Lily tried to move away, but the arm which held her was tight—and in truth she didn’t really want to move anywhere.

She should just say no. She should continue along on the perfectly reasonable theme of questioning his sobriety. She should tell him that her primness had been born out of a desperate need to protect herself from being hurt again. But wasn’t the truth of it that none of those things seemed to matter in view of what he’d just said? That his unexpected proposal felt like a light which had been shone down into the current darkness of her world?

‘But why me?’ she questioned shakily. ‘There must be a million women more suitable. Why ask me?’

‘Actually, there aren’t. There are very few women like you, Lily. I’ve certainly never met one before. And, more than that, I have asked you because I can give you what you need.’

Dear Reader,

One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you - which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.

There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and…well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.

I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia to escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100th story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”

So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him… Wouldn’t you know it?

I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers.

Love,

Sharon xxx

Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

A Tainted Beauty

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the glamourous and talented Michela Sanges,

who has taught me so much about her home city of Naples.

And to the memory of the lovely Betty Boyer,

who helped make my English classes such fun

and who was always so bubbly.

CONTENTS

Cover

Extract

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

SOMEONE was watching her.

The little hairs prickled on the back of Lily’s neck and somehow she just knew. Lifting her head from her pastry-making, she narrowed her eyes against the brightness outside to see the powerful figure of a man standing at the far end of the garden.

He was as still as a statue. Only his thick black hair seemed to move—ruffled by the same faint breeze which was drifting in through the open kitchen door as she worked. Unconsciously framed by a tumbling bower of early summer roses, he looked like a dark and indelible blot on the golden landscape and Lily’s heart gave a funny little kick as he began walking towards the house.

For a moment she wondered why she didn’t feel more scared. Why she wasn’t screaming the place down and grabbing the nearest phone to tell the police that some dark stranger was lurking in the grounds. Maybe because the sight of him was a distraction from the troubled thoughts which kept nagging away at the corners of her mind. Or maybe there was just something about this particular stranger which overrode all normal considerations. He looked as if he had every right to be there. As if the soft summer day had been waiting just for him.

With a guilty kind of pleasure she watched the powerful thrust of his thighs against fine grey trousers as he walked across the manicured perfection of the emerald lawn. The light breeze was rippling the white shirt across his chest and defining the hard torso which lay beneath. Poetry in motion, thought Lily longingly—and could have watched him all day.

He grew closer and she could see the unashamed sensuality of his face. Thick-lashed dark eyes, which seemed to gleam with dangerous brilliance. A chiselled jaw, shadowed with virile new growth. And a pair of lips which she immediately began imagining imprinting themselves on hers. The kick in her heart became a full-scale football match as he stopped at the open doorway and Lily felt almost dizzy. How long had it been since she’d looked at a man and felt an overpowering sense of desire? And how could she have forgotten just how potent it could be?

‘Can I… help you?’ she questioned and then, realising how passive she sounded, she glared at him. ‘You scared the life out of me—creeping up on me like that!’

‘I wasn’t aware that I was creeping,’ he answered. His eyes met hers with a mocking look—as if he was perfectly aware that she had been drooling over him. ‘But you look pretty capable of holding your own against any intruders.’

She realised that his gaze was now directed at her hand and that she was still holding her rolling pin, clutching onto it as if it were the latest thing in personal safety devices. Her tongue flicked out to moisten lips, which suddenly felt cracked and dry. ‘I was just making pastry.’

‘You don’t say?’ Ciro’s amused glance took in the flour-covered table behind her: the fruit-filled pie-dish and sugar shaker. And suddenly his senses were alerted by more than her soft beauty. The rare smell of home-baking in the cluttered room made him think of a world he’d only ever glimpsed. A world of warmth and cosy domesticity—and he felt an unexpected twist of his heart. But with habitual ruthlessness, he batted away his uncomfortable thoughts and looked at the pastry-maker instead.

She was the most old-fashioned woman he’d ever seen. The kind of female he didn’t think existed any more—at least, not outside reruns of old TV shows. A tantalising composition of curves and beguiling shadows, she was wearing an apron—and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman wearing one of those. Not unless you counted the French maid outfit which his last-but-one lover used to wear in the bedroom, when she suspected he was tiring of her—which he was. That had been chosen to highlight the wearer’s nakedness, but this was a much more innocent variation. A deliberately retro version in frilly cotton, it was tied tightly enough to emphasise the tiniest waist he’d ever seen.

Some people thought it was rude to stare—but when a man was confronted by a beautiful woman, wasn’t it an insult not to? His eyes drifted to her thick hair, which was the colour of ripened corn and piled high on her head with a haphazard collection of clips. Her skin was flushed and he was amazed that a neck that slender could possibly support the weight of all that hair. He wondered if she realised what a perfect picture of domesticity she made. And he wondered what it said about him that he should find such an image so unexpectedly sexy.

‘So aren’t you going to invite me in?’ he drawled.

The egotistical certainty of his question made Lily spring into action. Why was she standing there like some sort of muppet while he ran those admittedly gorgeous eyes over her as if she’d been some sort of car he was considering buying? Wasn’t that why men thought they could get away with arrogant behaviour, because women like her let them? Hadn’t she learnt anything from her past? ‘No, I am not. For all I know, you could be an axe-murderer.’

‘I can assure you that murder is the last thing on my mind,’ he said drily.

Their eyes met and Lily heard the sudden roar of blood in her ears.

‘And you don’t look in the least bit scared,’ he added silkily.

She swallowed down the lump which seemed to have taken up residence in her throat. It was true she wasn’t exactly frightened. Well, not in the conventional sense. But there was something about him which was making her heart race in a way which wasn’t a million miles away from fear. And the clamminess on the palms of her hands was going to play havoc with her pastry if she wasn’t careful. ‘It is normal to introduce yourself when you burst unannounced into someone’s kitchen, you know,’ she said primly.

He bit back a smile because even when women didn’t know who he was, they were nearly always intimidated by him. But not this one, it seemed. Intrigued by the unfamiliar, he inclined his head as if they were being formally introduced at a social function. ‘My name is Ciro D’Angelo.’

