Mediterranean Men Unleashed: The Billionaire's Blackmailed Bride

‘I arranged for the card to be forwarded here the day we married, as I did your passport,’ Anton said, a hint of a satisfied smile quirking his wide mouth.

She affected a casual shrug. ‘You’re nothing if not thorough,’ she said coolly. But inside she was seething with a mixture of emotions, from hate to love and, yes, lust, she admitted. But her overriding desire was to knock the smug look off his face.

‘Thank you. But I don’t need your money; I have enough of my own.’

‘You won’t for much longer if you insist on this confrontational attitude,’ he drawled with a sardonic arch of one brow. ‘Give it up, Emily. You’re my wife—act like one. I’ll expect you on deck in an hour to take care of our guests.’

The timely reminder of his hold over Fairfax Engineering knocked all the defiance out of her. ‘Okay.’

She watched him walk out. He really was quite ruthless, and she had better not forget that. But if he thought she was going to be a meek little wife he was in for a rude awakening.

The number of gorgeous women lining the pit lane came as a shock to Emily. She would not have thought that so many women were keen on motor racing to bother coming for the time trials. She said as much to Max, and he gave her a grin.

‘It is not the cars they are interested in, but the men—they are motor-racing groupies.’ He chuckled. ‘Pit Ponies.’

‘Oh.’ It had never occurred to her, but now she saw exactly what he meant. No wonder Anton was such a passionate fan of motor racing. Fast cars and fast women lined for his delectation, she thought scathingly.

Personally she hated the scene. The noise was horrendous, the choking smell of oil took her breath away, and she cast a baleful glance at Anton. He was standing by a low-slung racing car having an animated discussion about the engine with the chief mechanic. He looked almost boyish in his enthusiasm and at that moment, as if sensing her scrutiny, he turned, his dark eyes clashing with hers. He smiled and in a couple of lithe strides was beside her. ‘So what do you think? Isn’t this great?’

‘Put it this way,’ she said dryly, ‘I can see now why they call it the pit. The place is full of men, noise, and stinks of oil and super-charged testosterone, and if it is all the same to you I think I’ll go back to the yacht.’

He grimaced. ‘You’re right—it is probably not the place for a lady. Max will take you back, and I’ll see you later.’

Back on the yacht, she heaved a sigh of relief when she learnt most of the guests had gone ashore. ‘I’m going to change and have a swim,’ she told Max and headed for the cabin.

She had spent yesterday being polite to their guests, and playing the perfect hostess. The nightclub in St Tropez had been a real eye-opener, all the beautiful people—she had recognized a famous American film star and a chart-topping singer to name just two. She had drunk champagne and smiled until her face ached and had hated every minute.

Then later when they had returned to the yacht she had vowed she would not respond to Anton. But when he had slid into bed naked and reached for her, her resolve had been strained to the limit. His kiss had been hungry, possessive, and passionate. She had tried to resist, her hands curling into fists at her side. But when he had lifted his head, and caught the strap of her flimsy nightgown and moved it down to palm her breast, a groan had escaped her.

‘Give it up, Emily,’ he said harshly. ‘You know you want to.’

He was right, shaming but true …

Now with Anton on shore she felt not exactly relaxed, but at least in control for the first time in two days. Slipping into a shockingly brief black bikini, courtesy of Helen, she headed for the swimming pool. She lathered her body with sun lotion, and was wondering how to do her back when Gianni appeared, and did it for her.

Anton stepped out of the helicopter, and took the stairs two at a time to the lower deck. He was feeling great, fired up … His passion for motor racing had been fulfilled with a day in the pit watching the time trials for tomorrow’s big race. The team he supported had pole position. He flexed his shoulders … and soon his other passion would be fulfilled with Emily.

She had appeared to accept his take on marriage without further argument, and yesterday she had proved to be a hit with their guests.

Last night had been incredible; his body stirred thinking about it. He had climbed into bed, taken her in his arms and kissed her. At first she had tried to play it cool, but within minutes she had gone up in flames just as she had every time before.

Yes, life was just about perfect … He needed a shower. Maybe Emily would be in the cabin. She wasn’t and, ten minutes later, dressed in shorts and shirt, he walked out on deck looking for her. Carlo was leaning over the guard rail with Tim Harding and Max beside him, but there was no sign of Emily.

