Innocent of His Claim. Janette Kenny
she didn’t have a home anymore. She had nothing. So where would she go? Impose on friends? Pound the streets looking for a job?
Delanie tried to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear but the tremor that continued to rock through her undermined the effort. She gave it up with a heavy sigh and let the pale gold strand fall as it had repeatedly done at the cemetery.
If she were prone to outbursts then this would be the ideal time to have one. What kind of man would demand that this meeting be held in the closed offices of Tate Unlimited on the heels of her father’s burial?
Perhaps a visceral man with horns and a tail. Clearly he was a man without principles.
The man behind Varsi Dynamics had launched his takeover on Tate Unlimited in her father’s last hours. Before her father was interred at the Tate family plot at Sumpton Park, the corporate shark had gained control of her father’s assets, right down to the furniture in the mansion and the fleet of Rolls Royces in the garages.
“I imagine the new owner will take great delight in personally firing everyone on staff,” she groused as she stopped behind the burgundy leather chair her father had ruled from.
Henry fidgeted with his crimson-and-gold striped tie, the first sign that he wasn’t quite as calm as he let on. “Actually, his solicitor assured me that all Tate employees would remain on staff through a six-month vetting period.”
She blinked, that news the one ray of sun on this gloomy day. “That’s a surprise.”
“Indeed,” Henry said, consulting his watch again. “Time to go below stairs to meet and show him up. Wouldn’t want the gent wandering around the building and getting lost. Will you be all right alone?”
His concern brought a bittersweet smile to her face. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”
Henry gave a crisp nod and left, his gait swift and sure for a man his age.
Silence thrummed in the room that held only bitter memories. No, she wouldn’t miss Tate Unlimited. But Elite Affair, the company her father had swindled out of her, meant everything to her. It was her dream. Her means to support herself. Her freedom from a man’s control.
She was anything but fine, she thought as her palms pressed into the sumptuous leather back of the executive chair.
The scent of spice wafted in the air. Her father’s aftershave. Faint, as if he’d just stepped out of the office.
The old urge to run pinged through her like a cold pounding rain and she shivered. To her father, a woman’s main purpose was to marry well and produce an heir. A male heir, according to the verbal barbs he’d flung at her mother for failing to uphold her duty.
In his eyes, Delanie was no better. Her fingers dug into the leather as his biting diatribes played over and over in her mind. A failure. A liability. No better than her mother.
If he hadn’t blackmailed her to stay on this past year she would have left. In hindsight she should have done that, for she’d ended up with nothing anyway—unless by some miracle she could meet the new owner’s counteroffer.
The ding of the elevator echoed dully down the corridor. Masculine footsteps pounded the marble floor like an advancing army. Her pulse rose with each step.
The waiting was over.
He was here.
Chills skipped up her spine, but she forced herself to stand straight and greet this next hurdle straight on. Deep breath in, slow exhalation. But even that failed to calm her racing heart or lessen the knocking of her knees.
As for offering a serene smile, she wasn’t about to attempt one. Only a fool would smile at the shark swimming toward them.
Henry’s voice drifted to her, so clear she knew he was standing in the corridor outside the waiting-room door. “Miss Tate is in her father’s office. If you’ll come this way, sir.”
“That will be all,” replied a deep masculine voice that ground Delanie’s thoughts to a screeching, nerve-grating halt.
No! Her mind must be playing cruel tricks on her.
But there was no mistaking that husk of an Italian accent that she hadn’t heard in ten long years except in her dreams. That she’d wished never to hear again.
“Sir,” Henry sputtered. “I insist I be on hand …”
“Leave us!” The clipped order blew open the lid on painful memories she’d tucked away long ago.
The man from her past was here. But why? Was he the corporate raider, the one with the wherewithal and ruthless bent to strip everything from her?
Her gaze swept the room to find a way out; her pulse raced so fast she was light-headed. Were the walls closing in on her?
No, just her past.
The waiting-room door slammed shut, likely in Henry’s face. She jumped in heels that suddenly pinched, her skin pebbling and her heart thundering with each determined step that brought Marco closer.
Footsteps stopped outside the office door. She swallowed hard. Had Marco paused to straighten his tie—a quirk he’d done often because he detested wearing one? Or, on a wilder thought that mirrored her rising hysteria, was he sharpening his teeth for the proverbial kill?
Her heart thundered, her body swayed as the dizzying rush of memories swirled around her like a choking fog. Each second nipped along her skin, chipping away at the confidence she tried desperately to shore up.
The man she’d thought never to see again stepped into the office and shut the door behind him with a deafening click. Her traitorous eyes drank him in: tall and commanding, broad shoulders racked tight. Breathtakingly handsome.
Piercing dark eyes set in a classic face drilled into her, impaling her to the spot. “Ciao, Delanie.”
Her fingernails dug into her father’s chair, likely scoring the leather. But it remained her only shield against the enemy.
Enemy … In her wildest imaginings, she had never guessed that the mystery owner of Varsi Dynamic was Marco Vincienta, her ex-fiancé. The man who’d held her heart in his powerful hands and crushed it without remorse.
There could only be one reason for him to take over Tate Unlimited and demand that she meet him here a scant hour after her father’s funeral. Revenge.
She swallowed, her throat parched, the spacious room shrinking as the powerful throb of his aura reached out to encircle her. Trap her.
“Marco,” she said, her voice catching over his name that she’d once said lovingly, the emotionally wounded man that she’d foolishly thought she could heal with her love.
He looked larger, stronger, colder. His lean torso was in top physical form, more so than memory served. His wealth of dark hair that she’d loved running her fingers through was clipped short in a fashionable style, yet an errant curl strayed onto his broad tanned forehead to hint at his rebel soul.
He was far more handsome and intense than she remembered. Far more dangerous-looking. Hungry. Like a caged wolf she’d seen at the zoo, its cool gaze scanning the crowd, searching for easy prey.
Only Marco stared straight at her. The look of a predator who’d tracked down his quarry. Who had it cornered and was moments away from pouncing.
Perspiration beaded her forehead and dampened the deep V between her breasts. It took supreme effort to stand straight and keep her head high, refusing to show fear or any weakness.
“So you are the man behind Varsi Dynamics,” she said.
A rapacious smile curved his chiseled lips that had once played so tenderly over her eager flesh, awakening sensations she’d never felt before or since he’d exited her life. Sensations that maddeningly still caused heat to curl in her belly.
She hated that odd loss of self-control, that