She stared into the dark gleam of his eyes. ‘That’s an unusual name.’

‘I’m an unusual man.’

With difficulty, Lily decided to ignore the outrageous boast—mainly because she suspected it was true. ‘And you’re Italian?’

‘Actually, I’m Neapolitan.’ He gave a lazy shrug in answer to the question in her eyes. ‘It’s… different.’

‘How?’

‘That might take a long time to explain, dolcezza.’

The pounding in her heart increased especially when he said dol-cezza like that, though she didn’t have a clue what it meant. She wanted to him to explain why Neapolitans were different but sensed that would be straying into even more dangerous waters. Instead, she deliberately glanced at the clock which hung next to the old-fashioned cooking range. ‘Time which I don’t have, I’m afraid,’ she said crisply. ‘And I’m still none the wiser. Just what are you doing here, Mr D’Angelo? This is private property, you know.’

Ciro gave an almost imperceptible nod of satisfaction because her question pleased him. It meant that news of his purchase hadn’t been made public. Which was good. He hated publicity—but he particularly hated his deals getting into the public domain before the ink had dried on the paper. Despite his legendary prowess in the world of business, he was still superstitious enough to worry about jinxing things.

But her question also made him wonder who she was. The woman selling this house was middle-aged. He frowned as he racked his brains to remember the vendor’s name. Scott, yes—that was it. Suzy Scott—all age-inappropriate clothes and too much make-up and a way of looking at a man which could only be described as hungry. He frowned. Was this domestic goddess old enough to be her daughter? he wondered, as he tried to work out just how old she actually was. Twenty-one? Twenty-two? With skin that clear and soft, it was hard to tell. And yet, if she was the daughter of the house—surely she would know it was about to pass into the ownership of someone else. His ownership, to be precise.

She was still looking at him questioningly and he noticed that a shiny tendril of corn-coloured hair was tickling the smooth surface of her cheek. Maybe he should just turn around and come back at a more legitimate time—but suddenly, Ciro didn’t want to go anywhere. He felt as if he’d stumbled into a warm world which was so different from his own that he was curious to find out more. To discover its inevitable flaws so that he could walk away with his cynicism intact.

He gave a shrug of his powerful shoulders. ‘I wasn’t expecting to find anyone home.’

‘You mean you have an expectation that all houses will be empty?’ Aware that the pie would be ruined if she neglected it any longer, Lily curled the pastry around her rolling pin and then deftly flipped it over the top of the prepared pie-dish. ‘What are you—some sort of cat burglar?’

‘Do I look like a cat burglar?’

Glancing up from where her fingers were fluting the sides of the soft pastry, Lily thought not. She doubted that your average cat burglar would exhibit such a cool confidence if they’d been rumbled—though he certainly looked agile enough to accomplish the physical demands of the job. And it was frighteningly easy to imagine him clothed entirely in some sort of close-fitting black Lycra.

‘You’re not exactly dressed for it. I imagine that your expensive-looking suit might be ruined if you tried scaling the front of the house,’ she said caustically. ‘And in case you were thinking of scaling the front of this house—I can save you the time. You won’t find any pr-precious jewels or baubles here.’

Viciously, she began to brush the pie crust with beaten egg, realising that she must be feeling especially vulnerable if she had just come out and told a complete stranger that. But Lily had been feeling vulnerable lately—and her stepmother’s erratic behaviour hadn’t helped. Never the easiest of women to get along with—Suzy had recently taken to moving the house’s most valuable items up to her London home. Of course, she was perfectly within her rights to do so—Lily knew that. Suzy could do whatever she wanted since she had inherited every last bit of her late husband’s estate. All the money he’d owned was now hers and so too was this beautiful house, the Grange.

Even now, the pain and injustice of it all could still hit Lily like a savage blow. Her father’s death barely nine months after his second wedding had been sudden and unexpected and had left her with a numbing feeling of insecurity. Through her own grief and the heartbreaking task of comforting her younger brother, she had tried to tell herself that of course Dad must have been planning to amend his will. No father would want to see his two children left without any financial support, would he? But the fact was that he hadn’t got around to doing it and it had all gone to his much younger wife, who seemed to have taken to widowhood alarmingly well.

Even the pearl necklace which Lily had been promised by her darling mother had been ferreted away to Suzy’s metropolitan home and she had a sinking feeling she would never see it again. Was that why her stepmother had recently been shifting everything of value—afraid that Lily might pawn some of the precious artefacts when her back was turned? And the terrible thing was that an instant windfall would solve some of Lily’s problems—because wouldn’t it give her brother the security he deserved?

Ciro heard the tremble in her voice and wondered what had caused it. But his attention was distracted as she bent to place the pie in the oven, his eyes riveted to the seductive curve of her bottom. Her bare legs gave off a silky sheen and the little cotton dress she wore brushed close against her thighs.

‘No, I’m not a cat burglar and I’m not after your jewels or your baubles,’ he said unevenly.

Lily turned around to find his dark eyes fixed on her and, even though it was wrong, it felt good to have such a gorgeous man gazing at her with unashamed interest. Didn’t it make her feel desirable for a change, instead of some invisible nobody who spent her whole time fighting off unspoken fears about the future?

‘Then what are you doing here?’

‘For some strange reason, it’s gone clean out of my mind,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t remember.’

Their gaze held and Lily didn’t need the frantic bash of her heart against her ribcage to know they were flirting. It was a long time since she’d flirted with anyone and it felt… dangerous. Because the sensuality which was shimmering off his powerful body brought back too many memories and they weren’t good ones. Memories of disbelief and heartbreak and a tear-soaked pillow.

‘Well, try,’ she said. ‘Before I lose the little patience I have left.’

Ciro wondered what to tell her because it wasn’t for him to enlighten her that he would soon be the owner of this house. But if she worked here… then wasn’t it conceivable that he might keep her on once the sale went through? ‘I’ve been looking for somewhere to buy,’ he said.

