They were wrapped in each other’s arms, and the mouth Abby had wanted from the night they had met was on hers, crushing it.

It was consuming, blatant and fierce, and, unthinking, she opened her mouth in delicious reflex. Matteo’s tongue was straight in and she, too, sought his, like some exotic sword fight, where both were winners as they partook in the deepest, sexiest kiss.

God, he was shameless, Abby thought. And then he took the energy of their kiss and didn’t just sustain it—Matteo heightened it. He was hard, and pressing into her, and she could feel every delicious inch. His hands were travelling down to her bottom and pulling her into him. Yet rather than pull back Abby was just as on fire as he.

And then they remembered the rules and pulled their mouths rather than their bodies back.

‘When we win … we kiss,’ Matteo said.

She could live with that. They were breathing so hard, just staring at each other.

‘When we place, we kiss,’ he said, kissing her cheek as if it were her mouth, and that made her laugh. ‘And if we lose,’ he continued, making out with her ear, ‘then we have to commiserate …’

The Billionaire’s Legacy

A search for truth and the promise of passion!

For nearly sixty years Italian billionaire Giovanni Di Sione has kept a shocking secret. Now, nearing the end of his days, he wants his grandchildren to know their true heritage.

He sends them each on a journey to find his

‘Lost Mistresses’—a collection of love tokens and the only remaining evidence of his lost identity, his lost history … his lost love.

With each item collected the Di Sione siblings take one step closer to the truth … and embark on a passionate journey that none could have expected!

Find out what happens in

The Billionaire’s Legacy

Di Sione’s Innocent Conquest by Carol Marinelli

The Di Sione Secret Baby by Maya Blake

To Blackmail a Di Sione by Rachael Thomas

The Return of the Di Sione Wife by Caitlin Crews

Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress by Sharon Kendrick

A Di Sione for the Greek’s Pleasure by Kate Hewitt

A Deal for the Di Sione Ring by Jennifer Hayward

The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize by Maisey Yates

Collect all 8 volumes!

Di Sione’s Innocent Conquest
Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL MARINELLI is a Taurus, with Taurus rising, yet still thinks she is a secret Gemini. Originally from England, she now lives in Australia and is the single mother of three. Apart from her children, writing romance and the friendships forged along the way are her passion. She chooses to believe in a happy-ever-after for all and strives for that in her writing.

Contents

COVER

INTRODUCTION

The Billionaire’s Legacy

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

PROLOGUE

MATTEO DI SIONE knew only too well his shortcomings.

He didn’t need to have them pointed out to him.

Again.

Summoned by his grandfather, Giovanni, it was with a sense of dread that Matteo drove towards the Di Sione estate—a magnificent, sprawling residence set in the Gold Coast of Long Island.

On the death of Matteo’s parents, Giovanni had taken in the seven orphans that his son, Benito, and wife, Anna, had left behind. For Matteo, then only five years old, this place had become home.

Now he had a penthouse apartment in Manhattan with glittering views of the skyline and the city that never slept at his feet.

This was home though.

For better or worse, this was where his fractured, scattered family met on occasion, or returned to at times.

Now, Matteo assumed that he had been called here to be served a lecture.

Another one.

The previous weekend had been particularly wild, even by Matteo’s licentious standards. The press, who were eagerly awaiting his downfall, had been watching. They couldn’t wait for a Di Sione to hit skid row and so had taken delight in reporting Matteo’s million-dollar loss in Vegas on Saturday night. They had, of course, failed to mention that he had recouped the loss twice over by dawn. What hurt him the most, though, was that a prestigious paper had written a very scathing piece.

Arriving in Manhattan this morning, he had gone from his jet to the waiting car and checked the news—the headline he had seen had been the one he had dreaded the most.

History Repeats!

There was a photo of him coming out of the casino, unshaven, with his hair falling over his eyes. He was clearly a little the worse for wear. On his arm was a blonde.

Beside that image, there was another, taken some thirty years ago, in the very same year that he had been born.

Benito Di Sione coming out of a casino, unshaven with the same straight black hair falling over the same navy eyes and clearly a little the worse for wear. On his arm the beautiful requisite blonde, who was not Matteo’s mother.

Matteo doubted his father would have remembered who the woman was, whereas Matteo always remembered his lovers.

On Saturday night her name had been Lacey and she had been gorgeous.

He adored women.

Skinny ones, big ones and anywhere in between. Matteo had a slight yen for the newly divorced—he had found that they were only too happy to rekindle that long-lost flame of desire.

Matteo always made it perfectly clear that he was here for a good time not a long time and he was never with anyone long enough to cheat.

The article had gone on to list the similarities between father and youngest son—the risk-taking, the decadent, debauched lifestyle—and had warned that Matteo was heading towards the same fate that had befallen his father—dead, his car wrapped around a lamppost and his wife deceased by his side.

No, Matteo was not looking forward to speaking with his grandfather; after all, Giovanni often said the very same thing.

He drove into the huge estate and looked ahead rather than taking in the luxurious surrounds, for they held few happy memories.

Still, it was home and, as he parked his car and walked towards the mansion where the Di Sione children had been raised, he wondered as to his reception. Matteo stopped by fairly regularly and took Giovanni out to his club for lunch whenever he could.

He knocked on the door simply to be polite but, as he did, he let himself in with his own key.

‘It’s Matteo,’ he called out as he opened the door and then smiled when he saw Alma, the housekeeper, up on a stepladder.

‘Master Matteo!’ Alma mustn’t have heard him knock because she jumped a little. She was working on a large flower display in the entrance hall and went to get down from the ladder but he gestured for her to carry on.

‘Where is he?’ Matteo asked.

‘In his study. Do you want me to let Signor Giovanni know that you are here?’

‘No, I’ll just go straight through.’ Matteo rolled his eyes. ‘I believe he’s expecting me.’

Alma gave him a small smile and Matteo took it to be a sympathetic one. Of course she must have seen the newspaper when she had taken Giovanni his breakfast this morning.

‘How is he doing?’ Matteo asked as he often did.

‘He wants to speak with you himself,’ Alma said and Matteo frowned at the vague answer.

He walked down a long hallway and then stood at the heavy mahogany door of his grandfather’s study and took a steadying breath, then knocked on the door. When his grandfather’s voice called for him to come in, he did so.

‘Hey!’ Matteo said as he opened the door.

He looked not to his grandfather but to the folded newspaper that lay on Giovanni’s desk and, even as he closed the door behind him, Matteo set the tone. ‘I’ve already seen it and I really don’t need a lecture.’

‘Where does lecturing you get me, Matteo?’ Giovanni responded.

