Her Forgotten Lover's Heir

by Annie West

  Molly sighed. ‘I couldn’t ask for more.’

  Pietro leaned down and took her mouth with his. It was a tender kiss, a testament to the wellspring of love they shared.

  Ages later, when the kiss had grown hot and hungry, and Molly had plastered herself all over him as if she couldn’t get enough, the toot of a car horn made Pietro look up. Several of Molly’s neighbours were on the street, ostensibly going to cars or checking letter boxes, all sending curious glances their way.

  ‘We’re shocking the neighbours,’ she murmured.

  ‘Do you mind?’ He didn’t give a damn what anyone thought, so long as he had Molly.

  ‘Not at all.’ She smiled and that slam of emotion hit him anew—desire and excitement and love. ‘I want to share my news with everyone.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind this.’ He swung her high into his arms and strode across the road to the little green house.

  Molly’s laughter rang in his ears all the way across the street, into her house and down the hall to her bedroom.

  It was a sound Pietro knew he’d never tire of. She was his woman. His future. His love.

  EPILOGUE

  ‘SIGNORA AGOSTI?’

  ‘Si?’ Molly turned to see Marta in the bedroom doorway, glamorous in a dark-crimson dress. She was off duty today, staying at the Tuscan villa with the other guests.

  ‘The photographer is ready, signora. Do you need help?’

  ‘No need, thanks, Marta. I’m here now.’ It was Pietro who spoke, appearing in the doorway behind the housekeeper. His eyes met Molly’s and she felt that squiggle of heat through her insides as his mouth tipped at the corner in the smile reserved just for her. Then he turned to the older woman. ‘Tell them we’ll be along straight away.’

  Yet Marta paused beside him. ‘Just remember, signore, that your wife won’t want to look rumpled in the photos.’

  Pietro huffed out a laugh as he strode across the bedroom, stopping only when he could reach out and take his wife’s hand. ‘Marta knows me too well.’

  Molly saw the devilry in his eyes and shook her head. ‘Don’t even think about it. I just touched up my lipstick! For once I want to look presentable in a photo, not—’

  ‘Rumpled?’ His deep voice wound through her like a velvet chord, stroking her senses awake.

  ‘Exactly.’ She looked up into those hooded, golden eyes and had to repress a laugh as his mouth twisted in obvious disappointment.

  ‘But, tesoro. One little kiss.’ His other hand slid around her waist, drawing her close.

  Molly’s blood beat hard and fast, flushing her cheeks, reminding her how very hard it was to resist Pietro.

  Before she could stop him he leaned closer, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth, then trailing heated kisses down her throat, making her sigh and arch back against his arm. Heat speared to her middle, arrowing in on that needy place between her legs.

  ‘Pietro!’ She was shocked when he lifted his head to grin down at her. His laughing eyes told her he knew how cheated she felt, despite her earlier admonition.

  ‘Don’t fret.’ Again that intimate smile that made her heart dance. ‘As soon as the photos are over, I promise to bring you back upstairs to...rest.’ He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  ‘And who’ll look after our guests?’

  ‘Chiara and Jillian have already offered. They thought you’d be tired after the christening party.’ His warm breath feathered her ear, making her shiver. ‘They have no idea how...robust you are. Delightfully so.’

  His hand tracked down from her waist with definite intent. But, despite her instant rise of anticipation, Molly caught his marauding hand and pulled it away.

  ‘Later, Pietro. The photos, remember? We girls want to look beautiful for posterity.’

  He turned her hand, linking her fingers with his. ‘You’re always beautiful, mio dolce amore, inside and out. And as for the girls...’ He turned to where the twins slumbered side by side in their cots, looking adorable with their dark curls and rosebud mouths. ‘They’re almost as beautiful as their mother.’

  Molly disagreed. In her eyes Margherita and Marcella were the most gorgeous people in the world. Even their names held a special place in her heart. Pietro had demanded that one be named for her and her grandmother, following her family’s tradition. And Molly had decided on Marcella, in memory of Pietro’s little sister.

  ‘Thank you, my darling.’ Pietro raised her hand to his lips. ‘I never believed I could be so happy.’

  Her heart sang as she smiled up at him. ‘Neither did I.’ Then she leaned in and, forgetting all about the photos, kissed him full on the lips.

  Her man. Her love.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed Her Forgotten Lover’s Heir, you’re sure to enjoy these other stories by Annie West!

  The Desert King’s Captive Bride

  His Majesty’s Temporary Bride

  The Greek’s Forbidden Princess

  Contracted for the Petrakis Heir

  Inherited for the Royal Bed

  Available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Revenge at the Altar by Louise Fuller.

