Castellano's Mistress of Revenge (10 page)

She raised her chin, meeting his gaze with fire in her own. ‘He gave me an offer I felt compelled to accept. Anyway, it was more than you were ever going to offer me.'

The edges of his mouth flickered, as if anger was just beneath the surface, waiting to leap out and strike. ‘I was always totally honest about what I was prepared to give you. I told you marriage was not an option for me.'

Ava continued to glare at him. ‘It's not in your nature to compromise, is it, Marc? You just expect people to fall into your plans. Now, may I be excused, or do you want more bang for your buck?'

Marc unlocked his clenched hands, fighting every instinct to drag her into his arms and make love to her, to claim her in every way possible. His blood was thundering with the need to do so. But instead he gave a curt nod and stepped out of her way. ‘I will see you
in about a week's time,' he said. ‘I have to fly to Zurich in the morning.'

He watched as she ran the point of her tongue out over her lips, a gesture of uncertainty or relief, he couldn't quite make up his mind which.

‘I see,' she said. After a little pause she added, ‘I take it you don't want me to come with you?'

He gave her an ironic look. ‘Would you say yes if I asked you?'

The defiant glitter was back in her eyes like the flash of a silver sword. ‘No, I would not.'

Marc smiled at her feistiness. He had plenty of time to tame her and tame her he would. ‘Believe me,
cara
, if I wanted you with me you would not dare to say no,' he said, and before she could respond he strode out of the room, snipping the door shut behind him.

A
VA
was intensely annoyed that during the week while Marc was in Switzerland he did not once call her. But then, he didn't need to speak to her to know what she was up to, she realised after the very day he left, for as soon as she prepared to leave the villa a man dressed in a chauffer's uniform, standing beside a luxury car, greeted her on the gravel driveway, informing her he was at her service during Signor Castellano's absence.

‘But I have no need of a driver,' Ava insisted. ‘I always walk whenever I can and I'm only going to the gym at the health club.'

The man, who had introduced himself as Carlos, was equally insistent, holding the door open for her with an intransigent set to his features. ‘It is not worth losing my job, Miss McGuire,' he said. ‘I have a wife and a young family to support.'

Ava frowned in irritation. ‘I am sure Signor Castellano would not be so heartless as to fire you just because I chose to use my legs instead of your services.'

‘I have been given strict instructions to escort you wherever you need to go,' Carlos said. ‘I am to keep you
protected from the Press. Signor Castellano does not want you to be annoyed by the intrusion of anyone without him being there to protect you.'

She rolled her eyes as she got in the car. ‘This is utterly ridiculous. I do not need a babysitter.'

‘Think of me as a bodyguard, then,' Carlos said.

Ava scowled as she was driven to the health club, knowing full well Marc had only engaged the driver to tail her in case she took it upon herself to give an exclusive interview to the Press of what it was like being Marc Castellano's mistress. If she was indeed the type of woman like Chantelle Watterson, that was quite possibly what would occur. Ava, on the other hand, had no intention of speaking to anyone about her relationship to Marc.

She took a covert glance at the driver who seemed vaguely familiar. No doubt Carlos had been the spy Marc had had following her during his last absence. He didn't trust her. That was the problem that just wouldn't go away. Marc believed her to have betrayed him and no matter what she did or said to the contrary he was never going to believe or trust her word ever again.

But then, did
she t
rust him? He had said—or at least intimated—he would abide by her rule of exclusivity while they were together, but how could she be sure he would hold true to it? He had a reputation as an international playboy, women chased him daily—she had seen enough pictures in the Press over the years to realise he was in no shortage of female company. He could just be paying lip service to her demands and she would have no way of knowing for sure if he was being unfaithful.

Jealousy ate at her with primitive teeth, the sharp incisors savage as they gnawed at her relentlessly when she thought of Marc flying from one country to another, enjoying his glamorous bits on the side while she waited here, trapped by his demands.

There were compensations, however; she had only that morning checked the balance in her bank account via the Internet and her eyes had rounded to the size of saucers at the amount Marc had deposited there. It gave her at least the comfort of knowing she could continue to support Serena in her quest to have a baby.