Matteo looked up at the sound of his grandfather’s tired voice, and what he saw made his heart sink in dread. Giovanni looked not just pale, but so incredibly frail. His hair was as white as snow and his usually bright blue eyes seemed faded, and suddenly Matteo changed his mind—he wanted a lecture now! He wanted his grandfather to have brought him here to haul him over the proverbial coals, to tell Matteo that he must grow up, settle down and cease his hedonistic days. Anything other than what, Matteo had the terrible feeling, was about to come.

‘I’ve asked you to come here to tell you...’ Giovanni started but Matteo did not want to hear it. A master in diversion, he picked up the newspaper from his grandfather’s desk and unfolded it.

‘For all their comparisons they forget one vital piece of information,’ Matteo said. ‘He had responsibilities.’

‘I know that he did,’ Giovanni said, ‘but you have responsibility too. To yourself. Matteo, you are heading for trouble. The company you keep, the risks you take...’

‘Are mine to take,’ Matteo interrupted. ‘My father was married and had seven children when he died.’ He jabbed at the photo. ‘Well, seven that he had admitted to!’

‘Matteo!’ Giovanni said. This was not going as he intended. ‘Sit down.’

‘No!’ He argued not with his grandfather but himself. ‘For all they compare me to him they deliberately omit to mention that I don’t have a wife and children. I’d never put anyone through the hell he made.’

He never would.

It was a decision Matteo had made a long time ago.

He was single and staying that way.

Giovanni looked at his grandson and he worried for him.

Fun-loving and charismatic, Matteo not only acted like his father at times, he looked like him too. They had the same navy eyes, the same straight nose and even their hair fell forwards in the same way.

Giovanni, for his own private reasons, had never bonded with his son. He had never told anyone why; it was a secret he had intended to take to his grave.

In the aftermath of Benito’s and Anna’s deaths, five-year-old Matteo, a carbon copy of his father, had been too much of a visual reminder of Benito for Giovanni and, rather than learning from his mistakes, he had repeated them, and Giovanni had kept his distance from his grandson.

Matteo had run wild and that irrepressible personality had gone largely unchecked. When he had dropped out of college after just a year, a terrible row had ensued. Matteo had said that he didn’t need to be taught about the business world—playing the stock market was in his DNA and he wanted to set up a hedge fund rather than sit in lectures—and Giovanni had told his grandson that he was just like his father and that he feared he was heading the same way. Accusations that Matteo had not needed to hear and certainly not from his grandfather.

It was too late to tame him. Giovanni had shouted at the young man, and Matteo had fought back.

‘You never once tried!’ It was the only glimpse Matteo had ever given to another of the pain he carried. ‘You never once fought for me,’ he had shouted. ‘You left me to roam this house and make my own way. Don’t act now as if you care.’ Yes, harsh words had been said and their relationship still bore the scars to this day.

‘Take a seat, Matteo,’ Giovanni said.

Matteo didn’t do as asked.

Troubled by his grandfather’s appearance and unsettled as to what was to come, instead of sitting down, he walked over to the window. He looked out to the vast estate that had once been his playground. Matteo’s grandmother had died before he had been born, so his younger sisters had been taken care of by his older sister, Allegra, while his older siblings had all headed off to boarding school.

Matteo had pretty much been left to his own devices.

‘Do you remember when you used to visit me as children when your parents were still alive?’ Giovanni asked.

‘I don’t think about that time,’ Matteo answered.

He did his best to never look back.

‘You were very young, of course. Maybe you can’t remember...’

Oh, Matteo did.

He remembered only too well life before the Di Sione children had come to live here. He could still recall, with painful clarity, the fights that could erupt at any given time and just the sheer chaos of their existence. Of course, he hadn’t understood then that there were drugs involved. Matteo had just known that his family lived on the edge.

A luxurious knife edge.

‘Matteo.’ Giovanni broke into his dark thoughts. ‘Do you remember when I used to tell you all the story of the Lost Mistresses?’

‘No.’ Matteo shrugged and dismissed the conversation. As he looked out of the window to the lake, his gaze fell on a tree that was so high his stomach churned as he remembered climbing it and falling. A branch had broken his fall. Had it not, he’d probably have died.

No one had seen and no one had known.

Alma, the housekeeper, had scolded him for the grass stains on his clothes and had asked what had happened.

‘I tripped near the lake,’ he had said.

His ribs and head had hurt and his heart had still been pounding, not that he would let Alma see that.

Instead it had been easier to lie.

The sensation of falling still woke Matteo to this day but that wasn’t all that he recalled as he stood there staring out of the window. There was a darker memory that he had never shared, one that could still bring him out in a cold sweat—pleading with his father to stop, to slow down, to please take him home.

From that day to this, Matteo had never again revealed fear.

It got you nowhere. If anything, it spurred others on.

‘You surely remember,’ Giovanni insisted. ‘The Lost Mistresses...’

‘I don’t.’ He shook his head.

‘Then I’ll remind you.’

As if I need to hear this again, Matteo thought! He said nothing, though, and let the old man speak.

‘Don’t ask me how I came by them, for an old man must have his secrets...’ Giovanni started. Matteo remained standing, his face impassive, as his grandfather recited the tale. ‘But when I came to America, I had in my possession trinkets, my Lost Mistresses. They meant more to me than you can ever know but in order to survive I was forced to sell them. My Lost Mistresses, the love of my life, we owe them everything.’ Giovanni stopped speaking for a moment and looked at Matteo’s pale features and unshaven jaw, which was now clenched. ‘You do remember.’

‘No.’ Matteo was getting annoyed now. ‘I’ve told you I don’t.’ He loathed delving into the past and he didn’t want a trip down memory lane today. ‘Do you want to go out?’ he suggested. ‘I could take you for a drive. We could go to your club...’

‘Matteo.’ Giovanni cut him off. He knew that Matteo was trying to change the subject. He loved his grandson very much. Even if they had had their problems, still Matteo came by often and took him out. He just, Giovanni knew, let no one in.

Giovanni had to put things right while he still could. ‘I have to tell you something.’

‘Come on, we’ll go for a drive...’ Matteo pushed. He did not want to be here and he did not want to hear what he knew his grandfather was about to tell him.

‘I’m dying, Matteo.’

Giovanni watched his grandson for his reaction but Matteo never gave his true feelings away.

‘We’re all dying,’ Matteo responded, trying to make light of the devastating news while his heart pounded in his chest, as still his mind fought to deny the truth.

He did not want to have this conversation.

He could not stand to think of his grandfather gone and his family together at another funeral. Images of his parents’ coffins and the children all walking behind them still appeared in magazines at times and were always in his mind.

He did not want his grandfather to die.

‘The leukemia is back,’ Giovanni said.