Confused now, Lily stared at him. ‘But this house isn’t for sale.’

Ciro quashed a momentary feeling of guilt. ‘I realise that,’ he said truthfully. ‘But you know how it is when you’re scouting around an area—how you always notice the best things when you’re not on a tight schedule? You see the sudden twist of a path, which makes you wonder where it leads. Yet the moment an agent starts detailing the square footage—you stop seeing a place for what it is, and it becomes simply real estate.’

‘So you’re saying you prowl around properties when you think they’re empty—because they might appeal to you on an aesthetic level? No wonder I thought you were up to no good!’

But Ciro wasn’t really listening. He found himself wanting to remove the pins from her hair so that he could see it tumble down over her shoulders. To splay his fingers over those fleshy hips and to dip his lips to the slender column of her neck and kiss it.

He told himself that he should leave right now and not return until the keys of the old house were in his hands. Yet the homeliness of the kitchen, combined with her old-fashioned body, was making him feel a sense of nostalgia which was sharpening his desire for her. Suddenly, it was all too easy to imagine what she might look like, naked—with all her curves and cushioned flesh. If he’d met her at a party, he would be well on the way towards making that fantasy a reality—but he’d never met a woman in a kitchen before.

‘What can I smell?’ he asked.

‘You mean the cooking?’

‘Well, you certainly haven’t let me close enough to sample your perfume,’ he drawled.

Lily swallowed, her skin prickling with nerves and excitement. ‘There are several smells currently competing for your attention,’ she said quickly. ‘There is the soup bubbling away on the hob.’

‘You mean home-made soup?’

‘Well, it’s certainly not out of a carton or a tin,’ she said, with a shudder. ‘It’s spinach and lentil, lightly flavoured with coriander. Best served with a dollop of crème fraîche and a hunk of freshly baked bread.’

It sounded like an edible orgasm, Ciro thought irreverently and felt the heaving aching of his groin. ‘Sounds delicious,’ he said unevenly.

‘I am reliably informed that it is delicious. While this—’ she pointed towards a sticky-looking concoction which was sitting cooling on a rack ‘—is your common or garden lemon drizzle cake.’

‘Wow,’ he said softly.

She searched his face for signs of sarcasm but could find none and there was something about his almost wistful expression which made her throw caution to the wind. ‘You could… try some, if you like. It tastes best when it’s warm from the oven. Sit down and I’ll cut you a slice. After all, if you’ve come all the way from Naples—the least I can do is show you a little English hospitality.’

Again, he heard the clamour of his conscience but Ciro blotted it out. Instead, he lowered himself into a solid-looking wooden chair and watched her as she moved around the kitchen. ‘You still haven’t told me your name.’

‘You didn’t ask.’

‘I’m asking now.’

‘It’s Lily.’

His gaze travelled over her face and alighted on the soft curve of her lips. ‘Pretty name.’

Hastily, she turned to take the milk-jug from the fridge, hating the fact that the meaningless compliment was making her blush. ‘Thank you very much.’

‘But I presume you have another name—or is that a state secret?’

‘Very funny.’ She met the glint of mischief in his eyes. ‘It’s Scott.’

‘Scott?’

‘As in great,’ she explained automatically. ‘You know, Great Scott—the explorer.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Ciro said, his mind spinning as he began to work out the implications. She must be related to the vendor. Yet how could that be when she didn’t have a clue that the house had just been sold? When she didn’t even realise that it had been on the market. He frowned, knowing that he had passed the point where he could decently tell her.

Except that wasn’t quite true, was it? If she’d been middle-aged, or male and quite obviously a member of staff—he wouldn’t have had any problem telling her that he was the new owner of this big house. It was her general gorgeousness which was making him hesitate about enlightening her. And surely it wasn’t his place to do so?

He waited until she had poured tea and he’d accepted a slice of delicious-looking cake for which he now had no appetite, before broaching the subject again. ‘So you live here?’

Lily was so busy gazing dreamily at the shadowed slant of his chiselled jaw that she didn’t really stop to think about his question.

‘Of course I live here! Where did you think I…’ And then she saw something in his eyes which made her voice change and she put down the cup which she had been about to raise to her lips. ‘Oh, I see,’ she said slowly. ‘You thought I worked here? That I’m an employee. The cook, perhaps? Or maybe even the housekeeper.’

‘I didn’t—’

‘Please don’t feel you have to deny it—or to apologise.’ She saw the uncomfortable look which had crossed his face and could have kicked herself. There she’d been—drifting around in some crazy dream-world, thinking that he actually fancied her when all the time he was looking on her as the hired help! Well done, Lily, she thought grimly. It seemed that her male radar was as unreliable as ever. She shook her head. ‘I mean, of course someone like me wouldn’t be living in a house like this. It’s much too grand and expensive!’

He winced. ‘I didn’t say that.’

He didn’t have to, thought Lily. And anyway, why deny something which was fundamentally true? She did make cakes for a living and she did dress on a budget—because that was pretty much all she had to live on these days. Didn’t she squirrel away as much of her meagre wages as possible to send to her brother Jonny at boarding school—to stop him from standing out as the poor, scholarship boy he really was?

Yet maybe Ciro D’Angelo had done her a favour. Maybe it was time to recognise that nothing was the same any more. She needed to accept that things had moved on and she needed to move on with them. She was no longer the much-loved daughter of the house—because both her parents were dead. It was as simple as that. Her stepmother wasn’t the evil stereotype beloved of fairy tales. She tolerated her, but she didn’t love her. And since her father had died, Lily had increasingly got the feeling that she was nothing but an encumbrance.

She forced herself to say the words. To maintain her pride, even though she no longer had any legitimate position here. ‘This is my stepmother’s house,’ she said. ‘She isn’t here at the moment, but she’ll be back soon. In fact, very soon. So I think it’s time you were leaving.’