Anton strolled over. ‘Hi, guys.’ He leant against the railing next to him. ‘Have you seen Emily around?’

Max pointed to a small yacht anchored about two hundred metres away. ‘She is over there with Gianni. Apparently the boat belongs to friends of his and the pair of them decided to race each other across and back. They arrived there twenty minutes ago.’

The feel-good factor vanished. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach and realized it was gut-wrenching fear. His impulse was to dive off after them, but he realized it was pointless, and then blind rage engulfed him and he turned on Max.

‘You let my wife dive thirty feet off the bloody yacht,’ he swore. ‘Are you mad? You are supposed to be a bodyguard.’

He stilled, his chest tightening as he recognized the source of his rage. He felt an overwhelming need to protect Emily, something he had never felt for any other woman except his mother and sister.

‘Sorry, boss, I couldn’t stop them. They were balancing on the rail when I came out on deck. But you have nothing to worry about. Emily swims like a fish. In fact the three of us still can’t decide which one won.’

‘That is why we are waiting here to see them come back,’ Carlo said. ‘We have a little bet on the result.’

Anton could not believe his ears. ‘Forget your damn bet. Nobody is swimming back. I am getting the launch.’

Carlo lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes. ‘Too late.’

Anton looked across just in time to see two figures dive into the sea.

He’d kill her; he’d shake her till her teeth rattled. He’d chain her to him … But first he needed her back safely. A boat could cut across her path, she might get cramp—the opportunity for disaster loomed huge in his mind and with bated breath he watched with Carlo and Max as the swimmers drew closer.

Reluctantly he had to admit Emily was superb. She glided through the water with barely a ripple, her long pale arms rising and falling in a perfect crawl, keeping a punishing speed. He watched as they approached the stern and saw Emily grab the ladder first.

‘I won,’ Emily cried, hanging onto the ladder with one hand and brushing the hair from her eyes. Gianni’s arm came up and grasped her waist.

‘OK—so it is one all.’

Breathless and grinning, they scrambled up onto the deck.

Anton stood transfixed. Emily, wearing the briefest of bikinis, stood glowing with life and vitality laughing with Gianni. Jealousy ripped through him and he had to battle the urge to rush across and shove the younger man overboard.

‘Best of three. I’ll race you tomorrow,’ he heard Gianni say and his wife was totally oblivious of him as she responded.

‘Right, you’re on.’

Anton moved to grab Emily, but Carlo’s hand on his arm stopped him. He looked up at him and said softly, ‘So, my friend, now you know how it feels?’

‘What do you mean?’ Anton demanded.

‘You know Emily and Gianni are just friends, as I know you and Eloise are just friends. But when you love a woman it doesn’t always follow that you can easily accept her male friendships. Take my advice—don’t make an issue out of their harmless fun.’

Carlo’s words gave him pause for thought. Of course he did not love Emily. But he knew Carlo imagined he loved Eloise, and it had never occurred to him his friendship with Eloise might hurt Carlo.

Then again he wasn’t Carlo, and Emily wasn’t having fun with anyone but him …

‘You will not be racing tomorrow, Emily.’ He strode across and took her arm. ‘And you, Gianni, will not encourage my wife to risk her life in such a damn-fool way.’

‘Oh, don’t be such an old fuddy-duddy,’ Emily said, lifting her eyes to his. ‘You have your motor racing. I prefer a more natural race.’

He felt every one of his thirty-seven years and he did not appreciate the reminder. His dark eyes narrowed on her beautiful face. ‘Have you forgotten tomorrow we are all attending the Grand Prix? And Gianni is leaving on Monday so it is never going to happen,’ he said bluntly.

‘Oh, yes.’ She turned away from him. ‘Excuse me all, I need to shower and get ready for the party.’ And he had to let her go, as Tim Harding asked him a question about the time trials.

Coloured lights strung from prow to stern lit up the great yacht. Dinner was a buffet as the original guests had been increased by about another thirty from shore. Apparently another tradition of her indomitable husband. She glanced across to where he stood surrounded by friends, mostly of the female variety. He was wearing a white shirt open at the neck and dark trousers, and looked devastatingly attractive. The dress code for the men appeared to be smart casual, actually designer casual, Emily amended, glancing around, but her eyes were helplessly drawn back to her husband.

