The Italian's Bargain for His Bride, page 1
“Do you really believe I am in danger?”
Paloma felt sick when Daniele nodded. The idea that someone valued her inheritance and control of the company more than her life was a crushing blow to her already-shaky self-esteem. “Marriage to me could put your life in danger. Why would you be prepared to risk your safety?” she asked Daniele huskily.
“My final words to your grandfather before he died were a promise to protect you. Like you, I have no wish to marry, but I’m afraid there is no other way.”
Daniele could not have made it any clearer that he would prefer to walk barefoot through a pit of vipers than walk up the aisle with her. His incentive was that she was the Morante heiress, and he hoped that by marrying her, he would gain his mother’s acceptance.
Paloma stared at the ring he had placed on her finger. An engagement ring was meant to be a symbol of love and commitment, but for all its beauty, the sapphire ring was a reminder of the marriage bargain she had made with a man who regarded her as his duty and nothing more.
Chantelle Shaw lives on the Kent coast and thinks up her stories while walking on the beach. She has been married for over thirty years and has six children. Her love affair with reading and writing Harlequin stories began as a teenager, and her first book was published in 2006. She likes strong-willed, slightly unusual characters. Chantelle also loves gardening, walking and wine.
Books by Chantelle Shaw
Harlequin Presents
The Virgin’s Sicilian Protector
Reunited by a Shock Pregnancy
Wed for the Spaniard’s Redemption
Proof of Their Forbidden Night
Her Wedding Night Negotiation
Housekeeper in the Headlines
Innocent Summer Brides
The Greek Wedding She Never Had
Nine Months to Tame the Tycoon
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
Chantelle Shaw
The Italian’s Bargain for His Bride
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM THE RULES OF THEIR RED-HOT REUNION BY JOSS WOOD
PROLOGUE
‘PALOMA IS A risk!’
Franco Zambrotta slammed his hand down on the desk.
‘She has spent most of her life in England, disconnected from her Italian heritage. Her ill-advised marriage swiftly followed by a divorce proved that she is headstrong. In my opinion, Marcello’s granddaughter is not suitable to take charge of Morante Group. I am sure I do not need to remind you, Daniele, that the company is a global brand with a multibillion-dollar annual revenue. It cannot be entrusted to a girl who has no experience of running a business.’
‘With respect, Franco, your opinion on this matter is irrelevant.’ Daniele Berardo spoke in his customary, calm manner, hiding his dislike of the other man. It amazed him that Marcello Morante, the founder of Morante Group, who had been renowned for his charisma as much as for his brilliant business acumen, had been related to the distinctly charmless Franco.
In the past twenty-four hours since Marcello had collapsed on the golf course and died on the way to the hospital, Daniele hadn’t had a chance to assimilate the loss of the man who had been his mentor and close friend. His priority was to ensure that the media did not learn of Marcello’s death before his granddaughter had been informed. But Paloma Morante, the sole heiress to her grandfather’s vast fortune, had disappeared.
The conversation with the man Paloma called Great-Uncle Franco was pointless and a waste of Daniele’s time when he urgently needed to find her, but his enigmatic expression revealed none of his frustration as he said imperturbably, ‘It was Marcello’s wish that Paloma would eventually succeed him. However, he stipulated in his will that if he died before his granddaughter was twenty-five, Morante Group must be managed by the board of trustees until Paloma comes of age to take control of the company. Do I need to remind you, Franco, that your duty as the president of the board is to work in collaboration with the other trustees and run Morante Group until Paloma’s twenty-fifth birthday?’
Franco snorted. ‘Several of the board members have expressed their concern that Paloma lacks the qualities of leadership. I intend to call for a vote of no confidence in her and propose that I am instated as Marcello’s permanent successor.’
The imperceptible tightening of Daniele’s jaw was the only indication that he was disturbed by Franco’s threat of a power struggle. He had never trusted Marcello’s much younger half-brother. Franco was the product of their mother’s second marriage after Marcello’s father had died relatively young, it was rumoured from a drug overdose. Marcello had been the sole Morante heir and later had given his half-brother a senior role in the company. Admittedly, Paloma’s only experience of working at Morante Group had been during a gap year while she had been at university. It was possible that Franco would win a majority vote from the board of trustees to displace her. Daniele recalled the last words Marcello had said to him.
‘Will you promise to take care of my granddaughter? I have come to regard you as the grandson I never had, Daniele. I beg you to think of Paloma as your sister and protect her from the sharks who will want a piece of her when I have gone.’
How was he supposed to think of Paloma as his sister? Daniele wondered grimly. He had tried not to think about her at all for the past three years.
Paloma had been a coltish teenager the first time he had met her, although even then she had shown signs that she would be a great beauty. Daniele had noticed her, but he had been trying to rebuild his life and hadn’t paid her much attention.
