Harlequin Presents--June 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Dani Collins

  Emma cleared her throat. ‘Yes, sure.’

  She made herself look at the flowers, her stomach twisting. It was exactly the same bunch he had sent Vogue Monroe. The innocent bouquet stared back at her like an insult. So, this was how little last night had meant to him. How little she had meant. Despite the sick feeling in her gut, she still found her fingers parting the blooms, looking for a note, looking for some confirmation, no matter how small, that she had got it wrong. That the closeness they had shared had been special. Not just for her but for him too.

  But there was nothing. He has the florist on speed dial. Nathalie’s comment came back to haunt her. No doubt the work of seconds, she had been dealt with, dismissed, forgotten.

  Not that she was surprised. Waking up alone in Leo’s hotel suite had sent a very clear message. Realising he had gone without even saying goodbye had hurt. A lot. But what had she expected? Sweet nothings and clasped hands over a leisurely breakfast? Promises that they should keep in touch, that he would look her up next time he was in London? That wasn’t Leo Ravenino’s style, and Emma knew it.

  But that hadn’t prevented the hollowness inside, an emptiness that had only seemed to expand as she had hurried home, showering and dressing, the same as she did every day. Taking the underground into work, nodding good morning to her colleagues as usual, sitting at her desk, preparing to start work.

  Reading through her interview notes, it felt like they had been written an age ago, by someone else entirely. But the recording on her phone remained unplayed. Emma wasn’t ready to hear his voice again. It was too personal, too him. If she was going to hold it together today, she had to blot out everything that had happened last night and concentrate firmly on the article she had to write.

  And up until now she had succeeded. It had been a struggle but keeping her head down and all her focus on work, she had managed to get the first five hundred words done. Concise, informative, impartial, a quick readthrough confirmed she had done a good job. And she still had plenty of time to finish it. But the arrival of the wretched flowers had derailed her. The fragile hold on her concentration gone, the enormity of what she had done last night reared up, filling her mind. Stealing the words she wanted to write.

  It wasn’t like she regretted it exactly. How could she regret something so amazing, so altering? It was more that she felt cut adrift, like she didn’t know who she was any more. Yesterday she would have sworn she would never get involved with a man like Leonardo Ravenino, that the idea of going back to his hotel and spending the night with him was inconceivable. And yet she had. Willingly. Urgently. Giving herself freely, taking greedily.

  She felt somehow duped by her own self. And she felt annoyed that she had succumbed to Leo’s practised seduction the same way so many other women had in the past, and no doubt would in the future. She had imagined herself cleverer than that, sharper. Now she knew she wasn’t. As the pretty blooms by her side made all too clear.

  She picked up the bouquet, steadying the weight with her hand. She would just get rid of them, that was the answer. Emma looked around her. They were too big to dump straight in the bin and offering them to someone else would only provoke questions and she couldn’t bear that. So instead she shoved them under her desk as best she could, deciding she would deal with them later. Drawing in her chair, she turned to her article again.

  But it was no good, the right words refused to come. Instead of his business affairs all she could think of was Leo the lover. Fevered thoughts tumbled over each other, fighting for centre stage. The stories in the tabloid press, the things she had heard from Nathalie, the look on Vogue Monroe’s face... What was it she had called him? A selfish, arrogant, egotistical bastard. And this was the man she had chosen to lose her virginity to. The first man she had ever wanted. Well, more fool her.

  She had never viewed her virginity as some sort of prize, more a sort of mothballed corner, one she wasn’t sure she would ever expose to the light. The succession of men coming and going in her mother’s life, and hers, too, by default, had firmly put her off casual relationships. The last one, in particular, had put her off both sex and men in general. The trauma of that incident had definitely left its mark.

  So when no one she ever met even tempted her to change her mind, Emma had decided maybe that was it. She really was the Ice Quinn. She was too cold or too scarred or somehow wired the wrong way to ever want to have sex. Celibacy was fine. From what she could see of other people’s messed-up relationships, she was better off staying single anyway.

