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The scuff was stubborn. Emily frowned, wondering why she hadn’t noticed it when she’d been getting ready. That question brought her attention sharply back to the bill.

She’d been sliding her feet into the shoes when the mail had arrived with a thwomp through the slot in the door. A motley assortment of envelopes, the red had been visible through the window of this one. She’d been opening it as she’d put her shoes on, and all thoughts of scuffs or neatness had been swallowed by sheer panic.

She rubbed a little harder and finally erased the mark. At her moment of triumph, the bus hit a pothole and bumped with gusto, causing Emily to bang her head against the yellow handle of the seat in front of her. She winced and straightened.

“Y’all right, love?” The woman sitting beside enquired kindly.

Emily’s cheeks flushed pink. “Fine, thank you.”

She turned her attention to the scene outside her window. It was the second summer she’d spent in London. And though she hadn’t been there long, she considered herself expert enough with the British seasons to say that she loved summer the most. At five o’clock in winter, the streets would be dark and frigid. In summer, they were bursting with colour and warmth. A happy tribe of Londoners shifted down each side of the street, and on the corner, a big group spilled out of a pub. The after-work brigade, she thought with a small smile.

The corporate world.

Dressed in suits, and the kind of dresses that looked like they’d been purchased this season from Hobbs, they were shiny and smart; effortlessly elegant. Emily refused to feel wistful. Even before the accident, she’d never harboured any desire to join that world.

Evening shifts at the prestigious hotel were rare for Emily. She usually limited herself to the times Andrew would be at school. But his surprising talent with the guitar had seen him become adopted by the school band. Their annual camp this weekend provided the two siblings with an opportunity – Andrew, to spread his wings and enjoy the companionship of other musical souls. And for Emily, it was a chance to work. Solidly. Almost around the clock.

The twelve-hour stretch she had lined up didn’t depress her. Rather, it excited her. Particularly given the pressing financial situation she found herself in. There was no way she’d ask her grandparents for help again. Of course they’d do it without a second thought. They’d give her their last penny if she asked it of them. Heck, even if she didn’t. But Milly and Jacob had sacrificed enough in their lives.

No. Emily was on her own, and she would find a way to make it work.

The bus pulled to a stop just across from the hotel and Emily saw the huddle of paparazzi instantly. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for The Hanover – one of London’s premiere hotels – to have a crush of photographers at its entrance. It was a top choice for visiting film stars, musicians, princes, sporting personalities, and any of these would make excellent fodder for newspaper stories. Still, the size of the group was unusual. It seemed to indicate a particularly special guest was inside.

She stepped off the bus with a small wave of thanks aimed at the driver, then ducked her head low. The paparazzi wouldn’t bother her. Emily, like all the other staff at The Hanover, would use the side entrance. She brushed past the back of the group, smiling to herself as she went. Who was she kidding? She could have walked straight in the front door, stark naked, and they wouldn’t have clicked their cameras for her.

Nobody ever noticed Emily Parker, and that suited her just fine.

Chapter 1

Though London was not, by a long stretch, his favourite place, Sabato had to concede that his view of it was exquisite. The evening breezed balmily across the ancient city, streaking the sky with apricot and peach hues. Oxford Street ran like a bus-speckled vein through the middle of his eye line. Thousands of commuters were making their way home. An aeroplane streaked overhead, leaving two grey plumes of cloud in its wake – a highway in the middle of the golden twilight.

Behind him, in the rooftop bar that was at the crown of his five star hotel, the party was in full swing. It had been for over an hour, and in that time, many of the guests had imbibed freely. The champagne was excellent, the canapés tiny yet delicious, and the refined strains of classical music filtered out to him.

As the host, he knew he should be making himself more visible, but he needed a moment. Parties such as this had always been a necessary evil. Initially, when he’d been building his company up from scratch, he’d needed to impress and dazzle. Making people trust him had required this sort of venture in those early days. He’d wanted their money – a lot of their money – and indulging them with the best food, wine and entertainment had helped him to achieve that.

He no longer needed anyone or anything.

The realisation brought a grim smile to his face. He was richer than Croesus, but what did that matter? He was richer than his father and, if he was honest with himself, that had been his only goal. His only marker for success. He’d achieved it years earlier, but by then, he’d been addicted to the power and success of… well, winning. Of calling the shots and having people jump up and down to accede to his wishes.

Yes, power was a seductive mistress.

He turned away from the view of London and pressed his frame against the balustrade, so that he could focus his attention inside. The party was a foaming tangle of elegant guests, loud and fevered, and it would continue to be so until well after midnight. A handful of the invitees he knew, others were important politicians or corporate types. Several were celebrities. The fluff that just loved going to well-catered parties and drinking their bodyweight in the world’s best champagne. There must have been some big hitters in attendance, going by the mob of photographers assembled downstairs.

His eyes landed on a particularly beautiful woman. Tall and blonde, barely dressed in a scrap of black fabric draped artfully across her chest and to just beneath her rear. Her heels were black leather, very high. He recognised her from somewhere. A movie perhaps, or a magazine cover. He allowed himself to study her in detail. Her skin was a honey caramel; a deep tan covered her all over. Her eyes were enormous and so blue he presumed she was wearing contact lenses. Her hair was cropped short and fashionably around her stunning face.

A small flicker of interest sparked in his gut. He didn’t really have the time for a romantic liaison on this trip. He was in London to finalise the details of his newest acquisition – a string of rundown apartments in the docklands. He’d demolish them, and build a behemoth of steel and glass

. A tribute to the area’s industrial past, with a lot of modern glamour for a discerning buyer.

While the negotiations were proving trickier than he’d anticipated, he wasn’t sure he could flatly rule out the possibility of a fling. Especially given the temptations on offer.

He was, after all, a perfectly red-blooded Italian.

He straightened his back and squared his shoulders.

Despite the fact it had been made for him, the suit he wore felt wrong. It felt constrictive and disingenuous.

He moved inside and was immediately greeted by a member of hotel staff. “Champagne, sir?”


Tags: Clare Connelly Billionaire Romance