Ciro rose to his feet, a hot sense of anger beginning to simmer inside him. Why the hell hadn’t her stepmother told her that this house had been sold? That contracts had been exchanged and the deal would be completed within days. By the end of next week, the house would be his and he would begin the process of turning it from a rather neglected family home into a state-of-the-art boutique hotel. He frowned. And what was going to happen to this corn-haired beauty when that happened?

He made one last attempt to get her to stop glaring at him—to try to coax a smile from those beautiful lips or a brief crinkling of her bright blue eyes. He gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders, which women always found irresistible—particularly when it was accompanied by such a rueful expression. ‘But I haven’t eaten my cake yet.’

Lily steeled herself against the seductive gleam in his eyes—almost certain it was manipulative. What a poser he was—and how nearly she had been sucked in by his charm! ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll get another opportunity to try some. There’s a tea shop in the village which sells another just like it. You can buy some there any time you like,’ she announced. ‘And now, if you wouldn’t mind excusing me—I’ve got a pie in the oven which needs my attention and I can’t stand around chatting all day. Goodbye, Mr D’Angelo.’

She gestured towards the door, her smile nothing but a cool formality before she closed it firmly behind him—and Ciro found himself standing in the scented garden once more.

Frustratedly, he stared at the honeysuckle which was scrambling around the heavy oak door, because no woman had ever kicked him out before. Nor made him feel as if he would die if he didn’t taste the petal softness of her lips. And no woman had ever looked at him as if she didn’t care whether she never saw him again.

He swallowed as the powerful lust which engulfed him was replaced with a cocktail of feelings he didn’t even want to begin to analyse.

Because he realised he hadn’t thought of Eugenia.

Not once.

CHAPTER TWO

‘I DON’T understand.’ Feeling the blood drain from her face, Lily stared at her stepmother—as if waiting for her to turn round and tell her that was all some sort of sick joke.

‘What’s not to understand?’ Suzy Scott stood beside the large, leaded windows of the drawing room—her expression registering no reaction to her stepdaughter’s obvious distress. ‘It’s very simple, Lily. The house has been sold.’

Lily swallowed, shaking her head in denial. ‘But you can’t do that!’ she whispered.

‘Can’t?’ Suzy’s perfectly plucked eyebrows were elevated into two symmetrical black curves. ‘I’m afraid that I can. And I have. It’s a fait accompli. The contracts have been signed, exchanged and completed. I’m sorry, Lily—but I really had no alternative.’

‘But why? This house has been in my family for—’

‘Yes, I know it has,’ said Suzy tiredly. ‘For hundreds of years. So your father always told me. But that doesn’t really count for much in the cold, harsh light of day, does it? He didn’t leave me with any form of pension, Lily—’

‘He didn’t know he was going to die!’

‘And I really need the money,’ Suzy continued, still without any change of expression. ‘There’s no regular income coming in and I need something to live off.’

Lily pursed her trembling lips together, willing herself not to burst into angry howls of rage. She wanted to suggest that her stepmother find some sort of job—but knew that would be as pointless as suggesting that she stop kitting herself out in top-to-toe designer clothes.

‘But what about me?’ she questioned. ‘And more importantly—what about Jonny?’

Suzy’s smile became tight. ‘You’re very welcome to stay over at my London house sometimes—you know you are. But you also know how cramped it is.’

Yes, Lily knew. But her thoughts and her fears were not for herself, but for her brother. Her darling brother who had already been through so much in his sixteen years. ‘Jonny can’t possibly live at the place in London,’ she said, trying to imagine the gangling teenager let loose on all the ghastly spindly antiques which Suzy loved to keep in her metropolitan home.

Suzy fingered the diamond pendant which hung from a fine golden chain at her throat. ‘There certainly isn’t room for him and his enormous shoes littering up my sweet little mews house, that’s for sure—which is why I’ve arranged for you to carry on living here.’

Lily blinked as a feeling of hope quelled her momentary terror. ‘Here?’ she echoed. ‘You mean in the house?’

‘No, not in the house,’ said Suzy hastily. ‘I can’t see the new owner tolerating that! But I’ve had a word with Fiona Weston—’

‘You’ve spoken to my boss?’ asked Lily in confusion, because Fiona owned Crumpets!—the tearooms for which Lily had baked cakes and waitressed ever since she’d left school. Fiona was middle-aged and matronly and, to Lily’s certain knowledge, she and her stepmother had never exchanged two words more meaningful than ‘Happy Christmas’. ‘To say what, exactly?’

Suzy shrugged. ‘I explained the situation to her. I told her that I’ve been forced to sell the house and that it’s left you with an accommodation problem—’

‘That’s one way of putting it, I suppose,’ said Lily, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice.

‘And she’s perfectly willing to let you and Jonny have the flat above the tearoom—so you won’t even have that far to go to work. It’s been empty for ages—it’s almost as if it’s been waiting for you! So how’s that for a solution?’

Lily stared at her stepmother, scarcely able to believe that she could come up with such an awful scenario and consider it a good idea. Yes, the flat had been empty for ages—but there was a good reason why. Nobody wanted to live right next door to the local pub—especially since it had undergone a refurbishment and acquired an all-day licence. The last royal wedding had inspired a feeling of ‘community spirit’—which basically meant that there was now round-the-clock drinking by the locals—and a deafening din of noise, which carried on late into the night.

Lily couldn’t think of anything worse than finishing one of her shifts and then making her way up the scruffy staircase to the two-roomed apartment above. Yet what choice did she have? She was hardly in a position to flounce off and make some kind of life for herself somewhere else. She had Jonny to think of. Jonny who relied on her to provide some kind of warm base. To give him the security he so desperately wanted and the home he really needed.

‘So what do you think?’ prompted Suzy.

Lily thought this was yet another example of how life could kick you in the teeth. But what was the point of saying words which would only fall on deaf ears? ‘I’ll go and see Fiona later,’ she said.

‘Good.’

Her head still spinning from the bombshell which had been dropped, Lily found herself wondering whether she would see much of Suzy after this—or whether her stepmother would want to cut ties completely. And wouldn’t that be best, in the circumstances? Her father had been the glue which had held the precarious relationship together and now that he wasn’t here any more… ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Suzy?’ she questioned suddenly.

