She was trapped.

The steel bars of her guilt had closed around her with a clanging, chilling finality. Vinn had all the power and would wield it as he saw fit. He had insisted on marriage, but not the sort of hands-on arrangement she had naively thought he’d had in mind. She had no hope of repaying the money he had put up to save her father’s business. It would take her two lifetimes to scrape together even half of that amount. And Vinn had known that from the very first moment she had stepped into his office. He had played her like a master, reeling her in, keeping his cards close to his chest as was his custom, revealing them only when it was too late for her to do anything to get out of the arrangement.

And it was too late.

She was going to be Vinn Venadicci’s wife within days.

Melanie Milburne says: ‘I am married to a surgeon, Steve, and have two gorgeous sons, Paul and Phil. I live in Hobart, Tasmania, where I enjoy an active life as a long-distance runner and a nationally ranked top ten Master’s swimmer. I also have a Master’s Degree in Education, but my children totally turned me off the idea of teaching! When not running or swimming I write, and when I’m not doing all of the above I’m reading. And if someone could invent a way for me to read during a four-kilometre swim I’d be even happier!’

Recent titles by the same author:

THE FIORENZA FORCED MARRIAGE

THE MARCIANO LOVE-CHILD

INNOCENT WIFE, BABY OF SHAME

ANDROLETTI’S MISTRESS

The Royal House of Niroli: SURGEON PRINCE, ORDINARY WIFE (Book 2)

Did you know that Melanie also writes for Medical™ Romance?

SINGLE DAD SEEKS A WIFE

The Brides of Penhally Bay THE SURGEON BOSS’S BRIDE HER MAN OF HONOUR IN HER BOSS’S SPECIAL CARE

THE VENADICCI MARRIAGE VENGEANCE

BY

MELANIE MILBURNE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Lorraine Bleasby, Dot Armstrong

and Denise Monks—my three past and present helpers

who free up my time so I can write. How can I thank

you for all you do and have done for me and my

family? This book is dedicated to you with much love

and appreciation. I want the world to know what

truly special women you are.

CHAPTER ONE

‘MR VENADICCI has magnanimously offered to squeeze you in between appointments,’ the receptionist informed Gabby with crisp, cool politeness. ‘But he only has ten minutes available for you.’

Gabby schooled her features into impassivity, even though inside she was fuming and had been for the last hour, as Vinn Venadicci took his time about whether he would respond to her urgent request to see him. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I will try not to take up too much of his precious time.’

No matter how galling it would be to see Vinn again, Gabby determined she would be calm and in control at all times and under all circumstances. Too much was at stake for her to jeopardise things with a show of temper or a tirade of insults, as she would have done without hesitation seven years ago. A lot of water had flowed under the bridge since then, but she was not going to tell him just how dirty some of it had been. That would be conceding defeat, and in spite of everything that had happened she wasn’t quite ready to shelve all of her pride where Vinn Venadicci was concerned.

His plush suite of offices in the heart of the financial district in Sydney was a reflection of his meteoric rise to fame in the property investment industry. From his humble beginnings as the born-out-of-wedlock bad-boy son of the St Clair family’s Italian-born house-cleaner Rose, he had surprised everyone— except Gabby’s father, who had always seen Vinn’s potential and had done what he could to give him the leg-up he needed.

Thinking of her father was just the boost to her resolve Gabby needed right now. Henry St Clair was in frail health after a serious heart attack, which meant a lot of the responsibility to keep things running smoothly while he went through the arduous process of triple bypass surgery and rehabilitation had fallen on her shoulders, with her mother standing stalwartly and rather stoically by her father’s side.

This hiccup to do with the family business had come out of the blue—and if her father got wind of it, it was just the thing that could set off another heart attack. Gabby would walk across hot coals to avoid that— even meet face to face with Vinn Venadicci.

She raised her hand to the door marked with Vinn’s name and gave it a quick two-hit tattoo, her stomach twisting with the prickly sensation she always felt when she was within striking distance of him.

‘Come.’

She straightened her shoulders and opened the door, her chin at a proud height as she took the ridiculously long journey to his desk, where he was seated. That he didn’t rise to his feet was the sort of veiled insult she more or less expected from him. He had always had an insolent air about him, even when he had lived on and off with his mother, in a servants’ cottage at the St Clair Point Piper mansion.

In that nanosecond before he spoke Gabby quickly drank in his image, her heart giving a little jerk inside her chest in spite of all of her efforts to control it. Even when he was seated his height was intimidating, and the black raven’s wing of his hair caught the light coming in from the windows, giving it a glossy sheen that made her fingers itch to reach out and touch it. His nose was crooked from one too many of the brawls he had been involved in during his youth, but—unlike many other high-profile businessmen, who would have sought surgical correction by now—Vinn wore his war wounds like a medal. Just like the scar that interrupted his left eyebrow, giving him a dangerous don’t-mess-with-me look that was disturbingly attractive.

‘So how is the Merry Widow?’ he said with a mocking glint in his eyes as they ran over her lazily. ‘Long time no see. What is it now…? One year or is it two? You look like grief suits you, Gabriella. I have never seen you looking more beautiful.’

Gabby felt her spine go rigid at his sardonic taunt. Tristan Glendenning had been dead for just over two years, and yet Vinn never failed to refer to him in that unmistakably scathing manner whenever their paths crossed. She felt each and every reference to her late husband like a hard slap across the face—not that she would ever admit that to Vinn.

She pulled her temper back into line with an effort. ‘May I sit down?’

He waved a hand in a careless manner. ‘Put your cute little bottom down on that chair. But only for ten minutes,’ he said. ‘I have back-to-back commitments today.’

Gabby sat down on the edge of the chair, hating that his words had summoned such a hot flush to her cheeks. He had the most annoying habit of unnerving her with personal comments that made her aware of her body in a way no one else could.

‘So,’ he said, leaning back in his chair with a squeak of very expensive leather, ‘what can I do for you, Gabriella?’

She silently ground her teeth. No one else called her by her full name. Only him. She knew he did it deliberately. He had done it since she was fourteen, when his mother had been hired as the resident cleaner, bringing her brooding eighteen-year-old son with her. Although Gabby had to grudgingly admit that the way he said her name was quite unlike anyone else. He had been born in Australia but, because he had been fluent in Italian from a very young age, he made her name sound faintly foreign and exotic. The four distinct syllables coming out of his sensually sculptured mouth always made the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention like tiny soldiers.

‘I am here to discuss a little problem that’s come up,’ she said, hoping he couldn’t see how she was tying her hands into knots in her lap. ‘With my father out of action at present, I would appreciate your advice on how to handle it.’

He sat watching her in that musing way of his, clicking and releasing his gold ballpoint pen with meticulously timed precision: on, off, on, off, as if he was timing his own slow and steady heartbeat.