  But meeting Leo altered everything. She had been completely swamped by the power of the attraction. Drowned by it. Drugged by it. It didn’t justify what she had done, or make her action remotely more sensible or acceptable, but it was the best explanation she could come up with.

  Emma stared at her computer screen, her hand on the mouse opening up a blank page almost before she realised it. The written word had always been her refuge. Part of a chaotic and largely dysfunctional family, her way of coping had been to take herself off, to write down her worries and fears, her frustrations and anxieties, commit them to pages in a notebook in all their funny, febrile or furious glory, depending on what was inside her head at the time. And then she would destroy them. Because just the act of writing the words made her feel better, it released the pressure in her head.

  Tentatively, her fingers touched the keyboard. Maybe this would be a way to vent her feelings, to take away the drilling in her head, the annoying ache inside. For her eyes only, she could write a no-holds-barred exposé of the life and loves of Leo Ravenino. Get it all out. Then maybe she would be able to concentrate on the piece she was supposed to be writing.

  Inside the world of Leo Ravenino: the life and loves of a billionaire Latin playboy!

  The headline wrote itself. And before long her fingers were flying over the keyboard.

  * * *

  Che diamine! What the hell...?

  Leo stared at the article in horror. No, it couldn’t have been written by her. It wasn’t possible. But there was the byline, clearly written beneath the offending title: by Emma Quinn.

  He threw the newspaper down in disgust, anger coursing through him, rushing through his veins as he thought back to the interview, to what had happened afterwards. To the woman he had thought she was.

  Snatching the paper back up, he scanned the article again, the words jumping out at him like knives. Details of his private life laid out for all to see. Personal, intimate things, painting him like a heartless philanderer, some kind of lascivious monster. The sort of man no woman was safe to be around.

  Breaking the heart of a British socialite after she had told her family they would shortly be wed.

  Abandoning an Italian heiress on his yacht in the South of France when she refused to accept that their relationship was over.

  Expecting his staff to deal with hysterical ex-lovers turning up at his offices.

  Leo’s hands curled into fists. How dared she...? And not content with raking over his private life, exposing his misdemeanours for all to see, there were the comments about his background. Questions posed about the principality of Ravenino, the ending of his engagement, the reason for his rapid departure.

  Was his ex-fiancé yet another victim of this cold-hearted lover?

  Or perhaps the responsibility of running a principality was just too arduous a life for this Latin playboy?

  Leo dragged in a breath of fire that scorched right through his lungs. How the hell could he have got this woman so wrong? He, who prided himself on his intuition, his ability to read people so well, had been totally fooled by this Emma Quinn. Totally fooled by her guileless ‘innocence’. To think he had actually felt guilty for the way he had treated her! Agonised over taking her virginity. Now he saw her for what she was. A ruthless opportunist who had been prepared to trade her virginity for a scoop. For the sake of a tawdry newspaper article.<
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  Well, she would soon realise her mistake. No one double-crossed Leonardo Ravenino and got away with it. Reaching for his phone, he quickly found the number he was looking for and pressed dial. Emma Quinn’s precious career at the Paladin was just about to come to an end. He would make sure of it.

  * * *

  ‘Well, this is one hell of a mess.’ Don raked a hand through his hair, his eyes, when they finally met hers, heavy with defeat. ‘I hold myself partly responsible for not checking the article, but ultimately it’s you he wants gone.’

  ‘Gone?’ Emma repeated the word faintly.

  ‘Yep. He was quite explicit. Either you quit, forthwith, or he’s going to sue the Paladin. And, quite frankly, we wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. Not when we are faced with this...’ He gestured to the newspaper spread out on the desk before him, folded back to the features page, where Emma’s article stared back at them in all its black and white horror. A wave of sickness passed over her again.

