‘What do you get out of it?’ Chloe asked, refusing to accept what she was hearing. It just did not make sense.

She looked up at him, biting her lower lip in consternation, desperately trying to find a rational explanation for his demand. His blue eyes caught hers and bored down into her, chasing all rational thoughts out of her head. She sensed her body responding to him again. Her heart was racing and her skin felt hot and sensitive.

‘Finally a bit of colour in that face,’ Lorenzo said, lifting his hand to cup her blazing cheek.

Chloe gasped as his fingers made contact, releasing another torrent of desire to storm through her body.

‘Sex?’ Her voice was no more than a startled whisper, and her eyes were wide with shock. ‘You want sex?’

Lorenzo raised his brows, and his full sensual lips twitched into a smile that was mocking and knowing at the same time.

‘Are you offering me sex?’ he asked, sliding his fingers deep into her hair and pulling her close to his hard body.

Natalie Rivers grew up in the Sussex countryside. As a child she always loved to lose herself in a good book, or in games that gave free rein to her imagination. She went to Sheffield University, where she met her husband in the first week of term. It was love at first sight and they have been together ever since, moving to London after graduating, getting married and having two wonderful children.

After university Natalie worked in a lab at a medical research charity, and later retrained to be a primary school teacher. Now she is lucky enough to be able to combine her two favourite occupations—being a fulltime mum and writing passionate romances.

The Blackmail
Baby

by

Natalie Rivers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

Chapter One

‘CHLOE VALENTE, you are the most amazingly beautiful and sexy woman.’

The words were a deep, sensual purr in Chloe’s ear, and a hot tingle of anticipation rippled through her body. She’d never thought of herself in that way—but as she felt Lorenzo standing close behind her, the heat of his strong body burning through her fine silk wedding gown, she knew that everything in her life had changed beyond her wildest dreams.

‘Thank you for making this day so special.’ She drew in a shaky breath and clung to the ornate stonework of the balcony, looking down into the fabulous ballroom, which was still buzzing with guests sipping vintage champagne. It was hard to believe that this palazzo, owned by Lorenzo’s proud Venetian family for generations, was now her home. ‘It’s been truly wonderful. I can’t imagine a more perfect wedding day.’

Venice was a magical place to be married, and a silvery dusting of snow falling from the February sky had made it seem even more enchanting and romantic. As she’d travelled back to the palazzo after the ceremony, reclining on velvet cushions in a sleek black gondola beside her breathtakingly handsome groom, she’d known that this was the happiest day of her life.

‘The best is yet to come,’ Lorenzo promised, his Italian accent purring in her ear as he traced his fingertips lightly along her collarbone. ‘Let me take you to the bedroom and show you.’

Chloe closed her eyes for a moment and leant her head back against his shoulder, letting herself drift on a wave of pure pleasure. Simply knowing how much Lorenzo wanted her sent her heart racing and made butterflies of excitement flutter deep inside her.

Then the hum of conversation mixed with the clink of crystal glasses and angelic harp music floated up from the wedding reception below.

‘We can’t leave now.’ She pushed his hands away weakly as she felt his sensual lips nuzzling her neck beneath the sleek blonde bob of her hair. ‘What about all the people?’

‘You always do the right thing,’ Lorenzo said, sliding his hands down to her waist and turning her to face him. ‘You were the perfect PA, always anticipating my needs and those of my associates. And even now you are thinking of our guests—of being the gracious hostess.’

She gazed up into his vibrant blue eyes and a familiar frisson of elation whispered through her. Just looking at him always made her feel like that. With his smouldering good looks and superb physique he was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. It was almost impossible to believe that he was now her husband—that she was married to Lorenzo Valente.

She’d spent two years as his PA loving him from a distance, knowing that her feelings for her incredible Venetian boss could never be reciprocated. She was an ordinary English girl, and he was from one of Venice’s oldest, most noble families, in addition to being an internationally respected billionaire businessman. They’d belonged to different worlds and Chloe had known they could never be together.

But then Lorenzo had asked her out on a date.

