A Ring to Take His Revenge

by Pippa Roscoe

  Throughout all of it he had yet to move, as if he were simply incapable of it. But tension and energy pulsed beneath his skin, begging for release, demanding it.

  She left the trousers open and returned to his chest, pushing the shirt from his body, relishing the way he shivered beneath her touch, warmed beneath her kisses. But still he held himself back from her in a vice-like grip of control.

  He was so glorious. Standing shirtless in her room. Her fingers traced the span of his upper arms, the defined muscles of his torso, the tense muscle offering such power and protection. She wanted to feel his arms about her, wanted to be in his embrace.

  And suddenly, as if he’d heard her need, her desire, Antonio swept his arms around her, holding her to him as his open-mouthed kisses plunged the hollows of her neck. Electric currents matched only by the lightning crashing outside the windows licked up her spine and across her exposed skin.

  In the space of a heartbeat he had taken control—or lost it. Emma couldn’t really be sure. He devoured her with his touch, fed on her as a starving man would his first meal. He walked her back to the bed and came down on it with her, not once breaking the contact of his lips.

  His hands and mouth worshipped her body, exploring every inch of her. She kicked off her shoes, leaving only the small thong covering her modesty. His hands gently pressed her thighs apart and he pressed hot wet kisses against the material. Her own answering wetness was no longer an embarrassment, simply a declaration of her desires and needs. He teased her through the fabric, making her desperate to remove this last barrier between them.

  She groaned—or he did. Their united need was no longer distinguishable. Her hips bucked off the mattress, her body making its own demands while her mind and heart simply loved.

  With swift movements he removed his clothing and shoes and leaned over her, his arms coming to rest either side of her face, holding her, cherishing her there. He pressed the length of his body over hers, the weight comforting, enticing, and elicited a restlessness from her body that was almost fevered.

  His erection pressed against her abdomen and she sneaked a hand between them, taking hold of the length of him, exploring him with her fingers. His skin was smooth and hot, his arousal powerful, as she stroked teasing shudders of pleasure from him.

  His gaze found hers in the darkness of the room and no words were necessary. He removed her thong—not quickly, or urgently, but slowly, pulling the lace slowly down each thigh, his hands sweeping it further, over her ankles, taking his time. Not to allow her fears to be allayed, but her desires to be inflamed.

  He came back over her, gold flecks shining in the hot molten lava churning in his eyes. It seemed for a moment as if he wanted to say something, as if the words had somehow caught in his throat. But she didn’t need words.

  She reached for him then, her hands coming to his back, urging him to her, urging him into her, and as he entered her she felt him fill all the empty spaces she hadn’t realised she had until she’d met him. Until she’d seen the man beneath the outer layer he wore about him like armour. Until she’d seen the man he could be.

  He pressed deeper, further into her, filling her from the inside out as if they were no longer two people but one. And then there was no room for thought, only sensation. The slick slide of him within her was teasing dizzying need and arousal from her. Pushing her closer and closer to the edge of that same precipice she had sensed him upon.

  * * *

  Lost. He was lost. Antonio was drowning in a sea of emotion and sensation. Emma had cast a spell over him, soothing long-held hurts and filling the spaces with her. She was all he could see, all he could feel.

  He plunged into her, wringing a cry from her lips, answering the one made by his soul, no longer wanting to think, no longer wanting to hurt. He took her mouth with his, exalting in the sweetness of her, his tongue mirroring his body’s actions. He consumed the breath she exhaled, not wanting even that to escape his reach.

  Sensation and need became overwhelming as he drove them again and again towards the edge of their release and pulled back. Desperate to stay in this state of bliss, desperate to hold back from the moment it would all come crashing down.

  He teased and taunted, wringing pleasure from them both in equal measure. Sweat slicked his brow and hers. The room was filled with the gasps and sighs of exquisite arousal as time suspended its march as if just for them, giving them the simple gift of each other.

  But soon need became a palpable thing and he could no longer hold back. He drove them both to the brink, holding them there on the edge. He could taste it on his tongue, in his throat, and hear it in the desperate cries falling from Emma’s perfect lips.

  With one final thrust he plunged them into the abyss, the joint feeling of their completion sending them into a spin he was sure would never stop.

  * * *

  Antonio woke from the sleep he hadn’t realised had fallen over him. He knew before he had even opened his eyes that Emma wasn’t with him. It was as if his body had become so attuned to her presence that he no longer needed sight.

  And he didn’t want to move. Didn’t want this moment to happen. Because despite what had just passed between them he knew there was only one outcome—could only ever have been one outcome.

  Reluctantly he left the bed, making his way to a bathroom wet with condensation from a shower he hadn’t heard Emma take. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror as he stepped beneath the hot spray of water, shutting off the voice that called him a coward in his mind. Whether because of what he would do or couldn’t do he didn’t know.

  Drying himself with a towel, he grabbed his discarded trousers and thrust his legs into them. The fact that only twenty-four hours earlier he had done the same, taken the same action, wasn’t lost on him.