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  Revenge at the Altar

  by Louise Fuller

  CHAPTER ONE

  AS THE WHEELS OF her private jet hit the runway Margot Duvernay looked up from her laptop and gazed pensively out of the window, her fingers twisting at the ‘Team Bride’ wristband on her arm.

  As CEO of the legendary House of Duvernay champagne business, she worked hard. The last five years had been particularly challenging, both emotionally and financially—so much so that, incredibly, Gisele’s bachelorette week in Monte Carlo was the first time off she’d had in months.

  But her father Emile’s unexpected message had abruptly cut short her stay.

  Walking purposefully across the T tarmac, she climbed into the waiting air-conditioned limousine and pulled out her phone. She replayed his message, frowning at the giggling and the Bossa Nova music she could hear in the background. If only she had picked it up sooner, she thought regretfully, her soft brown eyes creasing. Emile was just so unreliable, and so easily distracted...

  But on the plus side he had definitely mentioned selling his shares, and that was a first.

  Leaning back against the seat, she watched as the beautiful mansard-roofed headquarters of her family’s two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old b
usiness came into view, feeling a familiar mix of pride and responsibility. She loved everything about the building—the cool, quiet interior, the sense of history in the wood-panelled boardroom and the symmetry of the façade. To her, it was more than just bricks and plaster. It was a legacy—and also a burden.

  Just like the position of CEO.

  Margot breathed out slowly.

  Growing up, she had never imagined being in charge of Duvernay—never once wanted the power or the responsibility. By nature, she loathed being in the spotlight, and after graduating she’d been happy to head up the company’s newly created environmental department.

  However, her older brother Yves’s tragic death on the ski slopes of Verbier had left her with no alternative but to take over the family business. Of course, Emile would have liked the status of running a global brand. But even if he hadn’t been cold-shouldered by his in-laws, he preferred topping up his tan to analyzing market trends. Her brother Louis might have been taller than her, but at just sixteen he had been far too young to step up, and her grandfather had been too old, too devastated by grief. It had been hard enough for him to deal with his daughter’s accidental drug overdose, but the shock of losing his grandson too had caused a series of strokes from which he had still not fully recovered.

  And so it had been left to Margot to do what she had always done—pick up the pieces—and that was why she was hurrying back to Epernay this morning.

  Inside the brightly lit foyer, the reassuring familiarity of everything calmed her slightly, but as she stepped into the lift her phone began to vibrate in her hand and she felt her composure wobble. Glancing down at the screen, she drew in a quick, shaky breath and her heart began to pound with a mixture of hope and relief.

  Thank goodness! Finally it was her father.

  ‘Emile. I was just about to call you—’

  ‘Really? I thought you might be sulking.’

  Gritting her teeth, Margot felt a spasm of irritation. Honestly, her father was so exasperating, and so monumentally thoughtless sometimes. When he hadn’t returned her messages she had started to panic, to worry that maybe he’d changed his mind. Clearly, though, he’d just been playing hard to get.

  But now she could hear the elation in his voice and suddenly she didn’t care about his stupid games. What mattered was that she knew he’d been telling the truth. Finally he was ready to sell the shares.

  Her heart began to beat faster.

  The timing couldn’t be better.

  Not only would it mean that the business would be whole again in time for her brother Louis’s wedding, it would also give her grandfather a much-needed boost. Since his last stroke he hadn’t been himself, but this would be the perfect tonic. For this wedding was more than just a romantic ceremony—it was about continuing the family name and ensuring the future of Duvernay.

  She felt her chest tighten. And, of course, for her, buying back her father’s shares would have an additional and thankfully undisclosed benefit of sending a strong message to the bank.

  ‘Oh, Papa.’ Her father was such a child, but today of all days she was prepared to indulge him, and so, despite her annoyance, she spoke placatingly. ‘You know I’ve been trying to get hold of you. I must have rung you at least a dozen times.’

  She felt a rush of excitement as she played back her father’s rambling message inside her head. He’d mentioned something about flying up to Reims, but that had been hours ago. She glanced at her watch. Surely he must be here by now?

  Her mouth was suddenly almost too dry to get words out. ‘Where are you staying? I can come to you, or I can send a car to pick you up.’

  Her pulse accelerated. She couldn’t believe it. Finally it was happening. The moment she’d been waiting for almost her whole life.

  Buying back the ‘lost’ shares, as her grandfather referred to them, was a goal that had preoccupied her since she’d taken over the reins of the business. In doing so, she would not only make Duvernay whole again, she would also bring closure to the whole sorry complex mess of her parents’ marriage and the repercussions that had followed her mother’s tragic death.

  She felt her pulse tremble.

  Her father and her grandparents had always had a fraught relationship. Emile might look like a film star, but to them he was just a horse trainer—eloping with their nineteen-year-old daughter had not endeared him to her straitlaced and image-conscious family. His decision to live off Colette’s trust fund had merely deepened the rift.

