A ruthless billionaire...

When Sicilian tycoon Raul Di Savo meets Lydia Hayward, it’s not only her cool elegance he desires—seducing Lydia will also deny his lifelong rival’s bid for her body...

An innocent in peril...

Desperate to escape being sold to a stranger, Lydia turns to Raul—he promises her only one night, but his expert touch awakens her to pleasure she cannot resist!

A nine-month consequence!

Discovering she’s a pawn in Raul’s game of revenge, Lydia leaves...until she realizes an unexpected consequence will bind her to Raul forever!

Lydia could feel heat hover between their mouths in a slow tease before they met.

Then they met.

And all that had been missing was suddenly there.

At first taste she was Raul’s and he knew it, for her hands moved to the back of his head and he kissed her as hard as her fingers demanded.

He slid one arm around her waist to move her body from the wall, closer to his, so that her head could fall backwards.

If there had been a bed, she would have been on it.

If there had been a room they would have closed the door.

But there wasn’t, so he halted them—but only their lips.

‘What do you want to do?’ he whispered against her skin, and then he blew on her neck, still damp from his kisses, and raised his head and met her eyes. ‘Tonight I can give you anything you want.’

Dear Reader,

This is my 100th title for Mills & Boon!

Rather than use this space to tell you about Raul and Lydia, I would like to thank you.

Whether this is the first or the hundredth time you have read me, I am so grateful to my readers. Even if we haven’t met face to face, or online, hopefully we’ve shared some time through words on a page, and had a smile or three when one of my heroes misbehaves, or one of my heroines messes up. They tend to do that a lot.

I often cry when I’m writing, but I also laugh often too.

I hope, in some way, my stories let you do the same.

Happy reading, and love always,

Carol xxxx

The Innocent’s Secret Baby

Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

Books by Carol Marinelli

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

One Night With Consequences

The Sheikh’s Baby Scandal

The Billionaire’s Legacy

Di Sione’s Innocent Conquest

Irresistible Russian Tycoons

The Price of His Redemption

The Cost of the Forbidden

Billionaire Without a Past

Return of the Untamed Billionaire

Playboys of Sicily

Sicilian’s Shock Proposal

His Sicilian Cinderella

Mills & Boon Medical Romance

Their Secret Royal Baby

The London Primary Hospital

Playboy on Her Christmas List

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

For Lena, my mum.

You were wonderful as both and I will love you for ever.

Until we meet again…

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

SURELY NOT?

As Raul Di Savo thanked the mourners who had attended his mother’s funeral a figure standing in the distance caught his attention.

He wouldn’t dare to come here!

Not today of all days.

The tolling of the bell in the small Sicilian church had long since ceased, but it still seemed to ring in Raul’s ears.

‘Condoglianze.’

Raul forced himself to focus on the elderly gentleman in front of him rather than the young man who stood on the periphery of the cemetery.

‘Grazie,’ Raul said, and thanked the old man for his attendance.

Given the circumstances of Maria’s death, and fearing Raul’s father’s wrath, most had stayed away.

Gino had not attended his wife’s funeral.

‘She was a whore when I married her and she goes into the ground the same.’

That was how he had broken the news of her death to his son.

Raul, having been told of a car accident involving his mother, had travelled from Rome back to Casta—a town on the Sicilian wild west coast—but he had arrived only to be told that she had already gone.

He had been too late.

Slowly, painfully, he had pieced together the timeline of shocking events that had led to Maria’s death. Now Raul performed his familial duties and stood graveside as the line of mourners slowly moved past him.

Condolences were offered, but small talk was strained. The events of the last few days and the savage condemnations that were now coursing through the valley made even the simplest sentence a mockery.

‘She was a good...’ A lifetime family friend faltered in his choice of words. ‘She was...’ Again there was hesitation over what should be said. ‘Maria will be missed.’

‘She will be,’ Raul duly replied.

The scent of freshly dug soil filled his nostrils and lined the back of his throat, and Raul knew there was no comfort to be had.

None.

He had left it too late to save her.

And now she was gone.

Raul had studied hard at school and had done so well in his exams that he had received a scholarship and, as he had always intended, been able to get out of the Valley of Casta.

Or, as Raul and his friend Bastiano had called it, the Valley of Hell.

Raul had been determined to get his mother away from his father.

Maria Di Savo.

Unhinged, some had called her.

‘Fragile’ was perhaps a more appropriate word.

Deeply religious until she had met his father, Maria had hoped to join the local convent—an imposing stone residence that looked out on the Sicilian Strait. His mother had wept when it had closed down due to declining numbers, as if somehow her absence had contributed to its demise.

The building had long stood abandoned, but there was not a day Raul could remember when his mother hadn’t rued the day she had not followed her heart and become a novice nun.

If only she had.

Raul stood now, questioning his very existence, for her pregnancy had forced Maria into the unhappiest of marriages.

Raul had always loathed the valley, but never more so than now.

He would never return.

Raul knew his drunken father’s demise was already secured, for without Maria’s care his descent would be rapid.

But there was another person to be taken care of.

The man who had forced this tragic end.

Raul had made a vow as he’d thrown a final handful of soil into his mother’s open grave that he would do whatever it might take to bring him down.

‘I shall miss her.’

Raul looked up and saw Loretta, a long-time friend of his mother’s who worked in the family bar.

‘No trouble today, Raul.’

Raul found himself frowning at Loretta’s choice of words and then realised why she suddenly sounded concerned—he was looking beyond the mourners now, to the man who stood in the distance.

Bastiano Conti.

At seventeen, Bastiano was a full year younger than Raul.

Their families were rivals.

Bastiano’s uncle owned most of the properties and all of the vineyards on the west of the valley.

Raul’s father was king of the east.

The rivalry went back generations, and yet their black history had been ignored by the young boys and, growing up, the two of them had been friends. They had gone through school together and often spent time with each other during the long summer breaks. Before Raul had left the valley he and Bastiano had sat drinking wine from the opposing families’ vines.

Both wines were terrible, they had agreed.

Similar in looks, both were tall and dark and were opposed only in nature.

Bastiano, an orphan, had been raised by his extended family and got through life on charm.

Raul was serious and mistrusting and had been taught to be fickle.

He trusted no one but said what he had to to get by.

Though different in style, they were equally adored by women.

Bastiano seduced.

Raul simply returned the favour.