When Paloma was twenty-one, she had come to Livorno on the west coast of Tuscany to take up an internship with Morante Group. The luxury leather goods business had grown to be a market leader, in part due to Daniele, who had established the company’s online presence.
Daniele had been blown away by the beautiful young woman Paloma had become. He pictured her slender figure, chestnut-brown hair and milky pale skin as perfect as the finest porcelain. Paloma possessed an inherent elegance that spoke of her aristocratic heritage spread across three European countries. Her grandfather was a marchese. Marcello’s wife, who had died tragically young, had been the daughter of a French duke, and Paloma’s English mother was linked, albeit distantly, to the British royal family.
Daniele had found it impossible to resist the chemistry that had flared between him and Paloma. He had tried to keep his distance, conscious that he was twelve years older than her, and his position on the board of Morante Group made him her superior at work.
But on the night of a grand ball held in Marcello’s opulent palazzo, Paloma had flirted with him, and when she had instigated a kiss, Daniele’s self-control had cracked, and he’d succumbed to her sensual allure. He could still recall how soft her lips had felt beneath his. But he had been brought to his senses by the certainty that her grandfather would not have approved. Marcello had often spoken of his hope that Paloma would make a good marriage within the Italian nobility.
Daniele had not seen Paloma since that night when he had rejected her, but he had often found himself thinking about her. She had lodged like a bur in his skin, and for the past three years, his fascination with her had not faded. However, he was determined to keep his promise to Marcello to act like a brother to Paloma. But first he had to find her and break the terrible news that her grandfather had died.
He knew she lived in London, where she kept a low profile. She had adamantly refused her grandfather’s plea to have a bodyguard. But Marcello’s death meant that Paloma was a billionairess. Her life was going to be different from now on, and she would have to accept the protection of a security team.
Daniele had been given Paloma’s contact details by Marcello’s PA, but her mobile phone was switched off. When he’d called her landline number, he had been informed by her flatmate that Paloma was away at a yoga retreat somewhere in Ireland.
‘Paloma should be here at Morante Group’s headquarters.’ Franco’s terse voice interrupted Daniele’s thoughts. ‘You asked me to delay making a formal announcement of Marcello’s death to give his granddaughter time to prepare for the inevitable media attention. But I will not wait any longer and risk the news being leaked to the press. Strong leadership is vital at this time.’
‘You must understand that Paloma is shocked and distressed.’ Daniele was sure she would be devastated, but he was not going to admit to Franco that he did not know her whereabouts, or that Paloma was still unaware of Marcello’s death. ‘I insist that she must be given more time to come to terms with her loss. Only the board of trustees and a handful of medical staff who treated Marcello know he is dead. I have taken out a legal injunction to prevent anyone talking to the media without my permission.’
‘You had no right to go behind my back,’ Franco said furiously.
‘I had to act quickly to ensure the stability of the company. Marcello appointed me as lifelong vice president of the board in recognition of my loyalty to him and Morante Group.’ Daniele knew that Franco had disapproved of Marcello’s decision, and now he wondered if Marcello had suspected the other man might try to seize control of the company. ‘In the next few days, I will bring Paloma to Livorno so that she can make a statement to the press.’
‘I am Paloma’s only living relative apart from her mother and I would like to offer her my condolences if you will tell me where she is.’ Franco’s tone had changed, and he showed no sign of his earlier hostility, but Daniele did not warm to him or trust him.
‘I must respect Paloma’s desire for privacy.’ As he strode out of Franco’s office, he was planning to visit every damn yoga retreat in Ireland, in search of the missing heiress.
Daniele’s phone rang and he quickly answered it when he saw that Paloma’s flatmate, whom he had spoken to earlier, was calling him. ‘Laura?’
‘Mr Berardo, I lied when I said that Paloma is in Ireland. She works for a charity and is teaching at a school in west Africa. There has been civil unrest and violence in Mali for many years, and Paloma didn’t tell her grandfather what she was doing because he would worry about her. As a safety precaution, we set up a code word, and if Paloma ever sent me the code, I was to call you and tell you that she is in Mali.’
Daniele frowned. ‘Why did Paloma ask you to call me?’
‘She said that her grandfather trusts you implicitly and she has faith in his judgement.’ The urgency in the young woman’s voice sent a ripple of unease through Daniele. ‘A few minutes ago, I received a text from Paloma and it’s the code word. I’m worried that she is in some kind of trouble.’
CHAPTER ONE
PALOMA PEERED THROUGH the tiny window in the hut. All she could see outside was dusty desert, a few scrubby trees and the glint of the gun, slung across the shoulder of one of her captors, who was guarding the compound.
The adrenaline that had pumped through her when two masked gunmen had burst into the school where she had been teaching a class of young Malian girls had helped her to remain calm when she’d been bundled into a truck and driven away. But the hours she’d spent locked in the stifling hut, with barely enough food or water, were taking their toll and she felt scared and helpless.
