Sweet Revenge: The Martinez Marriage Revenge / The Italian Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge / The Kouros Marriage Revenge. JACQUELINE BAIRDЧитать онлайн книгу.
up front in the limousine now flanked her as they moved towards the gracious staircase leading to the mezzanine level.
A well-remembered scene, Shannay perceived, with the beautiful people who mostly came to be seen. Women who chose to showcase designer gowns and expensive jewellery, gifted by husbands and lovers who presided as captains of industry.
Socialites, fashionistas, models … she caught a glimpse of a few familiar faces, smiled and kept her head high.
Waiters and waitresses dutifully presented trays of drinks, from which Marcello selected two flutes of champagne and placed one in her hand.
Alcohol on an empty stomach wasn’t such a good idea, and she merely took a sip of the chilled bubbly liquid, then regarded the flute as a prop.
‘Marcello!’
‘Miguel and Shantal Rodriguez,’ Marcello intoned quietly as a man and woman greeted them, followed by voluble Spanish … which Marcello immediately explained was not his wife’s first language.
Shannay was supremely conscious of him at her side, the occasional touch of his hand at the edge of her waist, his attentive manner, and suppressed the wayward desire it was real, instead of the expected portrayal of a husband with his wife.
It was a relief when the large ballroom doors opened and guests were instructed to begin making their way to reserved seats at designated tables.
There was one face in the crowd Shannay subconsciously searched for, and failed to notice.
Estella de Cordova.
A woman whose presence at the evening’s prestigious event would be obligatory.
Then there she was, tall, impossibly elegant in Versace only someone with a superb figure and an overdose of panache could wear.
Dark, thick, curling hair framed her perfect features, and an abundance of diamonds sparkled with every move she made.
The centre of attention as always, and actively seeking to make an impression.
Shannay’s gaze shifted slightly to the man at her side. Distinguished, and at least fifteen years Estella’s senior.
Estella de Cordova was known to scope out a room, hone in on her quarry, then patiently wait for the opportune moment to strike.
Somehow Shannay doubted anything had changed.
Impossible the news of Marcello’s reconciliation with his Australian wife hadn’t reached Estella’s notice. Or the knowledge Shannay’s attendance tonight at his side wouldn’t garner speculation.
It wasn’t so much a matter of if Estella would make her move, only when.
Not, she perceived, before the guests were all seated.
Those who had been aware of the purported affair between Estella de Cordova and Marcello Martinez would be subtly watching for the slightest sign to fuel the social gossip mill.
Shannay could almost sense it, and hated being the focus of speculative interest.
Sandro and Luisa moved into sight, and their exchanged greeting held politeness, faint smiles and a reassuring touch to Shannay’s arm together with a whispered “brava” from Luisa a few seconds before they were shown to another table.
How … nice, Shannay conceded silently. A friendly ally.
The thought of calmly forking morsels of food into her mouth, sipping wine, and participating in meaningless conversation while waiting for Marcello’s former mistress to strike was enough to ruin her appetite.
Maintaining a façade didn’t help, for she was supremely conscious of her husband’s presence, the faint, exclusive tones of his cologne and the essence of the man himself.
Worse, the tantalisation of having an intimate knowledge of his touch, the caress of his hands, his lips, the way he could make her body sigh, then heat with passion. The heights he helped her reach, and how he held her when she fell.
‘It is good you have returned to Madrid.’
Shannay heard the heavily accented feminine voice, attached it to a woman seated directly opposite and offered a polite smile in acknowledgement.
‘Thank you.’
‘A man in your husband’s position needs a wife by his side.’
But not a wife and a mistress.
And the mistress had won out.
Words she didn’t care to voice. Didn’t need to, surely? Estella’s contretemps at the time had caused sufficient speculation.
‘I’m sure Marcello didn’t lack for a suitable companion.’
An understatement, if ever there was one. The women would have been lining up … keen, willing and able to serve in every way possible!
‘Why—no. Marcello usually chose to accompany his aunt, or appear alone.’
He did? How … surprising, was the only word that came to mind.
Shannay took a sip of wine, then followed it with a measure of water, and became aware of Marcello’s interested gaze.
‘The food isn’t to your liking?’
‘It’s fine,’ she hastened quickly. ‘I’m not that hungry.’
His eyes held hers, and saw more than she wanted him to see. Without a word he speared a morsel of food from his plate and offered it to her. ‘Try this. You’ll enjoy it.’
Don’t, she silently pleaded, and veiled her eyes against the deliberate sensuality evident.
It’s a game, she reminded. We’re like players on a stage, acting out an anticipated part.
With care, she cupped his hand, drew the proffered fork to her lips and eased the morsel into her mouth.
Her lashes swept up to reveal a provocative gleam as she edged the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth, let it slide fractionally over her lower lip, then carefully bit the morsel of food without taking her eyes from his own.
And watched his eyes darken.
Mission accomplished.
Shannay offered a faint smile in silent compliment to his acting ability, then momentarily froze as he slid a hand to her nape and gently massaged the knot of tension there.
To anyone viewing the subtle actions they would appear as two lovers who could barely wait to get a room.
Was that what he wanted to convey?
To many … or just Estella?
Shannay waited a few minutes, then she leaned towards him. ‘You’re verging on overkill, querido,’ she warned in a softly taunting voice.
Marcello lowered his head to hers. ‘There’s the need to set a precedent.’
She took the opportunity to surreptitiously check her cellphone, saw an SMS message alerting Nicki had gone to sleep at eight-thirty, and felt a sense of relief.
There were speeches in between numerous courses, some discourses brief and amusing … others long as the charity was lauded, together with the efforts of the tireless volunteers without whose help the fundraiser would not have been as successful.
Or at least that was the overall drift, and she joined in the applause, aware Marcello had placed his arm across the back of her chair.
An action which brought him close, and heightened her level of awareness.
As he meant it to do?
Did he know the effect he had on her?
She assured herself she didn’t like or condone what he was doing. Or his manipulation. For at almost every turn she was caught in a trap, bound by love for her daughter, her affection for an elderly ill man, and now the subterfuge