‘What about that treatment you had?’ Matteo asked. Seventeen years ago they had nearly lost Giovanni. A bone marrow donor had been needed and all the grandchildren had been tested but none of them had returned a match. It had been then that the eldest, Alessandro, had confessed that he knew their father had another son. They had tracked Nate down and he had returned a match. ‘Couldn’t Nate...’

‘A transplant is out of the question, and I’m not sure that treatment is the best way forward at this stage,’ Giovanni said. ‘The doctors say we can hope for remission but, failing that, it is a matter of months. The reality is, I have a year at best.’

‘You know how I loathe reality,’ Matteo said and the old man smiled.

‘I do.’

And Matteo escaped reality often—in casinos, clubs, daredevil escapades, constantly pushing both his body and the hedge fund he had set up to the very brink.

How Giovanni wished he could take back the damaging words he had said and handled this complex man so much better. Yes, while there were many similarities between Matteo and his father, there were other traits too—there was an innate kindness to Matteo that had been absent in Benito, a rare kindness of which Giovanni was immensely proud. And though Matteo was eternally restless, in other ways he was the most patient man Giovanni had ever known. As his health had deteriorated, as his stamina had waned, it was Matteo who would come around and take him out, Matteo who fell easily into a slower step beside him and let Giovanni ramble as he had just done.

‘Matteo, I want you to do something for me. I have something that I need for you to do if I am going to go to my grave content.’

Matteo took a breath and braced himself for the inevitable. Here came the lecture! He was quite sure he was about to be told to settle down and tame his ways and so he frowned when the old man voiced his thoughts.

‘I want you to bring me one of my Lost Mistresses.’

Matteo turned and looked at his grandfather and wondered if he’d finally lost his mind. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘My Lost Mistresses!’ Giovanni went into one of the drawers in his desk and Matteo saw a flare of excitement in the old man’s eyes as he took out a photo. Giovanni’s hand was shaking as he handed it to Matteo.

‘This necklace is one of my Lost Mistresses.’

Matteo looked at the photo. It was a lavish emerald necklace and it was, quite simply, beautiful. ‘White gold?’ he checked and Giovanni shook his head.

‘Platinum.’

The emeralds were amazing—the size of robins’ eggs, they sparkled and beguiled. They were so beautiful that even their image made Matteo reach out to run his finger over the stones. ‘We thought it was just a tale that you told, that they were some old coins or something.’

‘So you do remember!’

Matteo conceded that he did with a half smile. ‘Yes, I remember you telling us your tale.’ He let out a low whistle as he looked at the necklace again. ‘This would be worth...’ Usually he could pick this sort of thing but in this instance he really didn’t know. ‘Millions?’ he loosely gauged.

‘And some.’

‘Who’s the designer?’ he asked. ‘What jewellery house...?’

‘Unknown,’ Giovanni quickly said and Matteo frowned because surely a piece of jewellery as exquisite as this would have some considerable history attached.

‘Is this how you got your start?’ he asked. He could see it a little more clearly. Di Sione had started as a shipping empire but now the name was global. If Giovanni had sold pieces as exquisite as this one, then Matteo could see how it might have transpired. Yet, how could a young man from Sicily come to be in possession of this?

Giovanni was less than forthcoming, though, when Matteo pushed for answers.

‘I just want you to find it for me,’ Giovanni said. ‘I don’t know where to start. I sold it to a man named Roche some sixty years ago. Since then it’s been sold on.’ Matteo could see that his grandfather was getting distressed and knew that this necklace really meant something to him.

‘How did you come to own this?’ he asked again.

‘Don’t ask me how I came by them, for an old man must have his secrets...’ Giovanni said and Matteo gave another half smile.

Now the tale of old made a bit more sense.

‘Matteo, I want that necklace. Whatever it takes. Can you find it and bring it to me?’

He looked over to his grandfather.

How he wished he could open up and tell the old man that he meant something to him, that he understood how hard the years had been on him. But Matteo was incapable of giving anyone more than a loan of that smile or body. His mind was a closed door.

So instead he nodded.

This he could do.

‘You know that I shall.’

Giovanni got out of his chair and walked over to Matteo and wrapped his grandson in an embrace, something Giovanni wished he had done more of all those years ago.

Just for a moment, Matteo let himself be held, but then he pulled back.

‘Come on, then,’ he said, pocketing the picture in his jacket.

‘Where?’

‘Your club,’ Matteo said and rattled his keys but then he changed his mind.

His grandfather was dying.

There was no way that he’d be driving today.

Giovanni called for his driver.

CHAPTER ONE

MATTEO DIDN’T LIKE HIM.

Not that it showed in his expression.

He just sat in Ellison’s study and glanced up at the hunting trophies that lined the walls and then back to the man.

‘Do I look like I need the money?’ Ellison sneered.

Matteo shrugged, refusing to let the other man see that he was surprised by his response to a very generous offer.

He had been unable to find out the designer or jewellery house that the necklace had come from but had found out that Roche had sold it on to Hugo Ellison some twenty or so years ago.

Matteo vaguely knew Ellison from fundraising galas he had attended and he also knew that the man was money and power mad. He had been sure it would only take a generous donation to his political fund to secure the necklace and had set off for the meeting cocksure and confident that he would leave with what he wanted.

Now Matteo wasn’t so sure.

‘It was a gift to my late wife,’ Ellison said.

Matteo knew enough about that marriage to be sure that Ellison wasn’t crying himself to sleep at night over her death but he went along with the game. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said and then stood. ‘It was insensitive of me to ask.’ He held out his hand. ‘Thank you for seeing me though.’

Ellison didn’t offer his hand and when he didn’t conclude the meeting, Matteo knew, even before Ellison spoke, that he held the ace—it was just a matter of time before the necklace was his.

‘Actually,’ Ellison said, ‘it seems a shame to keep it locked up.’ He looked at Matteo. ‘Sit down, son.’

He loathed it when people said that.

It was just a power play, a chance to assert a stronger position, but Matteo knew he had the upper hand and so he went along with it and took a seat again.

I really don’t like you, Matteo thought as Ellison poured them both a drink.

‘How come you’re interested in the necklace?’ Ellison asked.

‘I appreciate beauty,’ he answered and Ellison gave a smug smile.

‘And me.’

Ellison knew who Matteo was, of course. Everyone knew the Di Siones and he knew Matteo’s reputation with women.

Yes, Matteo appreciated beauty.

‘Didn’t you date Princess...?’

‘I don’t date,’ Matteo interrupted and Ellison laughed.

‘Good call. So, how far are you prepared to go?’

‘How much do you want?’ Matteo asked.

‘Not how much, how far?’ Ellison corrected. ‘I believe you like a challenge.’

‘I do.’

