Tina gripped the edges of her seat and willed herself to be calm. “You can’t force me to stay,” she said, her voice brittle to her own ears.
Nico leaned back and spread his hands to encompass their surroundings. “Can I not? We are on an island. The only way on or off is by helicopter or boat—and I control both of those things.”
Her stomach plummeted through the stone floor of the terrazzo even as a chill shuddered through her. “You’re being purposely contrary. My brother will come looking for me. You can’t prevent that.”
Nico took a leisurely sip of wine, studying her through lowered lids. She endured the scrutiny, though he reminded her once more of a great cat toying with its prey. She sat very still, waiting for him to spring, knowing she was caught even before he did so.
All she could do was wait and see what manner the attack took.
“No,” he said finally, “I can’t stop Renzo from looking for you. But even he cannot separate a man and his wife.”
About the Author
LYNN RAYE HARRIS read her first Mills & Boon® romance when her grandmother carted home a box from a yard sale. She didn’t know she wanted to be a writer then, but she definitely knew she wanted to marry a sheikh or a prince and live the glamorous life she read about in the pages. Instead, she married a military man and moved around the world. These days she makes her home in North Alabama, with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon is a dream come true. You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com
Recent titles by this same author:
UNNOTICED AND UNTOUCHED
MARRIAGE BEHIND THE FAÇADE
CAPTIVE BUT FORBIDDEN
STRANGERS IN THE DESERT
Did you know these are also available as eBooks?
Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Revelations
of the
Night Before
Lynn Raye Harris
www.millsandboon.co.uk
For Beverly Barton.
You left us too soon, and we all miss you tremendously.
Thank you for your kindness, your encouragement and
your enthusiasm. You were what a true Southern lady
should be. Now that you’ve arrived, I’m sure Heaven is
breaking out the cloth napkins and good china daily.
CHAPTER ONE
SHE could not possibly be pregnant. Valentina D’Angeli’s fingers shook as she studied the test stick, the blue line very clearly trying to tell her she was indeed expecting a baby.
It was too crazy to be believed, and yet …
A chill slid down her spine. The night of the masquerade ball had been the wildest she’d ever experienced; the one night where she’d determined to let down her hair and be the person she’d never been able to be. The free spirit who could sleep with a man and leave him in the morning without a shred of remorse.
For one night, she’d planned to be bold and seductive. She would experience passion and conquer her shyness once and for all. She would be like other women her age—sophisticated, experienced and utterly in control.
Tina set the test stick down and opened another. Surely the first had been damaged somehow. The second would give her the correct answer.
That night had been a good idea in theory, yet even with the anonymity of the mask, she’d been unable to let herself go to the extent her best friend, Lucia, had decided she should.
“You need to get laid, Tina,” Lucia had said.
Tina had blushed and stammered and said yes, of course she needed to—she was tired of being a twenty-four-year-old virgin—but she’d not truly thought it would happen. She’d tried to flirt and dance and be free, but when her partner had pulled her close, his breath smelling faintly of garlic and mint combined, she’d known she couldn’t do it. She’d pushed away from him and run from the palazzo, out onto the dock where it had been quieter and cooler, and gulped in the Venetian night air like a balm.
And that’s when he’d appeared. Not the man she’d run from, but the man she would give herself to before the night was over. He’d been tall, suave, dressed in black velvet and wearing a silk mask over his eyes.
He’d been utterly mesmerizing, and she’d fallen under his spell with far more ease than she’d ever expected. He’d made love to her so tenderly, so perfectly, that she’d wept with the beauty of it.
And with the loneliness of it.
“No names,” he’d whispered in her ear. “No faces.”
She’d agreed, because that was what had made it magical—and yet, once it was over, she’d wanted to know him. She’d felt bereft with the idea she never would.
Tina swallowed the fear that rose from the pit of her stomach and grabbed her by the throat. Sometimes, not knowing was the best thing. She wished to God she still didn’t know.
But as the light from the full moon had slid between the curtains and illuminated the sleeping form of the man beside her, she’d dared to slide the silk mask from his eyes. Her breath stopped in her chest just remembering that moment.
He hadn’t awakened, even when she’d gasped. Even when she’d scrambled from the bed and stood there in the quiet, elegant bedroom of the hotel he’d taken her to. Her heart had turned over, her stomach flipping inside out.
Of all the men in the world.
She’d reacted blindly then. She’d yanked on her clothes as silently as she could—and then she’d fled like the coward she was.
“Right,” she said to herself as she waited for the new test stick to negate the first one. The universe was simply playing a huge joke on her, punishing her for that night of wanton behavior with a man she should not have known at all. What kind of woman gave herself to a man she didn’t even know?
But you do know him. You’ve always known him. Always wanted him.
Tina chewed her lip, her heart beating erratically as the seconds ticked by.
And then the answer came, as clear and soul shattering as the first.
Pregnant.
“There is a woman, my lord,” the man said apologetically.
