Secret Heirs: His One Night Consequence. Кэрол Мортимер

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      CARYS pulled her long, flapping coat tight around herself as she left the staff entrance. A cheap second-hand purchase, it helped combat Melbourne’s cold, but it was a size too large, billowing out in the wind and allowing chill draughts to tease her.

      A glance at the louring sky made her pick up her pace, scurrying to avoid the blur of rain already washing over the city. With luck her train would be on time and she’d get home at a reasonable hour. Two of her colleagues had returned to work today, so she didn’t have to stay back.

      Carys looked forward to the luxury of some quiet time with Leo then a long luxurious soak and a good night’s sleep.

      Resolutely she avoided the knowledge that she’d probably spend another sleepless night tossing and turning.

      She’d made it through the day in a state of numb shock, working like an automaton, except when the sight of a tall darkhaired man, or an unexpected call, froze the blood in her veins.

      She’d expected him to come after her. If not last night when she’d left him high and dry, then today.

      He knew where she worked. He knew far too much. Why had he left her alone?

      Foreboding crept through her. He was biding his time.

      It could only be Leo he wanted. Her precious boy. What else would drag Alessandro here from Italy?

      The realisation was like a knife at her neck. A man with Alessandro’s resources could get anything he wanted.

      If he wanted Leo…

      Carys had no illusions that he was here for anything else. For Alessandro, last night had simply been about the chance for hot sex.

      Absence from his wife must be wearing on him.

      Bile rose in Carys’ throat, a savage, scouring bitterness. Shame flooded her and she ducked her head.

      She hadn’t even remembered he was tied to another woman! The overwhelming reality of his presence had blasted Carys back to a time when she’d been his, body and soul. When she’d believed he was hers. Before he had married his blue-blooded heiress.

      Carys tasted salt on her tongue as she bit her lip.

      Distress filled her at how close she’d come to compounding her stupidity in an act that would shatter her principles.

      She hadn’t been able to meet her eyes in the mirror this morning, recalling her uninhibited response to him.

      Fury, disbelief and disappointment filled her. At him for using her as a convenience to assuage his physical needs. For not being the honourable man she’d once thought him. At herself for abandoning her pride and principles in letting him sweep her into his tempestuous embrace.

      Carys squared her shoulders. She’d played the fool for the last time. Besides, he’d relinquished all rights when he—

      A pair of massive mirror-polished black shoes blocked the pavement before her. Carys side-stepped to skirt the man, but with one long stride he moved too, forcing her to stop.

      Her gaze climbed a pair of bulky legs in pin-striped trousers so beautifully tailored they almost tamed the rampantly muscled solidity of the man. Neat shirt, dark tie, perfectly fitting jacket and a swarthy face topped by pepper and salt hair. Gold winked in the man’s earlobe as he turned his head and Carys stared, sure she’d seen him before.

      ‘Scusa, signorina. This way, please.’

      He extended one arm, gesturing towards the kerb.

      Carys turned to see a limousine with tinted windows drawn up beside her, its back door open.

      Her pulse sped up to thunder in her ears. A sprawl of long masculine limbs filled her vision of the interior and her heart rate spiked. The last thing she wanted was to share such an intimate space with Alessandro Mattani.

      ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ she muttered, automatically stepping back from the road.

      The large Italian moved closer, shepherding her towards the vehicle. Resolutely she planted her feet on the pavement, refusing to budge.

      She looked around, hoping to find the street filled with people, but the few she saw were racing for cover as big fat drops of rain spattered the pavement. There was no one to interfere if Alessandro’s goon tried to manhandle her into the car.

      ‘Why don’t you get in before you both get soaked?’ asked a cool voice from the back of the limo.

      Outraged dignity came to her rescue. ‘And if I’d prefer to get drenched than share a car with you?’

      ‘I’d say it was very selfish of you to force Bruno to suffer the same fate just for the sake of your pride.’

      Her eyes rounded. Pride? Alessandro thought this was simply about pride?

      The man beside her moved, closing in beside her, and Carys darted a glance at him, wondering if she had any hope of getting away. He was built like a rugby player, all dense-packed muscle. Right now he had that grim, blank-eyed set to his face that she’d seen on the super-tough minders of the rich and famous.

       ‘Per favore, signorina.’

      Drops splattered his jacket as the rain fell faster. He didn’t bat an eyelid, just watched her with the stony countenance of a man ready to deal with anything.

      She’d bet five feet six of female, hampered by heels and a skirt, would be the work of a moment to overpower.

      ‘Don’t let his looks fool you, Carys,’ came a laconic voice from the limo’s interior. ‘Bruno has a weak chest. He’s just got over a bout of bronchitis. I wouldn’t like him to have a relapse. And you wouldn’t want that on your conscience.’

      Carys blinked, catching the merest flicker of expression on the security man’s face. A smile? Surely not.

      Movement to one side caught her eye, and she turned to find Alessandro had slid to the edge of the seat and was regarding her with a peculiarly unreadable expression.

      ‘His wife would flay me alive if I brought him home with pneumonia.’

      Despite her anger, Carys felt her lips twitch. Once, long ago, Alessandro’s dry wit had been one of the things that had drawn her to him. She’d almost forgotten that, her memories skewed by those final, unhappy days when banter and teasing had been absent between them.

      ‘I would have thought blackmail was more your style,’ she jeered. ‘Or threats, rather than an appeal to my conscience.’

      Rain trickled into her collar, but she stood ramrod straight. This man was dangerous.

      A shrug of those lean shoulders and he said something in Italian that made Bruno move away to give them space. Carys barely had time to register the chance for escape when Alessandro’s voice curled around her, silkily smooth. ‘I regret last night, Carys. It wasn’t planned.’

      He paused, awaiting a response that she steadfastly refused to give. If that was his idea of an apology he had a lot to learn.

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