‘And from what I’ve read about you, impossible odds don’t daunt you.’

‘They don’t.’

They thrilled Matteo, in fact.

‘See this.’ Ellison beckoned for him to stand and Matteo walked over and they stood staring at a portrait of Ellison and his late wife, Anette, and their two daughters. ‘This was taken at our charity gala some twelve years ago.’

‘Your wife was a very beautiful woman.’ And very rich, Matteo thought. A lot of Ellison’s wealth had come from her family and Matteo privately wondered just how far Ellison’s political career would have gone without Anette’s billions.

‘Anette knew how to play the game,’ Ellison said. ‘We had a terrible fight the day before that photo was taken. She’d found out that I was sleeping with my assistant, but you wouldn’t know it from that photo.’

‘No.’ Matteo looked at Anette’s smiling face as she stood by her man. ‘You wouldn’t.’

Ellison’s revelation didn’t shock Matteo; instead it wearied him.

He peered at Ellison’s daughters. They were both immaculate—one was dressed in oyster grey, the other in beige, and both were wearing the requisite pearls. One had her hair neatly up and the other... A small smile played on Matteo’s lips as he examined the younger daughter more closely. Her dark wavy hair, despite a velvet band, was untamed and her eyes were angry. Her smile was forced and it looked as if the hand her father had on her shoulder was not a proud display of affection, more that it was there to hold her down.

‘That’s Abby.’

Ellison’s sigh as he said her name told Matteo that Abby was the bane of his existence.

‘Look at this one,’ Ellison said and they moved on to the next photo. ‘It must have been...’ Ellison thought back. ‘I think Abby’s about five here, so some twenty-two years ago.’

Abby’s eyes were red, Matteo noted.

Well, they were actually a vivid green but she’d clearly been crying.

‘The only way we could get her to sit in a dress for the photo was to give her a toy car. She was obsessed with cars even then.’

Matteo had no idea where this was leading but he had learned long ago that all knowledge was power and so he let Ellison drone on. He could also see that in the photo Anette was wearing the necklace that Giovanni so badly wanted.

‘Abby was upset because we’d just fired the nanny. Both the girls were terribly fond of her,’ Ellison said. ‘My wife insisted on it though.’

Now they were getting somewhere! Matteo guessed that it wasn’t just the daughters who’d been fond of the nanny.

‘And this,’ Ellison said, moving along, ‘is the last photo I have of my daughter in a dress.’

There Abby stood on a red carpet, with a good-looking blond man by her side.

A man Matteo thought that he recognised.

‘Hunter Coleman ,’ Ellison said and Matteo nodded as he now placed him. Hunter was a top racing driver and had a reputation with women that rivalled even Matteo’s. ‘Abby dated him for a while,’ Ellison explained. ‘Anyway, as I said, she always had a thing for cars. If I couldn’t find her, then she’d be in the garage, pulling apart a Bentley, or taking the engine out of a Jag. I tried to get her out of it—it’s not exactly fitting for a young woman of her standing. She went off to college to study fashion and started dating Hunter and finally I thought that the tomboy in her was gone. The trouble is, unlike her mother, my darling daughter doesn’t know how to stand and offer quiet support. No, Abby, being Abby, had to offer a top racing driver advice on his racing technique.’

Matteo laughed but then it trailed off.

Hunter’s hand was closed tightly around Abby’s, and again, despite the smile, her eyes were...not angry. Matteo looked more closely.

Guarded.

It was the best he could come up with—but no, despite the smile for the camera, that wasn’t a happy young woman.

‘Anyway, she dumped him!’ Ellison sounded shocked. ‘God knows how she thought she could do better, and then she switched from studying fashion to automotive engineering. Now she’s...’

‘The Boucher team!’ Matteo could place her as well now. Well, not Abby specifically, but yes, he knew a little about the emerging racing team.

‘Boucher was my wife’s maiden name.’ Ellison sighed. ‘It’s a very expensive hobby...’

‘I can imagine.’

‘Oh, believe me, you can’t.’ Ellison shook his head. ‘Especially when the owner of the team refuses to play the corporate game and chat up sponsors. As I said to Abby last week, she’s going to have to find the cash. I’m not bailing her out.’

‘Has she asked?’

‘Not yet!’ Ellison’s smug smile returned. ‘But the rest of her mother’s trust fund is tied up till she’s thirty or married. There’s no chance of that girl marrying, which means she’s got no income for another three years!’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ Matteo asked.

‘Because, as you must have heard, I’m on the comeback trail. In July I’m going to be holding my first political fundraiser since my wife’s death. I’ve told Abby that if she comes, and looks the part, and by that I mean she loses the jeans and oil rags, then I’ll give her a cash injection to tide her over.’

‘Has she said that she’s coming?’

‘Not yet,’ Ellison said. ‘But I need her to be there. Image is everything in politics and I don’t want there to be even a whiff of discord. Annabel, my eldest daughter, will do the right thing but I want Abby to be here too. I want my daughter, at my function, wearing her mother’s necklace. I want her looking like a woman for once...’

She looked all woman to Matteo.

‘Can you manage that?’ Ellison asked.

‘Sorry?’ Matteo frowned.

‘You said that you like a challenge. You like women—see if you can sweet-talk her and get Abby to show up here, looking the part. If she does, at the end of the night, the necklace is yours.’

‘How am I supposed to persuade her if you can’t...?’ Matteo started but then, guessing Ellison’s intent, he shook his head. ‘No way.’

Ellison just laughed. ‘I’m not asking you to seduce her. I don’t think you’d get very far. Rumour has it my daughter isn’t particularly interested in men.’

No, Matteo really, really didn’t like this man.

‘She hasn’t dated anyone since Hunter and it hasn’t gone unnoticed,’ Ellison said, frowning at the photo. ‘I want that rumour quashed. I want Abby here, dressed like a woman and with a handsome chap by her side.’ Ellison returned his gaze to Matteo and continued. ‘You could be a potential sponsor, considering investing in her team.’

‘It’s April,’ Matteo pointed out. ‘Your fundraiser isn’t until July. How long am I supposed to be considering investing for?’

‘I’d be giving you the necklace for nothing, perhaps the money you’ve earmarked for it could go towards convincing my daughter that you want to sponsor the team.’

‘And if she doesn’t come to your fundraiser?’

‘You don’t get your necklace.’

Matteo could cheerfully have knocked Ellison’s lights out but instead he watched as Ellison went over to the safe and took out a gleaming polished wooden box and handed it to him.

Oh, my God, Matteo thought as he undid the intricate latch and saw the necklace firsthand.

Not even the photos did it justice.

How the hell had his grandfather come by this? Matteo wondered, and he could see now why he would want it back.