‘How is your father this morning?’ he asked. ‘I saw him last night in Intensive Care. He was looking a little worse for wear, but that’s to be expected, I suppose.’

Gabby was well aware of Vinn’s regular visits to her father’s bedside, and had deliberately avoided being there at the same time. ‘He’s doing OK,’ she said. ‘His surgery is scheduled for some time next week. I think they’ve been waiting for him to stabilise first.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said putting the pen to one side. ‘But the doctors are hopeful of a full recovery, are they not?’

Gabby tried not to look at his hands, but for some reason her eyes drifted back to where they were now lying palm down on the smoothly polished desk. He had broad, square-shaped hands, with long fingers, and the dusting of masculine hair was enough to remind her of his virility as a full-blooded male of thirty-two.

He was no longer the youth of the past. His skin was clear and cleanly shaven, and at six foot four he carried not a gram of excess flesh; every toned and taut muscle spoke of his punishing physical regime. It made Gabby’s ad hoc attempts at regular exercise with a set of free weights and a home DVD look rather pathetic in comparison.

‘Gabriella?’

Gabby gave herself a mental shake and dragged her eyes back to his. He had such amazing eyes. And his ink-black hair and deeply olive skin made the smoky grey colour of them all the more striking.

She had never been told the details of his father, and she had never really bothered to ask Vinn directly— although she assumed his father wasn’t Italian, like his mother. Gabby had heard one or two whispers as she was growing up, which had seemed to suggest Vinn’s mother found the subject painful and refused ever to speak of it.

‘Um…I’m not really sure,’ she said, in answer to his question regarding her father’s recovery. ‘I haven’t really spoken with his doctors.’

As soon as she said the words she realised how disengaged and uncaring they made her sound—as if her father’s health was not a top priority for her, when nothing could be further from the truth. She wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for her love and concern for both of her parents. She would never have dreamed of asking for Vinn’s help if desperation hadn’t shoved her head-first through his door.

‘I take it this unprecedented visit to my lair is about the takeover bid for the St Clair Island Resort?’ he said into the ringing silence.

Gabby had trouble disguising her reaction. She had only just become aware of it herself. How on earth had he found out about it?

‘Um…yes, it is actually,’ she said, shifting restlessly in her seat. ‘As you probably know, my father took out a substantial loan for the refurbishment of the resort about a year and a half ago. But late yesterday I was informed there’s been a call. If we don’t pay the loan back the takeover bid will go through uncontested. I can’t allow that to happen.’

‘Have you spoken to your accountants about it?’ he asked.

Gabby felt another layer of her professional armour dissolve without trace. ‘They said there is no way that amount of money can be raised in twenty-four hours,’ she said, lowering her gaze a fraction.

He began his on-off click with his pen once more, a little faster now, as if in time with his sharp intelligence as he mulled over what strategy to adopt.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve mentioned it to your father,’ he said, phrasing it as neither a question nor a statement.

‘No…’ she said, still not quite able to hold his gaze. ‘I didn’t want to stress him. I’m frightened the news could trigger another heart attack.’

‘What about the on-site resort managers?’ he asked. ‘Do they know anything about this?’

Gabby rolled her lips together as she brought her gaze back to his. ‘I spoke to Judy and Garry Foster last night. They are concerned for their jobs, of course, but I tried to reassure them I would sort things out this end.’

‘Have you brought all the relevant documentation with you?’ he asked after a short pause.

‘Um…no… I thought I would run it by you first.’ Gabby knew it was the wrong answer. She could see it in his incisive grey-blue eyes as they quietly assessed her.

She felt so incompetent—like a child playing with oversized clothes in a dress-up box. The shoes she had put on were too big. She had always known it, but hadn’t had the courage to say it out loud to her parents, who had held such high hopes for her after her older brother Blair’s tragic death. The giant hole he had left in their lives had made her all the more determined to fill in where she could. But she still felt as if the shoes were too big, too ungainly for her—even though she had trudged in them with gritted teeth for the last seven and a half years.

Vinn leaned back in his seat, his eyes still centred on hers. ‘So you have less than twenty-four hours to come up with the funds otherwise the takeover bid goes through unchallenged?’ he summated.

Gabby ran the tip of her tongue across lips dryer than ancient parchment. ‘That’s right,’ she said, doing her level best to quell her dread at the thought of such an outcome. ‘If it goes through our family will be left with only a thirty-five percent share in the resort. I’m not sure what you can do, but I know my father. If he wasn’t so unwell he would probably have run it by you first, to see if there’s anything we can do to avoid losing the major sharehold.’

His eyes were still locked on hers, unblinking almost, which unsettled Gabby more than she wanted it to.

‘Do you know who is behind the takeover?’ he asked.

She shook her head and allowed a tiny sigh to escape. ‘I’ve asked around, but no one seems to know anything about the company that’s behind it.’

‘How much is the margin call?’

Gabby took an uneven breath, her stomach feeling as if a nest of hungry bull ants were eating their way out. ‘Two point four million dollars.’

His dark brows lifted a fraction. ‘Not exactly an amount you would have sitting around in petty cash,’ he commented wryly.

‘It’s not an amount that is sitting anywhere in any of the St Clair accounts,’ she said, running her tongue over her lips again, as if to wipe away the residue of panic that seemed to have permanently settled there. ‘I’m sure my father never expected anything like this to happen—or at least not before we had time to recoup on the investment. The markets have been unstable for several months now. We wouldn’t be the first to have redeveloped at the wrong time.’

‘True.’

Gabby shifted in her chair again. ‘So…I was wondering what you suggest we do…’ She sucked in a tiny breath, her heart thumping so loudly she could feel a roaring in her ears. ‘I…I know it’s a bit of an imposition, but my father respects your judgment. That’s basically why I am here.’

Vinn gave a deep and utterly masculine rumble of laughter. ‘Yes, well, I can’t imagine you pressing for an audience with me to share your observations on the day’s weather,’ he said. And then, with a little sneering quirk of his mouth, he added, ‘You have five minutes left, by the way.’

Gabby pursed her lips as she fought her temper down. ‘I think you know what I’m asking you to do,’ she said tightly. ‘Don’t make me spell it out just to bolster your already monumental ego.’

A flicker of heat made his eyes look like the centre of a flame as he leaned forward across the desk. ‘You want me to pay off the loan, is that it?’ he said, searing her gaze with his.

‘My father has done a lot for you—’ she launched into the speech she had hastily prepared in the middle of the night ‘—he paid bail for that stolen car charge you were on when you were eighteen, not long after you came to live with us. And he gave you your very first loan for university. You wouldn’t be where you are today without his mentorship and his belief in you.’

