The Most Powerful of Kings Read online

  Her hands tightened on the chair. ‘I need nothing from you. Except for you to leave my house.’ Before she did the unthinkable, like give in to the need to touch him.

  Go. Please, just go.

  Finally, he dropped his hand. She immediately berated herself for wishing it back.

  ‘I’m beginning to think this has been an...unfortunate mistake.’

  She exhaled in relief. ‘Can I trust that it won’t happen again?’ As long as there were no repercussions, she would be grateful.

  Icy disdain tightened his face as he turned away. ‘I dismissed you from my life long ago. Believe that I’ve no wish to set eyes on you again.’

  ‘Trust me, I feel the same.’ Her voice emerged with a calm she didn’t feel. Inside, she wanted to scream. She clamped her mouth together as tears threatened, stung into being by his harsh words.

  Blinking furiously, she watched him leave from behind the solid safety of her chair, even now unable to stop herself from feasting hungry eyes on his broad back, recalling the warmth of his skin under her searching caress, the silky luxury of his hair she’d once loved to run her fingers through.

  He paused at the door. ‘I don’t know who orchestrated this meeting, but I will get to the bottom of this incident. And whoever is responsible will pay.’

  She managed a stiff smile, her muscles threatening to seize up from the rigid control she kept on them. ‘You still haven’t told me why you came here in the first place, but, since I’m not responsible, I don’t much care. Goodbye, Rocco.’

  She didn’t move until the door shut behind him. Then, galvanised by sheer self-preservation, she rushed to the window to make sure he was really leaving.

  His long limbs had already carried him to his car by the time she nudged aside the curtain.

  Inexplicable longing battered her. Her heartbeat thundered as she acknowledged that this might be the last time she ever saw Rocco Vitelli.

  Greedily, she drank him in: the way his hair lifted in the cold breeze, the set of his strong, powerful shoulders as he hunched deeper into his jacket, even the hand he lifted to wave the driver away from opening his door caused her heartbeat to escalate until Mia feared it would burst out of her chest.

  Dry-mouthed, she forced herself to turn away. Limbs shaking, she collapsed into the chair and buried her face in her hands, the reality of her lucky escape washing over her.

  After several minutes of taking deep, careful breaths, she rose. A strong cup of tea would help get over the shock. That was all it was, she stressed to herself. Seeing Rocco again had shocked her.

  Shocked and excited her. Reminded her how good they’d been together. In the boardroom. In bed. She closed her eyes in shame, sternly reminding herself of the consequences she’d suffered for once being a lust-sick fool. A stupid, besotted fool.

  But she was over that. God, was she over it.

  Nothing ripped off rose-tinted glasses quicker than finding out the man you loved saw you only as a brood mare. And a thief.

  Realising she was standing in the middle of the room, wringing her hands, she abruptly stilled the movement. She would not let him affect her like this. Whatever ill wind had blown him here, he was gone.

  Whirling, she started for the kitchen, then paused.

  Something was wrong. With a start, she realised she hadn’t heard Rocco’s car leave.

  The tiny cottage she’d inherited from her grandmother after her passing last year was on the outskirts of a Hampshire village. It was where she’d retreated to after barely surviving the tornado that was Rocco. It was located in a quiet cul-de-sac and at this time of day, before children returned from school, the place was so peaceful, she could normally hear even the quietest engine idling.

  Dread crawling up her spine, she moved with leaden feet towards the window and nudged aside her curtain.

  Rocco stood on the pavement, deep in conversation with Mrs Hart.

  Mia’s heart slammed in her chest, then jumped into her throat when Rocco’s head jerked up.

  No!

  His gaze snapped to the window, snagging hers with the accuracy of a grappling hook. Even from that distance, the look in his eyes knocked the air from her lungs. Fingers frozen around a clump of curtain, she watched in dread as, without breaking eye contact, he retraced his steps down her flagstone path.

  This time there was no knock.

  He merely turned the handle and strode in. Straight to where she stood. Long, strong fingers pried the curtain from her hand, edged her away from the window.

  He reached into his breast pocket.

  Her palms grew damp with the rush of apprehension. ‘No!’ Dear God, not another ghastly letter. What would it demand of her this time? The very heart beating in her chest?

  But what he extracted wasn’t a letter. It was far too small, barely three inches wide, coloured and glossy.

  Bewildered, she watched him pass a thumb over its surface, his gaze fixed on the image. His face was ashen, harsh pants rushing through his clenched teeth as he fought for breath.

  Finally, his intense, almost unholy gaze speared hers.

  ‘You wanted to know why I came here? Because Nonna is convinced there is a vital secret I need to uncover. Something that belongs to me. So I’m going to ask you once, Mia. Who is this child? Where is he and, more importantly, what is he to me?’

  Copyright © 2020 by Maya Blake

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  ISBN-13: 9781488068614

  The Most Powerful of Kings

  Copyright © 2020 by Jackie Ashenden

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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