AS HE WATCHED the tiny dot appear through the clouds the ambassador of Niroli's throat dried. What if this precious heir to the throne should perish? And with Nico Fierezza's addiction to extreme sports that seemed extremely likely; if not today, then some day soon. The ambassador's nerves refused to steady even when the dot turned into six feet four of solid muscle and Nico hit the ground on target. Only Nico didn't hit the ground, he landed like a cat. As someone took away his parachute Nico lifted off his helmet and stared straight at the ambassador. He had detected the distinguished visitor in the same instant he had located the cross hairs on his jumping target and was relieved to see that duty rather than disaster had brought him to the field. He maintained a distance between himself and the bickering and power play surrounding his grandfather, King Giorgio of Niroli. The Fierezza family had ruled Niroli since the Middle Ages, but Nico was a self-made man. Niroli, a tiny island set like a jewel in the Mediterranean, was prosperous and beautiful enough to attract the glitterati from every part of the world, which was enough in itself to keep him away. He had built up his own architectural practice in London free from royal privilege or favour and could state categorically that everything he owned he had earned. He had been drunk on adrenalin when he'd landed, feeling invincible because he'd survived against the odds the highest jump without oxygen ever recorded, but calm reason had kicked in reminding him that, like any emotion, euphoria was a dangerous deception; it clouded the mind. Tucking his helmet under his arm, he started forward with his usual purposeful stride. He couldn't account for the insatiable force driving him. He'd had a happy childhood, idyllic compared to most, with a mother who adored him and poured all her love into the family. Perhaps that was it, Nico thought, halting at a point where he and the ambassador could have some privacy, perhaps men like him came with an inborn gene that insisted they must break away from everything that was feminine and soft and loving and drive themselves to the limit just to know they were alive. His father had done this, taking his yacht to the limit of its capabilities, killing himself along with his brother and sister-in- law. It was a miracle his mother had survived and was a lesson he would never forget. As the ambassador approached Nico ordered himself to go easy on the man, but there could be no compromise. He might be the grandson of the king, but he neither asked for nor expected any favours. 'Ambassador?' he said curtly as the portly man arrived. 'You recognised me...' The ambassador gave a nervous laugh. 'Of course.' Nico's voice was clipped and controlled. As always he was polite, toning down his need to know in deference to the other man's advanced age. 'My mother?' 'Is quite well, sir. Your grandfather too....' Nico's brow furrowed. Why the hesitation? As if he didn't know. 'His Majesty wishes to see me.' It was a statement rather than a question. Nico never wasted his breath on unnecessary questions. 'That is correct, sir.' The ambassador was distracted briefly by the whoops of celebration from other skydivers in the competition. Nico's had been a landslide victory, but he remained unmoved, his thoughts hidden behind his slate-blue gaze. As he stroked one hand across the sun-bleached hair he kept aggressively short, Nico had no idea how intimidating he appeared to the older man. Lean and tanned from working outside in all weather, Nico Fierezza towered a good six inches over the ambassador. It didn't matter that an architectural scheme had been conceived in the clinical surroundings of his high-tech office-Nico liked to see his cutting-edge designs up close. So while the ambassador's hands were soft and white, Nico's were weather-beaten and rough, and the ambassador hardly seemed to have a beard in contrast to Nico's black, piratical stubble. But the ambassador worked for a wily monarch and was used to handling every type of situation. He had recovered from his trot across the airfield and his shrewd grey eyes missed nothing. He rested super alert like a pulsing brain as Nico began to speak. 'Please tell His Majesty that I will attend him the moment my business allows.' As a cheer went up and calls rang out for Nico to join the other men on the podium he made a holding gesture with the flat of his hand. The ambassador weighed the facts. Nico Fierezza was easily the best of all the men there. Surely, he must be feeling the same charge they did, the same adrenalin rush? And yet he appeared to be in no hurry to join the celebrations and there was no hint of self-congratulation in his expression. He'd heard this grandson to the king was a stranger to emotion, and it seemed the rumours were true. Nothing could have suited his purpose bett
Chapter 1 I tried the house
THERE WAS A single white rose on a coffin splattered with raindrops....
It made Carrie sad to see the tender bloom lying on the brass plate that spoke
to a world that would never read it: the name of an aunt who had never loved her. But love could not be controlled at will, and Carrie had loved her aunt in spite of the woman's rejection of her. Sad as she was, Carrie was glad there were
some things words could never destroy and that love was one of them.