He leaned back in his chair, his demeanour casual as you please. He picked up his pen again, but this time rolled it between two of his long fingers. ‘Two point four million dollars is a lot of money, Gabriella,’ he said. ‘If I were to hand over such an amount I would want something in return. Something I could depend on to cover my losses if things were to take a sudden downturn.’

Gabby felt a prickle of alarm lift the surface of her skin. ‘You mean like a guarantee or something?’ she asked. ‘W-we can have something drawn up with the lawyers. A repayment plan over…say five years, with fixed interest. How does that sound?’

He gave a smile that wasn’t reflected in those unreadable eyes of his. ‘It sounds risky,’ he said. ‘I would want a better guarantee than something written on paper.’

She looked at him in confusion. ‘I’m not sure what you mean… Are you asking for more collateral? There’s the house but Mum and Dad will need somewhere to—’

‘I don’t want their house,’ he said, his eyes still burning like fire into hers.

Gabby ran her tongue over her lips again, her stomach doing another nervous shuffling movement. ‘Then…then what do you want?’ she asked, annoyed with herself at how whispery and frightened her voice sounded.

The silence became charged with something she couldn’t quite identify. The air was thick—so thick she could scarcely breathe without feeling as if her chest was being pressed down with a weight far too heavy for her finely boned ribcage. Apprehension slowly but stealthily crept up her spine, with tiptoeing, ice-cold steps, disturbing each and every fine hair on the back of her neck.

Vinn’s eyes were fathomless pools of murky shadows as they held onto hers. ‘How do you feel about stepping up to the plate as guarantor?’ he asked.

Gabby frowned. ‘I don’t have anything like that amount at my disposal,’ she said, her heart starting to race. ‘I have a small income I draw from the company for my immediate needs, but nothing that would cover that amount at short notice.’

He tilted one of his dark brows ironically. ‘So I take it your late husband didn’t leave you in the manner to which you have been accustomed for all of your silver-spooned life?’ he said.

Gabby lowered her gaze and looked at her knotted hands rather than see the I-told-you-so gleam in his eyes. ‘Tristan’s finances were in a bit of a mess when he died so suddenly. There were debts and…so many things to see to…’ And so many secrets to keep, she thought grimly.

A three-beat pause passed.

‘I will give you the money,’ Vinn said at last. ‘I can have it in your father’s business account with a few clicks of my computer mouse. Your little problem will be solved before you catch the lift down to the ground floor of this building.’

Gabby could sense a ‘but’ coming, and waited with bated breath for him to deliver it. She knew him too well to expect him to hand over that amount of money without some sort of condition on the deal. Sure, he admired and respected her father, he even tolerated her mother to some degree, but he had every reason to hate Gabby, and she couldn’t imagine him missing a golden opportunity like this to demonstrate how deep his loathing of her ran.

‘But of course there will be some conditions on the deal,’ he inserted into the silence.

Gabby felt her heart skip a beat when she saw the determined glint in his gaze. ‘W-what sort of conditions?’ she asked.

‘I am surprised you haven’t already guessed,’ he remarked, with an inscrutable smile playing with the sensual line of his mouth, giving him a devilishly ruthless look.

Gabby felt another shiver of apprehension pass through her. ‘I—I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she said, her nails scoring into her palms as she tightened her fists in her lap.

‘Ah, but I think you do,’ he said. ‘Remember the night before your wedding?’

She forced herself to hold his gaze, even though she could feel a bloom of guilty colour staining her cheeks. The memory was as clear as if it had happened yesterday. God knew she had relived that brief, fiery exchange so many times during her train wreck of a marriage, wondering how different her life might have been if she had heeded Vinn’s warning…

The wedding rehearsal had been going ahead, in spite of Tristan calling at the last minute to say he had been held up in a meeting and might not make it after all, and Vinn had arrived at the church bleary-eyed and unshaven from an international flight, after spending the last six months in Italy where his terminally ill mother had asked to be taken to die.

He had leaned in that indolent way of his against one of the columns at the back of the cathedral, his strong arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other, and his eyes—those amazingly penetrating eyes—every time Gabby happened to glance his way, trained on her.

Once the minister had taken them through their paces, Gabby’s mother had invited everyone present back to the St Clair house for a light supper. Gabby had secretly hoped Vinn would decline the invitation, but as she had come out of one of the upstairs bathrooms half an hour or so later, Vinn had stepped forward to block her path.

‘I’d like a word with you, Gabriella,’ he said. ‘In private.’

‘I can’t imagine what you’d have to say to me,’ she said coldly, as she tried to sidestep him, but he took one of her wrists in the steel bracelet of his fingers, the physical contact sending sparks of fizzing electricity up and down her arm. ‘Let me go, Vinn,’ she said, trying to pull away.

His hold tightened to the point of pain. ‘Don’t go through with it, Gabriella,’ he said in a strained sort of tone she had never heard him use before. ‘He’s not the right man for you.’

Pride made her put her chin up. ‘Let me go,’ she repeated, and, using her free hand, scraped the back of his hand with her nails.

He captured her other hand and pulled her up close—closer than she had ever been to him before. It was a shock to find how hard the wall of his chest was, and the latent power of his thighs pressed against her trembling body made her spine feel loose and watery all of a sudden.

His eyes were burning as they warred with hers. ‘Call it off,’ he said. ‘Your parents will understand. It’s not too late.’

She threw him an icy glare. ‘If you don’t let me go this instant I’ll tell everyone you tried to assault me. You’ll go to jail. Tristan’s father will act for me in court. You won’t have a leg to stand on.’

His mouth tightened, and she saw a pulse beating like a drum in his neck. ‘Glendenning is only marrying you for your money,’ he ground out.

Gabby was incensed, even though a tiny pinhole of doubt had already worn through the thick veil of denial she had stitched in place over the last few weeks of her engagement. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she spat at him. ‘Tristan loves me. I know he does.’

Vinn’s hands were like handcuffs on her wrists. ‘If it’s marriage you want, then marry me. At least you’ll know what you’re getting.’

Gabby laughed in his face. ‘Marry you?’ She injected as much insult as she could into her tone. ‘And spend the rest of my life like your mother did, scrubbing other people’s houses? Thanks, but no thanks.’

‘I won’t let you go through with it, Gabriella,’ he warned. ‘If you don’t call the wedding off tonight I will stand up during the ceremony tomorrow and tell the congregation why the marriage should not go ahead.’

‘You wouldn’t dare!’

His eyes challenged hers. ‘You just watch me, Blondie,’ he said. ‘Do you want the whole of Sydney to know what sort of man you are marrying?’

She threw him a look of pure venom. ‘I am going to make damned sure you’re not even at my wedding,’ she spat back at him. ‘I’m going to speak to the security firm Dad has organised and have you banned from entry. I’m marrying Tristan tomorrow no matter what you say. I love him.’