As she watched he laughed down at the woman hanging on his arm, and Emily looked away. Anton was always going to be the centre of attention, the outstanding Alpha male, in what she quietly conceded was quite a gathering of such men. But then why not? Monaco was the playground of the rich and famous and never more so than this weekend.

‘Hi, Emily.’ She glanced at Gianni as he stopped beside her. ‘May I say you look wicked,’ he said with undisguised appreciation in his golden eyes. ‘Mind you, I think you are wasted on this crowd. What say we do a bunk to my friend’s yacht?’

But before she could respond Carlo appeared in front of them. ‘Damn Eloise. That woman could shop for Peru,’ he declared, exasperation in his tone. ‘You do know she only arrived back ten minutes ago—the helicopter had to go and pick her up, hopelessly late as usual.’ He snorted. ‘She said it wouldn’t take a minute to change.’ And grasping a glass of champagne as a waiter walked by, he added, ‘I will believe that when I see it.’

Gianni responded with, ‘Here she comes now, Dad.’

Emily’s mouth fell open in shock. The woman was wearing a white off-the-shoulder dress that revealed her breasts almost to the nipples—not that it mattered as the fabric was see-through, a silver belt was slung around her hips, and the rest of the garment barely covered her behind. Emily glanced up at Gianni and saw the slight tinge of embarrassment on his handsome young face and she felt for him.

‘New dress?’ Carlo demanded and Emily’s attention returned to him. His eyes were popping out on stalks. He had obviously not seen it before, she surmised, and her lips twitched in the briefest of smiles. Not that there was much to see other than the fact the woman was also wearing a thong. Outrageous didn’t even begin to describe it.

‘No, darling.’ Eloise pouted. ‘You told me to hurry so I just flung this old thing on.’ She preened, doing a twirl.

‘She obviously missed,’ Emily said under her breath to Gianni. His golden eyes widened and he cracked up with laughter, as did Emily.

‘Oh, Emily.’ He flung an arm around her shoulder. ‘You are priceless.’ He offered between guffaws, ‘And so right.’

Anton broke off mid-sentence in a rather serious discussion he was having with the Swiss banker, his attention diverted at the sound of Emily’s uninhibited laughter. Her head was thrown back, revealing the long line of her throat and the upper curves of her breast; her blonde hair fell in a silken curtain almost to her waist. The dress she was wearing was red and strapless and faithfully followed every curve of her body to flare out at thigh level and end just above her knees. She looked drop-dead gorgeous and as he watched Gianni’s arm went around her.

In a few lithe strides Anton was at her side. ‘I am all for you enjoying yourself, Gianni,’ he drawled, ‘but not with my wife.’

He reached down and caught her hand as Gianni’s arm fell from her shoulders.

Surprised, Emily raised laughing eyes to her husband’s face and was struck by the deadly warning in the black depths of his, and looked away.

Gianni said nothing, but moved back a step; the look in Anton’s eyes had said it all.

‘I said be civil.’ Anton slid a hand around the nape of her neck and tilted back her head so she had no choice but to look up at him. ‘Not flirt with the guests and make a spectacle of yourself. What was so funny anyway?’ He was jealous—not an emotion he had ever suffered from before—and he was fed up as he saw all expression drain from her face.

‘You had to be there at the time to appreciate it,’ she said, ‘but I take your point and I am sorry. I will endeavour to be civil at all times.’ And she smiled.

A perfect social smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

He kept her by his side for the rest of the evening, and later in bed he utilized every bit of control and skill he possessed to drain every drop of response from her incredible body. Only when she lay exhausted and sated in his arms was he satisfied.

He gazed down at her. She had been helpless in the throes of passion as he had brought her to the knife-edge of pleasure time after time, and had held her there shuddering and writhing until finally he had possessed her completely and she had convulsed in wave after wave of excruciating delight.

Then he had started again.

She was his … He had exactly what he wanted. He frowned slightly. So what was niggling at the back of his mind? Surely not conscience … No—something else. It would come to him later, he assured himself before sleep overcame him.