  But after her death, it had been his refusal to turn over her shares to his children that had turned a difficult relationship into a bitter stand-off.

  Emile had always claimed it was an act of self-preservation. Her grandparents had seen it as an act of spite. Either way, the facts were undeniable. Her father had threatened to take her and her brothers to Switzerland if he wasn’t allowed to hold on to the shares, and her grandfather had agreed to his demands on two conditions: that he give up custody of his children to his in-laws and that they keep their mother’s name.

  Margot shivered. Once she had thought that grief might bring the two sides of her family closer. In fact the reverse had happened. There was still such bad blood between Emile and his in-laws that even now they both took every opportunity to point-score.

  But maybe now that might finally change.

  The thought made her heart leap upwards. It would just be so wonderful to put all of this behind them before Louis’s wedding. Her first task, though, was to pin Emile down...

  ‘Papa?’ she repeated, trying to sound casual. ‘Just tell me where you’d like to meet.’

  ‘That’s why I’m calling—’

  His voice had changed. He sounded a little uneasy—defiant, almost—and briefly she wondered why. But before she had a chance to give it any more thought he started talking again.

  ‘I did try, so you can’t blame me—Not now, chérie, put it over there. I waited as long as I could...’

  Hearing a soft but unmistakably feminine murmur, Margot frowned. Even now her father couldn’t manage to give her his full and undivided attention. Her mouth thinned. No doubt he was already celebrating the upcoming sale of his shares with his current batch of hangers-on.

  And then her heartbeat froze, and she felt her fingers tighten involuntarily around the phone as his words bumped into one another inside her head like dodgems at the funfair. ‘Blame you for what?’

  ‘I waited as long as I could, poussin, but it was such a good offer—’

  His use of her childhood nickname as much as his wheedling tone sent a ripple of alarm over her skin. Her father only ever called her poussin—little chick—when he wanted something or when he wanted to be forgiven.

  ‘What offer?’ she said slowly.

  The lift doors opened and she stepped out into the glass-ceilinged atrium. Straight ahead, she noticed her PA hovering nervously in front of her office door, and her heart gave a sickening thump.

  ‘What have you done, Papa?

  ‘I’ve done what I should have done a long time ago.’ The wheedling tone had shifted, become defensive. ‘So I hope you’re not going to make a fuss, Margot. I mean, it’s what you’ve been telling me to do for years—sell my shares. And now I have. And I have to say I got a damn good price for them too.’

  It was as if a bomb had exploded inside her head. Blood was roaring in her ears and the floor seemed to ripple beneath her feet.

  ‘You said that if you were going to sell your shares you’d come to me first.’ Margot felt panic, hot and slippery, run down her spine.

  ‘And I did.’ There was a burst of laughter in the background and she felt her father’s attention shift and divert away from her. ‘But you didn’t pick up.’

  ‘I couldn’t. I was having a massage.’ She let out a breath. ‘Look, Papa, we can sort this out. Just don’t sign anything, okay? Just stay where you
are and I will come to you.’

  ‘It’s too late now. I signed the paperwork first thing this morning. And I mean first thing. He got me out of bed,’ he grumbled. ‘Anyway, there’s no point in getting out of shape with me—just talk to him. He should be there by now.’

  ‘Who—?’ she began, but even without the tell-tale clink of ice against glass she could tell her father was no longer listening.

  She heard the click of his lighter, then the slow expulsion of smoke. ‘Apparently that’s why it all had to be done so early. He wanted to get up to Epernay...take a look around headquarters.’

  Margot gazed dazedly across the honey-coloured parquet floor. No wonder her staff were looking so confused. Clearly the newest Duvernay shareholder was already on site. But who was he—and what had he told them?

  Her pulse stuttered in time with her footsteps. There were already enough rumours circulating around the company as it was—and what would the bank think if they heard that Emile had suddenly decided to sell his shares?

  Silently she cursed herself for not picking up her messages—and her father for being so utterly, irredeemably selfish.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ Emile was saying briskly.

  Now that the worst was over he was clearly itching to be gone.

  ‘You’re so rational and practical, poussin.’

  She could almost see him shuddering even at the concept of such qualities.

  ‘Just talk to him. Maybe you can persuade him to sell them back to you.’

  He was desperate to be off. If Margot had been the sort to scream or hurl abuse she would have unleashed the tide of invective churning in her throat. But she wasn’t. A lifetime of watching the soap opera that had been her parents’ marriage had cured her of any desire for a scene. For a moment, though, she considered telling Emile in the most irrational, impractical terms exactly what she thought of him.

  Only, really, what was the point? Her father’s ‘me first’ morality was precisely why he’d kept the shares in the first place.

  ‘Although somehow I doubt it...’