  The night before he had been about to make a decision that would turn the tide in his battle against his father, no matter the cost. And now he knew instinctively that he would be asked to make the same decision again.

  He walked through to the living area of the hotel suite, sidestepping Emma’s bags, still packed from hours before. If his heart ached to see them there, he forced it aside.

  Emma was sitting on the sofa, illuminated only by the light of dawn breaking over Buenos Aires through the windows. He tried to force a smile to his lips, but couldn’t. There wasn’t one answering his gaze as she caught sight of his presence.

  Antonio was surprised to find that he no longer felt the sting and heat of anger. There was only resignation and sadness for something that was yet to pass. The kind of prescient ache that met inevitability.

  ‘Are you going to use this?’ she asked, holding the dossier on Mandy Bartlett.

  * * *

  Emma’s heart was torn in two as he stood there, bisected by the shadows of the sunrise. Half in shade, half in light. She wondered which side he would choose. She had asked him the one question she wasn’t sure she was ready for him to answer, but knew that she needed hear it.

  ‘If I have to,’ he said, and his words made her want to weep.

  ‘Really? You’d destroy this man’s family, just like your father did, to get what you want?’

  ‘He deserves it, Emma.’

  ‘Michael might—but does Benjamin Bartlett? Does Mandy?’

  She hoped that she could make him see. Before he did something that would change him for ever.

  ‘I will do whatever it takes. You already know that.’

  She was surprised to hear softness in his voice—not anger, not fury, but gentleness, as if he were preparing her for news she didn’t want to hear.

  But she wasn’t done fighting yet.

  ‘No, I know you, Antonio. I have seen the person beyond the bitter hatred of your father, beyond the fear of the damage done to your sister. I’ve seen the love you have for her and your mother, the love you have for Dimitri and Dany
l. I have seen the man you think you are not, and he is amazing. But if you do this,’ she said, hoping against all hope, ‘if you use this dossier you will destroy the goodness in you.’

  She hated it that she was almost pleading now.

  ‘You don’t need to stoop to this level, Antonio. You’re better than that. You could win the deal without it. I know it... I know it because I love you.’

  Antonio’s hand flew up between them, as if warding off her words.

  ‘Don’t say that, Emma.’

  ‘Why not? It’s the truth. I love you. I can see the man that you are beneath this path of revenge you’re on.’ She just hated it that he couldn’t see it for himself.

  ‘Emma, please—’

  ‘No. You’ve shown me that all this time I’ve been hiding. You told me as much last night, when we were together. But it wasn’t just my body that I was hiding. And you know that. You knew it then and you know it now. I was hiding from reaching for what I really wanted.’

  No longer could Emma hold back the words and thoughts that had been forming, slowly shaping in her mind and heart.

  ‘All this time, all these years, despite my Living List, despite the things I wanted to achieve—events and experiences that are almost meaningless in themselves—what I was really hiding from was love. And now that I am reaching for it, asking for it—asking to be loved by you and asking you to be worthy of that—you refuse?’ she demanded.

  She knew that he felt something for her—possibly even met her love with his own. Whether he would choose that instead of his need for revenge she really wasn’t sure. But she knew that their love wouldn’t survive if he chose wrong.

  ‘I told you when we first made this deal, Emma, that emotions weren’t going to be involved. They can’t be involved.’

  ‘But emotions are the one thing that’s been driving you this whole time!’ she cried.

  ‘I can’t afford to let my father get away with it. He is a villain, Emma.’

  ‘But are you willing to become him to get what you want? Are you willing to become a villain yourself?’

  ‘Emma, if I found this, then I guarantee you that my father will have.’

  For the first time Emma heard something like desperation enter his voice.

  ‘Then help Bartlett find a way through it,’ she said, hoping that Antonio would find a way through his need for revenge. ‘Show him the kindness that your father never showed to your mother or you or your sister.’

  ‘I just can’t take that risk. I need to do this.’

  The despair in his voice nearly broke her. Nearly sent her running to this man who had stolen her heart like a thief. But she couldn’t—no, she wouldn’t.

  ‘Then you do it without me.’

  She made her way towards the cases by the door, but his words stopped her mid stride.

  ‘It wouldn’t have really mattered, though, would it?’ he said, his words icy cold and ruthlessly quiet.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked, turning towards him, confused at the change in his tone.

  ‘Whether you had discovered this or not. You wouldn’t have trusted me—trusted this—so you’re leaving before you find out.’

  ‘I—’

  He didn’t let her finish. ‘Just like you did to that scared seventeen-year-old boy who might have battled through his fears for you. It’s just another excuse to stop yourself from taking a chance.’

  Emma felt the blood drain from her face, sucked into the vortex of ice running through her core. Fear. She felt fear.

  ‘What is it, Emma? You think we’re all going to leave? That we’re not strong enough to stick it out with you?’

  Antonio’s words cut her, chipped away at the frigid centre of her. She hated him then. Hated it that his words were unearthing her deepest fears. The fears she barely allowed herself to admit to owning. The fears that held a mirror up to herself while she threw her accusations at him.

