have mentioned that you’re planning to host a party tonight, but that’s all I said.’
She perched on the edge of Sergio’s desk so that her skirt rode up her thighs and gave a tinkling laugh that grated on his nerves. ‘I can’t imagine where the story about us planning to get married came from, but you know how the paparazzi like to stretch the truth.’
‘In this instance there is not a shred of truth to stretch,’ Sergio bit out. His jaw hardened as he struggled to control his impatience. He disliked the media’s fascination with his private life and he fiercely resented the publication of a story that was pure fiction.
Felicity shook her glossy chestnut curls over her shoulders. ‘Well, we’ve moved in the same social circles while you have been in London, and we were photographed together the other night when we bumped into one another at the theatre. I suppose it’s understandable that the press believe there’s something going on between us.’ She shifted position so that her skirt rode higher up her thighs and leaned towards Sergio, an artful smile on her red-glossed lips. ‘It almost seems a pity to disappoint them, doesn’t it?’ she murmured.
Sergio’s eyes narrowed. Denholm’s daughter was an attractive package and he had briefly considered accepting her not very discreet offer to take her to bed. But he had a golden rule never to mix business with pleasure and he had been far more interested in persuading the Earl to sell a property portfolio that included several prime sites in central London than to satisfy his libido with the lovely but, he suspected, utterly self-centred Felicity.
He was sure it had not been purely coincidence that she had appeared at every party he had attended in recent weeks. Her topics of conversation might be limited to fashion and celebrity gossip but she had stalked him with extraordinary determination. It was even possible that Felicity had been following her father’s instructions, Sergio mused. The Earl was a wily character who had been forced to sell his property portfolio to pay for the costly upkeep of the family’s stately home. Perhaps Charles Denholm had hoped to regain control of his assets by promoting a marriage between his daughter and the Sicilian usurper to his crown.
Sergio was infuriated that he had no way of proving who had planted the engagement story in the paper. All day his temper had simmered while he had dealt with the speculation caused by the article, and the last straw had been a terse telephone conversation with his father, who had demanded to know why he had learned of his son’s plan to marry from a newspaper.
‘The story is just that—a figment of a journalist’s imagination,’ he told Tito. ‘If I ever decide to marry, you will be the first to know. But don’t hold your breath,’ he added sardonically.
His father immediately launched into a tirade about it being time Sergio packed in his playboy lifestyle, settled down with a nice Italian girl and, most importantly, produced an heir to continue the Castellano family line.
‘You already have an heir in your granddaughter.’ Sergio reminded his father of his brother Salvatore’s little daughter, Rosa.
‘Of course, but she cannot shoulder the responsibility of the company alone,’ Tito growled. ‘Salvatore is a widower and unlikely to have more children, and so I have to put all my hopes on you, Sergio.’
Sergio was aware of the unspoken message that he was a disappointment to Tito. But he would not pick a bride in the hope of winning the old man’s approval. It would be pointless anyway. They both knew he was not the favoured son. And he had no wish to marry. It amazed him that his father did not understand his attitude when Tito’s own marriage to Sergio’s mother had been a disaster that had ended in bitterness and hatred that had had lifelong consequences for him and his brother.
Dragging his mind from the dark place of his childhood, he jerked to his feet and moved away from the desk where Felicity was still artfully sprawled. He wondered why, despite her obvious charms, he didn’t feel a spark of interest in her. In truth, he was becoming bored of meaningless sex. But what other kind of sex was there? he brooded. He had no interest in relationships that demanded his emotional involvement. Work was his driving force, although deep down he acknowledged that his ruthless ambition was partly fuelled by a desire to prove to his father that he was as worthy a son as his twin brother.
In his leisure time, all he required from the women who shared his bed was physical gratification. So why had he been feeling restless lately? What was he searching for when he had everything he could possibly want?
‘I have demanded the paper prints an admission that the story is entirely untrue,’ he told Felicity. ‘I can only apologise for any embarrassment the article may have caused you. As you know, I am giving a party tonight to celebrate the completion of the business deal with your father. Members of the press have been invited, and I intend to make a statement to set the record straight about us.’