‘You don’t know who or what you want right now,’ he said, with a fast-beating pulse showing at the corner of his mouth. ‘Damn it, Gabriella, you’re only just twenty-one. Your brother’s suicide has thrown you. It’s thrown all of us. Your engagement was a knee-jerk reaction. For God’s sake, a blind man could see it.’

The mention of her brother and his tragic death unleashed a spurt of anger Gabby had not been able to express out of respect for her shattered parents. It rose inside her like an explosion of lava, and with the sort of strength she had no idea she possessed, she tore herself out of his hold and delivered a stinging slap to his stubbly jaw. It must have hurt him, for her hand began to throb unbearably, all the delicate bones feeling as if they had been crushed by a house brick.

Time stood still for several heart-stopping seconds.

Something dangerous flickered in his grey-blue eyes, and then with a speed that knocked the breath right out of her lungs he pulled her into his crushing embrace, his hot, angry mouth coming down on hers…

Gabby had to shake herself back to the present. She hated thinking about that kiss. She hated remembering how she had so shamelessly responded to it. And she hated recalling the bracelet of fingertip bruises she had worn on her wedding day—as if Vinn Venadicci, in spite of her covert word to Security to keep him out of the church, had vicariously come along to mock her marriage to Tristan Glendenning anyway.

‘Just tell me what you want and get it over with,’ she said now, with a flash of irritation, as she continued to face him combatively across the expanse of his desk.

‘I want you to be my wife.’

Gabby wasn’t sure what shocked her the most: the blunt statement of his intentions or the terrifying realisation she had no choice but to agree.

‘That seems rather an unusual request, given the fact we hate each other and have always done so,’ she managed to say, without—she hoped—betraying the flutter of her heart.

‘You don’t hate me, Gabriella,’ he said with a sardonic smile. ‘You just hate how I make you feel. It’s always been there between us, has it not? The forbidden fruit of attraction: the rich heiress and the bad boy servant’s son. A potent mix, don’t you think?’

Gabby sent him a withering look. ‘You are delusional, Vinn,’ she said. ‘I have never given you any encouragement to think anything but how much I detest you.’

He got to his feet and, glancing at his designer watch, informed her dispassionately, ‘Time’s up, Blondie.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘I need more time to consider your offer,’ she bit out.

‘The offer is closing in less than thirty seconds,’ he said with an indomitable look. ‘Take or leave it.’

Frustration pushed Gabby to her feet. ‘This is my father’s life’s work we’re talking about here,’ she said, her voice rising to an almost shrill level. ‘He built up the St Clair Resort from scratch after that cyclone in the seventies. How can you turn your back on him after all he’s done for you? Damn it, Vinn. You would be pacing the exercise yard at Pentridge Jail if it wasn’t for what our family has done for you.’

His eyes were diamond-hard, the set to his mouth like carved granite. ‘That is my price, Gabriella,’ he said. ‘Marriage or nothing.’

She clenched her hands into fists, her whole body shaking with impotent rage. ‘You know I can’t say no. You know it and you want to rub it in. You’re only doing this because I rejected your stupid spur of the moment proposal seven years ago.’

He leaned towards the intercom on his desk and pressing the button, said calmly, ‘Rachel? Is my next client here? Mrs Glendenning is just leaving.’

Gabby could see her father’s hard-earned business slipping out of his control. He would have to sell the house—the house his parents and grandparents before him had lived in. Gabby could imagine the crushing disappointment etched on his face when she told him she had failed him, that she hadn’t been able to keep things afloat as her brilliantly talented brother would have done. If Blair was still alive he would have networked and found someone to tide him over by now. He would have had that margin call solved with a quick call to one of his well-connected mates. That was the way he had worked. He had lived on the adrenalin rush of life while she… Well, that was the problem.

She couldn’t cope.

She liked to know what was going to happen and when it was going to happen. She hated the cut and thrust of business, the endless going-nowhere meetings, the tedious networking at corporate functions—not to mention the reams of pointless paperwork. And most of all she hated the rows and rows of numbers that seemed more of a blur to her than anything else.

Gabby liked to… Well, there was no point in thinking about what she liked to do, because it just wasn’t going to happen. Her dreams had had to be shelved and would remain shelved—at least until her father could take up the reins again… If he took up the reins again, she thought, with another deep quiver of panic.

Gabby had been the last person to speak to her brother; the last person to see him alive before he ended his life with a drug overdose. Because of that she had responsibilities to face. And face them she would. Even if they were totally repugnant to her. Being forced to marry a man like Vinn Venadicci was right up there on the repugnant scale. Or maybe repugnant wasn’t quite the right word, she grudgingly conceded. Vinn was hardly what any woman would describe as physically off-putting. He was downright gorgeous, when it came down to it. That long, leanly muscled frame, that silky black hair, those sensually sculptured lips and those mesmerising eyes were enough to send any woman’s heart aflutter—and Gabby’s was doing a whole lot more than fluttering right now at the thought of being formally tied to him.

Entering into a marriage contract with Vinn was asking for trouble—but what else could she do? Who was going to lend her that amount of money in less than twenty-four hours?

Gabby gulped as she glanced at him again. Could she do it? Could she agree to marry him even though it was madness?

Actually, it was dangerous… Yes, that was the word she had been looking for. Vinn was dangerous. He was arrogant, he was a playboy, and—even more disturbing—he had a chip on his shoulder where she was concerned.

But she had nowhere else to turn—no other solution to fix this within the narrow timeframe. It was up to her to save her family’s business, even if it meant agreeing to his preposterous conditions.

‘All right,’ Gabby said on a whooshing breath of resignation. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Fine,’ Vinn said, in a tone that suggested he had never had any doubt of her accepting, which somehow made it all the more galling. ‘The money will be deposited within the next few minutes. I will pick you up this evening for dinner, so we can go through the wedding arrangements.’

Gabby felt herself quake with alarm. ‘Couldn’t we just wait a few days until I have time to—?’

His cynical laugh cut her off. ‘Until you have time to think of a way out, eh, Gabriella? I don’t think so, cara. Now I have you I am not going to let you escape.’

‘What am I supposed to say to my parents?’ she asked, scowling at him even as her stomach did another nosedive of dread.

He smiled. ‘Why not tell them you’ve finally come to your senses and agreed to marry me?’

She gave him another glare that would have stripped three decades of paint off a wall. ‘They will think I have taken leave of my senses.’

‘Or they will think you have fallen head over heels in love,’ he said. ‘Which is exactly what I would prefer them to believe at this point in time. Your father’s health is unstable and will be for some weeks after the surgery, I imagine. I wouldn’t want him to suffer a relapse out of concern for you or for his business.’

Gabby couldn’t argue with that, but she resented him using it as a lever to get her to fall meekly in with his plans. ‘I was planning on going to the hospital this evening,’ she said tightly. ‘Will I meet you there or at the house?’

