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She also owed him for the resurgence in the rumours about his family’s links to the Mafia, who people believed had been responsible for his kidnapping. Not to mention the humiliation of walking out on him days before they were due to be married under the spotlight of the world’s media.
One of the many headlines had read Sicilian Millionaire to Wed English Society Fiancée! The article underneath had been less flattering, snidely suggesting that Ciro had been trying to marry far above his station.
The fact that Ciro had managed to ride out the storm of headlines and speculation to thrive and survive only demonstrated the scale of his ambition. But clearly that wasn’t enough for him.
Her guts twisted. She’d loved him so desperately once. She would have done anything for him. And she had. Could she sacrifice herself again just to allow him to feel some measure of closure? To allow him the access he craved to a level of society that would bring him even more success and acceptance?
‘A year of marriage...review it in six months.’
Ciro’s cold proposal was daunting. Could she possibly even contemplate such a thing? Subject herself to Ciro’s bid for revenge?
Lara stopped pacing and caught her reflection in the mirror again. Her cheeks were flushed now. Eyes over-bright.
Would it really be a sacrifice when he still stirs up so many powerful emotions and desires? questioned a snide inner voice.
She saw the buildings and the skyline of London behind her, reflected in the mirror through the window. There was a back way out of the apartment. She knew she could leave if she wanted to. Slip away into the millions of anonymous people thronging London’s streets. Get on with her life. Try to put all this behind her.
But Ciro would come after her. Just as he’d pursued her once before. Relentlessly. Seductively.
She’d kept refusing his advances at first, intimidated by his charismatic masculinity and his playboy reputation. But in the end he’d won her over, when he’d taken her to that gallery after hours.
She shook her head to dislodge the disturbing memory. All it had been was an elaborate seduction ruse. She’d been different from his other women. Naive, wide-eyed. Except now he thought it had all been an act.
Lara had already been through worse than a marriage of convenience to one of the world’s most notorious playboys. Far worse. She’d lost her entire beloved family overnight. She’d been heinously betrayed and exploited by her uncle, her last remaining family member. She’d been belittled and bullied by her husband. And she’d had her heart broken already by Ciro Sant’Angelo, so she had no heart left to break.
Realising that Ciro hadn’t ever loved her had made it easier for her to do what she’d had to. To be cruel. To walk away. And yet now she was contemplating walking back to him?
A voice in her head queried her sanity. After everything she’d been through at the hands of her uncle and her deceased husband she should be running a million miles from this scenario. And yet despite everything the pull she felt to go back into Ciro’s orbit was strong. Too strong to resist?
Lara knew she had only one choice. She had to do what was best for her and her future, so that she could get on with her life with a clear conscience and leave her past behind once and for all.
CHAPTER THREE
CIRO FELT THE tight knot inside him ease. Disconcertingly, it was the same sensation he’d felt when one of his assistants had informed him of Henry Winterborne’s death. Except that had been more acute, and quickly followed by a sense of urgency. Find Lara. Track her down. Bring her to him.
She was his now.
His driver had just rung to say that Lara had asked for help with her bags. Which meant she hadn’t tried to run. She was coming back to him.
It irked him that he hadn’t been sure, when he was so sure of everything else in his life. Nothing was left to chance. Not since the kidnapping.
His little finger throbbed. The missing finger. They called it phantom pain. Pain even though it wasn’t there any more. A cruel irony.
He found most women boringly predictable, but Lara Templeton had never been predictable. Not even now, when she was penniless and homeless. A woman that resourceful and beautiful? He had no doubt that she could slip out of his grasp and then he would encounter her at some future event, with another man old enough to be her father.
So why had he given her the opportunity to run if she so wanted? Because a perverse part of him wanted to prove to himself how mercenary she was. She wouldn’t get a better deal than the one he was offering: a marriage of convenience for a year, maximum. Minimum six months. And when they divorced she would be set for life.
He’d laid it out for her and she’d taken the bait. It was perverse to be feeling...disappointed. Especially when he had lived the last two years in some kind of limbo. Unable to move on. To settle.
He’d worked himself to a lather, tripling his fortune. Earning respect. But not the respect he craved. The respect of polite society. The respect of the upper echelons of Europe, who still saw him as little more than a Sicilian hustler with a dubious background. Especially after the kidnapping, which remained a mystery to this day.
His best friend, an ex–French Foreign Legionnaire who worked in security, and who had courageously rescued Ciro with a highly skilled team of mercenaries, had told Ciro that they might never find out who had orchestrated it. But one day Ciro would find out, and whoever was responsible would pay dearly.
At that moment he saw his car pull up in front of the house again. There was a bright blonde head in the back. Ciro’s blood grew hot. Lara Templeton would be his. Finally. And when he’d had his fill of her, and had achieved what he wanted, he would walk out and leave her behind—exactly as she’d done to him in his weakest moment.
* * *
Within hours Lara was sitting on Ciro’s private jet, being flown across Europe to Rome. She’d just declined a glass of champagne and now Ciro asked from across the aisle, ‘Don’t you feel like celebrating, darling?’