Niccolo Gavretti, the marchese di Casari, turned from where he’d been gazing out the window of the exclusive Roman hotel’s restaurant and fixed the maître d’ with an even look.
There was always a woman. Women were his favorite hobby—when they weren’t demanding more than he was willing to give or thinking that because he’d slept with them, he owed them something more.
No, he loved women—but on his terms.
“Where is this woman then,” he asked almost wearily.
“She refuses to come inside, my lord.” His tone said that he did not approve.
Nico waived a hand dismissively. “Then she is not my problem.”
The maître d’ bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”
Nico turned back to his paper. He’d come here this morning for a business breakfast with an associate, but he’d stayed to drink coffee and read the paper once the meeting was over. He’d not expected a woman to accost him, but then he was hardly surprised, either. A determined woman was often a force to be reckoned with.
Sometimes the results were quite pleasurable and interesting. Other times, not so much.
Only a few moments passed before the maître d’ returned, apologetic and red-faced. “My lord, I beg your pardon.”
Nico set the paper down. His patience was running thin. He had much on his mind lately, not the least of which was dealing with the vast mess his father had bequeathed to him.
“Yes, Andres?”
“The lady says it is most urgent that she speak to you. But she cannot do so in such a public place. She suggests you come to her room.”
Ni
co resisted rolling his eyes, but only just. Before his father’s death, Nico had been one of the top-ranked Grand Prix motorcycle riders in the world. He’d won the world championship a few months ago. He knew all about the kinds of schemes a woman might employ to catch his interest. He had been the object of many such plots in his life. Sometimes he played along because it amused him to do so.
Today would not be one of those times.
“Please tell her she will be waiting for a very long time,” he said smoothly. And then he glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment elsewhere, I’m afraid.”
The maître d’s face was a study in contrasts. He looked simultaneously uncomfortable and … gleeful was the word Nico wanted … all at once. “She said if you refused to give you this, my lord.”
He held out an envelope on a small tray. Nico hesitated, furious to be playing this game—and intrigued, damn him, as well. He jerked the envelope from the tray and ripped it open. A business card fell out. It was white, plain, with only a stylized D in one corner.
It was the name on the card that pierced him to the bone. He stared at the sweeping font that separated the two words from the paper.
Valentina D’Angeli.
The name sent a slice of old anger ricocheting through him. Not the first name; the last. Valentina’s brother, Renzo D’Angeli, had been his greatest rival on the track. His greatest rival in business, even now.
But once, Renzo had been his best friend. Nico and Renzo had worked together building a motorcycle that would take the racing world by storm—until everything had fallen apart amid accusations of betrayal and deceit.
It was a long time ago, and yet it still had the power to make Nico’s blood hum with dangerous anger. And sadness.
He focused on the name, tried to remember the girl who’d still been a teenager the last time he’d seen her. Valentina D’Angeli. She would be all grown up now. Twenty-four, he calculated. He’d not seen her since the day he’d walked away from the D’Angelis’ house for the last time, knowing he would never be welcomed back again.
Valentina had been a sweet girl, but terribly shy. Her shyness, he remembered, had bothered her brother. So much so that Renzo had planned to send her away to school once he had the money to do so, in the hopes that an exclusive education could fix her.
Nico had tried to convince Renzo to reconsider. He knew what it was like to be sent away to school, and he’d not been shy in the least. He’d felt isolated, no matter how many friends he’d had or how well he’d done in class. And he’d hated the loneliness, the feeling that his parents were happier without him, and that he was in the way when he was at home.
Nico frowned. It hadn’t been far from the truth, but he hadn’t found that out until a few years later.
Still, the exclusive education had certainly done its work on him. He had no doubt that it had done its work on Valentina, as well. The raw stone would now be polished to a high shine.
But what was she doing here?
Nico turned the card over. Room 386 was written on the back. He closed his hand over it. He should walk away. He should get up and walk out the door and forget he’d ever seen this card.
But he wouldn’t. He wanted to know what she wanted from him. Renzo must have sent her, but for what purpose? He’d not seen Renzo since that day on the track in Dubai, the first race of the Grand Prix circuit. Renzo had walked away from racing after it was over. He’d married his secretary and was currently making babies in the country, according to everything Nico had heard.
His blood ran cold. Renzo might be done racing, but he wasn’t done with motorcycles. They were still rivals in business. And Renzo must want something pretty badly to send his sister to get it.
She was nervous. Tina stood by the window and watched the cars moving along the street below. She did not know if he would come. What if he didn’t? Did she dare to go to his offices and demand to be seen? Or should she try and see him at his country estate instead?
Except he had more than one country estate these days, didn’t he? It had been nearly two months since she’d seen him in Venice. In that short time, his father had died and Nico was now the marchese di Casari, a man of far more consequence than he’d been when he used to spend hours working in the garage with Renzo.