Felicity tilted her head and gave him a kittenish smile. ‘Or you could ravish me on your desk,’ she invited boldly. ‘And then, who knows—maybe it won’t be necessary for the newspaper to retract the story.’
Maybe he was old-fashioned but he preferred to do the chasing, Sergio thought as he strode across the room and held open the door. ‘An interesting proposition, but I’m afraid I must decline,’ he drawled.
The young Englishwoman flushed at his rejection and slid off the desk. ‘No wonder you’re known as the Ice-man,’ she muttered sulkily. ‘Everyone says you have a frozen heart.’
Sergio gave her a coolly amused smile that did not reach his eyes. ‘Everyone is right. But I have no intention of discussing my emotions, or lack of them, with you.’ He glanced at his watch and ushered Felicity out of his office. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.’
* * *
The décor of the Hotel Royale was unashamedly opulent. Clearly the new owners, the Castellano Group, had spared no expense on the refurbishments and it was easy to see why the hotel had been awarded five-star status. The clientele were as glamorous as the surroundings, and as Kristen walked through the marble lobby she was conscious that her businesslike black skirt and white blouse were definitely not haute couture. It didn’t help that her feet were killing her. She was ruing her decision to wear a pair of three-inch stilettos that had been an impulse buy and had sat unworn at the back of her wardrobe for months.
Having made the decision to try and speak to Sergio, she had arranged for her neighbour to babysit Nico before she had caught the Tube to Bayswater. She half-expected the concierge to ask the reason for her visit but the reception area was busy and she walked past the front desk without anyone seeming to notice her. There was a good chance that Sergio would refuse to see her and so it seemed better to surprise him. The newspaper article had mentioned that he was staying in his private penthouse suite. As the lift whisked Kristen smoothly towards the top floor she could feel her heart beating painfully fast beneath her ribs.
It was a crazy idea to have come here, whispered a voice inside her head. Even if she managed to find Sergio, the prospect of telling him he had a son was daunting. She felt sick with nerves and when the lift doors opened she was tempted to remain inside and press the button for the ground floor. Only the memory of Nico’s excitement when she had promised to take him on holiday hardened her resolve to ask for financial help from Sergio.
She walked along numerous grey-carpeted corridors with a growing sense of despair that she did not have a clue where his private suite might be. Turning down another corridor, she was confronted with a set of double doors and a sign on the wall announced that she was outside the Princess Elizabeth Function Room.
A waiter emerged from a side door and, catching sight of Kristen, he thrust a tray filled with glasses into her hands. ‘Don’t just stand there,’ he said, sounding harassed. ‘They’re about to make a toast and some of the guests are still waiting for champagne.’
‘Oh, I’m not...’ she began to explain, but the waiter wasn’t listening as he opened the doors and practically pushed her into the room.
‘Hurry up. Mr Castellano is not happy that the party is running late.’
‘But...’ Kristen’s voice trailed off as the waiter hurried away. Glancing around the enormous function room, she realised that her outfit was almost identical to the waitresses’ uniform and it was easy to understand how she had been mistaken for a member of staff.
But at least she had found Sergio.
Her heart lurched as her eyes were drawn to the man at the far end of the room. His almost-black hair gleamed like raw silk beneath the blazing lights of the chandeliers. Taller than everyone circled around him and a hundred times more devastatingly handsome than the photo in the newspaper, it was not just his physical attributes that made him stand out from the crowd. Even from a distance, Kristen was conscious of his aura of power and charisma that made all other men seem diminished.
With his stunning looks, huge fortune and blatant virility, Sergio Castellano captured the attention of every woman in the room. But, although he smiled and exuded effortless charm, Kristen sensed a restless air about him. His dark eyes flicked around the room as if he was searching for someone. She caught her breath. He could not possibly know she was here, she reminded herself. And yet in Sicily their awareness of each other had been so acute that they had sensed each other’s presence across a crowded room, she remembered.
She watched a woman walk up to him and recognised her as the woman from the paper, Lady Felicity something-or-other. The woman he was planning to marry. The sensation of a knife-blade being thrust between her ribs made Kristen catch her breath. Four years ago Sergio had broken her heart but after all this time she had not anticipated that seeing him again would be so agonising.