There had been no rivalry between the young men—both could have their pick of the valley and the fruits were plenty.

Yet Bastiano had used his dark charm on the weakest and had taken Maria as his lover.

Pillow talk had been gathered and secrets had been prised from loose lips.

Not only had Maria had an affair—she had taken it beyond precarious and slept with a member of the family that Gino considered his enemy.

When the affair had been discovered—when the rumours had reached Gino—Loretta had called her to warn her Gino was on his angry way home. Maria had taken out a car she didn’t know how to drive.

An unwise choice in the valley.

And Raul knew the accident would not have happened but for Bastiano.

‘Raul...’ Loretta spoke softly, for she felt the tension rip through him and could hear his ragged breathing. She held on to his hand, while knowing nothing could really stop him now. ‘You are Sicilian, and that means you have a lifetime to get your revenge—just don’t let it be today.’

‘No,’ Raul agreed.

Or did he refute?

Raul’s words were coming out all wrong, his voice was a touch hoarse, and as he looked down he could see the veins in his hand and feel the pulse in his temples. He was primed for action, and the only thing Raul knew for sure was that he hated Bastiano with all that he had.

He dropped Loretta’s hand and brushed past her, then shrugged off someone else who moved to try to stop him.

‘Raul!’ The priest shot him a warning. ‘Not here—not now.’

‘Then he should have stayed away!’ Raul responded as he strode through the cemetery towards the man who had sent his mother to an early grave.

Raul picked up speed—and God help Bastiano because hate and fury catapulted Raul those last few steps.

‘Pezzo di merda...’ Raul shouted out words that did not belong in such a setting.

Any sane man who saw murder approach would surely turn and run, but instead Bastiano walked towards Raul, hurling insults of his own. ‘Your mother wanted—’

Raul did not let him finish, for Bastiano had already sullied her enough, and to silence him Raul slammed his fist into Bastiano’s face. He felt the enamel of Bastiano’s tooth pierce his knuckle, but that was the last thing he felt.

It was bloody.

Two parts grief, several belts of rage and a hefty dose of shame proved a volatile concoction indeed.

Raul would kill him.

That was all he knew.

Yet Bastiano refused to go quietly and fought back.

There were shouts and the sounds of sirens in the distance as the two men battled it out. Raul felt nothing as he was slammed against a gravestone. The granite tore through the dark suit and white shirt on his back with the same ease that it gouged through muscle and flesh.

It didn’t matter.

His back was already a map of scars from his father’s beatings, and adrenaline was a great anaesthetic.

Only vaguely aware of the wound that ran from shoulder to flank, Raul hauled himself up to stand, took aim again and felled his rival.

Yet Bastiano refused to submit.

Raul pinned Bastiano and slammed his fist into his face, marring those perfect features with relish, and then he held him to the ground and told him he should have stayed the hell away from his mother.

‘Like you did!’

Those words were more painful than any physical blow, for Raul knew that he had done just that—stayed away.

CHAPTER ONE

ROME AGAIN... ROME AGAIN...

The City of Love.

Wrapped in a towel, and damp from the shower, Lydia Hayward lay on the bed in her hotel suite and considered the irony.

Yes, she might be in Rome, and meeting tonight with a very eligible man, but it had nothing to do with love.

There were more practical matters that needed to be addressed.

Oh, it hadn’t been said outright, of course.

Her mother hadn’t sat her down one evening and explained that, without the vast and practically bottomless pit of money that this man could provide, they would lose everything. Everything being the castle they lived in, which was the family business too.

And Valerie had never said that Lydia had to sleep with the man she and her stepfather were meeting tonight.

Of course she hadn’t.

Valerie had, however, enquired whether Lydia was on the Pill.

‘You don’t want to ruin your holiday.’

Since when had her mother taken an interest in such things? Lydia had been to Italy once before, on a school trip at the age of seventeen, and her mother hadn’t been concerned enough to ask then.

Anyway, why would she be on the Pill?

Lydia had been told to ‘save’ herself.

And she had.

Though not because of her mother’s instruction—more because she did not know how to let her guard down.

People thought her aloof and cold.

Better they think that than she reveal her heart.

And so, by default, she had saved herself.

Lydia had secretly hoped for love.

It would seem not in this lifetime.

Tonight she would be left alone with him.

The towel fell away and, though she was alone, Lydia pulled it back and covered herself.

She was on the edge of a panic attack, and she hadn’t had one since...

Rome.

Or was it Venice?

Venice.

Both.

That awful school trip.

She had said yes to this trip to Rome, hoping to lay a ghost to rest. Lydia wanted to see Rome through adult eyes, yet she was as scared of the world now as she had been as a teenager.

Pull yourself together, Lydia.

And so she did.

Lydia got up from the bed and got dressed.

She was meeting Maurice, her stepfather, at eight for breakfast. Rather than be late she just quickly combed her long blonde hair, which had dried a little wild. She had bought a taupe linen dress to wear, which had buttons from neck to hem—though perhaps not the best choice for her shaking hands.

They are not expecting you to sleep with him!

Lydia told herself she was being utterly ridiculous even to entertain such a thought. She would stop by for a drink with this man tonight, with her stepfather, thank him for his hospitality and then explain that she was going out with friends. Arabella lived here now and had said they should catch up when Lydia got here.

In fact...

Lydia took out her phone and fired off a quick text.

Hi, Arabella,

Not sure if you got my message.

Made it to Rome.

I’m free for dinner tonight if you would like to catch up.

Lydia

And so to breakfast.

Lydia stepped out of her suite and took the elevator down to the dining room. As she walked through the lavish foyer she caught sight of herself in a mirror. Those deportment classes had been good for something at least—she was the picture of calm and had her head held high.

Yet she wanted to run away.

* * *

‘No, grazie.’

Raul Di Savo declined the waiter’s offer of a second espresso and continued to read through reports on the Hotel Grande Lucia, where he now sat, having just taken breakfast.

At Raul’s request his lawyer had attained some comprehensive information, but it had come through only this morning. In a couple of hours Raul was to meet with Sultan Alim, so there was a lot to go through.

The Grande Lucia was indeed a sumptuous hotel, and Raul took a moment to look up from his computer screen and take in the sumptuous dining room that was currently set up for breakfast.

There was the pleasant clink of fine china and a quiet murmur of conversation and, though formal, the room had a relaxed air that had made Raul’s stay so far pleasurable. There was a certain old-world feel to the place that spoke of Rome’s rich history and beauty.