At first it had been hard to believe. Since the day Chloe had starting working in Lorenzo’s London headquarters she’d seen an endless succession of highly polished society women draped on his arm—all tall, slender beauties with smoky come-to-bed eyes and flowing manes of dark, glossy hair.

They were all the complete opposite of Chloe, who was short, blonde and curvy, with a fair, freckled complexion and pale green eyes that looked ridiculously overdone if she experimented with more than a lick of mascara and the softest smudge of eyeliner.

But despite her initial doubts—how could someone as magnificent as Lorenzo be interested in someone as unremarkable as Chloe?—he had been impossible to resist. He’d swept into Chloe’s personal life like a tornado, romancing her with the fasttrack intensity that typified everything the passionate Italian did.

Before long all of Chloe’s reservations had been blown away. She’d seen how he’d treated his previous women as passing diversions, and she knew that he was treating her very differently.

He’d never mentioned love, but Chloe realised he wasn’t comfortable with sentimental displays of emotion. He had taken her to his home in Venice and he had talked about their future—and the children he hoped they would have together. To Chloe, that was the biggest sign of love and commitment she could have seen.

She’d accepted his proposal with joy in her heart, knowing that she was entering a new, wonderful chapter of her life—a chapter that she believed would last for ever.

‘Come upstairs with me, and let me anticipate your needs, my special little Chloe,’ he said huskily. ‘Let me show you how pleased I am to have married you.’

Chloe looked up into his face and felt her eyes start to grow warm with unshed tears of happiness. She had never thought of herself as special—certainly never viewed herself as sexy or beautiful. That Lorenzo had called her all those things meant more than she could say.

She gazed up at him, the love and happiness fizzing through her body more potent than the champagne she had been sipping all afternoon. And there was one wonderful thought in her head.

I love you.

Just three little words, but she’d never said them out loud. Neither of them had.

In the beginning Chloe had been too shy to admit her feelings, but now everything had changed. They were married. They’d stood up together in front of a congregation and pledged themselves to each other for the rest of their lives—and now her heart was overflowing with happiness.

Suddenly she could not help saying the words that were buzzing inside her.

‘I love you.’

An immediate, terrible change came over Lorenzo—a change so profound that Chloe’s words seemed to freeze and splinter in the air. Iron dread stabbed into her, and she knew that she had made a terrible mistake.

‘Love?’ Lorenzo’s voice was hard with shock. ‘Why did you say that?’

‘Because…because it’s true…’ Chloe stammered weakly, staring at his dreadful expression.

‘What game are you playing?’ Lorenzo demanded, his black brows twisted incredulously. ‘You know—you’ve always known—that’s not what this is about.’

‘But…’ Her voice petered out and she was suddenly filled with stomach-churning anxiety. What was Lorenzo saying to her?

‘You know this is a purely practical arrangement,’ he bit out. ‘We discussed how you would be my perfect wife. How a sensible, businesslike arrangement was far superior to an overblown emotional minefield. You always knew my feelings on the subject.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Chloe stared at him in horrible confusion, aware that her heart had started to thump with sickening jerkiness beneath her breast.

She thought back to his proposal. It was true that he hadn’t gone down on one knee to ask her to marry him, but he had taken her to Paris—the most romantic city in the world. They’d been walking along the Seine, with golden-brown autumn leaves swirling around them, when he had taken both her hands in his and asked her to be his wife.

She tried to remember his exact words—to recall how the conversation had developed. But suddenly all she was aware of was Lorenzo’s angry expression as he stared down at her.

‘We first discussed the matter when your mother and sister were leaving for Australia,’ he said. ‘I asked about your father, and whether he was emigrating with them. You told me that you hadn’t seen him since your seventh birthday.’

‘But you and I weren’t involved back then,’ Chloe said, struggling to grasp the relevance of that past conversation. ‘That was before you’d even asked me out.’

She remembered how he’d been sympathetic, and how he’d made her feel better by confiding in her that his mother had walked out when he was just five years old. It was the first time their relationship had pushed the boundaries of boss and PA. He’d even poured them a drink at the bar and told her…told her how he believed life would be much simpler without the complications of unrealistic romantic ideals.