‘I have a couple of meetings that might string out, so if I don’t make it to the hospital I will meet you at the house around eight-thirty,’ he said. ‘I would like to speak to your father at some point about my intentions.’

Gabby couldn’t stop her top lip from curling. ‘Somehow you don’t strike me as the traditional type, asking a girl’s father for her hand in marriage. In fact I didn’t think you were the marrying type at all. All we ever read about you in the press is how you move from one relationship to another within a matter of weeks.’

He gave her another unreadable smile. ‘Variety, as they say, is the spice of life,’ he said. ‘But even the most restless man eventually feels the need to put down some roots.’

She eyed him warily. ‘This marriage between us…it’s not for the long term…is it?’

‘Only for as long as it achieves its aim,’ he said— which Gabby realised hadn’t really answered her question.

Vinn moved past her to hold the door open for her. ‘I will see you tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ll call you if I am going to be late.’

She brushed past him, her head at a proud angle. The subtle notes of her perfume danced around his face, making his nostrils flare involuntarily. She smelt of orange blossom. Or was it honeysuckle? He couldn’t quite tell. Maybe it was both. That was the thing about Gabriella—she was a combination of so many things, any one of them alone was enough to send his senses spinning. But all of them put together? Well, that was half his problem, wasn’t it?

The door clicked shut behind her and Vinn released the breath he’d unconsciously been holding. ‘Damn,’ he said, raking a hand through his hair. ‘God damn it to hell.’

‘Mr Venadicci?’ His receptionist’s cool, crisp voice sounded over the intercom. ‘Mr Winchester is here now. Shall I send him in?’

Vinn pulled in an uneven breath and released it just as raggedly. ‘Yeah…’ he said, dropping his hand by his side. ‘I’ll see him. But tell him I’ve only got five minutes.’

CHAPTER TWO

GABBY put on her bravest face while she visited her father’s bedside. The tubes and heart monitor leads attached to his grey-tinged body made her stomach churn with anguish—the very same anguish she could see played out on her mother’s face.

‘How are you, Dad?’ she whispered softly as she bent down to kiss his cheek.

‘Still alive and kicking,’ he said, and even managed a lopsided grin, but Gabby could see the worry and fear in his whisky-coloured eyes.

‘Have the doctors told you anything more?’ she asked, addressing both her mother and father.

‘The surgery is being brought forward to tomorrow,’ Pamela St Clair answered. ‘Vinn spoke to the cardiac surgeon and organised it when he was here earlier. He insisted your father’s case be made a priority. You just missed him, actually. It’s a wonder you didn’t pass him in the corridor.’

Gabby stiffened. ‘Vinn was here just now?’

‘Yes, dear,’ her mother said. ‘He’s been here every day. But you know that.’

‘Yes… It’s just I was speaking to him this morning and he said he had meetings to attend all afternoon and evening,’ she said, unconsciously biting her lip.

Her mother gave her a searching look. ‘I hope you’re not going to be difficult about Vinn,’ she said, with a hint of reproof in her tone. ‘He’s been nothing but supportive, and the least you could do is be civil towards him—especially now.’

Gabby could have laughed out loud at the irony of her mother’s turnaround. Pamela St Clair had always been of the old school, that actively discouraged fraternisation with any of the household staff. She had barely spoken to Vinn’s mother during the years Rose had worked at the St Clair estate other than to hand Rose a long list of menial tasks to get through. She had been even less friendly towards Rose’s surly son during the short time he had lived there with his mother. And after he’d had that slight run-in with the law Pamela had tried to ban him from the property altogether, but Gabby’s father had insisted Vinn be allowed to visit his mother as usual.

Gabby hadn’t been much better towards Rose— which was something she had come to sincerely regret in the years since. She still cringed in shame at how inconsiderate she had been at times, carelessly leaving her things about, without a care for the person who had to come along behind her and pick them up.

But it was Gabby’s treatment of Vinn that had been the most unforgivable. She had been absolutely appalling to him for most of her teenage years—teasing him in front of her giggling friends, talking about him in disparaging terms well within his hearing. She had flirted with him, and then turned her nose up at him with disgraceful regularity. She had no excuse for her behaviour other than that she had been an insecure teenager, privately struggling with body issues, who, in an effort to build her self-esteem, had tended to mix with a rather shallow crowd of rich-kid friends who had not learned to respect people from less affluent backgrounds.

On one distressingly memorable occasion, at the urging of her troublemaking friends, Gabby had left an outrageously seductive note for Vinn, asking him to meet her in the summerhouse that evening. But instead of turning up she had watched from one of the top windows of the mansion, laughing with her friends at how he had arrived at the summerhouse with a bunch of white roses for her. What had shamed her most had been Vinn’s reaction. Instead of bawling her out, calling her any one of the despicable names she had no doubt deserved, he had said nothing. Not to her, not to her parents, and not even to her brother Blair, whom he’d spent most of his spare time with whenever he had visited the estate.

Gabby’s father reached out a weak hand towards her, the slight tremble of his touch bringing her back to the present. ‘Vinn is a good man,’ he said. ‘I know you’re still grieving the loss of Tristan, but I think you should seriously consider his proposal. You could do a lot worse. I know he’s had a bit of a rough start, but he’s done well for himself. No one could argue with that. I always knew he had the will-power and the drive to make it once he got on the right path. I’m glad he has chosen you as his bride. He will look after you well. I know he will.’

Gabby couldn’t quite disguise her surprise that Vinn had already spoken to her father. She moistened her dry lips and tried on a bright smile, but it didn’t feel comfortable on her mouth. ‘So he’s spoken to you about our…relationship?’

Her father smiled. ‘I gave him my full blessing, Gabby. I must say I wasn’t the least surprised to hear the news of your engagement.’

Gabby frowned. ‘You…you weren’t?

He shook his head and gave her hand another light squeeze. ‘You’ve been striking sparks off each other since you were a teenager,’ he said. ‘For a time there I thought… Well…Blair’s accident changed everything, of course.’

Gabby felt the familiar frustration that neither of her parents had ever accepted their only son’s death as suicide. They still refused to acknowledge he had been dabbling with drugs—but then stubborn denial was a St Clair trait, and she had her own fair share of it.

‘I’m glad you both approve,’ she said, banking down her emotion. ‘We are having dinner this evening to discuss the wedding arrangements.’

‘Yes, he told us it wasn’t going to be a grand affair,’ her mother said. ‘I think that’s wise, under the circumstances. After all, it’s your second marriage. It seems pointless going to the same fuss as last time.’

Gabby couldn’t agree more. The amount of money spent on her marriage to Tristan Glendenning had been such a waste when within hours of the ceremony and lavish reception she had realised the terrible mistake she had made.