Would a man of his stature come to see her? He and Renzo had been enemies for far longer than they’d ever been friends. It was very likely that Nico remembered nothing of her. She’d been a gangly girl, quiet and shy, who had crept into the garage and watched them silently. She hadn’t been at all memorable.
But that was a lifetime ago, and now she stood here pregnant with his child. Tina sucked in a tearful breath. My God. How—how—had this happened? It had been one night, one erotic and beautiful night in which she’d behaved in a way so very unlike her.
She’d hated being so shy growing up, hated even more that no matter how much education she’d had or how hard she worked at being someone bold and sophisticated, she was still the same painfully timid girl inside. The one time she’d determined to push past her comfort zone, to really be bold, the consequences had been staggering.
If she’d known who her mystery man was, she would have fled sooner. Because she wouldn’t have been able to let herself go so thoroughly if she’d known that the man stripping her naked was the same man she’d dreamed about for most of her life.
When she was fourteen, she’d idolized him. He’d been twenty and so achingly handsome that he’d taken her breath away. She’d never learned to relax around him even though he was always nice to her. He’d smiled at her, and she’d turned into a stammering puddle every single time.
And then one day when she’d crept into the garage just to see his handsome face, he hadn’t been there. He’d never been there again, and Renzo had refused to talk about it. She’d lain in her room at night for months and prayed he would come back, but he never did.
There was a knock on the door and Tina jumped at the sound like a startled deer. Doubts assailed her. Should she even be here? Should she tell him her secret?
He would be furious. And quite possibly horrified.
But how could she not? He had a right to know he was going to be a father. A right to know his baby. She’d never known her own father and her mother had refused to tell her who he was, other than to say he’d been English. She would not do that to her own child, no matter how difficult this was.
Swiftly, she strode to the door and yanked it open before she could change her mind. The man on the threshold was tall, dark, gorgeous—a more mature version of the young man she’d fallen for so many years ago. Just seeing him again made sparks zing through her body.
He simmered with tension as his stormy gaze met hers. And then he dropped his eyes down her body, studying her so thoroughly that she blushed.
She’d chosen to wear a skirt with sky-high heels and a silk tank beneath her jacket for this meeting. She knew she looked elegant and competent, as she’d intended, but for a moment the hideously shy teenager was back.
“Valentina?” he said, his voice containing a note of disbelief, and a hint of that sexual magnetism she’d found so irresistible in Venice. How had she forgotten his voice over the years? She could have avoided the situation she was now in if she’d only remembered the silken beauty of his tone, and recognized him sooner.
“Yes. It’s lovely to see you again, Signore Gavretti.” She stepped back, her heart pushing into her throat. She’d spent a night of bliss in his arms, and he had no idea. Until that very moment, she’d half believed he would recognize her when he saw her. That somehow his soul would know she was the one he’d made love to.
But he did not, and it pierced her to the bone. Silly. He was a man, not a magician.
“Won’t you come in?”
He crossed the threshold, and for a moment an invisible hand closed around her throat. What had she done? Why had she thought she could handle him? She’d been unable to handle him that night. No, she’d done everything he’
d wanted her to do. Willingly, eagerly, thoroughly—as if the shyness she hid from the world had ceased to exist.
Her body heated as the memories rushed through her. Skin against skin, heat against heat, hard against soft. What would he think of her when he knew?
Tina shoved the memories down deep and walked over to a serving cart. “Tea?” she asked, her hand shaking slightly as she reached for the pot. What she really wanted to do was grab a plate and fan herself with it.
“No.”
She poured herself a cup—decaf, of course—and turned to find him right behind her. She took an automatic step back. His stormy silver eyes were piercing, his expression hard and curious at once. She wanted to run her hand over his jaw, press her lips there the way she had that night … which seemed a lifetime ago.
“You didn’t ask me up here to have tea,” he said darkly. “Tell me what your brother wants and be done with it.”
Tina blinked, the warm feelings floating through her dissipating in an instant. “Renzo has no idea I’m here.” God, no. He’d be furious. Livid. He would probably disown her if he knew.
And he would know, eventually. But that was why she had to tell Nico first. If Renzo found out she were pregnant, he would demand to know the father. There would be hell to pay once he knew who that man was.
Tina set the tea down and pressed a hand to her forehead. It was a mess. A huge, huge mess. Somehow, she had to make it all come out right.
Nico’s smile was anything but friendly. “So this is how we are to play it then?” His gaze slid over her again. “You have grown into a lovely woman, Valentina. A great asset for your brother.”
Tina wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t show that much vulnerability to him. No, Renzo did not consider her an asset. More like a duty. He took care of her, loved her, but refused to consider she might have more to offer than simply being a decorative fixture in his life. She wanted to work for him, but he would not allow it.
“You are a D’Angeli,” he said. “You don’t have to work.”
No, she didn’t have to work. She wanted to work—and if her brother wouldn’t hire her, she was going to work for someone else. She’d gone along with Renzo for the past year, but only in the hopes she could convince him that D’Angeli Motors was where she belonged.
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