Chloe pressed her hand over her mouth as she remembered what he’d said. She’d never, ever guessed that he was serious—that his cynical remark was more than a passing statement driven by unhappy childhood memories.

She stared up at him in shock, trying to recall if they’d ever discussed the subject again, but she knew that they hadn’t. She would have remembered if he’d said anything to make her think his interest in her was driven by cold, practical matters.

He swore bitterly and raked rigid fingers through his short black hair. Two slashes of colour now burned on his high cheekbones and his blue eyes glittered with mounting fury.

‘I thought you were different from the rest,’ he said. ‘Not another of those women trying to trap me into marriage with false declarations of love, and promises you had no intention of keeping. But now I see you are just like all the rest—worse even, because you’ve waited until now, our wedding day, to do this.’

His words sank into the turmoil of Chloe’s mind and she struggled to make sense of what she was hearing. She realised she was shaking and folded her arms across her body, hugging herself tightly.

‘It sounds as if you are saying you don’t want to be loved.’ Chloe could hear the confusion and doubt in her own voice, but she pressed on, determined to comprehend what Lorenzo was telling her. ‘But I don’t understand. It’s natural to hope for love—and to look for it.’

‘People who look for love are fools,’ Lorenzo said with contempt, a vein pulsing on his temple.

‘But what if you find love—even if you aren’t looking for it?’ Chloe asked. She’d never expected to fall in love with her boss, but his magnetic charisma and dynamic assurance had made it impossible for her not to.

‘Love is an illusion—a false ideal that never holds true,’ he grated, staring down at her through narrowed eyes.

‘You are so harsh—so cynical,’ Chloe gasped. ‘Of course love exists—you can’t deny what your heart feels.’

‘And is your heart still telling you that you love me?’ Lorenzo said derisively. ‘Even now that we have revisited my feelings on the subject?’

‘It’s not something you can switch on or off,’ Chloe said, dismayed by his attitude. She’d known he could be arrogant and overbearing at times, but she’d never thought of him as a cruel man.

It seemed there was a lot she didn’t know about the man she had just married. Had she just made the worst mistake of her life?

‘So you are sticking to your story?’ Lorenzo asked. ‘Perhaps for the sake of consistency you think it best to maintain the pretence for now?’

‘What do you want from marriage—from your wife?’ Chloe demanded, refusing to let him bully her into saying something to humiliate herself.

‘I wanted someone honest and natural,’ he said. ‘Someone I could respect. Not another of those women whose grandiose pronouncements of love are as false as their manicured appearance.’

‘I have been honest with you,’ Chloe said, blinking furiously as she felt her eyes start to burn with tears. There was no way she was going to let herself cry in front of him, not after the way he was treating her. ‘And if you can’t respect that—can’t respect me—then that’s your problem.’

She lifted her chin defiantly, pressing her teeth into her lower lip to stop it quivering, and tried to push past him. But his fingers closed on her arm, biting into the flesh like a steel vice.

‘Go and compose yourself,’ he said, witheringly. ‘But don’t take too long. After all, you were the one anxious not to be rude to our wedding guests.’

Chloe drew in a startled breath, looking over her shoulder, down into the ballroom below. She had all but forgotten where she was and it was a shock to see the party still in full swing.

A wave of nausea washed through her as she wondered if anyone had seen her awful exchange with Lorenzo. But no one was looking up at them and a quick glance around assured her that they were alone on the balcony.

‘There were no witnesses—which is fortunate for you—’ his words were disdainful, but that did not mask the undercurrent of menace in his tone ‘—because I will not tolerate any further disrespect from you. Or permit you to shame me in any way.’

Chloe stared at him, suddenly unable to recognise the man she had fallen so deeply in love with. She opened her mouth to respond—to tell him that she wouldn’t tolerate any more of his vile behaviour. But before she had the chance to speak he turned sharply and strode away towards his study.

She stood stock-still, watching him go—aware of the crackling emotion storming through his tall, powerful body as his long, thrusting strides bore him swiftly along the corridor. She’d never been able to look away if Lorenzo was in the room. His presence drew her gaze like a magnet.

Even now, after everything that had just happened, she couldn’t look away until he was out of sight. But, as his study door closed, she knew what she must do. She had to get herself away from him—as fast and as far as possible.