And Raul wanted the hotel to be his.

Raul had been toying with the idea of adding it to his portfolio and had just spent the night in the Presidential Suite as a guest of Sultan Alim.

Raul hadn’t expected to be so impressed.

He had been, though.

Every detail was perfection personified—the décor was stunning, the staff were attentive yet discreet, and it appeared to be a rich haven for both the business traveller and the well-heeled tourist.

Raul was now seriously considering taking over this landmark hotel.

Which meant that so too was Bastiano.

Fifteen years on and their rivalry continued unabated.

Mutual hatred was a silent, yet daily motivator—a black cord that connected them.

And Bastiano would be arriving later today.

Raul knew that Bastiano was also a personal friend of Sultan Alim. Raul had considered if that might have any bearing on their negotiations but had soon discounted it. Sultan Alim was a brilliant businessman, and his friendship with Bastiano would have no sway over his dealings, Raul was certain of that.

Raul rather hoped his presence at the hotel might cause Bastiano some discomfort, for though they moved in similar circles in truth their paths rarely crossed. Raul, even on his father’s death, had never returned to Casta.

There had been no respects to pay.

Yet Casta had remained Bastiano’s base.

He had converted the old convent into a luxury retreat for the seriously wealthy.

It was actually, Raul knew, an extremely upmarket rehab facility.

His mother would be turning in her grave.

Raul’s black thoughts were interrupted when the portly middle-aged gentleman sitting to his right made his disgruntled feelings known.

‘Who do you have to sleep with around here to get some service?’ he muttered in well-schooled English.

It would seem that the tourists were getting impatient!

Raul smiled inwardly as the waiter continued to ignore the pompous Englishman. The waiter had had enough. This man had been complaining since the moment he had been shown to his table, and there was absolutely nothing to complain about.

Raul was not being generous in that observation. Many of his nights were spent in hotels—mainly those that he owned—and so more than most he had a very critical eye.

There were certain ways to behave, and despite his accent this man did not adhere to them. He seemed to assume that just because he was in Rome no one would speak English and his insults would go unnoticed.

They did not.

And so—just because he could—Raul gestured with his index and middle fingers towards the small china cup on his table. The motion was subtle, barely noticeable to many, and yet it was enough to indicate to the attentive waiter that Raul had changed his mind and would now like another coffee.

Raul knew that his preferential treatment would incense the diner to his right.

From the huff of indignation as his drink was delivered, it did.

Good!

Yes, Raul decided, he wanted this hotel.

Raul read through the figures again and decided to make some further calls to try to get behind the real reason the Sultan was selling such an iconic hotel. Even with Raul’s extensive probing he could see no reason for the sale. While the outgoings were vast, it was profitable indeed. The crème de la crème stayed at the Grande Lucia, and it was here that their children were christened and wed.

There had to be a reason Alim was selling, and Raul had every intention of finding out just what it was.

Just as Raul had decided to leave he glanced up and saw a woman enter the dining room.

Raul was more than used to beautiful women, and the room was busy enough that he should not even have noticed, but there was something about her that drew the eye.

She was tall and slender and she wore a taupe dress. Her long blonde hair appeared freshly washed and tumbled over her shoulders. Raul watched as she had a brief conversation with the maître d’ and then started to walk in his direction.

Still Raul did not look away.

She made her way between the tables with elegant ease, and Raul noted that she carried herself beautifully. Her complexion was pale and creamy, and suddenly Raul wanted her to be close enough so that he could know the colour of her eyes. She lifted a hand and gave a small wave, and Raul, who was rarely the recipient of a sinking feeling where women were concerned, felt one now.

She was with him, Raul realised—she was here to have breakfast with the obnoxious man who sat to his right.

Pity.

The blonde beauty walked past his table, and he could not help but notice the delicate row of buttons that ran from neck to hem on her dress. But he pointedly returned his attention to his computer screen rather than mentally undress her.

That she was with someone rendered her of no interest to him in that way.

Raul loathed cheats.

Still, the morning scent of her was fresh and heady—a delicate cloud that reached Raul a few seconds after she had passed and lingered for a few moments more.

‘Good morning,’ she said as she took a seat, and unlike her companion’s the woman’s voice was pleasant.

‘Hmph.’

Her greeting was barely acknowledged by the seated Englishman. Some people, Raul decided, simply did not know how to appreciate the finer things in life.

And this lady was certainly amongst the finest.

The waiter knew that too.

He was there in an instant to lavish attention upon her and was appreciative of her efforts when she attempted to ask for Breakfast Tea in schoolgirl Italian, remembering her manners and adding a clumsy ‘per favour’.

Such poor Italian would usually be responded to in English, in arrogant reprimand, and yet the waiter gave a nod. ‘Prego.’

‘I’ll have another coffee,’ the man said and then, before the waiter had even left, added rather loudly to his companion, ‘The service is terribly slow here—I’ve had nothing but trouble with the staff since the moment I arrived.’

‘Well, I think it’s excellent.’ Her voice was crisp and curt, instantly dismissing his findings. ‘I’ve found that a please and a thank-you work wonders—you really ought to try it, Maurice.’

‘What are your plans for today?’ he asked.

‘I’m hoping to do some sightseeing.’

‘Well, you need to shop—perhaps you should consider something a little less beige,’ Maurice added. ‘I asked the concierge and he recommended a hair and beauty salon a short distance from the hotel. I’ve booked you in for four.’

‘Excuse me?’

Raul was about to close his laptop. His interest had waned the second he had realised she was with someone.

Almost.

But then the man spoke on.

‘We’re meeting Bastiano at six, and you want to be looking your best.’

The sound of his nemesis’s name halted Raul and again the couple had his full attention—though not by a flicker did he betray his interest.

‘You’re meeting Bastiano at six,’ the blonde beauty responded. ‘I don’t see why I have to be there while you two discuss business.’

‘I’m not arguing about this. I expect you to be there at six.’

Raul drained his espresso but made no move to stand. He wanted to know what they had to do with Bastiano—any inside knowledge on the man he most loathed was valuable.

‘I can’t make it,’ she said. ‘I’m meeting a friend tonight.’

‘Come off it!’ The awful man snorted. ‘We both know that you don’t have any friends.’

