He looked about him. The showroom held an ultra-tasteful display of expensive wares likely to induce wealthy women to wander in...perhaps to purchase some of them, perhaps to consider engaging Ariana Killane to refresh their assorted residences, either in Italy or further afield.
Memory plucked at him, of her telling him about it over that fateful dinner in Manhattan, when he’d crushed all his misgivings, ignored his knifing consciousness that had told him succumbing to the temptation he was indulging in would be a bad, bad mistake...
He pushed the memory aside—it served no purpose. There was only one purpose in him now: to exact his retribution from the woman who had taken from him the future he’d thought was within his grasp.
He heard his own accusation replay in his head.‘You cost me my bride.’
His mouth tightened into a whipped line. His bride, the woman of his dreams—gentle, ethereally beautiful Mia, with her sweet nature and her quiet, tranquil ways—was lost to him. All that was left to him was this woman who had brought about that loss.
A woman who thought nothing of others. Who could spew vitriolic abuse in front of a crowded elevator and not care who saw or heard her histrionics. Who could play out her egotistical diva dramatics in the middle of a church, the middle of a wedding ceremony, leaving shockwaves echoing and the congregation aghast at the appalling scene, her aged grandfather near apoplectic and her own cousin collapsing in horror at the lie she’d hurled at her.
Well, Ariana Killane would pay for what she’d done to her own cousin, and to himself. He would destroy the business she valued so much in a fitting retribution.
But there was something else he was going to destroy too. His eyes glittered with dark intent. It wasn’t just Ariana’s business he would break. He was going to break her power over him—the power that had made him commit his greatest folly and cost him the future he’d dreamt of all his life.
I will break it because I must.
Because if he didn’t...
His eyes fastened on her, standing there, still frozen, still ashen, her face stricken with shock and hollowing dismay.
He could feel his body’s reaction to her despite his iron self-control, despite her white face. Her rich, sensual beauty blazed in his vision.
She was wearing a business suit in a deep royal blue, cinched at the waist, lapels curving over her full breasts, the skirt easing over her rounded hips, tight around her shapely thighs...thighs his hands had stroked, caressed, parted with his questing touch. The long, waving hair through which his fingers had sifted so lusciously that disastrous night in Manhattan was caught back now, confined in a net snood that begged to be ripped from her in order to let loose its glorious tresses, a living waterfall over her naked back and engorged breasts... Just as that confining, clinging suit begged to be stripped from her, to reveal the irresistible curves of her willing, wanton body...
But resist he must.
His jaw set, taut with effort, he veiled his gaze with equal effort. Resist hewould... He would break her power over him.And break her as he did so.
Time to complete his retribution.
His gaze flicked over her. Still veiled.
‘Tell me,’ he said, resting his eyes impassively on her pale face, ‘how long do you think it will take you to repay the loan you have just taken out to cover my claim for damages? I set the interest rate high, so you must take that into account. Given your current turnover—and, yes, I have a full dossier on you now...it was a condition I demanded of your accountant before I agreed the loan—and given your lack of assets to realise other than your stock... I am aware that this property is leased—that you do not own the freehold and nor do you own any other property. I would calculate it will take you five years at the earliest to be completely free of the principal of the loan I have made you.’
He was watching her face but her expression did not change, nor her skin’s pallor. She stood there, immobile, knuckles still white, her free hand still raised as if to ward him off. Yet he could see, with satisfaction, that it had begun to tremble. It was as imperceptible as her shallow breathing but she was under stress. Extreme stress. He was glad of it. She deserved no less.
He waited, but she made no answer. After a moment, letting his words sink into her, he decided to continue. He had issued the bad news. Now he would feed her the good news.
But it will not prove good for her...
He felt his mouth tighten, his muscles steel, and deliberately relaxed his body, easing it back in the chair, never for an instant taking his eyes from her.
‘Five years...’ he echoed, musingly. ‘Five years of being in my debt. Five long, punishing years. If, of course, I don’t choose to call in the debt before then—I’m sure you understand that was one of the conditions I set.’
He took a breath, a considered intake of air, his gaze on her like a basilisk.
‘But, as I said, there are other ways, Ariana.’ His voice was gentle. ‘Other ways to be free of debt.’
She did not move—not an iota. But the trembling in her upraised frozen hand was now discernible. Still she did not speak. So he spelt it out for her.
‘You see,’ he said, and his tone was nothing more than conversational, his gaze on her expressionless, ‘you have ensured that Mia is lost to me for ever. So, since I cannot have the wife of my choice, I have decided to make do...’ he smiled, the merest parting of his lips over his teeth ‘...with a mistress.’
He paused, savouring the moment. Savouring the flaring in her eyes...what it meant. His own eyes flickered over her again, and then met hers, head-on.
He went for the kill. ‘You auditioned very well, Ariana—New York proved that quite adequately.’
He saw her eyes shut, then open again. Saw her whole body recoil, like a snake rearing to strike.