Ten minutes later Chloe hesitated by the door of her bedroom, looking down at the beautiful silk wedding gown lying on the bed. She’d felt like a princess wearing that dress. Or maybe like Cinderella going to the ball. But she’d found out in the most brutal way that Lorenzo was not Prince Charming.

She shuddered, remembering his expression when she’d declared her love for him, and pressed her hands over her face, trying to blot out the memory of the caustic look in his eyes as he’d ground her hopes and dreams into dust. He’d broken her heart and callously humiliated her in one fell swoop.

For the first time she was grateful that none of her family had made it to the wedding. Her mother and sister were too involved in their new life in Australia, and since Chloe had decided not to go with them it was almost as if they’d forgotten she existed. And of course her father was not there. She didn’t even know where he was—or if he was still alive.

She drew in a deep breath and forced herself into action. She’d thought that this was the happiest day of her life, but Lorenzo had woken her up from that fairy tale with a merciless jolt. Now she’d have to hurry if she wanted to have any chance of making a clean getaway. And at that moment all she wanted was to be as far away from Lorenzo as possible.

She pulled her faux fur hat tight onto her head to completely cover her light blonde hair and obscure her face as much as she could. Then she turned up the collar of her long coat and slipped out into the corridor, heading towards the side staircase that led to the palazzo’s water gate.

She knew there’d be many boats at the Grand Canal entrance, waiting to ferry the wedding guests back to their hotels after the reception, and she needed transportation to get across the lagoon to the airport as quickly as possible. There wasn’t much time before the last plane left the city that night.

Disguised in bulky winter layers, she didn’t look anything like the petite blonde bride who had arrived that day, radiant with happiness and fresh from her wedding ceremony—and she desperately hoped that no one would recognise her. She couldn’t bear it if one of Lorenzo’s security staff dragged her back inside—back to Lorenzo.

She shivered as she climbed into a water taxi and gave directions for Marco Polo Airport. An icy wind that felt as if it had blown straight from the frozen spires of the Dolomites sliced right through her and started her shivering deep inside.

That afternoon the sparkling flurries of snow had seemed beautiful and romantic. Now the weather seemed unrelenting and cruel.

But at least she’d got away from the palazzo unchallenged, and was on her way across the dark lagoon to the airport. The windows of the boat were completely misted over so that she couldn’t see anything, and the movement of the water was making her feel sick.

Suddenly the night seemed impenetrable—a swirling black and white uncertainty, with no visible landmarks. And her heart was breaking into a million tiny fragments that were no different from the icy shards of snow blowing down from the mountain peaks, to be swallowed up by the ink-black water of the lagoon.

Lorenzo stood outside on the balcony, staring into the snowstorm in a temper that was as foul as the night. The snow was falling so thickly that the lights shining from the buildings on the other side of the Grand Canal were just a dim glow, and there was no way to see any distance across the open water.

Not that there was anything to see. Chloe was gone.

She had boarded the final commercial plane to leave the city that night, and now the weather made it impossible for him to follow—even in his private jet.

He swore bitterly, gripping the balustrade with fingers that were as cold and hard as the stone beneath them.

He knew where she was almost certainly heading—to the home of her best friend, Liz, in a small village south of London. But as a precaution he had people waiting at Gatwick Airport to track her onward journey and to confirm her final destination.

It was not a long flight. In fact she was probably nearly there by now. He lifted his arm automatically to check his wristwatch, and cursed again as he saw that the face of his watch and his dark wedding suit were covered with icy white snow.

He turned abruptly and stepped into the bedroom, dashing the snow away with rough, impatient sweeps of his hands. But it was already melting with the heat of his body, so he shrugged his wet jacket off and tossed it aside.

Suddenly he froze—staring down at the wedding dress Chloe had abandoned on the bed. His heart thudded violently in his chest and he felt his blood surge angrily through his veins.

How dared she walk out on him like this?

How dared she turn tail and run away into the night?

The end of their marriage was not her decision to make on a whim, simply because he had quashed her sentimental outburst.