'Carrie Evans?'
Carrie turned to find a man standing behind her. He was sheltering beneath
the oily spread of a black umbrella, which made the shadows on his saturnine face all the deeper, adding to his air of gloom. There were only four people at her aunt's funeral other than herself-the minister and three undertakers-and it was hard to feel brave as the small group peeled away to allow her some privacy.
Lifting up her chin, she gazed squarely into the face of the man. 'I'm Carrie Evans. Can I help you?'
'Sorry, miss...I tried the house.'
Carrie didn't know the man, but she could guess what he had come for. He
was here to serve papers evicting her from her aunt's house on the instructions of
relatives who hadn't been to visit Aunt Mabel in Carrie's living memory. Asolicitor had rung her yesterday to explain.
Yesterday, the day when everything in her life had changed for good....
Carrie was twenty-five, but she looked much younger. Her complexion was pale and she dressed conservatively, keeping her luxuriant hair scraped back neatly in a practical twist. She found the lush tresses an embarrassment. Her
natural hair colour was a rich golden red that painters called titian, and she believed it better suited to an actress or a glamour model. She had even thought about dying her hair a pale shade of brown, but the upkeep would have been too much on a secretary's salary. Her eyes were large and cornflower-blue and were
perhaps her most expressive feature. Widely set and fringed with sable lashes, they were quick to darken with emotion, but could turn steely when there was something or someone to defend.
The man addressing Carrie saw a capable young woman, a little too plump
to ever be called stylish, but determined, nonetheless, he concluded.
'I have already cleared my belongings from my late aunt's house,' she told him without rancour, 'and as soon as we're finished here I will collect my suitcase and deliver the house keys to my aunt's solicitor....'
She couldn't do any more, and he felt some sympathy for her. He'd heard she had nowhere to go since her aunt's heirs had turned up and laid claim to the house where she lived. 'You're so well organised,' he said, trying to soften the
blow for her, 'I hardly need to give you this....'
'I think you do,' she told him.
Her tone was serious and exposed his attempt to console her for the sham it was. She held his gaze as she reached for the documents he was carrying and, as he handed over the eviction notice, he couldn't help thinking that, in spite of the downturn in her fortunes, the young woman in front of him possessed a quiet
dignity that commanded his respect.
She had forgotten how cold and bare her attic room was. The eviction notice
allowed her twenty-four hours to clear out her things. She neither wanted nor needed twenty-four hours. She missed her aunt, but she was pleased to be leaving such a sad and lonely place. Her aunt's house could so easily have been filled with love and laughter if only Aunt Mabel had been able to forget that
Carrie's father had chosen Carrie's mother over herself.
But things could be worse. Carrie's mouth tipped down wryly as she totted
up the facts. She was jobless, homeless, single and pregnant.
Carrie's wry smile turned into a smile of true happiness when she thought about her baby. The pregnancy was a source of great joy to her that nothing could dim. She was going to have someone to love; someone who would love
her, someone she could care for and champion. The only problem was her baby's father. He would have to be told. He had a right to know, Carrie thought, even as her stomach clenched with apprehension.
Unfortunately, her baby's father was the hardest and most unfeeling man she
had ever known. He was about as approachable as a tiger with a thorn in its pad.
He was also the man she was in love with, the man she had loved since the first
moment she had set eyes on him; the only man she could ever love...The same
man who barely knew she was alive. And the longer she left it, the harder it would be to tell him that he was about to become a father.
Crossing her arms over her stomach in a protective gesture, Carrie determined she would not allow anything to stand in the way of her baby's future happiness, certainly not her own lack of nerve. She had to face up to him
and she would. She didn't want anything for herself, but she did want recognition and security for her child. Her baby's father was a very wealthy man and she wondered if he could be persuaded to set up a trust fund to provide for college fees when the time came.
Before Carrie had learned she was pregnant she had dreamed of leaving the
office where she had worked as a secretary to try and turn her hobby of painting
into a profession, but that was out of the question now. She planned instead to
find some cheap accommodation and work until the baby came. Her goal was to
build up a small nest egg so that one day she could buy a modest property with a
child-friendly garden. A solid base was important. She didn't want a child of
hers to be pushed from pillar to post as she had been after her parents' tragic
accident. She might be homeless today, but not for long.