Jewellery had never really impressed Matteo.

This piece couldn’t fail to.

‘I doubt it’s possible to get Abby here,’ Ellison said.

Matteo looked over to Ellison and then back to the necklace and he took Ellison’s words as a dare—which was something he never said no to.

And his grandfather wanted the necklace so badly.

No, he could never be the man his grandfather wanted him to be but this he could do.

‘Can you give me your daughter’s contact details?’ Matteo asked.

His mind was made up—he would get this Lost Mistress back to where it belonged.

CHAPTER TWO

ELLISON HAD BEEN right about one thing—his daughter Abby really was terrible at the corporate stuff.

It had taken two weeks for her to reply to Matteo’s email and at best her response had been lukewarm.

Of course Matteo had looked into the Boucher team more closely by then.

He was a risk-taker by nature, but they were, even by his standards, more of a gamble than one should take.

It was their second year in competition and their best was a fifth place last year. Frequently, they placed last or second last. Now they were competitors in the Henley Cup—a prestigious international event, held over three races.

They weren’t considered a mention.

Matteo finally decided to call Abby but effusive wasn’t a word that had sprung to mind when she told him that no, they couldn’t meet, given that she was on her way to Dubai.

‘So am I,’ he, on impulse, had replied.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ve got a couple of racehorses that I want to look at and my sister Allegra is holding a charity event in May... Hold on.’ Matteo checked his calendar. ‘Yes, that’s on Saturday the seventh. How about lunch on the Friday?’

‘I won’t be able to get away for lunch.’

‘Dinner, then?’ Matteo persisted and she returned his offer with a long stretch of silence. ‘Breakfast?’

‘Just stop by the track.’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll look forward...’

She had already rung off.

* * *

The heat was fierce in Dubai.

And as for the humidity!

Suffice to say, with the hangover Matteo had, he would far rather be in the airconditioned comfort of his hotel than in the goldfish bowl of a racetrack. The sun seemed to be coming at him from all angles as he made his way to the Boucher sheds.

Matteo had been in Dubai for three days and what an amazing three days they had been. The first had consisted of a wild welcome on board his friend Sheikh Kedah’s yacht.

Kedah seemed hell-bent on returning the wild week Matteo had given him on a recent trip to New York City. The second day had been spent galloping at breakneck speed with his friend along a beach. Matteo had taken a tumble and dislocated his shoulder. The sheikh had called for his private physician to put it back. With Matteo’s arm strapped and a little out of action they had hit the racetracks and placed a few bets on a camel race. The potential two years’ jail time for illegal betting had only served to give Matteo an extra high!

It had been a giddy introduction to Dubai but now he had crashed back to earth—the smell of oil was nauseating and the sound from the track had his molars aching. He’d lost the sling that the physician had provided and so his shoulder was killing him.

And Abby Ellison was nowhere to be seen.

It was after four and he wondered if she might have finished for the day. A group of guys were watching as Pedro, the Boucher driver, put the car through its paces. He knew it was Pedro because Matteo recognised the deep green of the Boucher car.

Matteo had done some further research on the team, of course.

They had entered in the prestigious Henley Cup. A series of three races—Dubai, Milan and Monte Carlo. The final race took place in July a week before Ellison’s fundraiser.

As newcomers the Boucher team wasn’t being taken seriously, especially because the owner was a woman. Just a little rich girl playing with her daddy’s money seemed to be the general consensus.

Pedro Sanchez, their driver, was someone who was being watched seriously though, and there were a couple of other teams who had their eye on him.

The group of men all ignored him and that suited Matteo just fine. He just drank from a large bottle of cola and idly watched.

Or rather, at first, he idly watched.

Matteo had never really been in to cars and not just because his parents had died in a crash. His father had once taken a five-year-old Matteo for a joy-ride.

There was no joy in that memory!

Still, this was different—Pedro was really putting the car through its paces now, hugging the bend, belting it down the straight, and the roar of the motor was, as it flew past him, a bit of a turn-on.

‘Whoa!’ one of the guys shouted as the car lost traction, but then Pedro skilfully righted it and Matteo watched as the car again sped down the straight and then slowed down as it came towards them.

‘Hey...’

Matteo turned as someone greeted him and blinked in vague surprise. ‘Pedro...’ Matteo shook his hand; he recognised the young man himself from his research. ‘Sorry for the double take. I thought that I was watching you out there. I didn’t realise there were two drivers.’

‘No, no...’ Pedro said. ‘Soon you’ll get to see me drive. That’s Abby—she’s just checking out some adjustments that she has made.’

Matteo looked back at the car and, sure enough, climbing out from it, dressed in tight leather, was no man, and the vague turn-on Matteo had felt before was rather less vague now.

He hadn’t known that he was in to leather either!

The racing world was looking up, he decided as she took off her helmet and the fire guard and then shook her long dark hair out.

She was tall enough to wear her curves well, and if she only smiled he would return it with the best of his. And Matteo’s smile could melt. But then he remembered he was not here to seduce and so he kept his business expression on.

‘So,’ Pedro said, ‘I hear that you have a meeting with Abby.’

‘I do.’

‘Good,’ Pedro responded and he could hear the slight edge to the man’s voice. ‘Then I guess it’s time for me to show you a little of what I can do.’ He looked over to Abby, who had reached them now. ‘How is she?’

‘Oh, she’s running like silk now.’

They spoke as if the car was a person!

‘I’ve warmed her up for you,’ Abby said and then, as Pedro headed off towards the car, she finally acknowledged Matteo. ‘Di Sione?’

‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘But you can call me Matteo.’

Abby didn’t return the smile.

Instead she blanked him and turned her attention to Pedro, who was climbing into the car.

Was she always this polite with investors? Matteo pondered.

‘How long has Pedro been out here?’ Matteo enquired, wondering how long he’d had to acclimatise to the hot and humid conditions.

‘Long enough,’ Abby said and then carried on ignoring him as Pedro started to do some laps.

‘Why don’t we...?’ Matteo started but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the engine and he had to wait till Pedro had passed before continuing. ‘Why don’t we go somewhere we can talk?’

Still she ignored him and watched the track intently and then, when Pedro had finished a few laps, she turned and finally answered him.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I don’t need an investor who wants to pull me away.’

‘But Pedro’s finished.’

‘I’m watching the competition,’ she said.

‘And you do need an investor,’ Matteo said.

Not this one, Abby thought.

She knew the Di Sione name, of course she did, and she had looked Matteo up.

Of course she had.

Reckless, wild and debauched, she had read, but looking at the photos of him and finding out a little more about her potential sponsor, it didn’t take long for her to work out that he was also as sexy as all hell.

And Abby didn’t like sexy.

It terrified her, in fact.