It was a horrible statement to make, and Raul forgot to pretend to listen and actually turned his head to see her reaction. Most women Raul knew would crumble a little, but instead she gave a thin smile and a shrug.

‘Acquaintance, then. I really am busy tonight.’

‘Lydia, you will do what is right by the family.’

Her name was Lydia.

As Raul continued to look at her, perhaps sensing her conversation was being overheard, she glanced over and their eyes briefly met. He saw that they were china blue.

His question as to the colour of her eyes was answered, but now Raul had so many more.

She flicked her gaze away and the conversation was halted as the waiter brought their drinks.

Raul made no move to leave.

He wanted to know more.

A family had come into the restaurant and were being seated close to them. The activity drowned out the words from the table beside him, revealing only hints of the conversation.

‘Some old convent...’ she said, and the small cup in his hand clattered just a little as it hit the saucer.

Raul realised they were discussing the valley.

‘Well, that shows he’s used to old buildings,’ Maurice said. ‘Apparently it’s an inordinate success.’

A baby that was being squeezed into an antique high chair started to wail, and Raul frowned in impatience as an older child loudly declared that he was hungry and he wanted chocolate milk.

‘Scusi...’ he called to the waiter, and with a mere couple of words more and a slight gesture of his hand in the family’s direction his displeasure was noted.

* * *

Noted not just by the waiter—Lydia noted it too.

In fact she had noticed him the moment the maître d’ had gestured to where her stepfather, Maurice, was seated.

Even from a distance, even seated, the man’s beauty had been evident.

There was something about him that had forced her attention as she had crossed the dining room.

No one should look that good at eight in the morning.

His black hair gleamed, and as she had approached Lydia had realised it was damp and he must have been in the shower around the same time as her.

Such an odd thought.

That rapidly turned into a filthy one.

Her first with the recipient in the same room!

She had looked away quickly as soon as she had seen that he was watching her approach.

Her stomach had done a little somersault and her legs had requested of their owner that they might bypass Maurice and be seated with him.

Such a ridiculous thought, for she knew him not at all.

And he wasn’t nice.

That much she knew.

Lydia turned her head slightly and saw that on his command the family was being moved.

They were children, for goodness’ sake!

This man irritated her.

This stranger irritated her far more than a stranger should, and she frowned her disapproval at him and her neck felt hot and itchy as he gave a small shrug in return and then closed his computer.

You were already leaving, Lydia wanted to point out. Why have the family moved when you were about to leave?

Yes, he irritated her—like an itch she needed to scratch.

Her ears felt hot and her jaw clenched as the waiter came and apologised to him for the disruption.

Disruption?

The child had asked for chocolate milk, for goodness’ sake, and the baby had merely cried.

Of course she said nothing. Instead Lydia reached for her pot of tea as Maurice droned on about their plans for tonight—or rather, what he thought Lydia should wear.

‘Why don’t you speak to a stylist?’

‘I think I can manage. I’ve been dressing myself since I was three,’ Lydia calmly informed him, and as she watched the amber fluid pour into her cup she knew—she just knew—that the stranger beside her was listening.

It was her audience that gave her strength.

Oh, she couldn’t see him, but she knew his attention was on her.

There was an awareness between them that she could not define—a conversation taking place such as she had never experienced, for it was one without words.

‘Don’t be facetious, Lydia,’ Maurice snapped.

But with this man beside her Lydia felt just that.

The sun was shining, she was in Rome, and the day stretched before her—she simply did not want to waste a single moment of it with Maurice.

‘Have a lovely day...’ She took her napkin and placed it on the table, clearly about to leave. ‘Give Bastiano my regards.’

‘This isn’t up for debate, Lydia. You’re to keep tonight free. Bastiano has flown us to Rome for this meeting and housed us in two stunning suites. The very least you can do is come for a drink and thank him.’

‘Fine,’ Lydia retorted. ‘But know this, I’ll have a drink, but it’s not the “very least” I’ll do—it’s the most.’

‘You’ll do what’s right for the family.’

‘I’ve tried that for years,’ Lydia said, and stood up. ‘I think it’s about time I did what’s right by me!’

Lydia walked out of the restaurant with her head still high, but though she looked absolutely in control she was in turmoil, for her silent fears were starting to come true.

This wasn’t a holiday.

And it wasn’t just drinks.

She was being offered up, Lydia knew.

‘Scusi...’

A hand on her elbow halted her, and as she spun around Lydia almost shot into orbit when she saw it was the man from the next table.

‘Can I help you?’ she snapped.

‘I saw you leaving suddenly.’

‘I wasn’t aware that I needed your permission.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ he responded.

His voice was deep, and his English, though excellent, was laced heavily with a rich accent. Her toes attempted to curl in her flat sandals at its sound.

Lydia was tall, but then so was he—she didn’t come close to his eye level.

It felt like a disadvantage.

‘I just wanted to check that you were okay.’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘I heard some of what was said in there.’

‘And do you always listen in on private conversations?’

‘Of course.’ He shrugged. ‘I rarely intervene, but you seemed upset.’

‘No,’ Lydia said. ‘I didn’t.’

She knew that as fact—she was very good at keeping her emotions in check.

She should have walked off then. Only she didn’t. She continued the conversation. ‘That baby, however, was upset—and I didn’t see you following him across the dining room.’

‘I don’t like tantrums with my breakfast, and the toddler is now throwing one,’ he said. ‘I thought I might go somewhere else to eat. Would you like to join me?’

He was forward and he lied, for she had seen the waiter removing his plates and knew he had already had breakfast.

‘No, thank you.’ Lydia shook her head.

‘But you haven’t eaten.’

‘Again,’ Lydia replied coolly, ‘that’s not your concern.’

* * *

Bastiano was his concern, though.

For years revenge had been his motivator, and yet still Bastiano flourished.

Something had to give, and Raul had waited a long time for that day to arrive.

Now it would seem that it had—in the delicate shape of an English rose.

Raul was no fool, and even from the snippets of conversation he’d heard, he had worked out a little of what was going on.

Bastiano wanted Lydia to be there tonight.

And Lydia didn’t want to go.

It was enough to go on—more than enough. For despite her calm demeanour he could see the pulse leaping in her throat. More than that, Raul knew women—and knew them well.

There was another issue that existed between them.

She was turned on.

So was he.

They had been on sight.

From her slow walk across the dining room and for every moment since they had been aware of each other at the basest of levels.