Suzy’s manicured fingers nervously touched the diamond pendant once more. ‘Tell you what?’

‘That you’d decided to sell. If I’d known about it before, then maybe I could have mentally prepared myself. Worked out some different kind of fate for myself, rather than having it presented to me like this. Why spring it on me like this?’

Looking uncomfortable, Suzy wriggled her shoulders. ‘That wasn’t my doing. One of the conditions of sale was that I kept the identity of the buyer secret.’

‘How bizarre. But presumably I’m allowed to know who it is now?’

‘Well, not really.’ Suzy’s thumb moved rapidly over the glittering surface of the diamond. ‘It’s not for me to disclose anything.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ said Lily, her frayed nerves making her voice shake with unaccustomed anger. ‘Is there really any reason…?’ But her words tailed off as she heard the approaching throb of a powerful car and saw Suzy begin to swallow nervously. ‘What is it?’

‘He’s here,’ whispered her stepmother.

‘Who’s here?’

‘The new owner.’

Lily heard a car stop and a door slam and then the crunch, crunch, crunch of heavy steps on the drive—and as the peal of the doorbell echoed through the large house some gut-deep instinct began to unsettle her. An instinct which was only compounded by the way that Suzy was touching her dark red hair—the unconscious gesture of a woman who knew that an attractive man was about to enter the room.

‘Aren’t you going to open it, Suzy?’ she questioned, her voice miraculously steady even though her heart was racing so fast that she was surprised she didn’t keel over.

‘Yes, yes. Of course.’

Clattering away on her high heels, Suzy went into the hallway and, through a kind of daze, Lily heard the opening of the front door and the sound of low voices. And one of them was a deep and accented voice… She wanted to scream. To put her hands over her eyes—to block out the now seemingly inevitable sight of Ciro D’Angelo walking into the room, her stepmother shadowing him like a bodyguard.

Lily wanted to feel anger—nothing but the pure, white heat of rage—but the worst thing was that her body seemed to have other ideas. Something he’d awoken in her the other day was clearly not going back to sleep. She felt the shimmering of awareness—as if every nerve-ending had become raw and exposed to his dark-eyed scrutiny. And far more dangerous was the urgent prickling of her breasts and the pooling of heat deep in her belly.

‘Hello, Lily,’ he said softly.

At this, Suzy stepped out of his shadow, her lips opening in bewilderment as she looked at each of them in turn. ‘You mean you already know my step—, er—you’ve met Lily before?’

‘Yes, we’ve met,’ said Lily, forcing herself to speak. To wrest back some of the control she felt had been sucked from her by the dark and sexy Neapolitan. He might have purchased her home and her stepmother might have just announced that she was being offered a crummy flat above a tearoom as a poor consolation prize, but she was damned if she’d let Ciro D’Angelo see the distress which was chewing her up inside. And wasn’t some of the distress caused by more than fear of the future? Wasn’t it motivated by the desire she felt for him—which served as yet another illustration of her shocking lack of judgement when it came to men?

She pursed her lips together to stop them from trembling and it was a moment before she felt composed enough to speak. ‘Mr D’Angelo was lurking in the grounds the other day—in fact, he crept up on me and gave me quite a scare. But instead of doing the sensible thing and phoning the police to say that we had an intruder—I was stupid enough to let him in and listen to his ridiculous story. Something about being entranced by a beautiful twist in a path and wondering where it would lead.’

‘I’m flattered you remember my words so accurately,’ Ciro observed softly.

‘Well, please don’t be flattered, Mr D’Angelo—because that wasn’t my intention,’ Lily said, even though at the time she’d loved the poetry of his words. What an impressionable fool she had been. ‘You were sneaking around—’

‘Like a cat burglar?’ he interjected silkily.

Digging her nails into the palms of her hands, Lily met the gleam of his eyes, his words reminding her of that brief intimacy they’d shared. When she’d flirted with the idea of him wearing black Lycra and he had flirted right back. When she’d felt light-headed with the sensation of being with an attractive man and her body had felt like a flower in the full heat of the sun. ‘Like a thief,’ she said fervently.

‘Lily!’ Suzy had now taken up a central position, as if she were the referee in a boxing ring. ‘You really mustn’t be so rude to Mr D’Angelo. He has made me an extremely generous offer for the Grange… an offer I couldn’t possibly refuse.’

‘I can be anything I please!’ said Lily. ‘I haven’t been conducting secret deals with him!’

‘I’m so sorry about this.’ Suzy turned to Ciro, curving her shiny lips into an exasperated smile. ‘But I’m afraid that because we’re so close in age, I’ve always had difficulty disciplining her—even when my late husband was alive.’

‘Cl-close in age?’ Lily spluttered indignantly.

Ciro saw that Lily’s face was ashen and, overcome by a mixture of protectiveness and fury, he turned to the older woman. ‘Mrs Scott, I wonder if you’d mind providing some refreshment? I’ve flown straight from New York and—’

‘Of course. You must be exhausted—jet lag always completely lays me out, too!’ gushed Suzy. ‘Would you like coffee?’

‘Coffee would be perfect,’ he said coolly.

Suzy looked across the room at Lily and for a split second she thought her stepmother was about to ask her to make it, as she normally would have done if she’d had friends round. But something in her expression must have made her change her mind because she merely gave her a quizzical smile. ‘Lily?’

‘No, thanks. I think I need a real drink,’ said Lily, walking over to the drinks cabinet and yanking open the door, afraid that if she didn’t occupy herself with something then she might just crumple to the carpet. She was aware of Ciro’s eyes burning into her as she pulled out a crystal brandy glass the size of a small goldfish bowl and recklessly splashed in a large measure of the most expensive brandy she could find. Taking a large mouthful, she felt her eyes water and she almost choked as the fiery spirit burned her throat. But somehow she managed to swallow it down and quickly took another gulp to take the taste away.

