Mediterranean Men Unleashed: The Billionaire's Blackmailed Bride. JACQUELINE BAIRD
between guffaws, ‘And so right.’
Anton broke off mid-sentence in a rather serious discussion he was having with the Swiss banker, his attention diverted at the sound of Emily’s uninhibited laughter. Her head was thrown back, revealing the long line of her throat and the upper curves of her breast; her blonde hair fell in a silken curtain almost to her waist. The dress she was wearing was red and strapless and faithfully followed every curve of her body to flare out at thigh level and end just above her knees. She looked drop-dead gorgeous and as he watched Gianni’s arm went around her.
In a few lithe strides Anton was at her side. ‘I am all for you enjoying yourself, Gianni,’ he drawled, ‘but not with my wife.’
He reached down and caught her hand as Gianni’s arm fell from her shoulders.
Surprised, Emily raised laughing eyes to her husband’s face and was struck by the deadly warning in the black depths of his, and looked away.
Gianni said nothing, but moved back a step; the look in Anton’s eyes had said it all.
‘I said be civil.’ Anton slid a hand around the nape of her neck and tilted back her head so she had no choice but to look up at him. ‘Not flirt with the guests and make a spectacle of yourself. What was so funny anyway?’ He was jealous—not an emotion he had ever suffered from before—and he was fed up as he saw all expression drain from her face.
‘You had to be there at the time to appreciate it,’ she said, ‘but I take your point and I am sorry. I will endeavour to be civil at all times.’ And she smiled.
A perfect social smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
He kept her by his side for the rest of the evening, and later in bed he utilized every bit of control and skill he possessed to drain every drop of response from her incredible body. Only when she lay exhausted and sated in his arms was he satisfied.
He gazed down at her. She had been helpless in the throes of passion as he had brought her to the knife-edge of pleasure time after time, and had held her there shuddering and writhing until finally he had possessed her completely and she had convulsed in wave after wave of excruciating delight.
Then he had started again.
She was his … He had exactly what he wanted. He frowned slightly. So what was niggling at the back of his mind? Surely not conscience … No—something else. It would come to him later, he assured himself before sleep overcame him.
The following night Emily stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in their cabin and studied her reflection. She was wearing the one floor-length gown she had packed and she grimaced. Blue shot through with silver, the halter neck left her shoulders and back bare down to her waist, and the plunging neck revealed more than a glimpse of cleavage. The rest clung to her body like a second skin. A side slit enabled her to move. When she had bought the dress it had been with her honeymoon in mind. For Anton’s eyes only. Because she had loved him, even after their argument she had still harboured a lingering hope of convincing him he was wrong about her father, and making him care for her. Not any more. Once trust was destroyed there was no going back.
She had no illusions left regarding her arrogant husband. Last night he had taught her what an avid sensualist she was, and she had relished the lesson. He had driven her to the erotic height of pleasure and beyond until it had almost been pain. He was a magnificent lover.
Today she had had her relatively inexperienced opinion verified …
They had all gone to watch the Grand Prix at the home of a friend of Anton’s. Settled on a long terrace overlooking the race with their guests and some more friends of the owner, Anton had asked if she minded if he went to the pits. She had bit her tongue on the caustic comment he was the pits. Deciding she still loved him had not lessened her feeling of betrayal. But deep inside she had still held a faint hope that their marriage might work and instead she said, ‘Not at all.’
Bored out of her skull watching cars roar past at intervals, she drank a couple of glasses of champagne. And then went inside to stretch her legs. She was standing behind a huge column admiring a sculpture set in an alcove when she heard the click of heels on the marble floor and a cut-glass English voice mention her name.
‘Emily Diaz has my sympathy. He is incredibly wealthy, a handsome devil, and great in the sack, as I know from personal experience. But, let’s face it, the man is not marriage material. I mean, bringing her here for her honeymoon, with over a dozen guests for company—how crass is that? I couldn’t believe it when we arrived. But then we never knew he had married. Heaven help the poor girl, is what I say. She seems a really nice woman, well bred by all accounts and far too good for him. I bet she has no idea that he has had affairs with at least two of us on board and probably more.’
Staying out of sight, Emily recognized the voice as the footsteps faded away. It was Sally, the wife of Tim Harding, and Emily’s humiliation was complete. She had known about Eloise, but to discover another of his ex-lovers was on board was beyond belief.
That any man could be so incredibly insensitive as to invite one ex-lover on his honeymoon was the stuff of nightmares, but two … She had more or less accepted Anton’s version of why Carlo and Eloise were guests … but not any more. This latest revelation was the last straw.
At that moment something finally died in Emily.
Thinking about the conversation now, Emily briskly turned away from the mirror, slipped her feet into silver stiletto sandals, and straightened up.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘YOU look incredible.’
Emily hadn’t heard Anton enter, and turned slowly to face him. ‘Thank you.’ He was still wearing the same chinos and a polo shirt he had worn all day, and he was still grinning. The team he had sponsored had won, and the driver was now leading the world championship race and Anton had been in a celebratory mood ever since.
But then he won at everything, Emily thought sourly, but at least while he was celebrating on deck, with the other men on board, it had given her the chance to slip away.
‘But a bit premature.’ His hooded gaze raked over her with blatant masculine appreciation, and the eyes he lifted to hers were gleaming with a hot sensuality she could not fail to recognize as he stepped closer. ‘I was hoping we could share a shower.’
‘Too late.’ She forced a smile, and cursed the curl of heat in her stomach his suggestion had ignited. ‘I thought as this is your guests’ last night, I should make an appearance at the cocktail hour, before we go ashore to the party, so if you will excuse me.’ She moved to walk past him, but he caught her arm.
His lips curved in a wry smile. ‘You’re right, of course—the perfect hostess. I can wait, and I won’t spoil your lip gloss.’ His head dipped and he brushed his lips against her brow. ‘But I have something for you.’
She watched as he crossed to a small safe set in the wood-panelled wall of the cabin and withdrew a velvet-covered box.
‘I meant to give you this on our wedding night,’ he declared, moving to her side. ‘But I was distracted.’ And he opened the box to withdraw a sparkling diamond necklace. ‘You might like to wear it tonight.’
Emily glanced at the necklace, and reached out to stop his hand as he would have slipped it around her neck, and took it from him.
‘Thank you. It is beautiful.’ She let the waterfall of diamonds run through her fingers, and slowly raised her eyes to his. ‘But unfortunately it is not right for this gown.’ She handed it back to him. ‘I’ll wear it some other time.’
It was a first for Anton, a woman rejecting his gift, not just any woman but his wife … How dared she? Grim-faced, he scanned Emily’s exquisite features and slowly it dawned on him while he thought they had had a great day, his wife did not share his enthusiasm. He had given her a fortune in diamonds and yet she looked singularly unimpressed. No woman of his acquaintance would have dreamt of doing that—usually they