Castellano's Mistress of Revenge (9 page)

Her throat rose and fell, the colour flowing back into her face as if someone had turned on a tap inside her. ‘I would be a very cold person indeed if I could live with someone for five years and not miss them when they were gone,' she said. ‘He deserves to be grieved. I know he was ruthless in business and he didn't always do the right thing by his family, but at least he tried to fix things before he died.'

Marc hated hearing her praise the man who had stolen so much from him. He hated thinking about the long hours he'd had to work to rebuild his business after Cole had won the bid over his. He had always believed Ava had been an active part of that betrayal, but based on the evidence he had gathered over the last few days it seemed more and more likely that Cole had
worked alone. How much Ava knew of how she had been used was still open to investigation. There were still piles of papers to go through, but Marc was determined to uncover every motivation, both Cole's and Ava's. He had worked so hard for so long on exacting his revenge, he had hated Ava for five years; every thought he'd had was about having her back where he wanted her. The irony was he had her exactly where he had worked to get her, but she still wasn't his. He could see it in the way she looked at him. Hatred glittered in her grey-blue gaze, almost stinging him with its cold, hard intensity. She had used to look at him with such open adoration. He had found it claustrophobic at the time, but now he felt as if he would give anything to see her eyes soften and glisten with anything but the loathing he saw there now.

‘Hugh Watterson told me how devoted Cole was to you,' Marc said. ‘And yet you deny having been in love with him.'

Her eyes met his briefly before moving away again. ‘There are many types of love,' she said. ‘The love one feels for a parent, for instance, is quite different from that one feels for a friend or a lover.'

‘So the love you felt for him was more parental than anything else?'

She gave him an irritated look. ‘Could we please talk about something else?' she asked. ‘Like why you felt you could just fly off to London without telling me when you were leaving or how long you would be away?'

‘I had an issue to see to that cropped up without notice,' he said. ‘I had to catch the first available flight.
There wasn't even time to pack a bag, let alone discuss my plans with you. I told Celeste on my way out to inform you of my absence.'

‘I suppose you think it's amusing to make me look like a fool in front of the staff,' she tossed back crossly.

‘It seems to me you have the full support of the staff,' Marc returned, ‘Celeste in particular.'

‘Celeste has been at this villa a long time,' she said. ‘She was extremely fond of Douglas, for all of his faults. She of all people knows how much I did for him.'

Marc felt his insides twist all over again with jealousy. ‘Yes, I have been hearing the same thing time and time again from Cole's London staff. It seemed you made quite an impression on everyone you met as the devoted, loving, self-sacrificing little wife, right to the very end.'

Her eyes threw flick-knives of disdain at him. ‘Self-sacrifice is not something you are familiar with, is it, Marc? You have always put your interests first and, from what I've seen so far, nothing has changed.'

He blocked her with his arm as she made to leave. ‘No, I have not finished talking to you,' he said.

Ava tightened her mouth and then, still holding his gaze, dug her fingernails into the flesh of his arm.

He swore and pulled his arm away, reaching for his handkerchief to dab where her nails had almost broken the skin. ‘You have developed claws,
ma petite
,' he said calmly as he briefly touched her lips with his finger.

Ava felt her spine loosen at the gentleness of his touch. She felt herself drowning in the dark depths of his coal-black gaze, the silence growing, swelling, bur
geoning with the erotic tension that buzzed like electricity between them. Her body responded to his closeness, her breasts feeling full and heavy, her belly quivering with flickers of longing, her inner core moistening at the promise of fulfilment she could see in his gaze just before it went to her mouth.

‘Do not fight me, Ava,' he commanded softly, his breath feathering over the surface of her lips. ‘Why not kiss me instead, hmm?'

Ava felt her eyelashes go down as her heels lifted off the floor to bring her mouth within touching distance of his. She pressed her lips softly to his, barely touching, breathing in his scent, his maleness, the heat and exhilarating potency of him.