But that was immaterial now. He did not know or care whether her declaration of love had been a calculated ploy. Or if it had been a simple misguided notion brought about by the grandeur of the occasion. It made no difference now. By running away she had sealed her fate. Their marriage was over.

He picked up the dress and found himself picturing how sexy Chloe had looked wearing it. He’d spent most of the afternoon imagining peeling it slowly off her delectable body.

He had truly believed that she would be a good wife. That she would make a good mother for his heirs.

But their union had been short-lived—finished before it had even begun.

A sudden, unwelcome memory flashed through his mind, and he clenched his fists, unaware that he was crushing the delicate fabric in his hands. This was not the first time someone had walked away from him at the palazzo. But no one would ever get away with it again.

He looked down at the soft silk dress. Then, with an abrupt, violent movement, he threw it savagely out onto the balcony.

He stood, staring at it for a moment, forcing himself to breathe slowly and consciously bringing his pounding heartbeat back under his control. In the eerie light of the storm the dress already looked indistinguishable from the snow that had settled on the stone balcony. If the weather didn’t let up, it would soon be covered.

He slammed the glass door shut. Then he turned his back and walked away.

Chapter Two

Three months later.

IT WAS a beautiful day in early May. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. And Chloe stood at the graveside of her best friend, holding an orphaned baby in her arms.

It was almost impossible to believe—but it was true. Liz, baby Emma’s mother, had really gone. Chloe had had three months to come to terms with the fact that her dear friend was losing her battle against cancer, but somehow her death had still come as a shock.

She’d flown from Venice on that bitter night in February and travelled straight to Liz’s country village home. She’d been desperate to see her friend—partly to talk about what had happened with Lorenzo. But mostly just to seek the comfort of her company.

But when Liz had opened the door of her cottage and beckoned her inside, Chloe had known at once that something was wrong. The cancer that they’d hoped and prayed would stay in remission had come back.

Liz had delayed telling Chloe because she didn’t want to spoil what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life—her wedding day. And even more heartbreaking was the news that the disease had progressed too far for the doctors to save her.

Chloe looked down at the baby snuggled in her arms, feeling cold and empty. The May sunshine did nothing to take the chill away, and at that moment she felt as though she’d never be warm again.

‘Are you all right, love?’

She recognised the concerned voice of Gladys, Liz’s kindly neighbour. The old lady had been an incredible support during the past weeks. She’d helped to keep up her spirit at the bleakest of times, and offered to look after the baby, enabling Chloe to spend as much time as possible with Liz at the hospital, and then later on at the hospice.

Chloe turned and tried to make her smile convincing, although she knew Gladys was unlikely to be fooled.

‘I’m fine,’ she said.

‘It was a lovely service,’ Gladys said. ‘The readings Liz asked for were beautiful.’

Chloe nodded, swallowing against the hard lump of sorrow that was constricting her throat. She had found the funeral almost unbearable. The pain of losing her best friend was still too raw. Liz had been too young to die. And baby Emma was too young to lose her mother.

‘If you’re sure you’re all right, I’d better get back to the cottage,’ Gladys said gently. ‘They’ll all be waiting for me by now.’

‘Thank you for inviting everyone back for tea,’ Chloe said gratefully. It had been thoughtful of the old lady to offer to host a small gathering after the funeral, and something Chloe just didn’t feel up to.

‘It’s the least I could do.’ Gladys brushed her thanks aside. ‘You’ve got your hands full with little Emma. And you’ve already done so much.’

‘I only did what anyone would have done,’ Chloe said.

‘No, not anyone,’ Gladys said stoutly. ‘You took good care of your friend during a difficult time. And now you are doing a wonderful thing—taking on her baby as your own. Liz was truly blessed to have a friend like you.’

Chloe pressed her trembling lips together and tried to smile at her. She knew Gladys meant well, but at that moment it was hard to think of Liz as blessed. She’d suffered so much, only to have her life snatched away by cancer.

‘I’ll see you in a little while.’ Chloe gave Gladys a hug. Then, as the old lady turned to head back towards the row of terraced cottages in the village, she quietly breathed a sigh of relief. She needed to be alone for a moment.