  Writing in the heat of the moment, with a churn of emotions going round in her head, she had not held back. She had poured everything into it, adopting classic tabloid language to spell out a torrid mix of truths and rumour about Leo Ravenino’s many love affairs, his callous treatment of the women, his lack of morals, his egotism, the ruthless streak behind the urbane charm, on and on. For good measure she had even chucked in some speculation about his past, pointedly wondering what exactly had happened to make him leave Ravenino in such a hurry, why the title had never been passed down to him.

  It was an explosive bomb of a piece, the fragments flying far and wide. But it was never meant to be published.

  Emma slumped in the chair opposite Don, her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands. Like some sort of dreadful nightmare, she kept hoping she would wake up. That Don hadn’t hurried over to her desk the day before, saying he had just heard they needed the piece on Ravenino right away. That she hadn’t rushed to finish it in a terrible panic, her head still all over the place, lack of sleep mushing her brain. That she hadn’t clicked ‘send’ without checking what she was doing...

  She had only found out she’d filed the wrong article this morning. Hauled into the office at first light, she had been met by Don’s horrified face holding the newspaper before him like a weapon of mass destruction. Which it was really. The destruction of her career.

  ‘Is there nothing we can do? I can do?’ She raised her head, searching for a flicker of hope. But Don’s bleak expression made it clear there was no hope to be had.

  ‘I’m sorry, lass.’ He reached for her hand. ‘You’re a good writer and we’ll make a journalist out of you yet. But there is no going back from a mistake like this. Ravenino wants your blood and the Paladin is going to make sure he gets it.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Two months later

  SHIELDING HER EYES from the sun, Emma gazed up at the headquarters of Raven Enterprises. Located in the heart of Milan’s business district, it was the tallest, most imposing building of all, a gleaming metal tower of post-modernist construction. She returned her gaze to the pavement, focussing on steadying the thump of her heart.

  She hadn’t made an appointment, knowing full well that any request to see Leo would have been denied without a detailed explanation. And that explanation needed to be made face to face. But now she risked being refused entry. Parallels with Vogue Monroe in London flashed through her mind. At the time she had felt sorry for Vogue, but she had only lost her boyfriend, her pride, maybe a little bit of her heart. In comparison, Emma had lost everything.

  But luck, if you could call it that, was with her today. The revolving doors turned, and two men stood on the pavement, speaking in rapid Italian, shaking hands.

  Emma’s stomach swooped.

  ‘Guardero le figure e ti farò sapere. Ti prego di tenere questo tra noi.’

  There was an exchange of farewells before the taller man turned back. And suddenly his slate-grey eyes were on hers. Shock flitted across his face, his jaw visibly hardening, his senses on high alert.

  ‘Ms Quinn.’

  Nothing more, just that. Her name on his lips like a curse. His gaze aimed like a weapon.

  ‘Leo.’ Emma tried to match his tone. She had prepared hard for this moment. She wasn’t here to try and justify herself, to make friends, even if that were possible, which she knew it wasn’t. She was here to say what needed to be said and then leave. She had to be calm and logical. Keep her emotions at bay.

  Who was she kidding? There was nothing calm or logical about the visceral impact of seeing him again. It was hot and hard and terrifyingly real. Just one glance at him had seen her emotions detonate like a bomb inside her. She mentally amended her objectives: she needed to keep her emotions hidden.

  ‘There is something I have to speak to you about.’ She choked out the words on a dry breath.

  Leo closed the space between them with a couple of lethal strides, his eyes never leaving her face.

  ‘Something so important that it brings you to Milan?’ Suspicion furrowed his brow, narrowed his eyes.

  ‘Yes.’

  A fleeting look of unease crossed his face before it was banished by command. ‘Very well.’

  Taking her elbow, he turned Emma around, issuing rapid instructions to a receptionist as he marched them through the foyer towards an elevator. As they were whisked noiselessly skyward, he made no attempt to speak to her, the silence an almost palpable indictment in itself.