Abby had seen and recognised Matteo the second she had stepped out of the car. He was even better in the flesh and her stomach had curled in a way she would prefer it did not.

She had also seen and felt his eyes roam her body as she had walked towards them and had felt her cheeks turn pink from that fact.

‘Can I get earplugs?’ Matteo asked. Another team was taking their car out and his hangover was making itself known again. ‘I guess we can resort to sign language if we’re not allowed to go somewhere decent to talk.’

‘Decent?’ Abby frowned. What sort of a sponsor was he? Didn’t he get that she lived trackside?

She watched Evan put his car through its paces. She had been waiting all day to watch this. Evan Lewis, driver of the Carter team, was one of the Boucher team’s toughest opponents. Her friend Bella, who she had studied engineering with, worked for the Carter team and had told Abby that the engine, along with the driver, were poetry in motion. Yes, she had waited all day to see this but as Evan in the aqua-blue car tested the track, she found that she couldn’t concentrate.

Matteo stood beside her, swigging from his bottle, which made her thirsty, and as she licked her lips he offered her a drink, as if they had known each other for months.

She gave him a terse shake of her head and he moved forwards and leaned on the rail and bent over a little.

And she noticed.

Oh, she tried to watch Evan but her eyes kept flicking to Matteo’s long legs and to a white, slightly crumpled shirt that, despite the heat, wasn’t damp. He had a bruise over his left eye and she wanted to know where it had come from. He put down his bottle and in her peripheral vision she saw that he was undoing his shirt.

What the hell?

He turned then and gave her a smile as he popped his hand into the gap he had made in his shirt. ‘I’ve hurt my shoulder,’ he briefly explained.

She didn’t return his smile, nor did she comment.

Instead she walked off.

Matteo had had enough. He’d just have to work out another way to get his grandfather the necklace because if this was the way Abby dealt with sponsors he could just imagine her reaction to him suggesting what she wear to her father’s fundraiser!

‘Guess what,’ he said as he caught up with her. ‘You’ve just lost possibly the most hands-off sponsor you could have ever hoped find...’ He looked into the green eyes that would not meet his. ‘I’m going. I’ve decided that I don’t want to do business with you. You’re rude,’ he said and then saw that, just a little, she smiled. ‘You’re not very nice.’

‘I’m not.’

Now she met his eyes and, with contact made, he changed his mind; maybe they could work together after all.

‘That’s okay,’ Matteo said. ‘I’ll settle for polite.’

Abby gave him an assessing look. She liked it that he had said he’d be hands off—that had been one of the main issues with their previous sponsor; he had demanded so much of Pedro’s time. And she liked, too, that Matteo had addressed up front the issue—she’d been rude.

‘I can manage polite,’ she said.

‘Good.’ He drained the last of his cola. ‘I do need to get something to eat.’

She said something then but it was drowned out by the roar of a car and he couldn’t make out the words.

He just watched her mouth.

‘I can’t hear you,’ Matteo said and she had to watch his mouth now. ‘Dinner?’ he suggested. Finally there was a lull in the noise and he said it again. ‘Dinner?’

‘Here?’ Abby checked and Matteo looked around. The race wasn’t till next week and so the corporate caterers weren’t here yet.

‘Well, I’d prefer a nice lazy meal back at my eight-star hotel but if you insist on here, then I guess it will have to do. Do they have hot dogs in Dubai?’

Abby nodded to a van. ‘Not hot dogs exactly...’ She took a breath; they were about to talk big business and a takeaway back in the shed really wouldn’t cut it. ‘When you say your hotel...’ She saw him frown, but no, she would make very sure where they would be eating before she agreed to go back to his hotel. ‘You do mean the restaurant?’

‘What the hell did you think I meant?’ Matteo grinned. ‘Of course I meant the restaurant. Don’t believe everything you read about me, Abby—I’m fast but not that fast.’

She laughed.

Matteo had no idea what a rare sound that was.

‘Do you want to meet there?’ he suggested, assuming she had a car.

‘Sure,’ she agreed, and he told her the name of the hotel he was staying at. ‘I’ll just get changed,’ she said, but aware of all she had in her locker she was factoring in a dash back to her own hotel too.

‘Please...’ He stopped abruptly. Matteo had been about to say, ‘Please don’t.’ She looked amazing in the Boucher green leather after all, but there was something that stopped him and he quickly changed his plea. ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘I’ll meet you there on the hour.’

Abby felt her cheeks go a little pink again.

‘Is it okay if I have a look around before I head off?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’

One of the mechanics who was peeling a pear offered Matteo half and, when he took it, offered to show him around. It was actually fascinating. There was a whole wall of tyres that would see them through just one race and the science of it all was something Matteo had never considered.

Abby took her time to get ready. Given Matteo had said that they were meeting on the hour there really was no time to go back to her hotel and change. Also, she was incredibly nervous. Oh, she had sat through her share of dinners and lunches, of course, just not with someone as gorgeous as he, and not with someone who made her smile.

Yes, she knew that she came across as brittle at times, but she had been particularly awful to him.

She forgave herself then.

After all, she knew why.

So, what to wear to dinner at an eight-star hotel with a stunning man when you have neither the time nor inclination for a dress but all you have in your locker is a pair of ill-fitting jeans, a massive black T-shirt and flat sandals?

She suppressed a smile because she had known exactly what Matteo had been about to say regarding her leather suit. That was why her cheeks had gone pink. It had felt a little like flirting and Abby wasn’t in the least good at that.

* * *

She put on some dark glasses and ran a comb through her hair. As she left the locker room she took out her phone to call for a taxi and then startled when she saw that Matteo was still there.

‘Sorry, I thought you’d have your own car. Why didn’t you say?’ he asked.

‘I just...’ Abby shrugged.

‘Come on,’ he said and put on his own dark glasses before heading back out in the sun.

What the hell happened there? he thought as they walked to his car. It was as if Abby had done everything possible to look as unattractive as she could. The jeans were massive and as for the T-shirt!

Maybe hot dogs would be a better idea after all.

He glanced down and he didn’t think he’d seen an unpainted female toenail before.

Half an hour spent getting ready, for that!

‘Will they mind jeans at the hotel?’ Abby checked as he drove them there.

‘Not the way you wear them.’ Matteo turned and smiled. ‘You look great.’

Again, she laughed.

‘You are such...’ She just laughed again. ‘I wasn’t expecting to go out for dinner, okay? I do know I’m badly dressed.’

‘For who?’ Matteo shrugged.

He was relaxing to her.

Oh, she was on edge, Abby knew, yet somehow Matteo was relaxing to her.

‘What happened to your eye?’ she asked.