She couldn’t face being squeezed into Gladys’s tiny front room with the crowd of well-meaning mourners from the village. Liz had not had any close relatives and Emma’s father had never been part of the picture. From the moment he’d discovered Liz was pregnant he’d wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her, and even claimed that there was no way he could be the father.

‘We’ll be all right,’ Chloe whispered, and kissed Emma’s soft cheek. ‘We’ve got each other.’

But as she pressed her face against Emma’s wispy baby hair, she suddenly felt very alone.

She found herself thinking about Lorenzo. Three months ago she’d thought she was about to embark on the most wonderful journey of her life—marriage and children with her gorgeous Italian husband. Now everything was so different.

She had not heard a word from him since the night she left Venice, and that had hurt her more than she wanted to admit, even to herself. She’d known it was unrealistic to hope that he would follow her, saying that he’d got it wrong, and that he did love her after all.

But still, that was what she’d wished for.

She had not contacted him either. She’d been too involved with caring for Liz and Emma. And, if she was completely honest, she hadn’t been able to face him.

Deep down she knew she’d behaved badly by running away without talking to him—but she’d simply reacted instinctively to the discovery that Lorenzo viewed their marriage as a loveless practicality. An overpowering need for self-preservation had kicked in, and she’d known that to protect her broken heart she had to get away from him.

But now she had to contact Lorenzo.

Firstly about her intention to adopt Emma. They were still officially married, and that might cause complications with the legal procedures. And secondly, about some money she’d been forced to use a couple of days earlier, from an account he’d set up in both their names before the wedding. The amount she’d taken would be nothing to a man as rich as Lorenzo, but she knew him well enough to be aware that no detail—no matter how small—ever escaped his notice.

She wanted him to know that she would pay him back as soon as she could. She had no wish to take anything from him. And the sooner she set things straight, the sooner she could put that heartbreaking episode of her life behind her, and get on with building a life for herself and Emma.

A tremble ran through her at the thought of seeing Lorenzo again, but she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the top of Emma’s head.

‘I’m not going to think about that now,’ she said to the baby. She’d promised Liz that she’d think happy thoughts, but at that moment it was a hard promise to keep.

She walked across to a wooden bench under a flowering cherry tree. The soft grass was scattered with the delicate pink blossom and it reminded Chloe of confetti.

Suddenly tears welled up in her eyes. It was the most beautiful day. But her best friend was not there to share it with her. And she never would be again.

Lorenzo Valente handled the convertible with a natural ease, shifting gears smoothly as he approached a tight bend in the winding country lane. It was a fine afternoon in May and the sun felt surprisingly warm on his shoulders as he sped along the leafy green road in rural England.

He usually enjoyed driving, but the expression on his face was far from one of pleasure—he was thinking about the latest stunt Chloe had pulled.

Very little shocked Lorenzo. He accepted the fact that being born into a wealthy family, and then multiplying that fortune by several orders of magnitude, had made him a target for various types of golddigging parasites.

However, he’d never thought Chloe would steal from him. But it was just one more thing to make her pay for.

His strong fingers tightened on the steering wheel and his eyes narrowed dangerously. A minute later he reached a tiny village. He slowed the car, and took the turning that led to the church. He drove a short distance along the narrow lane and then pulled up onto the grass verge, waiting for the crowd of pedestrians leaving the church to pass.

He knew that it was the day of her friend’s funeral. He’d seen to it that he had been kept very well-informed about Chloe’s actions since she walked out on him.

Suddenly he caught sight of a small figure dressed in dark grey walking unsteadily across the churchyard.

It was Chloe.

A strange sensation lodged in the pit of his stomach and he felt his heart start to beat faster. He was out of the car in an instant, ignoring the curious looks he was drawing from some of the villagers. He only had eyes for Chloe.

He strode across the churchyard towards her, the soft grass muffling his footsteps. She did not see or hear him approach, and sat completely motionless on the bench beneath the flowering cherry tree, engulfed in a private moment of sorrow.

He was about to speak but he hesitated, feeling an unaccustomed stab of uncertainty. Her eyes were closed as she wept, tears sliding silently down her white cheeks as she held a baby nestled in her arms. Her grief for her friend was so personal—he knew that his presence was an intrusion.