‘Come for breakfast,’ he said, and then he remembered how she liked manners. ‘Per favore.’

Lydia realised then that every word she had uttered in the restaurant had been noted.

It should feel intrusive.

And it did.

But in the most delightful of ways.

Her breath felt hot in her lungs and the warm feeling from the brief touch of his hand on her arm was still present.

She wanted to say yes—to accept this dark stranger’s invitation and follow this dangerous lead.

But that would be reckless at best, and Lydia was far from that.

There was something about him that she could not quite define, and every cell in her body recognised it and screamed danger. He was polished and poised—immaculate, in fact. And yet despite the calm demeanour there was a restless edge. Beneath the smooth jaw was a blue hue that hinted at the unshaven, decadent beauty of him. Even his scent clamoured for attention, subtle and at the same time overwhelming.

Raul had her on the edge of panic—an unfamiliar one.

He was potent—so potent that she wanted to say yes. To simply throw caution to the wind and have breakfast with this beautiful man.

She didn’t even know his name.

‘Do you always ask complete strangers for breakfast?’ Lydia asked.

‘No,’ he admitted, and then he lowered his head just a fraction and lowered his voice an octave more. ‘But then you defy the hour.’

CHAPTER TWO

THEY DEFIED THE HOUR, Lydia thought. Because as they stepped outside the hotel surely the moon should be hanging in a dark sky.

It was just breakfast, she told herself as his hand took her elbow and guided her across the busy street.

Yet it felt like a date.

Her first.

But it wasn’t a romantic Italian evening, for the sun shone brightly and Rome was at its busy rush hour best.

Yet he made it so.

The restaurant he steered her to had a roped-off section and the tables were clearly reserved, yet the greeter unclipped the rope and they breezed through as if they were expected guests.

‘Did you have a reservation?’ Lydia asked, more than a little confused as they took their seats.

‘No.’

‘Then...’ Lydia stopped, for she had answered her own question—the best seats were permanently reserved for the likes of him. He had a confident air that demanded, without words, only the best.

Coffee was brought and sparkling water was poured. They were handed the heavy menus, but as the waiter started to explain the choices he waved him away.

Lydia was grateful that he had, for there was a real need for the two of them to be left alone.

He was an absolute stranger.

A black-eyed stranger who had led and she had followed.

‘I don’t know your name,’ Lydia said, and found she was worried a little that it might disappoint.

‘Raul.’

It didn’t.

He rolled the R just a little, and then she found herself repeating it, ‘Rau—el...’ Though it did not roll easily from her tongue.

She waited for his surname.

It didn’t come.

‘I’m Lydia.’

‘I had worked that out.’ He glanced down at the menu. He never wasted time with small talk, unless it suited him. ‘What would you like?’

She should be hungry. Lydia hadn’t eaten since the plane, and even then she had just toyed with her meal.

She had been sick with nerves last night, but now, though still nervous, the feeling was pleasant.

‘I’d like...’ Lydia peered at the menu.

Really she ought to eat something, given that breakfast was the reason she was here.

But then she blushed while reading the menu, because food was the furthest thing from her mind.

‘It’s in Italian,’ Lydia said, and could immediately have kicked herself, for it was such a stupid thing to say—and so rude to assume it should be otherwise.

But he did not chide her, and he did not score a point by stating that Italy was, in fact, where they were.

He just waited patiently as she stumbled her way through the selections till she came upon something she knew. But she frowned. ‘Tiramisu for breakfast?’

‘Sounds good.’

Perhaps he hadn’t heard the question in her voice, because Lydia had assumed it was served only as a dessert, but Raul was right—it sounded good.

The waiter complimented their choice as he took their orders, and very soon she tasted bliss.

‘Oh...’ It was light and not too sweet, and the liquor made it decadent. It really had been an accidental perfect choice.

‘Nice,’ Raul said, and watched her hurriedly swallow and clear her mouth before speaking.

‘Yes.’ Lydia nodded. ‘Very.’

‘I wasn’t asking a question.’

Just observing.

He looked at her mouth, and Lydia wondered if she had a crumb on her lip, but she resisted putting out her tongue to check.

And then he looked at her mouth, and the pressure within built as still she resisted that simple oral manoeuvre. Instead she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and ran her tongue over it there.

No crumb.

Her eyes met his and she frowned at his impertinence as they asked a question—Are you imagining what I think you are?

Of course she said no such thing, and his features were impassive, but those black eyes offered his response.

Yes, Lydia, I am.

Had she had her purse with her, Lydia might well have called for the bill and fled, because she felt as if she were going insane. She looked around. Almost certain that the spectacle she was creating would have the world on pause and watching.

Yet the waiters were waiting, the patrons were chatting, the commuters were commuting and the word was just carrying on, oblivious to the fire smouldering unchecked in this roped-off section.

And so too must Raul be—oblivious, that was. For his voice was even and his question polite. ‘How are you finding Rome?’

Lydia was about to nod and say how wonderful it was, or give some other pat response, but she put down her spoon, let go of the end of her tether and simply stated the truth.

The real reason she was in Rome.

‘I’m determined to love it this time.’

* * *

‘Okay...’ Raul said. His stance was relaxed and he leant back in the seat, seemingly nonchalant, but in his mind he was searching for an angle—how to get her to speak of Bastiano without too direct a question.

Lydia was terribly formal—very English and uptight. One wrong move, Raul knew, and he would be the recipient of a downed napkin and he’d have to watch her stalk off back to the hotel.

She was so incredibly sexy, though.

A woman who would make you earn that reward.

Lydia did not flirt, he noted.

Not a fraction.

No playing with her hair, no leaning forward, no secret smiles and no innuendo.

Really, the way she was sitting so upright in the chair, he could be at a breakfast meeting with Allegra, his PA.

Except Raul was aroused.

He was here to garner information, Raul reminded himself, and took his mind back to their conversation.

Or tried to.

‘How long are you here for?’

‘Till Sunday,’ Lydia answered. ‘Two nights. How about you?’

‘I’m here for business.’

Raul should not be taking this time now. He had a very packed day. First he would meet with Alim and his team. Then, if time allowed, he would drop in unexpectedly on the other hotel he owned in Rome.

But he always made Bastiano his business.

‘When do you leave?’ she asked.

‘When business is done.’ Raul’s jet was in fact booked for six this evening, but he did not share his itinerary with anyone outside his close circle. ‘So, you’ve been to Rome before?’