She stretched her mouth into another staged smile and reached across to kiss both her parents. ‘I’d better get going,’ she said, readjusting her handbag over her shoulder. ‘Is there anything you need before I go?’

‘No, dear,’ her mother assured her. ‘Vinn brought some fruit and a couple of novels for your father to read by that author he enjoys so much. I must say Vinn’s grown into a perfect gentleman. Your father is right. You could do a lot worse—especially as you’re a widow. Not many men want a woman someone else has had, so to speak.’

Gabby silently ground her teeth. If only her mother knew the truth about her ill-fated first marriage. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said, and with another unnatural smile left.

The St Clair mansion was situated on the waterfront in the premier harbourside suburb of Point Piper, flanked on either side by equally luxurious homes for the super-rich and famous. The views across Sydney Harbour were spectacular, and the house and grounds offered a lifestyle that was decadent to say the least.

Gabby had moved back home two years ago, after Tristan’s death in a car accident, and although now and again she had toyed with the idea of finding a place of her own, so far she had done nothing about doing so. The mansion was big enough for her to have the privacy she needed, and with her finances still on the shaky side, after the trail of debts her late husband had left behind, she had decided to leave things as they were for the time being.

The doorbell sounded right on the stroke of eight-thirty and Gabby was still not ready. Her straight ash-blonde hair was in heated rollers, to give it some much needed body, and she was still in her bathrobe after a shower.

She wriggled into a black sheath of a designer dress she’d had for years, and shoved her feet into three inch heels, all the time trying not to panic as another minute passed. She slashed some lipstick across her mouth and dusted her cheeks with translucent powder, giving her lashes a quick brush with a mascara wand before tugging at the rollers. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders in springy waves, and with a quick brush she was ready—or at least as ready as she could be under the circumstances. Which wasn’t saying much…

Vinn checked his watch and wondered if he should use the key Henry had insisted he keep on him at all times. But just as he was searching for it on his keyring the door opened and Gabriella was standing there, looking as if she had just stepped off the catwalk. Her perfume drifted towards him, an exotic blend of summer blooms. Her normally straight hair was bouncing freely around her bare shoulders, the black halter neck dress showing off her slim figure to maximum advantage.

It had always amazed him how someone so slim could have such generous breasts without having to resort to any sort of enhancement. The tempting shadow of her cleavage drew his eyes like a magnet, and he had to fight to keep his eyes on her toffee-brown ones. She had made them all the more noticeable with the clever use of smoky eyeshadow and eyeliner, and her full and sensual lips were a glossy pink which was the same shade as that on her fingernails.

‘I’ll just get my wrap and purse,’ she said, leaving the door open.

Vinn watched her walk over the marbled floor of the expansive foyer on killer heels, one of her hands adjusting her earrings before she scooped up a purse and silky wrap. She turned and came back towards him, her chin at the haughty angle he had always associated with her—even when she was a sulky fourteen-year-old, with braces on her teeth and puppy fat on her body.

‘Shall we get this over with?’ she said, as if they were about to face a hangman.

Vinn had to suppress his desire to make her eat her carelessly slung words. She meant to insult him, and would no doubt do so at every opportunity, but he had the upper hand now and she would have to toe the line. It would bring him immense pleasure to tame her—especially after what her fiancé had done to him on the day of their wedding on her behalf. The scar over his left eyebrow was a permanent reminder of what lengths she would go to in order to have her way. But things were going to be done his way this time around, and the sooner she got used to it the better.

He led the way to his car and opened the passenger door for her, closing it once she was inside with the seatbelt in place. He waited until they were heading towards the city before he spoke.

‘Your parents were surprisingly positive about our decision to marry—your mother in particular. I was expecting her to drop into a faint at the thought of her daughter hooking up with a fatherless foreigner, but she practically gushed in gratefulness that someone had put up their hand to scoop you off the shelf, so to speak.’

Gabby sent him a brittle look. ‘Must you be so insulting?’ she asked. ‘And by the way—not that I’m splitting hairs or anything—but it wasn’t exactly our plan to get married, it was yours.’

He gave an indifferent lift of one shoulder. ‘There is no point arguing about the terms now the margin call has been dealt with,’ he said. ‘I have always had a lot of time for your father, but your mother has always been an out-and-out snob who thinks the measure of a man is what’s in his wallet.’

‘Yes, well, it’s practically the only thing you’ve got going for you,’ she shot back with a scowl.

He laughed as he changed gears. ‘What’s in my wallet has just got you and your family out of a trainload of trouble, cara, so don’t go insulting me, hmm? I might take it upon myself to withdraw my support— and then where will you be?’

Gabby turned her head away, looking almost sightlessly at the silvery skyscrapers of the city as they flashed past. He was right of course. She would have to curb her tongue, otherwise he might renege on the deal. It would be just the kind of thing he would do, and relish every moment of doing it. Although it went against everything she believed in to pander to a man she loathed with every gram of her being, she really didn’t see she had any choice in the matter. Vinn had the power to make or break her; she had to remember that.

She had never thought it was possible to hate someone so much. Her blood was thundering through her veins with the sheer force of it. He was so arrogant, so very self-assured. Against all the odds he had risen above his impoverished background and was using his new-found power to control her. But she was not going to give in without a fight. He might make her his wife, but it would be in name only.

Not that she would tell him just yet, of course. That would be the card up her sleeve she would reveal only once the ceremony was over. Vinn would be in for a surprise to find his new wife was not prepared to sleep with him. She would be a trophy wife—a gracious hostess, who would say the right things in the right places, and smile and act the role of the devoted partner in public if needed—but in private she would be the same Gabby who had left the score of her nails on the back of his hand the night before her wedding.

The restaurant he had booked was on the waterfront, and the night-time view over the harbour was even more stunning, with the twinkling of lights from the various tour ferries and floating restaurants. The evening air was sultry and warm, heavy with humidity, as if there was a storm brewing in the atmosphere.

Gabby walked stiffly by Vinn’s side, suffering the light touch of his hand beneath her elbow as he escorted her inside the award-winning restaurant. The head waiter greeted Vinn with deference, before leading the way to a table in a prime position overlooking the fabulous views.

‘Have you ever dined here before?’ Vinn asked, once they were seated and their starched napkins were expertly draped over their laps.

Gabby shook her head and glanced at the drinks menu. ‘No, I haven’t been out all that much lately.’

‘Have you dated anyone since your husband died?’ he asked, with what appeared to be only casual interest.

She still looked at the menu rather than face his gaze. ‘It’s only been two years,’ she said curtly. ‘I’m in no hurry.’

‘Do you miss him?’

Gabby put the menu down and looked at Vinn in irritation. ‘What sort of a question is that?’ she asked. ‘We were married for five years.’ Five miserably unhappy years. But she could hardly tell him that. She hadn’t even told her parents.