He stepped onto a raised platform where a microphone had been set up. Kristen guessed he was about to announce his engagement to Felicity and she was unprepared for the violent feeling of possessiveness that swept through her. For years she had tried to forget Sergio because she had believed he was married to his Sicilian bride. But here he was, about to reveal his plans to marry another woman, while she was struggling to bring up his son on her own.
‘Ladies and gentlemen—’ Sergio’s gravelly voice filled the room, and an expectant hush descended over the guests ‘—as you are aware, tonight’s party is to celebrate the Castellano Group’s acquisition of an extensive portfolio of properties from Earl Denholm. Following an article in a certain daily newspaper, there is another matter I would like to address regarding Lady Felicity Denholm and myself...’
‘No! You can’t marry her!’
The words tumbled from Kristen’s mouth before she could stop them. Her voice sounded deafeningly loud in the silent room and she felt her face burn as the party guests all turned to look at her. She swallowed as Sergio jerked his head in her direction. Even across the distance of the room, she sensed his shock as he recognised her.
‘Kristen?’
The husky way he spoke her name, the slight accent on the first syllable, touched something deep inside her. Her eyes locked with his and she felt the same inexplicable connection she had felt the very first time she had seen him. But when they had met on a Sicilian beach Sergio had smiled at her. Now, his shocked expression was rapidly changing to anger—which was hardly surprising when she had just ruined his engagement party, Kristen thought ruefully.
Dear heaven, what had she done? But it was too late to backtrack now.
‘It...it isn’t right,’ she faltered. ‘You have responsibilities...you have...’ Her nerve failed her. She could not reveal to Sergio that he had a son when he was staring at her with a coldly arrogant expression that froze her blood.
‘What are you doing here?’ His voice sounded like the crack of a whip and jerked Kristen from her state of stunned immobility. She became aware of the startled faces of the guests around her and felt sick as the magnitude of what she had done hit her. She shouldn’t have come and she had to leave, immediately.
She thrust the tray of drinks into the hands of one of the guests and ran across to the double doors just as they opened to allow several waiters bearing trays of canapés to file into the room.
‘Stop her!’
The harsh command filled Kristen with panic. A security guard stepped in front of her, blocking her path, and she gave a startled cry as a hand settled heavily on her shoulder and spun her around. She stumbled in her high heeled shoes and fell against Sergio’s broad chest.
He stared down at her, his dark eyes blazing with fury. ‘What the hell is going on?’
As she stared at his handsome face, the words of apology died on Kristen’s lips and her brain stopped functioning. But her senses went into overdrive. The feel of his hand on her shoulder seemed to burn through her thin blouse and the close proximity of their bodies caused her heart to slam against her ribcage. For timeless moments the voices of the guests faded and there was just her and Sergio alone in the universe.
The anger in his eyes turned to curiosity and something else that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. An electrical current seemed to arc between them and Kristen felt heat surge through her body. But then a flashlight flared, half-blinding her, and when Sergio came back into focus his expression was once more furious.
His fingers gripped her shoulder so tightly that she winced. ‘Dio, the press are going to love this,’ he said bitterly.
The press! The flashbulbs suddenly made sense. Kristen stared wildly at the flank of photographers who were circling her and Sergio. No doubt the journalists were eager to know why she had interrupted him just as he had been about to announce his engagement. ‘Oh, God,’ she muttered and, with a strength born of desperation, she tore free from Sergio’s hold and shot past the security guard, out into the corridor.
With one of their quarry gone, the journalists crowded around Sergio. ‘Mr Castellano, do you want to make a statement?’
‘No, I damned well don’t,’ Sergio growled savagely. What he wanted to do was race after Kristen and find out what she was playing at. He had hardly been able to believe his eyes when he had looked across the ballroom and seen her, and one part of his mind had instantly registered that she was even lovelier than his memory of her.
Enzo, his PR man, appeared beside him and for once the usually unflappable manager looked shaken.
‘I think you should say something and explain the situation,’ Enzo advised in an undertone meant for Sergio’s hearing only. ‘Earl Denholm seems to think that you have humiliated his daughter by ending your engagement to her in public, and he’s threatening to call off the deal.’