‘I came off a horse,’ he said. ‘That’s how I dislocated my shoulder. I’m supposed to be wearing a shoulder strap.’

‘So, why aren’t you?’

‘I lost it.’

‘Oh.’

He was so incredibly handsome and she felt incredibly drab.

‘I could stop by my hotel and get changed,’ Abby offered, still a little worried that she was way underdressed.

‘No need.’

It was, however, Matteo thought, a seriously nice restaurant they were heading to. Seriously, seriously nice but thankfully he’d been here with the sheikh and had lobbed enough tips these past days that he knew they’d give him a welcome smile as they walked in.

But he didn’t want her to be uncomfortable.

‘We could go to Majlis Al Bahar...’ Matteo glanced over and he saw her nervous swallow. ‘I’m not getting romantic,’ he reassured, because it was possibly the most romantic restaurant on earth. ‘It’s just that the dress code is more casual and,’ he added, ‘I kind of want to try it.’

‘No,’ Abby said. ‘The hotel’s fine.

So his hotel it was.

‘Table for two,’ Matteo told the maître d’ and such was his confidence that, of course, no one turned a hair and they were shown to their seats.

Her glasses off, those disgusting jeans tucked away, she really was beautiful, Matteo thought. Her eyes were an intense green and thickly lashed and she was the first woman he had ever sat in a restaurant with who wore not a trace of make-up.

He knew what she’d look like in the morning, Matteo thought. Then he reminded himself that he wasn’t here for that and so he looked from Abby and out to the view of the Arabian Gulf. ‘I love it here,’ he admitted. ‘I didn’t expect to, then again I had no real idea what to expect.’

‘I haven’t seen much of it,’ Abby said. ‘We only got here yesterday...’

Matteo was astute enough to frown. ‘So how is Pedro doing with the heat?’

She liked that he understood that it mattered.

‘A few days more to acclimatise would have been nice,’ Abby admitted.

‘Is Pedro as temperamental as the press make out?’ Matteo asked.

‘More so.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t blame him though. He’s an amazing talent.’

‘You’ve given him a very early break,’ Matteo said, remembering that Pedro had just turned twenty-one and had been nineteen when Abby had taken him on. ‘Shouldn’t he still be doing the dinky tracks in a go-kart?’

Abby smiled but it was a guarded one. ‘He’s going to be amazing—he already is.’

He saw her tight smile and read it.

Someone with a far bigger cash pot would snap him up very soon.

‘Treat him like a star, then,’ Matteo said. ‘Make him never want to leave.’ He saw the set of her lips. ‘What’s his latest gripe?’ he asked and her mouth relaxed into a soft laugh at his perception.

‘Well, some of the other drivers have suites with their own gym and lap pool.’ She looked at Matteo, who said nothing. ‘These guys are incredibly fit. You have to be to race at that speed. I know how taxing it is just doing a few gentle laps.’

‘It didn’t look particularly gentle to me,’ Matteo said. ‘So, what’s it like?’ he asked. ‘Driving one?’

And she knew the line the guys used but that would really tip her into flirting with him.

‘It’s amazing,’ she said, instead of saying that it was better than sex.

It had to be.

Her one experience had been hell after all.

No, she would not be flirting.

‘Pedro doesn’t like using the hotel pool and gym,’ Abby said. ‘And I get that, I do, but...’ She loathed talking about money, but that was what they were here to do. ‘Our budget’s tight.’

‘And Pedro doesn’t want to hear that?’

‘He’s been really good,’ Abby said. ‘They all have been. It’s hard watching the others swan off to fancy restaurants when we’re heading for the burger bar. We all want better things and know that we have to work for it. It’s just hard juggling egos. And also I know that Pedro’s right—he’d do better with more resources and I’d do better if I had more time to focus on the car and the opposition.’

‘Instead of playing bookkeeper?’ Matteo asked and she gave a low laugh.

‘And PA, and travel agent...’

‘I get it.’

How could he? ‘How come you want to invest?’ she asked him.

‘Well, I think you’re going places,’ Matteo said. ‘And I want to be securely on board when you do. I have a thing for outside chances.’ He looked at the wine menu. ‘What are we drinking?’ Matteo asked.

‘Water for me...’

‘You’re a cheap date.’

‘This isn’t a date, Matteo,’ she said.

‘Actually, no, it isn’t.’ He put down the menu and was serious. He was interested in sponsoring the team. Seriously so. Matteo was a gambler by nature but this was a huge one. He wasn’t thinking about the necklace or her father now. Matteo’s head was in the game and if he was going to be a sponsor, then there had to be rules. ‘My relationships run into hours rather than days. Believe me, you don’t want to know...’

‘I already do!’ she said.

‘Which means, if we want this to work, then it’s hands off each other.’

‘I’m good with that,’ she said.

‘Anyway,’ Matteo added, ‘I don’t date.’

‘And I don’t drink.’

‘At all?’

‘Nope.’ She shook her head.

‘Ever?’

‘Never.’ She smiled at his curiosity. ‘Well, I tried it and didn’t like it.’

‘Okay, water for two it is.’

‘You can.’

‘I know that I can,’ Matteo said, ‘but I’m keeping my wits about me with you.’

He looked at the menu and groaned. ‘Truffle-crusted scallops—I know what I’m having.’

His groan made her stomach tighten; the low sound of his want caused her breath to hold in her throat, and then he looked up.

His eyes were the darkest navy and when he smiled so, too, did she.

‘That’s better,’ Matteo said.

He was nice, her heart said.

Just that.

The food was amazing and the company too, and he really did take her concerns seriously.

‘I had a sponsor last year, not a particularly generous one,’ Abby explained. ‘He rang all the time, wanted constant progress reports. Race day was hell. He wanted me to join him and his cronies for a champagne brunch and Pedro to be sociable...’

‘Look, I get you don’t want someone sticking their nose in and I can manage lunch by myself. And, for what it’s worth, I won’t be putting pressure on you or your team. I wouldn’t expect much this year...’

‘Oh, no,’ Abby interrupted. ‘We’re winning the Henley Cup this year.’

‘I’m just saying that I’m patient.’

‘Pedro will be off soon,’ Abby said. ‘He’s a rising star and someone will make an offer that I can’t match any day soon.’

‘Probably.’ Matteo nodded. He’d thought the same but now he could really see the problem. ‘Hunter’s retiring at the end of this year and I guess the Lachance team...’ He paused, remembering that Abby had briefly dated him. ‘Hey, didn’t you two...?’

‘We’re winning this year,’ Abby said, not answering the question. ‘I want the Henley Cup—Dubai first, then Italy, then Monte Carlo.’

‘Then you need to keep your driver happy,’ Matteo said. ‘How tight is it?’ he asked.