The following night Emily stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in their cabin and studied her reflection. She was wearing the one floor-length gown she had packed and she grimaced. Blue shot through with silver, the halter neck left her shoulders and back bare down to her waist, and the plunging neck revealed more than a glimpse of cleavage. The rest clung to her body like a second skin. A side slit enabled her to move. When she had bought the dress it had been with her honeymoon in mind. For Anton’s eyes only. Because she had loved him, even after their argument she had still harboured a lingering hope of convincing him he was wrong about her father, and making him care for her. Not any more. Once trust was destroyed there was no going back.

She had no illusions left regarding her arrogant husband. Last night he had taught her what an avid sensualist she was, and she had relished the lesson. He had driven her to the erotic height of pleasure and beyond until it had almost been pain. He was a magnificent lover.

Today she had had her relatively inexperienced opinion verified …

They had all gone to watch the Grand Prix at the home of a friend of Anton’s. Settled on a long terrace overlooking the race with their guests and some more friends of the owner, Anton had asked if she minded if he went to the pits. She had bit her tongue on the caustic comment he was the pits. Deciding she still loved him had not lessened her feeling of betrayal. But deep inside she had still held a faint hope that their marriage might work and instead she said, ‘Not at all.’

Bored out of her skull watching cars roar past at intervals, she drank a couple of glasses of champagne. And then went inside to stretch her legs. She was standing behind a huge column admiring a sculpture set in an alcove when she heard the click of heels on the marble floor and a cut-glass English voice mention her name.

‘Emily Diaz has my sympathy. He is incredibly wealthy, a handsome devil, and great in the sack, as I know from personal experience. But, let’s face it, the man is not marriage material. I mean, bringing her here for her honeymoon, with over a dozen guests for company—how crass is that? I couldn’t believe it when we arrived. But then we never knew he had married. Heaven help the poor girl, is what I say. She seems a really nice woman, well bred by all accounts and far too good for him. I bet she has no idea that he has had affairs with at least two of us on board and probably more.’

Staying out of sight, Emily recognized the voice as the footsteps faded away. It was Sally, the wife of Tim Harding, and Emily’s humiliation was complete. She had known about Eloise, but to discover another of his ex-lovers was on board was beyond belief.

That any man could be so incredibly insensitive as to invite one ex-lover on his honeymoon was the stuff of nightmares, but two … She had more or less accepted Anton’s version of why Carlo and Eloise were guests … but not any more. This latest revelation was the last straw.

At that moment something finally died in Emily.

Thinking about the conversation now, Emily briskly turned away from the mirror, slipped her feet into silver stiletto sandals, and straightened up.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘YOU look incredible.’

Emily hadn’t heard Anton enter, and turned slowly to face him. ‘Thank you.’ He was still wearing the same chinos and a polo shirt he had worn all day, and he was still grinning. The team he had sponsored had won, and the driver was now leading the world championship race and Anton had been in a celebratory mood ever since.

But then he won at everything, Emily thought sourly, but at least while he was celebrating on deck, with the other men on board, it had given her the chance to slip away.

‘But a bit premature.’ His hooded gaze raked over her with blatant masculine appreciation, and the eyes he lifted to hers were gleaming with a hot sensuality she could not fail to recognize as he stepped closer. ‘I was hoping we could share a shower.’

‘Too late.’ She forced a smile, and cursed the curl of heat in her stomach his suggestion had ignited. ‘I thought as this is your guests’ last night, I should make an appearance at the cocktail hour, before we go ashore to the party, so if you will excuse me.’ She moved to walk past him, but he caught her arm.

His lips curved in a wry smile. ‘You’re right, of course—the perfect hostess. I can wait, and I won’t spoil your lip gloss.’ His head dipped and he brushed his lips against her brow. ‘But I have something for you.’

She watched as he crossed to a small safe set in the wood-panelled wall of the cabin and withdrew a velvet-covered box.

‘I meant to give you this on our wedding night,’ he declared, moving to her side. ‘But I was distracted.’ And he opened the box to withdraw a sparkling diamond necklace. ‘You might like to wear it tonight.’

Emily glanced at the necklace, and reached out to stop his hand as he would have slipped it around her neck, and took it from him.