‘Santa Madonna! There was no damned engagement. I assumed Felicity had made that clear to her father.’ Sergio’s nostrils flared as he struggled to control his temper. He had no wish to talk to the press, but if the deal with Denholm was about to blow up in his face he realised he had no choice.
He spun back round to the journalists, his face now expressionless as he controlled his anger. ‘There has been a misunderstanding. Miss Denholm and I are not engaged...’
A microphone was shoved at him. ‘Has she called it off because she found out about your mistress?’
‘Who is the mystery blonde who just left?’
‘Are you planning to marry the waitress?’
Sergio’s patience snapped. ‘I’m not planning to marry anyone—ever.’ He glanced at his PR man. ‘Enzo, I’ll leave you to deal with this—while I deal with the “mystery blonde”,’ he said with grim irony, and strode out of the function room.
CHAPTER TWO
WHERE THE HELL was she? Sergio stared up and down the empty corridor before turning left out of the function room. His instincts proved correct as he walked swiftly and turned a corner to see a petite blonde-haired figure at the far end of the passageway.
He was rarely surprised by anything, but tonight he had received a shock that was still causing his heart to thud unevenly. He had seen a ghost from his past, although Kristen Russell—for all her ethereal beauty—was no spectre from the spirit world. She was very real, albeit a woman now rather than the innocent girl he had known four years ago.
An unbidden memory came to him of the first time he had made love to her. It had been a new experience for both of them, he thought wryly. He had been shocked to discover she was a virgin. Before he had met her, and after their relationship had ended, his numerous affairs had been with women whose sexual experience matched his own. It was true that his affair with Kristen had been different from any of his previous relationships, but ultimately it had ended for the same reason his affairs always ended—she had wanted more from him than he could give. When she had left him, he had let her go, knowing there was no point trying to explain his bone-deep mistrust of emotional commitment.
Psychologists would no doubt blame his childhood and in particular his mother as a reason for his inability to connect with women on a deep level. Sergio’s mouth curved into a derisive smile. Maybe the shrinks were right. As a child he had taught himself to block out pain—both mental and physical—until nothing could hurt him. It was a trait he had continued as an adult and his freedom from emotional distractions gave him an edge over his business rivals and had earned him a reputation for ruthlessness in the boardroom.
Yet he admitted that he had missed Kristen, and for a while after she had returned to England he had been tempted to follow her and re-ignite the fiery passion that he had never felt so intensely for any other woman. He had resisted because nothing had changed. He could not be the man she wanted. And then there had been Annamaria, and for the only time ever in his life his actions had been driven by love. The cruelty of her untimely death had served as a reminder that even he could not freeze his emotions completely.
Sergio forced his mind from the past and continued his pursuit of Kristen along the corridor which led only to his private suite. She was clearly finding it difficult to keep up a fast pace in her high-heeled shoes and her hips swayed, causing her tightly clad derrière to bob tantalisingly in front of his eyes.
His footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet, but Kristen must have sensed someone was behind her because she glanced over her shoulder and gave an audible gasp when she saw him.
‘If you’re looking for the way out, you won’t find it along here,’ he told her curtly.
Kristen froze and, realising the futility of continuing along the corridor that appeared to be a dead end, she slowly turned to face the man who had haunted her dreams for so long. Sergio had caught up with her and was standing so close that she breathed in the sensual musk of his cologne. He towered above her, a darkly beautiful fallen angel in black tailored trousers and matching silk shirt. Her eyes darted to his face, and she caught her breath as she felt a kick of sexual awareness in the pit of her stomach. The faint shadow of black stubble on his jaw accentuated his raw masculinity and the curve of his wide mouth promised heaven. But it was his eyes that trapped her gaze, as dark and sensuous as molten chocolate, framed by lush black lashes.
Once, a long time ago, his eyes had held warmth, desire. But now his expression was cold and she sensed his anger was tightly controlled.
‘Besides, it’s pointless to look for the exit,’ he said in a dangerously soft voice. ‘You won’t be going anywhere until you’ve explained what in God’s name is going on.’