Suddenly she opened her eyes and stared up at him. A flash of surprise passed across her features.

‘Lorenzo.’ Her wide green eyes were luminous with tears in the warm afternoon sunshine, and her pale skin looked almost translucent. ‘Oh, God, I can’t believe you’re here.’

Hearing her say his name with such feeling sent an unexpected surge of emotion powering through his veins. He wanted to reach out and smooth the moisture from her cheeks, but instead he clamped his arms stiffly by his sides.

‘Really?’ he said, knowing his tone was harsh, especially after witnessing the depth of her grief. But the intensity of his reaction to her had caught him off guard. He wasn’t accustomed to being affected by other people’s emotional displays. ‘I thought that, by stealing my money, it was your intention to draw me out.’

‘The money…that’s why you’re here?’

Chloe looked up at him, her pulse still racing from the shock of opening her eyes and seeing Lorenzo standing there. He looked so strong and vibrant—and, despite everything, he was the most welcome sight in the world.

For a moment she let herself believe that maybe he was there because he knew she needed him—knew how sad and alone she felt. She had no doubt that he was aware of everything that had happened to her since she’d left Venice. Information was another essential currency to Lorenzo.

‘What other reason could there be?’ he said, his piercing blue eyes boring into her.

She drew in a breath, suppressing the irrational surge of disappointment that rose up within her. But really she’d known that, if Lorenzo cared for her at all, he would have come before this.

‘I’m going to pay the money back,’ she said. ‘I needed it urgently.’

‘For what?’ Lorenzo demanded. ‘What was so urgent that you couldn’t wait until you found some other way of paying? That you needed to take my money immediately and without permission?’

‘I had to pay for this,’ Chloe said, sweeping her arm around with a distracted gesture, unable to believe how cold and unfeeling he seemed. ‘My savings are gone, my credit card is maxed out. I’ve had no income for months, but I’ve been looking after Liz and…’

She stopped abruptly, suddenly wishing she hadn’t said so much. The state of her finances was none of Lorenzo’s business.

It was a shock to find herself face to face with him again, and one heartbreaking thought kept going round in her head: he had no interest in her—only in what he thought she’d taken from him. Could he really have come all this way to berate her over the comparatively small amount of money she’d spent?

‘I used the money to pay for the funeral,’ she stated bluntly. Surely even Lorenzo wasn’t so hard-hearted that he would begrudge that.

‘You should have asked me,’ he said coldly.

‘I didn’t need to ask,’ she said. ‘The account is in both our names. I never wanted to use a penny of that money, but I’m not going to apologise for it, because I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Liz deserved a proper funeral.’

Lorenzo stared down at Chloe, registering an undercurrent of uncertainty showing through her expression despite her continued defence of her actions. He knew she was still emotional, and he felt unwelcome feelings churn in his own stomach in response.

This was not what he had expected when he’d married Chloe—that three months after their wedding they would be meeting for the first time in an English churchyard and arguing over a stranger’s funeral expenses.

He’d chosen her to be his wife because he thought she’d be reliable and stable, the way she’d been as his PA. He wanted his marriage to be straightforward and uncomplicated, not like the often hysterical and unpleasant scenarios he’d witnessed growing up as his father worked his way through a string of unsuitable wives.

But nothing had worked out the way he intended. Chloe had walked out on him. Then she’d chosen not to get in touch—even when she was in financial trouble.

‘You were too proud to ask for help,’ Lorenzo said. ‘You’d sooner steal my money than talk to me.’

Chloe let out her breath with a resigned sigh and looked straight up into his eyes.

‘I didn’t think you’d let me use the money. I thought you’d freeze the account or something,’ Chloe said. ‘You didn’t really know Liz. You only met her a couple of times.’

Lorenzo swore with sudden violence. Then frowned at the baby as she started to grizzle and fuss in Chloe’s arms.

‘What kind of man do you think I am?’ he demanded angrily. ‘You truly think I’m so petty I would not pay for a funeral?’