Almost unconsciously Ava laid one of her hands across the taut plane of her belly. A child with her was the very last thing Marc wanted and yet she felt a yearning so great to have a baby of her own it was almost painful to harbour the thought of never being able to create that incredible bond with him. She could imagine a little boy just like Marc with coal-black eyes and springy black hair with tiny dimples either side of his mouth when he smiled, which Marc so rarely did these days, or at least not without a hint of mockery to it, she thought with another painful pang. But there was no possibility of her becoming pregnant even though he had not used a condom when he had made love to her in the pool; she had been taking a low-dose Pill for years to control a tendency for painful periods.

After she had finished her routine at the health club Ava returned to the villa, not sure what else she could do. There were numerous books she wanted to read and myriad tasks she could help Celeste with, as had become her habit, but she felt restless and bored. She wanted a real job, not modelling, as she had done
before, but one where she could use her brain instead of her body.

It was a long-held dream of hers to go back to the university degree she had deferred the year she had come to London to model for the UK branch of the agency she had modelled part-time for, and in order to accompany Serena on her gap year. Ava had been studying history and languages and had looked forward to one day being able to teach. Living in a place like Monte Carlo was a history-lover's dream. The principality had a long and colourful past, the royal dynasty that had held state for so long all part of the glamour and intrigue.

In the last year of their marriage Douglas had encouraged her to pursue her studies online, but just as she was about to enrol his condition had deteriorated. After his slow and agonising death, with all the things she'd had to see to since in packing up his things and sending them on to his family, she had not had the time to think too far into the future. And then, of course, there was the cost to consider. Studying didn't come for free, or at least not these days. She could end up like so many others with huge debts and no guarantee of a permanent job at the end of it.

And then there was Marc. Marc Castellano—the man she had once loved with all her being now hated her with a passion that was almost as great as his continued desire for her. He had a ruthless agenda to have her as his plaything, no strings, no love, just plain and simple sex at his command. Reducing their relationship to one of physical convenience for him was a form of emotional torment for her. She had no idea how long
he would want her in his life; he had given her no clue, other than to state quite clearly it was not going to be for the long term.

 

The evening before Ava expected Marc to return to the villa she was sitting in her bedroom, reading a book on the Second World War, when there was a tap at the door. Assuming it was Celeste to come to say
bonsoir
before leaving for the day, she gave permission for entry.

The book almost fell to the floor when Marc stepped into the room. Her heart gave a galloping lurch as she gaze took in his tall, commanding presence. He was dressed in dark casual trousers and an open-necked white shirt which emphasised his olive skin and ink-black hair.

‘You look surprised to see me,
cara
,' he said, closing the door with a tiny but, all the same, heart-stopping click.

Suddenly her room, which had always seemed so commodious in the past, shrank to the size of a doll's house. Ava felt as if the walls were pressing in on her, the air sucked right out of the space, making it almost impossible to pull in a much needed breath.

‘I—I was not expecting you until tomorrow,' she stammered, putting the book to one side and standing up on legs that were not quite steady. She ran her damp palms down the front of her thin and years-old-cotton-pyjama-clad thighs, wondering if he noticed she had no make-up on, not even a smear of lip gloss. Her hair was tied back in a high pony-tail, still partially damp from her recent shower. She wasn't even wearing a bra
beneath her faded pink tank top and her feet had ballet-flat-like slippers on instead of heels. It made her feel at a huge disadvantage without a veneer of sophistication to hide behind. Without her usual armour she felt like a schoolgirl of thirteen instead of a mature woman three years off turning thirty.

‘I cancelled the last meeting,' he said. ‘In any case, I had achieved what I had set out to achieve, so I caught the next available flight.'

Ava tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from her pony-tail behind one ear. ‘I am sure you always achieve what you set out to achieve,' she said archly, trying to regain the ground she felt she had lost in being caught off guard by his unexpected arrival.

He came up close, so close she could smell the hint of citrus in his aftershave, the combination of lime and lemongrass and something else she couldn't quite identify, but it was no less captivating. She breathed it in, unconsciously holding her breath, physically and mentally preparing herself for his touch.

His dark eyes meshed with hers, studying her with an intensity that was both unnerving and exciting. She felt each of her heartbeats pounding in her chest, wondering if he knew how deeply unsettled she was by his proximity.

When his warm, dry palm cupped her left cheek, she felt her heart give another crazy lurch, her breath coming out on a jagged sigh.

‘Did you miss me,
ma petite
?' he asked in a low, sexy tone.

Ava fought to control her response to his caressing, lover-like touch. ‘Not at all,' she said crisply.

