She lifted her chin. âWhereâs the bedroom?â
Surprise flared silver in his eyes and his mouth quirked in a small smile. âYou are constantly amazing me.â
She ignored the warmth that flared through her at his praise. âDonât patronise me, Angelo.â
âTrust me, I am not. Perhaps tragedy has made you stronger, Lucia, for you have far more spirit now than I ever gave you credit for when we were children.â
âYes, I do.â Tragedy had made her stronger. She was glad he saw it. âThe bedroom,â she prompted and he smiled faintly even as he watched her, still wary.
âAre you sure about this?â
âWhy shouldnât I be?â
âA decision like this should not be made in the heat of the momentââ
âAnd itâs not the heat of the moment right now,â she answered. Still he stared at her, his eyes dark and considering.
âI donât,â he finally said in a low voice, âwant to hurt you.â
Lucia swallowed past the ache his words opened up inside her. Heâd hurt so many times in the past, but this time it would be different.
âYou wonât,â she said. This time she wouldnât let him. She knew what she wanted, what to expect. This time she would be the one to walk away.
KATE HEWITT discovered her first Mills & Boon>® romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen and sheâs continued to read them ever since. She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it too. That story was one sentence longâfortunately theyâve become a bit more detailed as sheâs grown older. She has written plays, short stories and magazine serials for many years, but writing romance remains her first love. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, travelling and learning to knit.
After marrying the man of her dreamsâher older brotherâs childhood friendâshe lived in England for six years and now resides in Connecticut with her husband, her three young children, and the possibility of one day getting a dog.
Kate loves to hear from readersâyou can contact her through her website: www.kate-hewitt.com
To Gabriâthanks for all your help with Italian phrases. I donât know what Iâd do without you! Love, K.
Special thanks and acknowledgement are given to Sharon Kendrick for her contribution to Sicilyâs Corretti Dynasty series
IT WAS HIS. All his. Almost his, for tomorrow he had an appointment to sign the papers transferring the ownership of the Corretti Hotel Palermo from Corretti Enterprises to Corretti International. Angelo Correttiâs mouth twisted at the irony. From one Corretti to another. Or not.
Slowly he strolled through the hotel lobby, watching the bellhops catch sight of him, their eyes widening before they straightened to attention. A middle-aged woman at the concierge desk eyed him apprehensively, clearly waiting to spring into action if summoned. He hadnât been formally introduced to any of the hotel staff, but he had no doubt they knew who he was. Heâd been in and out of the Corretti offices for nearly a week, arranging meetings with the major shareholders who had no choice but to hand over the reins of the flagship hotel in view of their CEOâs absence and Angeloâs controlling shares.
It had, in the end, all been so gloriously simple. Leave the Correttis alone for a little while and theyâd tear themselves apart. They just couldnât help it.
âSir? Signorâ¦Corretti?â The concierge finally approached him, her heels clicking across the marble floor of the soaring foyer. Angelo heard how she stumbled over his name, because of course everyone knew the Correttis here, and in all of Sicily. They were the most powerful and scandalous family in southern Italy. And he wasnât one of them.
Except he was.
He felt his mouth twist downwards as that all too familiar and futile rage coursed through him. He was one of them, but he had neverâand never would beâacknowledged as one, even if everyone knew the truth of his birth. Even if everyone in the village heâd grown up in, from the time he was a little boy and barely understood it himself, had known he was Carlo Correttiâs bastard and made his life hell because of it.
He turned to the concierge, forcing his mouth upwards into a smile. âYes?â
âIs there anything I can do for you?â she asked, and he saw the uncertainty in her eyes, the fear that heâd come in here and sweep it all clean. And part of him was tempted to do just that. Every single person who worked here had been loyal to the family he despised and was determined to ruin. Why shouldnât he fire them all, bring in his own people?
âNo, thank you, Natalia.â Heâd glanced at her discreet, silver-plated name tag before meeting her worried gaze with a faint smile. âIâll just go to my room.â Heâd booked the penthouse suite for tonight, intending to savour staying in the best room of his enemyâs best hotel. The room he knew for a fact was reserved almost exclusively for Matteo Correttiâs use, except since the debacle of the called-off Corretti/Battaglia wedding, Matteo was nowhere to be seen. He wouldnât be using the suite even if he could, which from tomorrow he couldnât.