Nico Fierezza. It was the only name the King of Niroli had allowed to be spoken
in his presence for days, and he had just been informed that his grandson Nico
was on the final flight path to Niroli.
Nico piloting his own jet...King Giorgio's mouth curved with appreciation.
Nico lived the life he would have enjoyed had not royal duty claimed him. And now the only task remaining in his long and eventful life was to tame this wild grandson of his and persuade him to accept the throne.
Tame Nico Fierezza? King Giorgio's eyes clouded over. Even a king might find that a challenge. Then his crafty gaze brightened. Maybe there wasn't a man alive who could tame Nico Fierezza, but a woman might...
What was he doing in Niroli? Nico asked himself as he brought his jet down in a perfect landing. What was he doing back on this small, lush, glamorous island?
Niroli, the island of dreams for so many, but not for him.
He was happy to undertake the odd restoration project of the sort he had
recently completed for his cousin Isabella, or even to design major projects like
the new airport-terminal building. But his life was in London. The only things he
had missed about Niroli were his mother, Princess Laura, and his brothers, Luca
and Max. His younger brother, Max, was fully committed to the wine groves he
cared for, and his older brother, Luca, owned the casino that contributed so much
to the island's wealth. Luca had run the casino himself for years, but after a whirlwind romance he had recently married and moved to his bride's native Australia to develop his business interests over there. Nico was the only member
of his family to have inherited the restless gene, and right now that gene was killing him, urging him to leave the island before he had even halted the jet.
Nico's lips tightened with impatience as he taxied in to the premier spot.
They had laid out the red carpet for him. When would they ever learn that pomp
and ceremony were the very last things that would lure him back to Niroli? But
this was his first visit to the island since the tragedy of the yachting accident.
Half his immediate family gone and the weight of their loss still hung heavily on
him. Was his time so precious he couldn't spare any for his remaining family?
He would do what he could to reassure his ageing grandfather and then he'd
spend some time with the rest of his family. But not too much time. He didn't want to raise false hope. He could do the maths as well as anyone. There were three surviving male heirs ahead of him, and he had no doubt they had all found
some reason to exclude themselves from the succession, which meant he was
next on the list.
Why else would his grandfather want to see him?
Whatever King Giorgio's reason, it didn't change a thing; he wasn't interested in the throne.
Nico's reasons for refusing the throne of Niroli went far beyond his restless
nature. He wouldn't accept anything under false pretences and knew that the last
thing Niroli needed was another king desperately casting about for an heir some
time in the future. A childhood illness had left him infertile, which meant marriage and long-term relationships had always been out of the question. He didn't dwell on it, and in some ways it suited him, because he didn't answer to
anyone.
She couldn't tell the father of her baby the news over the telephone. She had no
alternative other than to face the lion in his den....
Lifting her suitcase as the underground train slowed to a halt, Carrie
squeezed her way through the press of commuters. When she finally saw the
light of day again she put her suitcase down and turned her collar up. It was a typical summer's day in London with rain sheeting down from pewter skies.
And every cab was taken, which was hardly a surprise. One drop of rain was always enough to ensure that was the case, and this was a full-blown summer storm.
Picking up her bag, Carrie started to walk at a brisk pace towards the commercial centre of the city where she had been employed as a secretary. It seemed so long ago, though it had only been three months since she had left her
job on a point of principle.
More pride than principle, Carrie accepted, shivering with cold. Aunt Mabel,
Chapter 1 I tried the house
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Chapter 2 The girl shrugged
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Chapter 3 I want you Carrie
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Chapter 4 With a smile
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Chapter 5 She wasn't anybody's
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Chapter 6 Responsible for it
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Chapter 7 Fine with at the time
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Chapter 8 There are plenty
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Chapter 9 Noticed before
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Chapter 10 Your must believe
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Chapter 11 Furious
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Chapter 12 Good for her baby
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Chapter 13 Need for that
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Chapter 14 About is beautiful
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Chapter 15 Woman of the world
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Chapter 16 Wanted an end to the
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Chapter 17 Fell beautiful
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Chapter 18 Confidence of knowing
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Chapter 19 The impostor
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Chapter 20 Relationship with the woman
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Chapter 21 Marriage shortly after that
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Chapter 22 Need professional
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Chapter 23 Swiftly about his duty
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