‘Easy,’ warned Ciro.

She turned on him and the fear and insecurity she’d been suppressing now came bubbling out in a bitter stream. ‘Don’t you dare tell me to go “easy”,’ she breathed, because surely defiance and anger were preferable to the hot tears which were stinging at the backs of her eyes. ‘I can’t believe that you sat down in my kitchen—sorry, your kitchen—and gave me all that wistful stuff about soup, when all the time…’ She drew in a shuddering breath and felt the brandy fumes scorching through her nostrils. ‘All the time, you must have been laughing at me, knowing that you were now the owner of this house while I had no idea.’

‘I was not laughing at you,’ he ground out.

‘No? Then why didn’t you do the decent thing and tell me you were the new owner?’

‘I thought about it.’ He paused and he could feel the tension in his body. A tension which had been there every time he’d thought about her. ‘But it wasn’t really my place to do so.’

‘Why not?’ She met his eyes—the brandy now burning in her stomach, giving her the courage to level an accusation she might normally have bitten back. ‘Because you were too busy flirting with me?’

He shrugged. ‘There was an element of that,’ he conceded.

‘So, what? You thought you’d see how far you could get before you came out and told me?’

‘Lily!’ he protested, taken aback by her burning sense of outrage. And wasn’t her response turning him on? For a man unused to any kind of resistance from a woman, wasn’t it turning him on like crazy? ‘I wasn’t expecting to find anyone home—that much is true. And when I stumbled across you, well…’

His words tailed off because he was reluctant to explain himself. Admitting his feelings to women wasn’t in his make-up—hadn’t that been a complaint which was always being levelled against him? Eugenia had said it all the time, especially in those early days—when she had been trying to make herself into the kind of woman she thought he wanted.

Yet Ciro could never remember feeling quite so entranced by anyone as much as Lily Scott. She seemed to embody all the old-fashioned qualities he’d never found in a woman before—and hadn’t her blue-eyed face and sexy body haunted him ever since?

‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘You can’t come up with a reasonable explanation, can you?’

Impatiently, he shook his head. ‘If anyone should have told you, it was your stepmother.’

As if on cue, Suzy came back into the room carrying a tray with coffee and a plate of Lily’s home-made ginger biscuits. Clearly she had overheard his last words because she put the tray down and gave him a reproachful look. ‘That’s not really fair, Ciro—since one of the conditions of your purchase was that I keep your identity secret.’

‘My identity, yes,’ he agreed, irritated by her over-familiarity, because he certainly couldn’t remember telling her to call him by his Christian name. Or to keep batting her damned eyelashes at him like that. ‘But I certainly didn’t ask you to keep quiet about the actual sale. No wonder Lily is hurt and upset if she’s just been told that in a few weeks’ time she has nowhere to live.’

Suzy pouted. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! This isn’t some Charles Dickens novel! She’s not some homeless urchin, you know. I offered her space at my London place, but she turned her nose up at it.’

Lily had had enough. Feeling slightly nauseous now, she put the half-drunk glass of brandy down on a table. ‘I’m not some kind of object you can just move around!’ she declared.

‘I don’t like the thought of you being thrown out of your home,’ he said roughly, thinking that she was now looking quite alarmingly fragile. ‘And I’m willing to help in any way I can.’

She met his eyes, hating the way her body prickled in response to their dark and seeking gleam. ‘Well, I neither want nor need your help, Mr D’Angelo,’ she said, with as much dignity as was possible when her head was spinning from the hastily gulped brandy. With difficulty, she only just stopped herself from swaying, but the movement was enough to make Ciro move.

He stepped towards her, his hand instinctively reaching out to catch her wrist and for a brief moment the rest of the world seemed to fade away. Her skin seemed to spark like a bonfire where he touched her and all she was conscious of was him. Him. Staring into the fathomless depths of his dark eyes, her mouth as dry as flour as she imagined him kissing her. Imagined him pulling her into the powerful and protective strength of his body and, to her horror, her breasts began to tighten in response to her fantasy. ‘Get… off me,’ she croaked, wondering if he could feel the rapid thunder of her pulse and if he realised what was causing it. ‘Just let me go.’

Reluctantly, he let her hand fall—his brow furrowing into a deep frown. ‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.

Lily glared at him. ‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ she said, ‘but I’m going to work.’

‘You can’t—’

‘Can’t? Oh, yes, I can! I can do anything I please,’ she said, cutting across his words with fierce determination. ‘I believe your sale is completing on the third of the month, is that right? So I’ll make sure all my belongings will be out of here by then. Goodbye, Mr D’Angelo—and it really is goodbye this time.’

She could feel his gaze burning into her as she walked out of the room and somehow she made it up to the bedroom she’d had for as long as she could remember. It was only then, surrounded by the comfort of the familiar which would soon be gone, that Lily allowed the hot tears to fall.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SO WHAT do you think, Lily? I know it’s a bit small.’

Fiona Weston’s soft voice penetrated Lily’s thoughts as she stared out of the dusty apartment window onto the street below. The village wasn’t exactly in a throbbing metropolis, but it still seemed unbelievably noisy when compared to the peace and quiet she was used to. A cluster of men were standing outside The Duchess of Cambridge pub, all clutching pints and puffing away at cigarettes. A man shot past on a scooter and Lily winced as it emitted a series of ear-splitting popping sounds.

Well, she was just going to have to get used to it. No more fragrant roses scenting the air outside her window—and no more gazing out at the distant woods or gently rolling fields. Instead, she was going to have to learn to live with the sound of people and cars—because the village car park was only a short distance away.

‘It’s… it’s lovely, Fiona,’ said Lily, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, though it wasn’t easy. The brandy she’d knocked back earlier had left her with a splitting headache and she couldn’t get Ciro D’Angelo’s dark face out of her mind. Or the memory of the way she’d responded when he’d caught hold of her wrist.