‘Yes, I came to Italy on a school trip and had a rather miserable time. I don’t think my mood then did the place justice.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘Rome, Florence and Venice.’

‘Which was your favourite?’

Lydia thought for a moment. ‘Venice.’

‘And your least favourite?’

Oh, that was easy—Lydia didn’t have to think to answer that, even if he didn’t understand her response. ‘Venice.’

He did understand.

So much so that Raul again forgot that he was trying to steer the conversation. Even though Bastiano was the reason Raul was there, for now he left Raul’s mind.

He thought of Venice—the city he loved and now called home.

Not that he told her that.

Raul gave away nothing.

Then suddenly he did.

For as she looked over she was rewarded with the slow reveal of his smile.

And his smile was a true and very rare gift.

She saw those full dark lips stretch and the white of his teeth, but the real beauty was in eyes that stared so deeply into hers she felt there was nowhere to hide.

And nor did she want to.

‘Venice,’ Raul said, in that deep, measured voice, ‘can be the loneliest place in the world.’

‘Yes,’ Lydia admitted. ‘It was.’

It was as if she was seventeen again, walking alongside the Grand Canal alone and wanting to be in love with the city.

To be in love.

Of course nearly every schoolgirl on a trip to Italy secretly hoped for a little romance.

But on that day—on that terribly lonely day—Lydia would have been happy with a friend.

One true friend.

Raul was right. Lydia had felt utterly alone then, and for the most part she had felt the same since.

She was looking at him, but not really, and then his voice brought her back.

‘And you forgive her because how could you not?’

‘Her?’ Lydia checked, her mind still on friendships that had failed.

‘Venice.’

‘I wasn’t there long enough to forgive her,’ Lydia admitted.

‘What happened?’

‘Just being a teenager...’

She could easily dismiss it as that, but it had been more. Oh, she didn’t want to tell him that her father had just died and left behind him utter chaos, for while it might explain her unhappiness then, it wasn’t the entire truth—it had been more than that.

‘Schoolgirls can be such bitches.’

‘I don’t think it is exclusive to that age bracket.’

‘No!’ Lydia actually laughed at his observation because, yes, those girls were now women and probably still much the same.

She glanced at her phone, which had remained silent.

Arabella hadn’t responded to her text.

Neither had she responded to Lydia’s last message.

And suddenly Lydia was back in Italy, hurting again.

‘What happened in Venice?’

Raul chose his moment to ask. He knew how to steer conversations, and yet he actually found himself wanting to know.

‘We went to Murano...to a glass factory.’ She shook her head and, as she had then, felt pained to reveal the truth.

It felt like a betrayal.

Money should never be discussed outside the home.

‘And...?’ Raul gently pushed.

Why lie? Lydia thought.

She would never see him again.

It wasn’t such a big deal.

Surely?

‘My father had died the year before.’

He didn’t say he was sorry—did not offer the automatic response to that statement.

It was oddly freeing.

Everyone had been so sorry.

If there’s anything I can do... The words had been tossed around like black confetti at his funeral.

Yet they had done nothing!

When it was clear the money had gone, so had they.

‘I’d told Arabella, my best friend, that my mother was struggling financially.’ Lydia was sweating, and that wasn’t flattering. She wanted to call the waiter to move the shade umbrella but knew she could be sitting in ice and the result would be the same.

It wasn’t sexy sweat.

Lydia wasn’t turned on now.

She felt sick.

‘I told Arabella that we might lose the castle.’

She offered more explanation.

‘The castle was in my mother’s family, but my father ran it. I thought he had run it well, but on his death I found out that my parents had been going under.’

Raul offered no comment, just let her speak.

‘He took his own life.’

She’d never said it out loud before.

Had never been allowed to say it.

‘I’m sorry you had to go through that.’

And because he hadn’t said sorry before, now—when he did—she felt he meant it.

‘I still can’t believe he left me.’

‘To deal with the fallout?’

He completed her sentence, even though Lydia thought she already had. She thought about it for a moment and nodded.

‘Things really were dire. My mother kept selling things off, to pay for my school fees. The trip to Italy was a compulsory one. I got a part-time job—saved up some spending money. Of course it didn’t come close to what my friends had. They were hitting all the boutiques and Arabella kept asking why I wasn’t buying anything. In the end I told her how bad things were. I swore her to secrecy.’

He gave a soft, mirthless laugh—one that told her he understood.

And then they were silent.

In that moment they met.

Not at a breakfast table in Rome but in a bleak, desolate space a world away from there.

They met and he reached across and took her hand, and together they walked it through.

‘At the factory, after a demonstration, everyone was buying things. I held back, of course. There was a table with damaged glassware and Belinda, another friend, held up a three-legged horse and suggested it was something that I might be able to afford. I realised then that Arabella had told everyone.’

She could still feel the betrayal.

Could still remember looking over to her best friend as everyone had laughed.

Arabella hadn’t so much as blushed at being caught.

‘She suggested that they all have a whip-round for me.’

‘So you walked off?’ Raul asked, impatient to know and understand her some more.

‘Oh, no!’ Lydia shook her head and then sighed. ‘I used up all my spending money, and the money I’d been given for my birthday, and bought a vase that I certainly couldn’t afford.’

It was that response in herself she had hated the most.

‘How shallow is that?’

‘People have been known to drown in shallow waters.’

‘Well, it’s certainly not easy to swim in them! Anyway, I didn’t see them much after that...’

‘You left school?’

‘I went to the local comprehensive for my final year. Far more sensible...but hell.’

Everything—not just the fact that she was a new girl for the last year, but every little thing, from her accent to her handwriting—had ensured she didn’t fit in from the very first day.

Raul knew it would have been hell.

He could imagine his schoolmates if an Italian version of Lydia had shown up in his old schoolyard. Raul could guess all she would have gone through.

‘I was a joke to them, of course.’

He squeezed her hand and it was the kindest touch, so contrary to that time.

‘Too posh to handle?’ Raul said, and she nodded, almost smiled.

But then the smile changed.

Lydia never cried.

Ever.

Not even when her father had died.

So why start now?

Lydia pulled her hand back.

She was done with introspection—done with musings.

They hurt too much.

Lydia was somewhat appalled at how much she had told him.

‘Raul, why am I here?’