She hadn’t told anyone. Who was there to tell? She had never been particularly good at friendships; her few girlfriends had found Tristan boorish and overbearing, and each of them had gradually moved on, with barely an e-mail or a text to see how she was doing. Gabby knew it was mostly her fault for constantly covering for her husband’s inadequacies. She had become what the experts called an enabler, a co-dependant. Tristan had been allowed to get away with his unspeakable behaviour because she had not been able to face the shame of facing up to the mistake she had made in marrying him. As a result she had become an adept liar, and, although it was painful to face it, she knew she had only herself to blame.

‘You didn’t have children,’ Vinn inserted into the silence. ‘Was that your choice or his?’

‘It wasn’t something we got around to discussing,’ she said, as she inspected the food menu with fierce concentration.

The waiter came and took their order for drinks. Gabby chose a very rich cocktail—more for Dutch courage than anything. It was what she felt she needed just now: a thick fog of alcohol to survive an evening in Vinn’s company.

Vinn, on the other hand, ordered a tall glass of iced mineral water—a well-known Italian brand, she noticed.

‘You’d better go easy on that drink of yours, Gabriella,’ he cautioned as she took a generous mouthful. ‘Drinking on an empty stomach is not wise. Alcohol has a well-known disinhibitory effect on behaviour. You might find yourself doing things you wouldn’t normally do.’

She gave him a haughty look. ‘You mean like enjoying your company instead of loathing every minute of it?’

His grey-blue eyes gave a flame-like flash. ‘You will enjoy a whole lot more than just my company before the ink on our marriage certificate is dry,’ he said.

Gabby took another gulping swallow of her drink to disguise her discomfiture. Her stomach felt quivery all of a sudden. The thought of his hands and mouth on her body was making her feel as if she had taken on much more than she had bargained for. She had held Tristan off for years—except for that one horrible night when he had… She swallowed another mouthful of her drink, determined not to think of the degradation she had suffered at her late husband’s hands.

‘You have gone rather pale,’ Vinn observed. ‘Is the thought of sharing my bed distasteful to you?’

Gabby was glad she had her glass to hide behind, although the amount of alcohol she had consumed had gone alarmingly to her head. Or perhaps it was his disturbing presence. Either way, she didn’t trust herself to speak and instead sent him another haughty glare.

‘That kiss we shared seven years ago certainly didn’t suggest you would find my lovemaking abhorrent— anything but. You were hungry for it, Gabriella. I found that rather interesting, since the following day you married another man.’

‘You forced yourself on me,’ she hissed at him in an undertone, on account of the other diners close by.

‘Forced is perhaps too strong a word to use, but in any case you responded wholeheartedly,’ he said. ‘Not just with those soft full lips of yours, but with your tongue as well. And if I recall even your teeth got into the act at one point. I’m getting hard now, just thinking about it.’

Gabby had never felt so embarrassed in her entire life. Her face felt as if someone had aimed a blowtorch at her. But even more disturbing was the thought of his body stirring with arousal for her—especially with those powerful thighs of his within touching distance of hers.

‘Your recollection has obviously been distorted over time, for I can barely remember it,’ she said with a toss of her head.

His eyes glinted smoulderingly. ‘Then perhaps I should refresh your memory,’ he said. ‘No doubt there will be numerous opportunities to do so once we are living together as man and wife.’

Gabby had to fight to remain calm, but it was almost impossible to control the stuttering of her heart and the flutter of panic deep and low in her belly. ‘When do you plan for this ridiculous farce to commence?’ she asked, with fabricated quiescence.

‘Our marriage will not be a farce,’ he said, with a determined set to his mouth. ‘It will be real in every sense of the word.’

Her eyes widened a fraction before she could counter it. ‘Is that some sort of sick habit of yours? Sleeping with someone you dislike?’

‘You are a very beautiful woman, Gabriella,’ he said. ‘Whether I like you or not is beside the point.’

Gabby wanted to slap that supercilious smile off his face. She sat with her hands clenched in her lap, her eyes shooting sparks of fury at him. But more disturbing was the way her body was responding to his smoothly delivered sensual promises. She could feel a faint trembling between her thighs, like a tiny pulse, and her breasts felt full and tight, her nipples suddenly sensitive against the black fabric of her dress.

‘I’m prepared to marry you, but that’s as far as it goes,’ she said with a testy look. ‘It’s totally barbaric of you to expect me to agree to a physical relationship with you.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ he asked. ‘Two point four million dollars is a high price for a bride, and I expect to get my money’s worth.’

She sucked in a rasping breath. ‘This is outrageous! It’s akin to prostitution.’

‘You came to me for help, Gabriella, and I gave it to you,’ he said. ‘I was totally up-front about the terms, so there is no point in pretending to be shocked about them now.’

‘But what about the woman you were seeing a month or so ago?’ Gabby asked, recalling a photograph she had seen in the ‘Who’s-Out-and-About?’ section of one of the Sydney papers. An exquisitely beautiful woman gazing up at Vinn adoringly.

He gave her a supercilious smile. ‘So you have been keeping a close eye on my love life, have you, mia piccola?’

She glowered at him darkly. ‘I have absolutely no interest in who you see. But if we are to suffer a short-term marriage, the very least you could do is keep your affairs out of the press.’

‘I don’t recall saying our marriage was going to be a short-term one,’ he said with an inscrutable smile. ‘Far from it.’

Gabby felt her heart give a kick-like movement against the wall of her chest. ‘W-what?’ she gasped.

‘I have always held the opinion that marriage should be for life,’ he said. ‘I guess you could say it stems from my background. My mother was abandoned by the man she loved while she had a baby on the way. She had no security, no husband to provide for her, and as a result she went on to live a hard life of drudgery— cleaning other people’s houses to keep food on the table and clothes on our backs. I swore from an early age that when it came time for me to settle down I would do so with permanence in mind.’

‘But you don’t even like me!’ she blurted in shock. ‘How could you possibly contemplate tying yourself to me for the rest of your life?’

‘Haven’t you got any mirrors at your house any more, mia splendida ragazza?’ he asked, with another smouldering look. ‘I do not have to like you to lust over you. And isn’t that what every wife wants? A husband with an unquenchable desire for her and her alone?’

Gabby swallowed back her panic, but even so she felt as if she was choking on a thick uneven lump of it. ‘You’re winding me up. I know you are. This is your idea of a sick joke. And let me tell you, I am not finding it the least bit amusing.’

‘I am not joking, Gabriella,’ he said. ‘Love is generally an overrated emotion—or at least I have found it to be so. People fall in and out of love all the time. But some of the most successful marriages I know are those built on compatibility in bed—and, believe you me, you don’t need to be in love with someone to have an earth-shattering orgasm with them.’

Gabby felt her face explode with colour, and was never more grateful for the reappearance of the waiter to take their meal orders.

