The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (68 page)

‘What are you doing here, and why now?’ she asked quietly as John moved towards the front entrance.

‘Whatever happened to
hello?’
Marcello drawled, watching as she efficiently checked data on the computer, then closed down.

‘You were in the area and thought you’d call in?’ She lifted an eyebrow. ‘Or primarily to collect paperwork which I have yet to sign?’

‘Both,’ he concurred smoothly. ‘I’m sure John won’t object to witnessing your signature.’

Shannay was tempted to provide further delaying tactics, just for the hell of it. Except such an action would be retaliatory and pointless.

It didn’t take long, and Marcello slid the paperwork into his jacket pocket, then waited while she pulled on a jacket and caught up her bag.

She didn’t particularly want him to accompany her out into the cool night air.

He … affected her, and she wasn’t comfortable with it. Any more than she felt at ease witnessing John’s silent reticence in Marcello’s presence.

There shouldn’t
be
this faintly breathless sense of sexual energy attacking the fragile tenure of her control.

It made her feel slightly off-balance, aware of him at some tenuous level that threatened to shift the foundations she’d fought so hard to cement during the past few years.

Crazy, she dismissed. She was tired, that was all, and tense. Worse, she was allowing her imagination to run riot.

She shot him a cursory look as they reached the front of the pharmacy. ‘I have my own car.’

‘You object to me ensuring you reach it safely?’

His mild query elicited a faintly derisive dismissal. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

They walked out into darkness where illumination was provided by distant streetlights and a sickle moon.

He was too close. Within touching distance, and the faint aroma of his cologne teased her senses, together with the male scent that was his alone.

Her car was parked in full view, and she deactivated the alarm, paused as Marcello opened the door, then she quickly slid in behind the wheel.

He held the door and leaned down towards her. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

Shannay inclined her head, fired the engine and sent the sedan out onto the road in the direction of home.

T
HE LUXURIOUSLY FITTED
Gulf Stream jet cruised at a diminishing altitude as it began its descent to Barajas Airport.

A long flight, during which Shannay had plenty of time to reflect … and wonder for the umpteenth time
why
she’d agreed to leave the relative security of her own territory for a city in a country which held so many conflicting memories for her, not all of them good.

Carlo’s presence helped ease the intimacy of so few passengers sharing the cabin, and he was a pleasant man in his early forties, tall, whipcord-lean and alert in a way that behoved his position.

It will be fine,
she silently reassured.

She was in control, she’d covered every contingency, and this was only a very temporary visit to Madrid.

Nicki travelled well, in awe of her surroundings, the flight, and was almost heartbreakingly willing to please.

Marcello had become Nicki’s new best friend during the week it had taken to confirm his paternity and complete travel documentation.

There had been only one awkward moment when Nicki had asked Marcello in childish innocence, ‘Are you my uncle?’

‘I’m related to the Spanish side of your family,’ he’d responded
gently, and solemn young eyes viewed him with unblinking regard.

‘Do you know my daddy?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Will I meet him?’

Oh, dear heaven,
don’t.
Not now, not yet, Shannay silently beseeched.

‘I can promise you will.’

The undisguised rapport they shared had to be a good thing, Shannay constantly reminded herself as she bit down her reaction to the gentle patience he displayed with their daughter.

It made her think of other times when
she
had delighted in the touch of his hand, his warm smile … and his love.

For it had been
love
in all its various facets, when she’d believed nothing could rend it asunder.

Yet it had, and being in his company, returning to Madrid, brought everything back into vivid focus.

She could deal with it. She had to, for Nicki’s sake.

Her daughter’s happiness, contentment and security were paramount.

So … get over it.

The jet touched down smoothly, completed the allotted runway, then slid into a designated bay where they disembarked, Marcello dealt with their baggage and formalities before directing them to a waiting limousine bearing the discreet but influential Martinez emblem.

Madrid temperatures in October were not too dissimilar to the early-summer temperatures in Perth. A pleasant time of year in both cities, neither too hot nor too cold.

Shannay saw Nicki seated in the centre of the rear seat, then slid in beside her, aware Marcello gained access on Nicki’s right.

He’d showered, shaved and changed clothes during the flight, so too had she, and, while she’d lain down with Nicki in the bedroom compartment, sleep had come only in brief snatches.

The drive into the city’s heart would take slightly less than half an hour. She had little concern about Marcello’s choice of hotel accommodation … only an impending sense of relief that their arrival would provide escape from his company at least until the next day.

He
might be accustomed to changing time zones on a regular basis, but both she and Nicki were not.

Madrid, a city of splendid architecture, combining a fascinating mix of the old and modern, the cacophony of sounds, traffic, voices in a language she hadn’t heard spoken in almost four years.

Shannay felt the light press of Nicki’s fingers curled within her own, and examined her daughter’s features as she took intent interest in the passing scene beyond the lightly tinted windows.

‘It’s different,’ Nicki said tentatively.

‘The traffic travels in the opposite way from where you live. Soon it will become familiar,’ he assured, and met Shannay’s faintly lifted eyebrow.

In a three-week time-frame? I don’t think so.

A faint smile tugged the edges of his mouth as he transferred his attention to Nicki. ‘Not much longer,
pequena,
and we will be there.’

Nicki regarded him solemnly. ‘What did you call me?’

‘Pequena,’
he said gently. ‘It’s an affectionate name for a little girl.’

She tried it out, copying his intonation, and his smile broadened with gentle warmth as he complimented her, resulting in a beam of childish delight.

They were bonding well … and that had to be a good thing, Shannay accepted. So why did it hurt so much?

She met his gaze, attempted to read his expression, failed miserably, and transferred her attention to the scene beyond the limousine window.

Marcello did
enigmatic
very well.

What did she expect? For his expressed warmth towards her in Nicki’s presence to contain a grain of genuine emotion?