It was bad enough that his purchase had caused this dramatic turnaround in her fortunes, but it was made much worse by her reaction to him. He had made her feel vulnerable and he’d made her feel frustrated, too. And while a part of her had hated the rush of pleasure she’d felt when he’d touched her—hadn’t the other part revelled in the feeling of sexual desire? She forced a smile. ‘Absolutely lovely,’ she repeated.

‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Fiona doubtfully. ‘You can move in any time you want.’

Lily nodded like one of those old-fashioned dogs her grandfather used to have in the back of his car and she remembered his positive outlook on life. Shouldn’t she be more like that? To start counting her blessings? ‘I can’t wait! It’s such a fantastically compact little apartment—and with a lick of paint and a few pot-plants, you won’t recognise the place.’

‘It could certainly do with a facelift,’ said Fiona. ‘Though I don’t know where your brother’s going to sleep when he’s home from school.’

Lily had been wondering the same thing herself. ‘Oh, he’s very adaptable,’ she said, wondering if sixteen-year-old boys ever stopped growing. ‘And I’m going to splash out and buy a lovely new sofa-bed,’ she added.

‘Good for you.’ Fiona smiled. ‘Anyway, I’ve kept the rent nice and low.’

She mentioned a sum which seemed outrageously modest. ‘I can’t possibly let you charge me something like that,’ said Lily shakily.

‘Oh, yes, you can,’ said her boss, sounding quite fierce for once. ‘You’re a hard worker, Lily—and it’s your cakes which keep the customers coming back for more.’

On an impulse, Lily reached out to hug the kindly woman who had given her flexible working hours since the village tearooms had opened. The undemanding job had provided refuge during the dark days of her mother’s illness and her father’s rapid remarriage. Hadn’t it been a kind of release for Lily, to be able to lose herself in the simple routine of serving people cups of tea and slices of cake? And hadn’t the reassuring routine helped numb the horrible reality of the district nurse arriving daily, to give Mum another pain-killing injection?

From working on Saturdays and during school holidays, Lily had gone full time at the age of eighteen and had never really looked back. She’d started as a waitress—and when Fiona had discovered that she had a gift for baking, she’d asked Lily to supply the cakes, which she’d done ever since. For a non-academic girl who needed to be there for her brother, the job had been a gift.

Turning away from the window, Lily smiled. ‘Well, if that’s all settled, I’d better get to work or we’ll have some very discontented customers on our hands. And we can’t have that.’

‘No, we can’t!’ Fiona laughed as the two women went downstairs.

Pleased at having made a decision which seemed to be the only bright light on the horizon, Lily changed into her pink uniform and slipped on a pair of sensible shoes. But as she tidied her hair in front of the mirror she was horribly aware of the feverish glitter in her eyes and the two spots of colour which highlighted her pale cheeks.

She looked different.

Unsettled.

A little bit wild.

But it wasn’t just shock at her changed circumstances which was responsible for her altered appearance. It was the reawakening of sexual desire, too, and she knew very well who was responsible for that.

The afternoon shift was hectic, but she was on duty with her friend Danielle, whom she’d known for ever. The tearoom’s proximity to a church reputed to be the birthplace of a famous saint meant that there was always a steady stream of customers, but on a glorious sunny day like today the place was packed. The new ice-cream range was popular, they ran out of lemon drizzle cake—and Fiona had to drive to the cash-and-carry to stock up on strawberry jam. Yet Lily was grateful to be busy, because it stopped her from wondering just where her life was heading and what the future was going to be like now that the house had been sold.

Just before closing time, the last customer had wandered out and Danielle had disappeared to start the washing up, when the tinkling of a bell announced a new arrival. Stifling a sigh, which she quickly turned into a smile, Lily looked up from rearranging some cakes on a stand and looked straight into the dark eyes of Ciro D’Angelo.

Her smile froze to her lips as a shiver begin to skate over her skin. It didn’t seem to matter that she was still angry with him—he seemed capable of creating a powerful reaction just by being in the same room. When he looked at her like that, she could feel the prickling of her skin in response.

‘We close in ten minutes,’ she said.

‘I’ll wait.’

Lily raised her eyebrows. ‘Wait for what?’

‘For you to finish.’

‘Excuse me, but I think you might have mistaken me for somebody else.’

‘I don’t think you’re easy to mistake for anyone else, Lily,’ he said softly, making no attempt to hide the appreciative gaze which lingered on the luscious curve of her breasts. ‘I’ve certainly never met anyone quite like you before.’

Angrily, Lily shook her head. There it was—another of those meaningless compliments which seemed to flow from his lips like honey. How many of those did he trot out on a daily basis, she wondered—and how many women ended up falling for them? She found herself lowering her voice, even though Danielle was well out of earshot and any sounds were drowned by the clatter of washing up. ‘Didn’t we just have a huge row?’ she asked. ‘And didn’t I imply that I didn’t want to see you again?’

Ciro shrugged. ‘Things sometimes get said in the heat of the moment.’

‘Things do—but I meant every word of them,’ she insisted.

‘Well, I’m here now—and the sign on the door says you’re still open,’ he said, pulling out a chair and lowering his powerful frame into it. ‘So I’m afraid you’re going to have to serve me.’

Lily shot an anxious glance at the door—longing for Fiona to return and yet dreading it at the same time. She wanted him to go and yet she wanted to feast her eyes on him. In a place filled with paper doilies and flower-sprigged cake stands, he made the tearoom look completely unsubstantial. It was as if a giant had walked into a model village and taken up residence there.

‘I want you to leave,’ she said breathlessly.

His eyes sent her a mocking challenge. ‘No, you don’t.’

His silken taunt had an alarming effect on her and so did the sensual message which underpinned it and Lily could feel the distracting tightening of her breasts. She sucked in a deep breath. ‘Obviously, I can’t physically eject you.’

He elevated his dark brows. ‘I agree you might have a little difficulty,’ he murmured.

She glanced at her watch. ‘We have exactly seven minutes until closing time—so I’d advise you to place your order quickly.’

‘That’s easy. I’d like some lemon cake—something like the one I missed out on last week.’

‘I’m afraid we’re right out of lemon cake.’