At least she had managed to send a text to alert her flatmate in London before one of the gunmen had seized her phone. Laura should have contacted Daniele Berardo by now. But realistically, how could a computer geek help her in her present situation? Paloma thought bleakly. Not that there was anything remotely geeky about Daniele, she acknowledged. With his stunning good looks and potent sex appeal, he could be a film star rather than an IT expert and owner of the biggest tech company in Italy.
Her stomach muscles clenched as she visualised Daniele. The press had labelled the self-made multimillionaire Italy’s most eligible bachelor, and his handsome face with a faintly sardonic expression appeared regularly in the gossip pages. Invariably he was photographed with a different beautiful woman on his arm. Paloma had spent more time than she was comfortable admitting searching for Daniele on social media sites. The last time she had actually seen him in the flesh had been three years ago.
Despite the intense heat inside her prison, Paloma shuddered as she recalled the most humiliating moments of her life. When Daniele had asked her to dance at a ball hosted by her grandfather, she should have realised that he was simply being polite. She’d had a massive crush on Daniele since she was a teenager, and the champagne she’d drunk during the evening had made her feel daring and encouraged her to press herself up close to his whipcord body when he’d placed his hands on her waist while they danced.
His terse comment that she needed some fresh air as he’d escorted her out of the ballroom had not burst her romantic bubble. They had been alone in the garden and Paloma had curved her arms around his neck and tugged his face towards her so that she could press her lips against his.
Daniele had stiffened, and his hands had gripped her arms as if he’d meant to pull them down. His mouth had been hard and unyielding, like the man himself. But then he’d made a harsh sound in his throat that had sent a coil of heat through Paloma as Daniele had taken control of the kiss. His lips had moved over hers with devastating mastery as he’d explored her mouth and owned it, owned her.
She had held nothing back, and the intensity of her passion had shocked her. But even more shocking had been when Daniele had suddenly wrenched his mouth from hers and set her away from him.
‘That should not have happened,’ he’d said in a cold voice that had stung her like the lash of a whip. ‘Your grandfather would expect a better standard of behaviour from both of us. I suggest we forget that this regrettable incident ever took place.’
Burning up with embarrassment, Paloma had fled back to the house, and she’d left Italy the next day without seeing Daniele again. For the past three years, she had only visited her grandfather when she’d been certain that Daniele would not be in Livorno. Even her decision to marry Calum barely a month after their first date had, in hindsight, been partly to prove that she was over her infatuation with Daniele.
But Marcello had made no secret of the high esteem in which he held Daniele. Paloma hoped he would try to help her because of the affection he felt for her grandfather. Guilt tugged on her fraught emotions as she imagined how worried Nonno would be if he learned that she had been snatched by armed men. One reason for her decision to come to Africa on a volunteer scheme had been the admiration she felt for him. Marcello was a renowned philanthropist and he had established the Morante Foundation, which supported charity projects in Italy and around the world, funded by a percentage of the profits from his business, Morante Group.
Paloma had grown up knowing that she would inherit the company one day. When her father, Marcello’s only son, had died in a tragic accident, her destiny had been assured. But her grandfather was likely to remain in charge of Morante Group for many more years, and Paloma had wanted to make her own way in the world, and experience different aspects of life, before she took on the responsibility of heading the company. She had become a fundraising manager for a children’s charity, supporting communities in Africa. But spending every day in a comfortable office had felt distant from the problems in Mali, where there was widespread poverty and a lack of education, and she had seized the chance to teach at the school where she could make a real difference to the lives of her pupils.
What was going to happen to her? Paloma wondered fearfully. She’d hardly slept since she had been snatched and she was exhausted. Her head drooped down until her chin rested on her chest. She must have dozed, and woke with a start to the sound of a vehicle racing across the compound, and the terrifying noise of gunfire. Immediately her heart began to thump, and she jumped to her feet just as the door of the hut was flung open.
A figure dressed in khaki-coloured combat clothes and a balaclava covering his face, with two narrow slits cut out over his eyes, stood in the doorway. The man—Paloma guessed from his height and powerful build that he was male—was not one of the kidnappers who had taken her from the school. But his manner was authoritative, and she guessed he could be their leader. He was armed with an assault rifle and she instinctively backed away from him.
‘Come with me,’ he growled.
She must have imagined that he sounded vaguely familiar. Fearfully, Paloma backed away from him. ‘Who are you?’ Her voice shook as she heard the pop-pop of gunfire outside the hut.
Without another word, the man lurched towards her, scooped her off her feet and slung her over his shoulder. It happened so fast that Paloma did not have time to struggle. He carried her out of the hut, and she heard rough male voices. Once again, she had a sense of familiarity, but her brain had frozen, and she could not understand what was being said.
There was the sound of an engine revving, and then she was thrown into the back of a truck and her head hit the metal floor with a thunk. She attempted to sit up, but her captor leapt into the truck, slammed the door shut and flung himself on top of her as the vehicle was driven off at speed.