‘Because...’ Raul shrugged, but when that did not appease her he elaborated. ‘Maurice was getting in the way.’

Lydia found herself laughing, and it surprised her that she could.

A second ago she had felt like crying.

It was nice being with him.

Not soothing.

Just liberating.

She had told another person some of the truth and he had remained.

‘Maurice is my stepfather,’ she explained.

‘Good,’ Raul said, but she missed the innuendo.

‘Not really.’

Lydia didn’t respond to his flirting as others usually did, so he adopted a more businesslike tone. The rest they could do later—he wanted information now.

‘Maurice wants you to be at some dinner tonight?’

Lydia nodded. ‘He’s got an important meeting with a potential investor and he wants me there.’

‘Why?’

Lydia gave a dismissive shake of her head.

She certainly wasn’t going to discuss that!

‘I probably shan’t go,’ Lydia said, instead of explaining things. ‘I’m supposed to be catching up with a friend—or rather,’ she added, remembering all he had heard, ‘an acquaintance.’

‘Who?’

‘Arabella.’ She was embarrassed to admit it after all she had told him. ‘She works in Rome now.’

‘I thought you fell out?’

‘That was all a very long time ago,’ Lydia said, but she didn’t actually like the point he had raised.

They hadn’t fallen out.

The incident had been buried—like everything else.

She conversed with Arabella only through social media and the odd text. It had been years since they had been face-to-face, and Lydia wasn’t sure she was relishing the prospect of seeing her, so, rather than admit that, she went back to his original question—why Maurice wanted her to be there tonight.

‘The family castle is now a wedding venue.’

‘Do you work there?’

Lydia nodded.

‘Doing what?’

‘I deal with the bookings and organise the catering...’ She gave a tight smile, because what she did for a living was so far away from her dreams. When her father had been alive she had loved the visitors that came to the castle. He would take them through it and pass on its rich history and Lydia would learn something new every time.

‘And you still live at home?’

‘Yes.’

She didn’t add that there was no choice. The business was failing so badly that they couldn’t afford much outside help, and she didn’t get a wage as such.

‘Bastiano—this man we’re supposed to meet tonight—has had a lot of success converting old buildings... He has several luxury retreats and my mother and Maurice are hoping to go that route with the castle. Still, it would take a massive cash injection...’

‘Castles need more than an injection—they require a permanent infusion,’ Raul corrected.

All old buildings did.

It galled him that Bastiano had been able to turn the convent into a successful business venture. On paper it should never have worked, and yet somehow he had ensured that it had.

‘Quite,’ Lydia agreed. ‘But more than money we need his wisdom...’ She misinterpreted the slight narrowing of Raul’s eyes as confusion. ‘A lot of these types of venture fail—somehow Bastiano’s succeed.’

‘So why would this successful businessman be interested in your castle?’

Lydia found she was holding her breath. His question was just a little bit insulting. After all, the castle was splendid indeed, and Raul could have no idea what a disaster in business Maurice had turned out to be.

‘I’m sure Bastiano recognises its potential.’

‘And he wants you there tonight so he can hear your vision for the castle?’

Lydia gave a small shake of her head. The truth was that she was actually opposed to the idea of turning it into a retreat—not that her objections held much weight.

‘Then why do you need to go?’

‘I’ve been invited.’

‘Lydia, I have had more business meetings than I’ve had dinners.’ Raul spoke when she did not. ‘But I can’t ever remember asking anyone—ever—to bring along their daughter, or rather their stepdaughter.’

She blushed.

Those creamy cheeks turned an unflattering red.

Lydia knew it—she could feel the fire, not just on her skin but building inside her at the inappropriateness he was alluding to.

‘Excuse me?’ she snapped.

‘Why?’ Raul said. ‘What did you do?’

‘I mean you’re rude to insinuate that there might be something else going on!’

‘I know that’s what you meant.’

He remained annoyingly calm, and more annoyingly he didn’t back down.

‘And I’m not insinuating anything—I’m telling you that unless you hold the deeds to the castle, or are to be a major player in the renovations, or some such, there is no reason for this Bastiano to insist on your company tonight. ‘

‘He isn’t insisting.’

‘Good.’ Raul shrugged. ‘Then don’t go.’

‘I don’t have any excuse not to.’

‘You don’t need one.’

It was Lydia who gave a shrug now.

A tense one.

She was still cross at his insinuation.

Or rather she was cross that Raul might be right—that he could see what she had spent weeks frantically trying not to.

‘Lydia, can I tell you something?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Some free advice.’

‘Why would I take advice from a stranger?’

‘I’m no longer a stranger.’

He wasn’t. She had told him more than she had told many people who were in her day-to-day life.

‘Can I?’ Raul checked.

She liked it that he did not give advice unrequested, and when she met his eyes they were patient and awaiting her answer.

‘Yes.’

‘You can walk away from anyone you choose to, and you don’t have to come up with a reason.’

‘I know that.’

She had walked off from breakfast with Maurice, after all.

It wasn’t enough, though—Lydia knew that. And though Raul’s words made perfect sense, they just did not apply to her world.

‘So why don’t you tell your stepfather that you can’t make it tonight because you’re catching up with a friend?’

‘I already have.’

‘But you don’t like Arabella,’ Raul pointed out. ‘So why don’t you meet me instead?’

She laughed a black laugh. ‘You’re not a friend.’

He wasn’t.

‘No,’ he answered honestly. ‘I’m not.’

She was about to take a sip of her coffee when he added something else.

‘I could be for tonight, though.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Lydia gave a small laugh, not really getting what he had just said—or rather not really thinking he meant it.

‘Do you have many friends?’ she asked, replacing her cup. Perhaps her question was a little invasive, but she’d told him rather a lot and was curious to know about him.

‘Some.’

‘Close friends?’ Lydia pushed.

‘No one whose birthday I need to remember.’

‘No one?’

He shook his head.

‘I guess it saves shopping for presents.’

‘Not really.’

Raul decided to take things to another level and tell her how things could be. In sex, at least, he was up front.

‘I like to give a present the morning after.’

Lydia got what he meant this time.

She didn’t blush. If anything Lydia felt a shiver, as if the sun had slipped behind a cloud.

It hadn’t.

He was dark, he was dangerous, and he was as sexy as hell. Absolutely she was out of her depth.

‘I’m here to sightsee, Raul.’

‘Then you need an expert.’