  ‘Follow me.’

  He led her down a wide corridor, touching his finger to a keypad to usher her into a huge glass office with windows on all sides, a panoramic view of Milan in every direction. Following Leo towards his desk, Emma concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, looking neither left nor right. She was feeling queasy enough already, without vertigo kicking in. Pulling out a seat for her, Leo moved to the other side of the desk.

  ‘Go ahead.’ Wasting no time, he fixed her with sharp grey eyes. With his elbows resting on the desk, his fingers, Emma noticed, had threaded together to make a fist. ‘Say whatever it is you have to say.’

  Emma swallowed hard. His tone was harsh, his cold demeanour not making this any easier. But, then, what did she expect?

  ‘I’m sorry...’ she hesitated. ‘About the article I wrote.’

  She hadn’t meant to start with this, or maybe even mention it at all. It felt as if years had passed since her stupid mistake, rather than a couple of months. Events since had overtaken it, overtaken her, skewing time. But faced with Leo again, his blatant hostility, she knew she should apologise. And she had to do it now, before the maelstrom of what was to come took away this chance.

  ‘You have come all this way to tell me that?’ Distaste coloured his words. ‘Because, if so, you have had a wasted journey. I neither need nor want your apology.’

  ‘But you are going to hear it anyway.’ Her voice was low but determined. Leo might not want to hear what she had to say but she was still going to say it. Even if it was just to salve her own conscience.

  ‘I made a mistake, Leo. That article was never meant to be published.’

  ‘No?’ Sarcasm scored his voice. ‘So how come it ended up splashed all over the newspaper?’

  ‘Because I filed the wrong copy.’

  ‘You lied to me, Ms Quinn. You lied about the subject of our interview. All along you intended to produce that grubby little exposé.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t like that, truly.’ Emma sat forward. ‘I wrote that piece solely for myself. I was trying to make sense of what had happened...between us... I was confused and muddled... No one was meant to see it.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that?’

  ‘It’s the truth, Leo.’ She lowered her voice.

  A bruised silence stretched between them. Emma looked down at her clasped hands.

  ‘Well, either way, a
vicious concoction of half-truths and fictitious garbage was written by you and printed in a national newspaper for the world to see.’

  Emma winced. It was true, she couldn’t deny it.

  ‘The Paladin did issue an apology.’ It was a feeble defence as his dismissive huff made clear.

  ‘I just hope you felt better after you had got that off your chest.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t feel better.’ Heat bloomed on her skin. ‘I felt terrible. I lost my job. You made sure of that.’

  ‘And are you surprised?’

  No, she hadn’t been surprised, not really. She had made a dreadful blunder.

  ‘You are lucky I didn’t personally sue you for slander.’

  But she didn’t feel lucky. Not at all. At the time losing her job had felt like the biggest calamity that could ever befall her. Now she knew it was just the start of her troubles.

  A couple of seconds passed. Leo picked up a pen, tapping it on the desk.

  ‘If that is all you came to say, I believe our business is concluded.’

  ‘No.’ Emma’s stomach tightened. If only it were that straightforward. ‘That is not all I came to say. There is another matter we need to discuss.’

  ‘Go on.’

  The weight of his gaze felt heavy enough to flatten her, every nerve-filled second dragging longer than the last. She took a brave breath.

  ‘I am pregnant.’ The words felt like boulders in her mouth, too big, too unruly. ‘I am going to have a baby.’

  Like a predator surprised by his prey, Leo remained perfectly still, his entire focus trained on her. Light played over the dark sheen of his hair, emphasising the stark angles of his face. His silence was total, torturous.

  ‘I thought you should know.’

  He rose from his chair suddenly, sending it flying behind him. Turning his back to her, he moved towards the window, feet planted apart, his broad shoulders set in a menacing line, silence following in his wake. ‘And you are telling me this because...?’ Addressing the view, his voice rang with measured authority.