He kissed her back equally softly, hardly any pressure, just a light, teasing touchdown of male lips on female, generating heat that was so combustible Ava could feel it like flames licking at her from deep inside her body.

His mouth slowly increased its pressure, his tongue stroking for entry, which she gave on a gasping sigh of pleasure. Her tongue caressed his, dancing with it, duelling with it until she finally allowed him to be the victor.

His hands cupped her face as he deepened the kiss, then his fingers were splayed in her hair, massaging, caressing her as his mouth worked its intoxicating magic on hers.

Ava pressed closer, wanting to feel the blood-thickened length of him where she needed him most. Her body felt so intensely alive, every part of her aching
with need, fully charged to respond to him and him alone.

His mouth moved from hers down the side of her neck, searing kisses that burned her skin, his tongue a sexy rasp as it tasted each of her pleasure points. She threw her head back, delighting in the way he was taking his time, drawing out the pleasure to the point of torture.

By the time he got to her breasts she was close to begging. She whimpered breathlessly as he removed her clothing, piece by piece, in a reverse striptease that had her heart racing with excitement as each article hit the floor.

He was still fully clothed, which added to the daring sensuality of it. Ava reached for the zip on his trousers, but he pushed her hand away. ‘Not yet,
cara
,' he said huskily. ‘This is my chance to show you I have not forgotten how to take my time in pleasuring you.'

Ava shivered as he pressed her back against the leather-covered desk, her body splayed like a feast for him to devour. She was beyond shame; her need was too intense, far too out of control for her to think about how she might view this incredibly intimate act in the morning. Right now she wanted him to pleasure her; every nerve-ending was screaming for it, every cell of her body vibrating uncontrollably with the need for release.

She gasped as he stroked her first with his fingers, the slow-moving action arching her spine where it lay pressed against the desk. She felt her own moisture, the slickness of it making every glide of his fingers that much more thrilling and erotic.

‘You are so beautiful,' he said in a deep, gravelly
tone. ‘Like an exotic hot-house flower opening to the sun.'

Ava felt her sensitive nerves twitching in response to the waft of his warm breath as he brought his mouth to her. She drew in a sharp breath, holding it in her chest as he explored her with his tongue. The heart of her need gathered at that one pearl-like point; she felt the exquisite build-up, the growing wave-like tension taking over her completely. She couldn't think or feel anything other than what he was doing to her, the sensations he was evoking finally taking over. She felt herself shatter into a million pieces, each one a burst of bright, flashing colour, like fireworks exploding in a clear night sky. Her body rocked with the aftershocks, she was even vaguely aware of the ink well on the desk rattling as she convulsed with pleasure.

Almost as soon as the pleasure flowed out of her, the shame rolled in, great, giant waves of it, each one threatening to drown her. Ava propped herself up on her hands before sliding off the desk, bending to gather her clothes from the floor. She couldn't believe she had been so wanton again, let alone so foolish. By responding to him so feverishly she felt it had cheapened her, making her seem just like the pleasure-seeking gold-digger he thought her to be. She had acted like a sex-starved alley cat, opening her legs without hesitation every time he touched her. Did he have such power over her that she could act so recklessly with no thought to how it would make her feel or how he would look upon her?

‘What are you doing?' Marc asked.

‘What do you think I am doing?' she said, tugging at her bra, which was currently caught beneath his foot.

He bent down and picked it up for her. ‘You seem in rather a hurry to leave.'

‘The party is over, isn't it?' she asked, scrunching the bra into an odd-shaped ball. ‘Or am I expected to service you?'

He frowned. ‘Ava, there is no need for this petulance.'

She brushed her awry hair away from her face as she looked up at him. ‘Aren't you going to make things a thousand times worse now by asking me whether I've done this, if not with Douglas, then with someone else?'

His jaw worked for a moment as if his mind was filling with the images of her writhing on the desk under someone else's caresses. ‘No, actually I was not going to ask you that,' he said in a clipped tone. ‘I know for a fact you did not sleep with Cole. That was another thing I found out from the ever-obliging Celeste. Cole was impotent and had been for many years as the result of surgery for his cancer.'

