Summer Loving. Cathy Williams
ELEVEN
Maya Blake
After the confetti settles…
It takes an earthquake for billionaire businessman Cesare di Goia to realize what’s important in life. His wife may have become a stranger, but he’s determined to keep his young daughter close.
Returning to the luxurious Lake Como palazzo with her daughter, Ava di Goia feels like an outsider in what was once their home. Although the bond between them is still undeniable, the memories, tarnished rings and broken promises make it clear that the secrets that drove them apart are still unresolved.…
“You think I’m without emotion, cara?” Cesare queried so softly the hairs on her arms rose in desperate foreboding.
“Not where I’m concerned. When it comes to me, you’re as emotional as a plank of wood.”
“What are you doing?” Her question squeaked out as he captured her nape.
He didn’t answer; at least not verbally. The slow burn in his eyes and the steady pressure of his fingers on her skin told its own story. With effortless ease, he pulled her into contact with his body. When he had her close enough, he boldly cupped her bottom.
“Cesare!”
Electric heat, wicked and powerful, snapped through her, zapping awake her senses with a force so potent, she gasped. She should’ve wanted to move away from it. Should’ve worked harder to release herself from the powerful, chaotic destruction.
Instead, she found herself straining up to meet the havoc-causing mouth descending toward hers, pressing herself up against the heat of the rock-hard body.
All about the author…Maya Blake
MAYA BLAKE fell in love with the world of the alpha male and the strong, aspirational heroine when she borrowed her sister’s Harlequin® books at age thirteen. Shortly thereafter the dream to plot a happy ending for her own characters was born. Writing for Harlequin is a dream come true. Maya lives in South East England with her husband and two kids. Reading is an absolute passion, but when she isn’t lost in a book she likes to swim, cycle, travel and Tweet!
You can get in touch with her via email at [email protected], or on Twitter @mayablake.
‘SIGNORA?’
The voice, hesitant but insistent, jerked Ava from deep sleep. Momentarily disoriented, she pushed a swathe of Titian hair off her forehead but the nightmare...that nightmare...clung to the edges of her consciousness.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you but Signore di Goia is on the phone. Again.’ The stewardess, dressed in the emerald silk suit that displayed her employer’s unique insignia, held out the sleek black phone. Ava eyed the phone, the same one she’d been presented with three times since the di Goia jet took off from Bali almost eight hours ago.
Different emotions replaced her irritation, dispersing the last of her dream-fuelled anxiety. The lingering sense of loss, which dogged her whenever she thought of Cesare, rose to mingle with the almost helpless excitement that thoughts of him elicited...
For a few seconds she forgot the heart-rending devastation she’d left behind. Her mind crowded with the forceful presence of the man at the end of the phone. A man who despite being thousands of miles away, had the power to make her breath catch. The man who she knew within the depths of her soul she was losing with every second that passed.
‘Please tell him, again, that I’ll speak to him when we land.’ She needed to conserve every ounce of her strength for what lay ahead.
The stewardess looked bewildered. ‘But...he insists.’ No doubt she’d never encountered another living being who refused to fall at Cesare di Goia’s feet. Especially when that being was currently ensconced in unspeakably sumptuous luxury that barely began to epitomise the mind-boggling scale of the di Goia experience.
All around her, from the deep burgundy leather club chairs, the shiny cream marble tables to the bespoke silk-trimmed cashmere throws that graced every seat on the jet that could easily have carried several dozen passengers, Cesare di Goia’s wealth and influence made itself forcefully blatant.
‘Signora?’ the anxious stewardess pressed.
Guilt for her predicament made Ava reach for the phone.
‘Cesare.’ She held her breath.
‘Now you deign to answer my calls,’ came the deep, tight voice.
‘Why should I take your call when you’ve been avoiding mine for over two weeks now? You told me you’d return to Bali last week.’ The ease with which he’d put her off made her hand tighten on the phone. It was with much the same afterthought that he’d conducted their marriage for the last year.
‘I was delayed in Abu Dhabi. Unavoidably,’ he added tautly.