  Of course she was scared! She was terrified. Terrified of him using the information in the dossier and even more scared of what it would mean if he didn’t.

  Because then she’d have to stay—really invest—wouldn’t she? Not just some giddy, excited fantasy feeling such as she’d been enjoying these last few hours. But the harder stuff—the things that would make her or break her. In that moment she was on the precipice. The edge of a giant cliff-face. One that meant she would have to finally place her trust in someone not to hurt her. Not to leave.

  Had she done that? Had she really let her seventeen-year-old boyfriend go without giving him a chance? Was she doing the same again with Antonio?

  Her head ached and her mind swam, and in that moment she clung to the only thing she had in front of her.

  ‘You want me to give what a chance? Your deal? The role of fake fiancée? Or could we actually be more than that, Antonio?’ she demanded.

  It was as if they had become prize fighters, each taking the most painful chunk out of the other.

  ‘There’s just six days until the final meeting.’

  It seemed neither was willing to admit just how far they’d come, just how much they meant to each other.

  She shook her head, her heart breaking into a thousand pieces, the hurt magnified by each fracture, as if punctured by the shards of itself.

  ‘If you can come up with this,’ she said, gesturing to the documents that had torn them apart, ‘then you can come up with an excuse as to where I am for Bartlett. But, Antonio,’ she said—her last warning, her last hope, ‘I’m telling you. There’s no coming back from this. If you do this you’ll be worse than your father. Because you know what you’re doing, what you’re risking, and just how many people you’re hurting.’

  Antonio didn’t move while she retrieved her bags from the doorway to her bedroom. He didn’t react to the kiss she placed on his cold cheek and he didn’t say a word as she closed the door to the suite behind her.

  Emma knew that it was the last time she would see Antonio. Oh, she was sure she would see pictures of him—might even happen upon him in person. But that person wouldn’t be the man she had fallen in love with. If he did this—if he used that folder—she would never see that man again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ANTONIO HEARD THE pounding on his New York penthouse apartment door and honestly couldn’t tell if it was real or the manifestation of his hangover. Each strike followed the words that had been turning over and over in his mind since he last saw Emma.

  You’ll be worse than your father.

  They had become a mantra, a taunt, a final threat hovering over him. One that he couldn’t escape. Because he couldn’t help feeling that Emma might be right. That in seeking his revenge he would actually be worse than his father.

  The thought scoured him from the inside out, carved away at the deep ache in his chest.

  Reluctant to open his eyes, he turned over and promptly fell onto the floor. The sofa. He’d been on the sofa.

  He heard the door swing open and a pair of expensive black leather shoes came to stand very, very close to his head. He heard a string of Greek swearing, fit to turn the air blue, and the shoes disappeared. Antonio groaned, knowing that he’d sunk pretty low this time.

  He’d been back in New York for two days since returning from Argentina, and in that time he’d answered none of the phone calls from his office, despite the rising panic in his CFO’s tone. Instead he’d done nothing but drink and stare at the dossier on a woman he’d never met, might never meet, but who had come to represent the final blow to his relationship with Emma.

  Antonio mustered the energy to roll onto his back, every muscle and brain cell protesting. Apart from his heart. His heart relished it, clearly deeming him worthy of such extreme levels of—

  Ice-cold water crashed down on his head, the shock making him inhale quickly and deeply, taking half of the l
iquid into his lungs. He lurched up and bent over, choking and ready to kill Dimitri, holding a now empty jug.

  ‘I’ve seen you in some pretty bad states, but this is just pitiful.’

  ‘Get out.’

  ‘No.’ Dimitri held out a hand and hauled Antonio off the floor.

  ‘Coffee,’ was all about Antonio could manage to get out of his mouth.

  ‘Shower,’ Dimitri commanded.

  It took a moment, but Antonio finally got himself off the floor and made his way through to the kitchen of his apartment, to find Dimitri manhandling a miniature saucepan on the stove.

  ‘Did I fall through the rabbit hole?’

  ‘It’s called a briki. For an Italian, your coffee equipment is woefully lacking. It’s a disgrace.’

  ‘And you just happened to have this in your pocket?’ Antonio asked, even the image of his friend with a briki in his pocket failing to raise a smile to his lips.

  Dimitri looked affronted. ‘Last year—Christmas. I didn’t know what to get you. Emma suggested something that would make you more human in the mornings. It was in the back of your cupboard.’

  ‘And the coffee? It doesn’t look like it takes ground beans.’

  ‘That I did bring with me.’

  Antonio leant back on the kitchen counter that he rarely used and waited as Dimitri poured thick dark liquid into two small coffee cups.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Antonio demanded, thankful that Dimitri ignored the hostility in his tone.

  ‘You didn’t answer your phone.’

  ‘What’s happened? Is everything okay?’

  Panic rose in his chest, filling up the spaces and making it impossible to breathe. Had things got so bad that he had turned his back on his friends? Had something happened to Emma? For just a moment he felt the sliver of guilt as sharp as a chef’s knife.