He gave a lazy smile. ‘Is there anything else you recommend?’

‘Well, since I make the cakes which are sold here, I’d recommend them all.’

Ciro’s eyes narrowed. ‘You do?’

‘Yep.’ She whipped out her order pad. ‘And we’ve only got coffee or chocolate left—so which is it to be?’

‘Scrub it.’

‘Scrub what?’

‘My order.’

He began to get up out of his chair and Lily felt her heart lurch with something which felt infuriatingly like disappointment. ‘You’ve changed your mind?’

‘Sì, ho cambiato idea. I have changed my mind.’

His sudden, seamless switch into Italian disorientated her, as did the fact that he had stepped up close to her—close enough to notice that dark rasp of new growth at his jaw which she had so wanted to touch before. And the stupid thing was that she still wanted to touch it. She wanted to touch him—to see whether he could possibly feel as good as he looked. ‘What does that mean?’ she questioned suspiciously.

‘I’m agreeing with you. I don’t want to sit here while you wait on me with that tight and angry look on your face,’ he said.

‘I’m glad you’ve taken the hint to leave me alone.’

‘But I haven’t.’ He smiled with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what her response was going to be. ‘Not until you’ve said you’ll have dinner with me.’

Lily felt the crashing of her heart as those dark eyes bored into her. She could feel her cheeks growing hotter by the minute. He was so… so… sure of himself. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

‘I think I am a little, sì,’ he said, unexpectedly. ‘Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I keep remembering the way you stood in that kitchen, with flour all over your hands and an apron around your tiny waist, looking like some old-fashoned domestic goddess. And believe me, it is not usual for me to be so preoccupied with a woman.’

‘I suppose it’s usually the other way round, is it?’ she observed sarcastically. ‘Women completely obsessed by you from the moment they set eyes on you?’

‘Can you blame them?’ came his unapologetic response accompanied by the faintest suggestion of a smile. ‘But my undoubted appeal to the opposite sex isn’t why I’m here today. I want you to know that I feel bad about what’s happened.’

‘At least there’s some justice left in the world.’

Ciro bit back a smile. ‘It was wrong of me not to have told you I was buying the Grange. But you must agree that I found myself in a difficult position.’

In spite of her determination to resist him, Lily found herself hesitating because surely that was genuine contrition she could read in his eyes? And it wasn’t really his place to keep her up to speed on what was happening with the house, was it? ‘Suzy should have told me sooner,’ she conceded.

‘Yes, she should.’ Sensing capitulation, Ciro smiled. ‘So if there’s no quarrel between us, then why not let me buy you dinner?’

She sucked in a deep breath. Maybe she should just be straight with him. Because Ciro D’Angelo was clearly a player and she didn’t go in for casual sex with men—no matter how rich or how gorgeous they happened to be. ‘I don’t go out with men very often.’

‘I find that very hard to believe.’

‘Believe it, because it’s true.’

‘And I think you ought to make an exception in my case,’ he murmured.

Lily stared into his dark eyes. His soft words were like fingertips whispering erotically over her skin. She should say no. Of course she should—because he was making her want to do things she didn’t want to think about. Things she’d forgotten about. Or, rather, the person she’d forgotten about. The woman she’d been before her fiancé had dumped her. He made her want to wear silk stockings and tiny little scraps of barely there underwear. He made her want to feel his fingers tracking their way over her body and splaying against the cool flesh of her thigh. He made her feel things she’d forgotten she was capable of feeling—like pleasure and desire and a pure, raw yearning. And he might as well have had the word ‘danger’ stamped across his forehead in big red letters. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

Ciro smiled. He loved her hesitation. Loved it. ‘Please.’

‘And I’m just wondering,’ she said slowly, ‘why a cosmopolitan and obviously successful businessman like you is buying a big house in the middle of the English countryside.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘How would I know, when it seems that I’m the last to know anything?’

There was a pause. ‘I’m planning to turn it into a hotel.’

Lily’s eyes widened. A hotel? ‘You’re going to turn the Grange into a hotel?’ she breathed in horror.

‘It will be a beautiful and tasteful hotel,’ he defended. ‘My hotels always are. Ask around if you don’t believe me.’

But taste was subjective, wasn’t it? Lily imagined the bedrooms turned from their faded familiarity into places with horrible swagged four-poster beds. She thought of corporate beige carpeting and those over-the-top hotel displays of flowers, which always made her think of funeral parlours. ‘And that’s supposed to reassure me?’

He felt like telling her that it was not her place to be reassured, yet he wanted her so much that he was prepared to overlook her impertinence. ‘If it means that you’ll have dinner with me, then, yes—be reassured. Come on, Lily. Just one evening. One dinner. What are you so frightened of?’

She wondered what he’d say if she answered ‘everything’. If she told him that the whole world looked a terrifying place just now. That she was worrying about her brother’s future. About how the two of them were going to adjust to living in that tiny apartment.

But hot on the trail of her fears came the realisation that she was becoming a bit of a hermit. She tried to remember the last time she’d been tempted to go out for dinner with a man. Her broken relationship with Tom had damaged her, yes—but wasn’t she in danger of letting the damage deepen if she locked herself away, like some medieval woman in a tower? When had she last done something really reckless, just for the hell of it? Why shouldn’t she spend the evening with Ciro D’Angelo—unless she really thought herself so spineless that she’d be unable to resist falling into bed with him?

‘I don’t want a late night,’ she warned.

Ciro smiled as a feeling of triumph spread through his veins. ‘What’s your number?’

‘407649,’ she said, noticing that he didn’t bother writing it down as he took a card from his pocket and handed it to her.

‘I’ll call you,’ he said.

A figure appeared at the window—a middle-aged woman carrying jars of jam—and Ciro automatically got up to hold the door open for her, noticing her curious glance as she passed. Stepping outside into the sunlit day, his senses began to fizz with excitement. Because for a moment back then, he’d thought that Lily Scott was going to refuse to have dinner with him. A moment when he had tasted the unfamiliar flavour of uncertainty.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.