Lydia stared coolly back at this man who was certainly that. She wondered at his reaction if she told him just how inexperienced she was—that in fact he would be her first.

Not that it was going to happen!

But what a first, Lydia thought.

She went to reach for water but decided against it, unsure she could manage the simple feat when the air thrummed with an energy that was foreign to her.

He was potent, and Lydia was tempted in a way she had never been.

She glanced down to his hand, and that was beautiful too—olive-skinned and long-fingered with very neat nails. And it was happening again, because now she imagined them inside her.

Oh!

She was sitting at breakfast, imagining those very fingers in the filthiest of thoughts, and she dared not look up at him for she felt he could read her mind.

‘So what are your plans for today?’ Raul asked.

His voice seemed to be coming from a distance, and yet he was so prominent in her mind.

She could take his hand, Lydia was certain, and be led to his bed.

Oh, what was happening to her?

‘I told you—sightseeing, and then I’m shopping for a dress.’

‘I wish I could be there to see that.’

‘I thought men didn’t like shopping.’

‘I don’t, usually.’

His eyes flicked to the row of buttons at the front of her dress and then to the thick nipples that ached, just ached for his touch, for his mouth. And then they moved back to her face.

‘I have to go,’ Raul told her, and she sat still as he stood. With good reason: her legs simply refused to move. Standing would be difficult...walking back over to the hotel would prove a completely impossible feat.

Please go, Lydia thought, because she felt drunk on lust and was trying not to let him see.

He summoned the waiter, and though he spoke in Italian he spoke slowly enough that she could just make out what was being said.

Hold this table for tonight at six.

And then he turned to where she sat, now with her back to him, and lowered his head. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her.

He did not.

His breath was warm on her cheek and his scent was like a delicious invasion. His glossy black hair was so close that she fought not to reach out and feel it, fought not to turn and lick his face.

And then he spoke.

‘Hold that thought till six.’

Lydia blinked and tried to pretend that she still felt normal, that this was simply breakfast and she was somehow in control.

‘I already told you—I can’t make it tonight.’

Then he offered but one word.

‘Choose.’

CHAPTER THREE

WHAT THE HELL was happening to her?

Lydia watched him walk across the street and then disappear inside the hotel.

He did not turn around. He didn’t walk with haste.

She wanted him to hurry, to disappear, just so that she could clear her mind—because in fact she wanted him to turn around.

One crook of his finger and she knew she would rise and run to him—and that was so not her. She kept her distance from people—not just physically but emotionally too.

Her father’s death had rocked every aspect of her world, and the aftermath had been hell. Watching her mother selling off heirlooms and precious memories one by one, in a permanent attempt to keep up appearances, and then marrying that frightful man. Finding her friends had all been fair-weather ones had also hurt Lydia to the core. And so she held back—from family, from friends and, yes, from men.

She was guarded, and possibly the assumption made by others that she was cold was a correct one.

But not now—not this morning.

She felt as if she had been scalded, as if every nerve was heated and raw, and all he had done was buy her breakfast.

She sat alone at the table. There was nothing to indicate romance—no candles or champagne—and no favourable dusk to soften the view. Just the brightness of morning.

There had been no romance.

Raul had offered her one night and a present the following morning. She should have damn well slapped him for the insult!

Yet he’d left her on a slightly giddy high that she couldn’t quite come down from.

* * *

Sightseeing as such didn’t happen.

When she should have been sorting out what to do about tonight she wandered around, thinking about this morning.

But finally she shopped, and accepted the assistant’s advice, and stood in the changing room with various options.

The black did not match her mood.

The caramel felt rather safe.

But as for the red!

The rich fabric caressed her skin and gave curves where she had few. It was ruched across her stomach and her hand went to smooth it before she realised that was the desired effect—it drew the eye lower.

Lydia slipped on the heels that stood in the corner and looked at her reflection from behind. And then she looked from the front.

She felt sexy, and for the first time beautiful and just a touch wild as she lifted her hair and imagined it piled up in curls. And his reaction.

It wasn’t Bastiano’s reaction she was envisaging—it was the reaction of the man who had invited her out this evening.

Only that wasn’t quite right.

He hadn’t asked her out on a date.

Raul had invited her to a night in his bed.

‘Bellisima...’

Lydia spun around as the assistant came in, and her cheeks matched the fabric as if she had been caught stealing.

‘That dress is perfect on you...’ the assistant said.

‘Well, I prefer this one.’

She could see the assistant’s confusion as she plucked the closest dress to hand and passed it to her.

Caramel—or rather a dark shade of beige.

Safe.

* * *

Bastiano was not a safe option.

Raul knew that as fact.

‘I trust you were comfortable last night?’ Sultan Alim asked when they met.

Raul had met the Sultan once before, but that had been in the Middle East and then Alim had been dressed in traditional robes. Today he wore a deep navy suit.

‘Extremely comfortable,’ Raul agreed. ‘Your staff are excellent.’

‘We have a rigorous recruiting process for all levels.’ Alim nodded. ‘Few make it through the interviews, and not many past the three-month trial. We retain only the best.’

Raul had seen that for himself.

Alim was unhurried as he took Raul behind the scenes of his iconic hotel. ‘I have had four serious expressions of interest,’ Alim went on to explain. ‘Two I know have the means—one I doubt. The other...’ He held his hand flat and waved it to indicate he was uncertain.

‘So I have one definite rival?’ Raul said, and watched as Alim gave a conceding smile.

Both knew Raul was a serious contender.

He didn’t have to try hard to guess who the other was—not that Alim let on.

Raul had done his homework, and he knew that Alim was not just an astute businessman but very discreet in all his dealings.

He would have to be.

Allegra, Raul’s long-suffering PA, had found out all she could on him.

Sultan Alim was a playboy, and his palace’s PR must be on overtime to keep his decadent ways out of the press.

Alim kissed but never told, and in return the silence of his aggrieved lovers was paid for in diamonds.

And in business he played his cards close to his chest.

The latter Raul could attest to, for Alim did not bend to any of Raul’s mercurial ways.

By the end of a very long day Raul was still no closer to finding out the real reason for the sale.

Alim had dismissed his team and was taking Raul for one final look around.

‘I haven’t seen Bastiano,’ Raul commented as the elevator arrived to take them down to the function rooms. When Alim did not respond, Raul pushed. ‘I see that his guests are already here.’

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