Love Islands…The Collection. Jane Porter
curls tumbling over her shoulders and the nervous excitement in her blue eyes hinted at a different Addie—an Addie she had been a long time ago, for a few blissful months. The Addie she might still be now if Malachi King hadn’t taken her heart and tossed it aside like some unwanted corporate gift.
Don’t go there! she warned herself. The article was about her hard work and determination. It had absolutely nothing to do with her rat of an estranged husband. Or their foolhardy and doomed marriage.
That was all in the past now.
Her present—her future—was a world away from that dark place she’d slipped into after Malachi had broken her heart. And she had survived worse than his defection. Her muscles tensed as she remembered the car accident that had shattered her dream of playing the piano professionally. It had been devastating, but she had not given up and now she had the best job in the world: bringing music to children whose lives were a constant battle with poverty and neglect.
She sighed. Only that would keep happening if she got on and knuckled down to her admin.
Opening her laptop, she began clicking through her emails. Twenty minutes later she reached across the desk and picked up a pile of envelopes from her in tray. Glancing at the one on top, she felt her breath catch sharply in her throat, the beat of her heart suddenly swift and urgent. As though mesmerised, she stared blankly at the embossed logo on the front of the envelope.
King Industries. Owned by her very rich, very handsome and very estranged husband Malachi.
The blood was roaring in her ears, and for a moment she imagined tearing up the letter and hurling the pieces into the warm Miami air. And then, with hands that shook slightly, she tore it open and read the letter inside.
It took three attempts before her brain could connect the words to their meaning. Not that the letter was badly written. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was polite and succinct, informing her that, after five years of funding, King Industries would be withdrawing their financial support from the Miami Music Project.
Heart pounding, Addie scanned through the lines, her eyes inexorably drawn to the signature at the bottom of the page. Bracing her shoulders, she felt her chest squeeze tight as she stared at her husband’s name.
Fury snapped through her bones like electric sparks. Was this some kind of cruel joke?
He hadn’t been in touch for five years. Five years! Not a phone call, an email, a text.
Nothing.
This was the first time he’d contacted her since their wedding day and it was some stock letter telling her that he was cutting the funding for her charity! It was despicable! And so cowardly when he hadn’t even had the guts to speak to her, let alone meet her face-to-face.
Somewhere beneath her ribs she felt something twist—a wrench, slight yet irrevocable. If she hadn’t known better she might have thought it was her heart.
Her whole body was shaking and she felt a sudden spasm of helpless rage. Wasn’t it enough that he’d crushed her romantic dreams? His support for her charity was the one good thing that had survived their marriage. Only now he wanted to wreck that too.
What kind of man would do something like that to his wife?
Her stomach cramped as she miserably remembered her wedding day, and how Malachi had promised to love her. Looking into her eyes with a shimmering heat that had made her heart quiver, he had made her believe he meant every word.
Gritting her teeth, she stared down at the face looking back up at her from the newspaper.
How could you have ever believed that he loved you?
Her face tightened. She’d known all about his reputation as a womaniser, a player of hearts as well as cards. But of course she’d believed him. Who wouldn’t? That was what Malachi did best. He looked into your eyes and smiled, a gorgeous, curving smile, and he made you believe.
He made the gamblers in his casinos believe they would beat the tables.
And he’d made her believe that he loved her.
But he hadn’t. Instead he had used her and exploited their relationship to improve his bad-boy image. Their marriage had been nothing more than a stunt conceived and executed by a man who had built a multibillion-dollar business by ruthlessly taking what he wanted. A man who liked playing games almost as much as he liked to win.
Her head snapped up and, lifting her shoulders, she eased her head from side to side, like a fighter about to step into the ring.
Maybe it was about time he found out what it was like to lose.
Breathing out slowly, Addie lifted up the letter and stared at it bleakly.
He might have had the ‘house edge’ during their relationship, but if he thought this letter would be the last word on their marriage he could think again. A lot had changed in the five years since they’d separated. She knew what lay behind his smile now, and she certainly wasn’t the same lovestruck young woman he’d married.
Rapidly typing into her keyboard, she narrowed her eyes as she picked up her phone and quickly punched in the number at the top of the letter.
‘Good morning! King Industries. How may I help you?’
Feeling her heart start to pound, Addie took a deep breath and said quickly, ‘I’d like to speak to Mr King!’
‘Could I take your name, please?’
Her shoulders stiffened. Gripping the phone tightly, she bit down hard on her lip. It was her last chance to change her mind. To leave the past sealed.
For a moment she almost hung up, and then, dry-mouthed, she closed her eyes and said hoarsely, ‘Addie Farrell.’
There was a pause.
‘I’m sorry, Ms Farrell, I don’t seem to have you down for an appointment.’
‘I don’t have one,’ she said, surprised and even a little impressed by the firm, even tenor of her voice. ‘But it’s important—vital that I speak to him!’
‘I understand that, Ms Farrell.’ The girl sounded young, and a little nervous. But despite her youth she had clearly been well-trained. ‘And I’ll do my best to help, but Mr King doesn’t speak to anyone without an appointment.’
Opening her eyes, Addie cursed softly. Of course he didn’t. Malachi was the CEO. His calls would obviously be screened and only the most important would be put through to him. She gritted her teeth. But who could be more important than his wife?
Somewhere at the back of her head a voice was warning her to hang up, but it was muffled by the angry, insistent beat of her heart. ‘He’ll speak to me,’ she said slowly. ‘Just give him my name.’
There was another, longer pause. ‘I can’t do that, Ms Farrell. But I can certainly arrange an appointment. Or if you’d like to leave a message—’
Addie smiled grimly. ‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘Tell him it’s his wife. I just wanted to remind him that it’s our wedding anniversary tomorrow.’
There was a total, frozen silence and she felt an unexpected but welcome ripple of satisfaction wash over her.
‘If you wouldn’t mind passing that message on? I don’t mind holding,’ she said sweetly.
Outside the window of his private jet an ethereal pale blue sky stretched to the horizon. It was beautiful, humbling. But Malachi King was oblivious to the view. Instead his gaze was locked to the screen in front of him, his dark grey eyes moving swiftly over the columns of figures that filled the page.
‘What happened on Table Twenty-five?’ he asked abruptly, looking up at the thickset, middle-aged man seated opposite him.
‘There