No one knew just how bad it was and Abby was extremely reluctant to tell him.

Matteo watched as she fiddled with her glass. ‘The only thing I want in a relationship is honesty,’ he said and then he started to laugh. ‘I only get to use that line in business.’

Even Abby laughed.

‘So, how about we be honest with each other? Whatever you tell me goes no further than here, whatever we then decide.’

She believed him. And, Abby thought, maybe it would be a relief to tell someone the truth.

No one knew just how bad it was.

Her team all thought she was particularly tense; they didn’t know that she was waking up in dread every night. Abby was even considering agreeing to her father’s ridiculous bribe to go along to his fundraiser just for the injection of cash he had promised if she did.

The very thought of that made her sick.

She wondered if the photograph of her and Hunter still hung on her father’s study wall.

Abby closed her eyes for a second, as panic briefly hit.

No, she would not be going cap in hand to her father.

She opened her eyes to Matteo’s waiting ones and decided to tell him the truth.

‘I can’t get us to Italy.’

Matteo said nothing.

‘I’ve got the car and equipment covered but I can’t get the team there.’

‘The money’s run out?’

Abby nodded.

He didn’t get up and walk off and he didn’t berate.

He just sat there.

Thinking.

Then he gave in on water and called for a large cognac.

And still he sat there thinking.

Not about the necklace that he was supposed to be here for; instead he was thinking about cars and a team and it gave him a buzz that had been missing at the casino of late. He didn’t like motor racing. Fast cars were the only vice he didn’t have. There were too many painful memories attached.

Yet, he was starting to come around.

Watching Abby and later Pedro putting the car through its paces, speaking with the mechanics, gauging the opposition...

There was an attraction to the sport that Matteo had never anticipated when he had taken the challenge on.

He asked for figures and she went red in the neck but told him, and she watched as he crunched a few numbers on a calculator.

Not his phone, she noted.

And it wasn’t a two-dollar calculator either.

He had beautiful hands, Abby thought, and she liked the way his tongue popped out as he concentrated.

Matteo knew he should conclude this meeting now. The type of money that was required here outweighed the necklace and there was practically a guarantee of zero return.

‘Why do you think you’re a chance?’ he asked.

‘I built the car,’ Abby said. ‘I have the most fearless driver I’ve ever seen. Pedro’s a bit raw but that’s good. He’s unpredictable. No one except for me—actually, not even me—knows what he’s capable of...’

Still Matteo looked.

‘But he needs the right tool and my car is that.’

Still he looked. His face gave away nothing, Abby thought, but he had demanded honesty and if that was the case there was something rather large that she was leaving out.

‘And I’ve been waiting nine years for this.’

She didn’t tell him why; she just told him that she had.

He saw something then and its name was determination.

No, the numbers might not add up but the feeling in his gut tipped the scale.

‘Tell you what,’ Matteo finally said and Abby found she was holding her breath. ‘If you can come in in the top five here in Dubai, then I’ll take care of getting the team to Italy.’

‘Will you be staying to watch?’

‘God, yes,’ Matteo said. ‘And sorry if you don’t like it but if you do place, then I’ll be in Italy too. Don’t worry though. I shan’t be breathing down your neck.’

And for the first time, possibly ever, Abby imagined just that—a man breathing down her neck, or even on her neck...

Not just any man.

Him.

He expected her to backtrack, to maybe push for a lower place, but instead she looked straight back at him.

‘We’re going to do better than fifth.’

He really, really hoped so.

And so, too, did she.

‘Right,’ Matteo said and called for the bill and then he asked for her bank details.

‘We haven’t placed yet.’

‘I’m just making sure that you do.’

He paid and then asked for a driver to take her back to her hotel. ‘My sister Allegra has got a big charity event tomorrow. I think we should go.’

‘You said...’ Abby started but Matteo overrode her.

‘Everyone will be there, including the press. It might rattle the opposition if they think you’ve got a Di Sione on board.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘Mind games.’

Oh, it would seriously rattle the opposition and Abby would take any edge that she could get.

She thought of Hunter and that terrible night and she had to beat him this year.

It was her only chance for revenge.

‘Abby, you need to ooze confidence,’ Matteo said. ‘Doesn’t matter how you feel on the inside.’

‘Please.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s easy for you...’

‘You don’t know me,’ Matteo interrupted. ‘But believe me when I say, never let them smell fear.’

She nodded.

‘So will you come?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Good,’ Matteo said. ‘After tomorrow I’ll leave you alone to do your thing. If I send a car for you at ten would that be okay?’

‘There’s no need for that. I’ll meet you here.’

‘Sure.’

When her car arrived it was Matteo, rather than the driver, who opened the door for her, and they spoke for a moment before she got in.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said and she nodded and then he shook her hand. ‘And you need to dress up.’

‘Excuse me?’ she flared.

‘I don’t care what you wear in your down time,’ Matteo said. ‘But if you want to wear the Di Sione name on your car and your overalls, then you have to look the part when we’re out.’

‘And I thought brunch on race day was an imposition...’ She was about to tell him to get stuffed but not only couldn’t Abby afford to, she didn’t want to either. He was right; if her team were going to get anywhere, then maybe it was time to play the corporate game a touch and maybe she could do that with him.

He hadn’t turned a hair at her jeans; he had made her feel relaxed and comfortable as she had told him the terrible mess she was in.

‘Tomorrow is work,’ he said as Abby climbed into the car but then, just before he closed the door, he gave her that smile. ‘Not that we can’t enjoy ourselves while working.’

The car drove off and Abby found her heart was thumping. They had very carefully laid the ground rules at the table—they were completely hands off, she knew that.

Matteo’s inference had been that they would simply enjoy provoking the press and the opposition.

It was her own imagination that was for the first time, if not exactly running wild, then peeking out and blinking at the sun.

A dark sun named Matteo Di Sione.

CHAPTER THREE

ABBY DIDN’T SLEEP WELL.

Yes, their conversation last night about money should have reassured her but Abby knew that she’d lied to Matteo.

They didn’t really have a hope of making fifth place.

But they had to though.

Not just for the chance of Matteo investing in them.

Her breakfast was delivered and Abby decided to eat it in bed and, as she did, she took out her laptop and read the news.

The sports news, of course.

The Boucher team barely got a mention.

The Carter team were on form, she read, and the Lachance team got plenty of mentions too.

Or rather Hunter did.

She looked at him, dressed in his familiar yellow leather and wearing that cocky, arrogant smile, and if there was such a thing as pure hate, then Abby felt that now.

She wasn’t scared of him any more.

It had been nine years since that terrible night and now, instead of scared, she was angry.

And it was such an undiluted, white-hot anger that ravaged her that it required revenge.

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