‘Thank you. It is beautiful.’ She let the waterfall of diamonds run through her fingers, and slowly raised her eyes to his. ‘But unfortunately it is not right for this gown.’ She handed it back to him. ‘I’ll wear it some other time.’

It was a first for Anton, a woman rejecting his gift, not just any woman but his wife … How dared she? Grim-faced, he scanned Emily’s exquisite features and slowly it dawned on him while he thought they had had a great day, his wife did not share his enthusiasm. He had given her a fortune in diamonds and yet she looked singularly unimpressed. No woman of his acquaintance would have dreamt of doing that—usually they fell over themselves in gratitude. But Emily had actually handed them back to him.

‘If you say so.’ He placed the necklace back in the box and returned it to the safe, and when he turned back Emily had fastened something around her neck, and was slipping a bracelet on her wrist.

Anton moved towards her and stopped. Her long blonde hair was swept back in a smooth knot on top of her head, the severity of the style emphasizing the perfect symmetry of her delicate features. The shimmering blue dress caressed her superb body like a lover’s hand. The simple tie at the back of her neck left the shoulders bare and revealed the silken-smooth skin of her straight back almost to her waist. But it was the platinum chain with a heart-shaped diamond and sapphire-encrusted locket suspended between the creamy soft curves of her breasts that captured all his attention.

‘Nice pendant.’ He reached out and fingered the locket and wondered who had bought it for her. Maybe her ex-fiancé? Not that it mattered, he wasn’t jealous … he was never jealous … he was just curious, he told himself.

‘Yes, I like it,’ she said and, stepping back, she added, ‘and I have the bracelet to match.’

She held out her wrist for his approval. The heart motif was followed in a string of diamonds with smaller sapphire centres around her slender wrist.

‘I have never seen you wear them before.’ He wasn’t going to ask her … But he did. ‘Who gave them to you?’

Emily glanced up at him. So far Anton had got all his own way in this farce of a marriage, but not any more, and she took great delight in telling him.

‘The locket was a present from my parents for my eighteenth birthday. And the bracelet was a present from my father on my twenty-first birthday. Beautiful, aren’t they? And surprisingly they match the ring you bought me. Isn’t that fortuitous?’

Anton frowned at the mention of her father, though, if he was honest, in a way he was relieved. ‘Yes, very,’ he agreed. Better a father than the ex-fiancé he had imagined.

She turned to leave, and he caught her wrist. ‘Wait.’

‘Was there something else?’ Her eyes flicked over him.

‘No, not really.’ It was not like him to be so indecisive. But there was something … She was as exquisite as ever, as polite, but the blue eyes that met his no longer revealed her every thought. Instead, he realized, they looked cold, almost cynical …

He let go of her hand and she left.

Was he responsible for the change in Emily, her cynicism? he wondered for a moment. He shrugged his shoulders. No … In his experience all women were notoriously volatile; wrong time of the month, wrong clothes—anything could upset them. Problem resolved, he headed for the shower.

Emily looked around her. Not only did it make it easier for her to ignore Anton’s hand resting lightly on her waist, it enabled her to study the glittering throng, or, if she was honest, the women.

Anton was at home in this crowd. He had introduced her to the winning owner of the team, and a host of other people whose names she didn’t even try to remember. But all the time in the back of her mind was the nagging question if he could invite two of his ex-girlfriends to stay with them for the weekend, how many more of the women here had he slept with?

By Anton’s own admission he had been attending the Monaco Grand Prix for years, and she had not forgotten what Max had told her about the ‘Pit Ponies’. What a degrading nickname for female groupies, and what did it say about the men who used them? Her husband probably one.

‘So, Emily, have you had enough?’ Anton said softly. ‘Want to go back to the yacht?’ She felt the warmth of his breath against her ear and tensed.

His hand tightened on her waist and the warmth of his long body against hers was a temptation, a temptation she was determined to resist.

‘No.’ She looked up at his brutally handsome face. His dark eyes held a wealth of sensual knowledge that excited and shamed her.

‘Actually, I would like to go to the casino,’ she said sweetly. ‘Carlo told me you usually all go after the party—it is another tradition of yours, apparently.’ Along with bedding any beautiful female he fancied, she almost added …