Chloe stared up at him with wide eyes that seemed huge in her pale face, looking as startled as the baby by his loud outburst.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, her voice sounding shaky and uncertain. ‘We might be married but it seems I don’t know you at all.’

Then she looked away, down at the baby in her arms.

‘I can’t do this now.’ She rocked Emma gently and murmured soothing words to her. ‘She’s probably hungry. It’s been a long afternoon and I need to get her back to the cottage.’

She looked small and awkward standing there, wearing an ill-fitting charcoal-grey suit that swamped her tiny frame and was pulled out of line by the baby in her arms. The unforgiving colour drained any speck of warmth from her fair complexion and her light blonde hair hung down in a shapeless curtain nearly to her shoulders.

Next to the fresh green grass and colourful pink blossom she looked starkly monochrome, almost as if she’d stepped out of a black-and-white movie—some old-fashioned, overblown melodrama.

She didn’t belong here—not like this.

The anger that had gripped Lorenzo suddenly dissipated. He had to get her away from this place. It was impossible to talk to her in the churchyard.

‘We’ll go together—just to pick up what you need,’ he said. ‘Then you’re coming with me.’

Chloe stared up at him in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to start issuing orders—although that was exactly how Lorenzo was used to behaving with most people in his life. And it was how he had been with her too, back before they became personally involved.

‘I know you’re angry with me,’ she said, ‘but you can’t just sweep in here and boss me about. I don’t work for you any more.’

‘No. You’re my wife,’ Lorenzo grated, the tone of his voice telling her that he was far from happy about that. ‘And you are coming with me.’

‘But I have Emma now,’ she protested, tightening her hold on the infant protectively.

‘What about her father?’ Lorenzo asked, studying the crying baby with a crease between his brows.

‘He never wanted anything to do with her,’ Chloe said. ‘I’m the only one she has now.’

Lorenzo lifted his eyes to Chloe’s face, and an expression she couldn’t read passed across his features.

‘Let’s go.’ He reached out and took her arm before she realised what he intended.

As his hand made contact it was as if a jolt of energy surged through Chloe. She gasped and looked down automatically, staring as his strong fingers closed around her upper arm, tanned and vital next to the dull grey fabric of her jacket.

Her heart started to beat faster, and at that moment she felt the numbness that had deadened her over recent days start to thaw.

Lorenzo was only holding her arm, but suddenly she was fully aware of him physically—aware of his sheer size and strength. And shockingly aware of the body heat radiating from his powerful, athletic form.

She found herself drawn towards him, like a flower turning towards the sun.

She’d been so cold and lonely. All at once she found herself longing to feel his strong arms around her—to press herself against the solid masculine expanse of his chest.

Suddenly she realised that Lorenzo had stopped moving. He was standing utterly still. And she knew, even without looking up at him, that he was taking in her reaction to his touch.

A flash of alarm shot through her. She couldn’t let Lorenzo see how vulnerable she was feeling, how in need of physical comfort. He’d always been able to read her like a book, and right at that moment her defences were lower than normal.

‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ Chloe said, trying to shrug out of his grip. But his fingers simply tightened, and with Emma in her arms it was impossible to struggle too much.

‘There are matters we must discuss,’ Lorenzo said, turning her round so once again they were facing each other.

Chloe shook her head, staring directly ahead—straight at his broad chest. She did not want to talk to him any more. And she definitely did not want to look into his perceptive eyes.

She had the terrible feeling she would reveal herself to him in some way—let him see how naked her emotions were, how much she craved his presence. The day had already been too painful. The thought of him driving away and leaving her alone again suddenly seemed unbearable—but there was no way she would admit that to him.

‘Your desertion on our wedding day made it clear that you are no longer happy with our arrangement,’ he said, cupping his free hand under her chin and lifting her face to his.

Her gaze was locked to his clear blue eyes again and the touch of his fingers against her skin made her shiver once more.

‘I didn’t think we had an arrangement,’ she replied, feeling a chill creep back around her heart. His words were a harsh reminder that she had been disastrously wrong about what their marriage meant to Lorenzo—about what she‘d meant to him.

‘Yes, we did,’ Lorenzo said, ‘which is why we need to talk. There will be no further misunderstandings between us.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

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

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