‘I’m sorry I interrupted your party,’ she said frantically. ‘It was a stupid thing to do.’ She hesitated, feeling guilty for the trouble she must have caused. ‘I...I hope Miss Denholm isn’t too upset.’
He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘She is not important.’
Kristen was shocked by his careless dismissal of his fiancée. ‘How can you regard announcing your intention to marry as unimportant?’ She gave him a disgusted look. ‘Although it’s not the first time you’ve got engaged so I suppose it might seem boring.’
Sergio’s eyes narrowed at her sarcastic tone. ‘What do you mean?’
Four years of hurt and anger exploded from Kristen. ‘You didn’t waste much time replacing me in your bed, did you?’ she said bitterly. ‘I heard that you’d got engaged to a Sicilian woman soon after we broke up. That’s why I didn’t...’
‘Didn’t what?’ he prompted when she broke off abruptly.
‘It...it doesn’t matter.’
She tore her eyes from his face. The reason she had not contacted him to tell him she was pregnant after she had left Sicily was not only because she had learned of his intention to marry another woman. She had been certain he would not be interested in the child she had conceived by him, and now she questioned why she had considered asking him for financial support for his son.
But surely it was fair that Sergio should take some responsibility for Nico? The voice of reason inside her head refused to be ignored. She had made the decision to ask him for financial help for Nico, and now that they were alone she had the perfect opportunity. Taking a deep breath, she said quickly, ‘I was wondering if I could speak to you?’
‘Certainly,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘I’m fascinated to hear why you gatecrashed my party. And after you’ve explained yourself to me, you can give a statement to the press.
‘Dio!’ His tenuous control over his temper cracked. ‘Have you any idea of the furore you’ve caused? Because of you, my business deal is about to go down the pan.’
So he regarded his engagement to Lady Felicity as a business deal! Kristen shook her head. She had known that Sergio was hard but, even so, she was shocked by the proof of his complete lack of emotion. She must have been mad to think he would agree to give financial assistance for Nico.
‘Actually, forget it,’ she muttered. ‘There’s no point in me talking to you.’ She tried to walk past him but his hand shot out and gripped her shoulder. Panic sharpened her voice. ‘Will you please let me go?’
‘You must be joking,’ Sergio said grimly. ‘Our conversation hasn’t even started. Come into my suite so that we can be assured of privacy.’
It was an order rather than an invitation and, before Kristen could argue, he opened the door and steered her into an elegant sitting room. But she barely noticed the décor. The feeling that she had walked into a trap intensified when Sergio closed the door and her vivid imagination pictured her as a fly caught in a spider’s web, with no chance of escape.
‘Take a seat,’ he commanded, waving his hand towards the large sofa in the centre of the room.
Kristen remained standing just inside the door, tension emanating from every pore. Sergio frowned as it occurred to him that she looked nervous. Hell, he had every right to be angry with her, he assured himself as he recalled the scene in the function room. But the possibility that she was afraid of him made him uncomfortable. He raked his hand through his hair. As he stared at her, an image flashed into his mind of her ravaged, tear-stained face at the hospital in Sicily. She had been devastated by what had happened, but soon afterwards she had returned to England and he didn’t know if she had coped okay. He should have phoned her to see how she was, his conscience pricked. But at the time it had seemed better to make a clean break, and if he was honest his pride had been hurt by her decision to leave him.
‘How are you?’ he asked gruffly.
She looked surprised by his softer tone. ‘I’m fine...thank you.’
‘It’s been a long time since we last saw one another.’ Irritated with himself for his uncharacteristic lack of savoir faire, Sergio stalked over to the bar. ‘Would you like a drink?’
There was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and, without waiting for her to reply, he popped the cork, filled two tall flutes and held one out to her. With obvious reluctance, she crossed the room and took the glass from him.
‘To old acquaintances, or perhaps I should make that to unexpected visitors,’ he said drily. ‘Why did you interrupt my party, Kristen?’
Kristen took a gulp of champagne and felt the sensation of bubbles bursting on her tongue. ‘I’ve already told you that I wanted to talk to you...about something important.’ She bit her lip, finding it impossible to utter the statement, By the way, you have a three-year-old child who you’ve never met.