Please.

She
didn’t feel a thing for him.
Did she?

Whatever was causing her heart to quicken its beat, or the butterflies having a ball in her stomach, was merely tension. The stress of ensuring Nicki’s emotional welfare remained on an even keel.

Nearly four years’ absence had wrought few changes, and a slight frown creased her forehead when the limousine branched off the main arterial route leading into the city.

It took a few kilometres for her tension to escalate as suspicion finally dawned.

No.
Please,
please
let me be wrong.

Shannay kept her voice light, when inwardly she was beginning to silently seethe. ‘Where are you taking us, Marcello?’

‘My home in La Moraleja.’

She shot him a look that inaudibly expressed
you have to be joking.
‘A hotel suite would be more convenient.’

‘Ensuring difficulty in enforcing necessary security measures.’

His voice held a degree of steely purpose she couldn’t fail to recognise … as he had meant her to.

Her eyes sparked anger as they clashed with his, and if she could have hit him, she’d have lashed out and to hell with the consequences.

Except Nicki was closeted between them, blissfully unaware of her mother’s rapidly mounting anger.

But wait, just
wait,
her scathing look silently promised, until I get you alone, behind closed doors and well out of Nicki’s hearing.

It was difficult to maintain a sense of calm during the time it took to reach La Moraleja, one of Madrid’s exclusive and luxurious suburbs.

Marcello’s home was a testament to his wealth and position. Set in beautiful grounds, behind high walls and guarded by electronic gates, the mansion stood as a craftsmen’s masterpiece of rambling structural design combining two levels in cream stucco, a cream and terracotta-tiled roof and large curved windows with folding doors, most of which opened out onto a wide terracotta-tiled forecourt.

The entrance was amazing with huge double wood-panelled doors studded in polished brass, reached from a
porte cochère
whose floor featured an exquisite detailed design in marble, accented in polished brass.

She told herself she didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be reminded of the painful memories … or the good ones.

It was too personal, too painful, and
too much.

Marcello had to know how being here would impact on her.

A house with rooms where they’d argued, fought, made love …

Yet it would become Nicki’s temporary home for designated periods of time throughout the year.

Years,
she corrected mentally. A place her daughter needed to familiarise herself with, feel welcome in, comfortable.

Being here
now
made sense … for Nicki.

For Shannay, it represented a torture that would stretch her nerves to breaking point over the next three weeks.

He knew it, had planned it, and had deliberately kept her in the dark.

For that he would pay … big time, she vowed as she stepped from the limousine and accompanied Nicki into the large formal foyer where they were greeted by Maria and Emilio, trusted staff of Marcello’s who lived in and took care of the house and grounds.

Marble floors, a sweeping staircase, which curved elegantly to the upper floor, a glittering crystal chandelier against a backdrop of coloured patterned glass.

Antique furniture rested against cream walls on which hung original works of art, interspersed with decoratively corniced mini-alcoves displaying an eclectic mix of exquisite vases, bowls and Venetian glassware.

The mansion bore two wings separated by a wide oval balustraded gallery … one designed for formal entertaining with a large dining room, lounge, gourmet kitchen on the first level, while the upper floor held a large study, adjoining library, entertainment room and informal lounge. The west wing comprised three formal guest suites separated by an informal lounge on the first level, with five private suites reposing on the upper level.

The grounds held an infinity pool, a cabana, a well-equipped gym and a tennis court. There were separate self-contained staff quarters built above a large six-car garage.

A large home for one man, Shannay reflected … aware he used it as his main base in between frequent flights to various major cities in various European countries, wheeling and dealing as head of the Martinez corporation.

Marcello’s personal portfolio was enviable, providing him with billionaire status in a business world frequented by the ruthless drive for power.

Shannay wondered if he continued to entertain on a regular basis, whether he was active on the social scene and continued to support a few selected charities.

In four years there had to have been at least a few women in his life. Imagining Marcello as a celibate was beyond the bounds of credibility.

Which inevitably led to Marcello’s former lover … and Shannay’s nemesis. Estella de Cordova.

Was the
über
socialite still on the scene?

And if so, did Marcello intend to marry Estella after they divorced?

A cold hand clutched her heart and squeezed mercilessly
hard.

Please, dear God,
no.

The thought Estella might have any part in Nicki’s welfare was enough to make Shannay want to throw up.

‘You’ve had a long flight,’ Maria began quietly. ‘I have tea and some light food prepared. Afterwards, perhaps you would like to rest.’

Carlo brought in their bags and took them upstairs.

‘Tea would be lovely. Perhaps a glass of milk for Nicki,’ Shannay suggested as Marcello indicated the staircase.

‘First, I’ll show you to your rooms.’

A personal escort? Somehow she expected him to disappear into his home office.

‘It’s a big house,’ Nicki voiced quietly as they reached the upper level. ‘Do other people live here?’

‘Sometimes there are guests,’ Marcello said gently, meeting her dark, solemn gaze.

‘Like Mummy and me.’

‘Yes.’

Shannay felt her stomach execute a slow somersault as he
turned away from the wing containing the guest suites and moved down the opposite passage.

She knew the family wing well. Elegant suites, beautifully furbished and furnished.

Did Marcello sleep alone in the master suite, or had he chosen another?

Whoa.
Where had that come from?

As if she cared where he slept … as long as it was in a suite far from the one Maria had prepared for herself and Nicki.

The master suite rose vividly in her mind. Positioned at the far end of the family wing, it comprised a large bedroom, two
en suites,
two walk-in wardrobes and an adjoining room containing comfortable deep-seated chairs, a sofa, reading lamps.

Had he had the suite redecorated?

‘No.’

Shannay heard his soft drawl and refused to look at him, hating that he still retained the ability to read her mind.