Hearing Vinn speak of…that word…that experience… made her go hot all over. She had never experienced pleasure with her late husband. The one time Tristan had taken it upon himself to assert “his manly duty”, as he had euphemistically called it, he had left her not cold, but burning with pain and shame.

Once the waiter had left, Gabby drained the rest of her cocktail, beyond caring that it had made her head spin. No amount of alcohol could affect her more than Vinn had already done, she decided. Her body was tingling all over with sensation, and her mind was running off at wayward tangents, imagining what it would feel like to be crushed by the solid weight of his body, his sensual mouth locked on hers, one of his strong, hair-roughened thighs nudging hers apart to—

She jerked away from her thoughts, annoyed that she had allowed his potent brand of sensuality to get under her guard. What on earth was she thinking? He was the enemy. She knew exactly what he was doing and why. He was only marrying her to get back at her for how she had treated him in the past. He knew it would be torture for her to be tied to him. Why else would he insist on it? Never had she regretted her immature behaviour more than this moment. Why, oh why, had she been so shallow and cruel?

Gabby’s older brother Blair had often pulled her up for her attitude towards Vinn, but in a way his relationship with Vinn had been a huge part of the problem. She had felt jealous that her adored older brother clearly preferred the company of the cleaner’s son to hers. Gabby had resented the way Blair spent hours helping Vinn with his studies when he could have been spending time with her, the way he’d used to do before Vinn had arrived with his mother.

When Gabby had accidentally stumbled upon the realisation that Vinn suffered from dyslexia she had cruelly taunted him with it, mocking him for not being able to read the most basic of texts. But for some reason, just as he had when she had led him on so despicably that hot summer afternoon when she was sixteen, Vinn had never spoken to her brother or her parents about her behaviour. He had taken it on the chin, removing himself from her presence without a word, even though she had sensed the blistering anger in him, simmering just below the surface of his steely outward calm.

Gabby could sense that anger still simmering now, in the way he looked at her from beneath that slightly hooded brow. Those grey-blue eyes were like mysteriously deep mountain lakes, icy cold one minute, warm and inviting the next, and they spoke of a man who had nothing but revenge on his mind.

She had seen the way women were looking at him. He had such arrestingly handsome features, and his presence was both commanding and brooding—as if he was calculating his next move, like a champion chess player, prepared to take as long as he needed to move his king, making his opponent sit it out in gut-wrenching apprehension.

Gabby felt another shiver of unease pass through her at the thought of being married to him. He had said he expected their marriage to be permanent. That meant there were issues to consider: children, for one thing. She was twenty-eight years old, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t heard the relentless ticking of her biological clock in the two years since Tristan had died. Children had not been an option while she had been married to him. She would never have brought children into such a relationship. She hadn’t even brought a pet into the house in case he had used it against her in one of his violent moods.

‘You have gone very quiet, Gabriella,’ Vinn observed. ‘Is the thought of having an orgasm with me too hard for you to handle?’

She gave him a withering look. ‘No, in actual fact I find it hard to believe it possible,’ she said. ‘I can’t speak for the legion of women you’ve already bedded, but I personally am unable to engage in such an intimate act without some engagement of emotion.’

He gave a deep chuckle of laughter. ‘How about hate?’ he asked, reaching for his mineral water. ‘Is that enough emotion to get you rolling?’

She put down her glass and signalled for the waiter to refill it.

‘Do you think that is wise?’ Vinn asked. ‘The amount of alcohol in that drink is enough to cloud anyone’s judgement.’

Gabby put up her chin. ‘In the absence of the engagement of emotion, alcohol and a great deal of it is the next best thing,’ she said.

His eyes narrowed to grey-blue stormy slits. ‘If you think I will bed you while you are under the influence, think again,’ he said. ‘When we come together for the first time I want you stone-cold sober, so you remember every second of it.’

Gabby put her glass down with a sharp little clunk. ‘I am not going to sleep with you, Vinn,’ she said, and hoisting up her chin even higher, added imperiously, ‘For that privilege you will have to pay double.’

Vinn smiled a victor’s smile as he reached inside his jacket for his chequebook. He laid it on the table between them, and the click of his pen made Gabby’s spine jerk upright, as if she had been shot with a pellet from the gold-embossed barrel.

‘Double, you said?’

Gabby felt her stomach drop. Her mouth went dry and her palms moistened. ‘Um…I…I’m not sure. I…this…it…I…don’t…Oh, my God…’

He wrote the amount in his distinctive scrawl, the dark slash of his signature making Gabby’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets. ‘There,’ he said, tearing off the cheque from the book and placing it in front of her on the table. ‘Do we have a deal or not?’

CHAPTER THREE

GABBY looked at the amount written there and felt a shockwave of so many emotions rocketing through her that she felt her face fire up. Each one of them stoked the furnace, although shame had by far the most fuel. But then anger joined in; she could feel it blazing out of control, and not just on her cheeks, but deep inside, where a cauldron of heat was bubbling over, making her veins hot with rage.

Vinn had deliberately made her feel like a high-end prostitute—a woman who would do anything for a price. But Gabby wasn’t going to be bought. She had been a fool before where a man was concerned, allowing duty and blinkered emotions to cloud her judgement. This time things would be different. If Vinn Venadicci thought he could lure her between the sheets of his bed with a bank vault full of dollar bills, he was in for a big surprise.

With a coolness she was nowhere near feeling, Gabby picked up the cheque and, with the tip of her tongue peeping through her lips as she concentrated, she folded it, fold by meticulous fold, until she had made a tiny origami ship. She held it in the palm of her hand for a moment as she inspected it, and once she was satisfied she had Vinn’s full attention she reached for the glass of full-bodied red wine the waiter had recently set down beside him. She dropped her handiwork in, watching in satisfaction as it floated for a second or two, until the density of the wine gradually soaked through the paper and submerged it halfway below the surface.

Gabby met Vinn’s grey-blue gaze across the table with an arch look. ‘I was going to say you could put your cheque in your pipe and smoke it, but then I realised you don’t smoke.’ She smiled a cat’s smile and added, ‘Salute.’

Vinn’s lips twitched, but even so his eyes still burned with determination. ‘You might like me to swallow my offer, but I can guarantee you are going to be the one eating your words in the not so distant future, cara,’ he warned her silkily.

She rolled her eyes and picked up her second cocktail. ‘I will go as far as marrying you to save my family’s business, but I am not going to be your sex slave, Vinn. If you have the urge to satisfy your needs I am sure there are plenty of women out there who will gladly oblige. All I ask is for you to be discreet.’

He leaned back in his chair and surveyed her features for a beat or two. ‘Is that the arrangement you made with your late husband?’ he asked. ‘Or did you see to his needs quite willingly all by yourself?’