Ava pressed her lips together as she looked around for her shoes, privately marvelling at how Marc had managed to eke out so much information in so short a time from one of Douglas's most discreet and loyal staff members. It made her feel uneasy to think he had access to such intimate details. What if he found out the real reason behind her marriage to Douglas? As far as she knew Celeste knew nothing about it, unless Douglas had told her in the last stages of his illness as a deathbed confession. If Marc found out, how could she trust him not to expose Serena? What if he used Serena to get back at her?

‘Answer me something,' Marc said. ‘Did you know he was impotent when he asked you to marry him?'

Ava was still only partially dressed and a little too close to tears for her liking. ‘I fail to see why that should be of any interest to you,' she said as she hunted about for her shoes. ‘For God's sake,' she muttered in frustration. ‘Where are my shoes?'

‘They are over here,' he said, handing them to her. ‘Answer the question, Ava. Did you know the full extent of Cole's condition when he asked you to be his wife?'

Ava clutched her pile of clothing close to her chest. ‘He told me he was dying,' she said, not quite meeting his gaze. ‘He told me he had two years at the most to live.'

‘You must have been a much better wife than he bargained for,' Marc remarked wryly. ‘You kept him alive for an extra three years.'

She gave him a cutting look. ‘Are you finished with me now, Marc, or have you something else you require me to do as your paid mistress? I can get down on my knees if you like and return the favour, or would you rather a quick rough tumble on the floor?'

His eyes warred with hers for a stretching moment. ‘I don't understand why you are being so testy about this deal between us, which as far as I can see is really no different from the deal you had with Cole, apart from a piece of paper, of course.'

Bitter tears burned at the backs of Ava's eyes, but she refused to allow them purchase. ‘Everything is different about this deal between us,' she said. ‘You have no idea how different.'

‘Such as?'

‘You hate me.' She said it like a challenge, willing him to deny it. When he said nothing in response Ava felt again as if he had slapped her.

One of her shoes thudded to the floor from the haphazardly gathered pile in her arms, but before she could retrieve it he bent down and picked it up and silently handed it back to her. ‘Thank you,' she said tightly.

‘If it is the amount I am paying you then all you have to do is say so,' Marc said after another taut silence.

Ava glared at him, knowing that if she didn't leave soon she would be howling like a child. ‘It has
nothing
to do with the money.'

His brows lifted cynically. ‘I beg to differ,
ma petite
, but it has everything to do with money,' he said. ‘Are you forgetting the debts Cole left behind? That is why I had to go to London in such a rush. Hugh Watterson, your late husband's business manager-cum-accountant, has been skimming the books.'

Ava stared at him in open-mouthed shock. ‘Are you sure Hugh is guilty? Have you any proof?'

The look in his eyes was like black stone. ‘Of course I have proof. I have set my legal team to work to uncover every other discrepancy. I am sure I will find hundreds. Hugh is a very clever accountant. Over the last few months he has been busily stashing money in accounts where it was almost impossible to trace them.' He tipped up her chin, making her lock gazes with him. ‘Was it a scheme you cooked up between you?'

Ava frowned until her forehead ached. ‘What are you talking about? What scheme with whom?'

He kept his steely gaze on hers. ‘You and Chantelle Watterson,' he said. ‘When cornered Hugh said he
did it for his young wife, to keep her in the manner to which she had become accustomed. You and she are very similar, are you not? You both hooked up with much older men, living a life of luxury in the hope that one day they would die and leave you their fortune. What a pity there was nothing left in the kitty for you when Cole conveniently obliged by dying while you were still young and attractive enough to start again.'

‘That is a disgusting thing to say,' Ava said, stepping back in affront. ‘I never wanted anything from Douglas.'
At least not for myself
, she thought.

‘Now, that is not quite true, is it, Ava?' he asked. ‘You would never have married him if he hadn't been filthy rich and terminally ill, now, would you?'