He smiled a knowing smile, his palm still cradling her face, his thumb now stroking against the curve of her cheek in a back and forth motion that was totally mesmerising. ‘Celeste told me just before she left for the evening that you have been moping about with a downcast set to your features all week.'

Ava gave him a petulant look. ‘If I gave her that impression it is only because you have me practically imprisoned here with your bodyguard on permanent watch. I can't take a step outside the villa without him insisting on driving me wherever I want to go, even if it is only within walking distance.'

He placed his hands on the tops of her shoulders. ‘Why haven't you moved your things into my room?' he asked.

Ava was momentarily thrown off course by his rapid change of subject, a tactic she was starting to see he used to his advantage time and time again. ‘I…I didn't realise you wanted me on call twenty-four hours a day,' she said, hoping he couldn't hear the betraying wobble in her voice.

His eyes were like a force field as they held hers and his hands tightened on her shoulders. ‘I want you in my bed,' he said. ‘I want to know that when I come home you will be waiting for me.'

‘You are living in the wrong century, Marc,' she said with a flash of defiance. ‘Slavery was abolished long ago.'

His mouth curled up at the corners, not quite a smile, but close enough to make Ava's heart skip a beat. ‘Are you annoyed with me for not taking you with me to Zurich?' he asked.

She rolled her eyes in a scathing manner. ‘Why should I be annoyed? I would be bored to tears sitting around in hotel rooms waiting for you to return.'

‘Like you were here,
sì
?'

Ava marvelled at his perspicacity, but her expression—she hoped—gave nothing away. ‘I am not used to being idle,' she said. ‘I want to use my brain instead of filling in the day having my hair or nails done.' She took a little breath and announced, ‘I want to go back to university and finish my degree. I've already made some enquiries about doing a course online.'

The silence was so long she wondered if Marc could hear the sound of her heart beating. She could feel it inside her chest, hammering away like a jackhammer on performance-enhancing supplements.

‘Are you informing me of your intentions or asking for my permission?' he finally asked.

She moistened her dry lips with a dart of her tongue. ‘Do I need to ask your permission?' she asked, keeping her eyes locked on his.

His hands dropped from her shoulders. ‘No,' he said, his expression like a mask. ‘Of course not. I have no problem with you wanting to finish your degree. I think it's a great idea. It is impossible to overeducate yourself,
sì
?'

Ava looked up at him in astonishment. She had been so sure he would not agree to her plans she had been silently preparing herself for a showdown. Instead she felt strangely at sea, the wind suddenly too far away to inflate her self-righteous sails. ‘Er—yes,' she said, running her tongue over her bare lips again. ‘That's great, then. I can start straight away. I've already been
reading some of the recommended texts. I will get some credit for the subjects I've already completed, not much, but enough to…' She stopped rambling when she saw the bottomless wells of his eyes studying her silently.

Her shoulders suddenly felt cold without the warm cup of his palms, her cheek still tingling from his earlier caress. Her heart was beating too hard and too fast, her stomach doing complicated little gymnastic routines that made her feel disoriented.

The silence stretched and stretched and stretched, like a rubber band being pulled by an invisible hand. Ava felt as if at any moment the air was going to snap with the incremental build-up of tension she could feel vibrating in the space between them.

‘You look like a schoolgirl with your hair tied up like that,' Marc said in a gruffly masculine tone.

Ava felt a blush steal into her cheeks, which she knew was only adding credence to his words. ‘I was getting ready for bed…' She blushed even further and stumbled on gauchely, ‘Um…I mean, I'd just had a shower and was about to turn in when you…you…took me by surprise…'

One of his hands reached behind her head and began toying with her pony-tail, the sensation of him coiling it around his fingers making her scalp quiver in delight. His hold was loose, playful almost, but she felt the underlying tension, the daunting but delicious possibility of him tugging her towards his mouth and hard, powerful body making her heart beat all the faster. Her gaze wandered over his face, finally coming to rest on his mouth. He was in need of a shave, his jaw was
peppered all over with dark shadow that she knew from experience would rasp sexily against her softer skin.

‘You know, Ava, lovers usually kiss when they greet each other after an absence,' Marc said, glancing at her soft mouth before returning to her grey-blue gaze.

‘Are you informing me of your intentions or asking for my permission?' she asked, throwing his words back at him in a pert tone.