Sweet Revenge: The Martinez Marriage Revenge / The Italian Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge / The Kouros Marriage Revenge. JACQUELINE BAIRD

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      An apparently single mother and child … How difficult was it to do the maths and reach the conclusion of a looming custody battle?

      ‘Thanks,’ she expressed with genuine gratitude.

      How long would it take Marcello to plan his strategy and put it into action?

      A few days? A week?

      Meantime, she needed to consult a lawyer to spell out her legal rights in fine detail. She was aware of the basics, and sufficiently astute to realise what appeared logical and rational didn’t always hold true.

      She also intended to file for divorce.

      Given she could prove a separation of more than the legal requirement, it should only be a matter of time before she gained a dissolution of the marriage.

      Whereupon the only issue that could arise would be custody.

      An icy chill invaded her body and settled in her bones.

      Marcello couldn’t enforce custody of Nicki … surely?

      What rights would he possibly have?

      Shannay wrapped her arms tightly over her midriff, and barely prevented her body from shaking with very real fear.

      Her soon-to-be ex-husband possessed the wealth and the power to surmount any objective he set out to achieve.

      A silent scream echoed inside her brain.

      If he decided he wanted Nicki, then he’d move heaven and earth to get her.

      Over my dead body, Shannay resolved.

      CHAPTER TWO

      MARCELLO MARTINEZ moved through the international-terminal lounge with Carlo, his personal assistant and trusted bodyguard, at his side, seemingly unaware of the speculative interest in his tall, broad frame.

      The Martinez legacy had gifted him the compelling well-defined features of his forefathers, arresting, wide-set dark, almost black eyes which projected the hardness of a man well-versed in the frailty of human nature.

      There was an aura of power and intense masculinity apparent, together with a dangerous ruthlessness that boded ill for any adversary.

      He was linked to Spanish nobility, with a personal wealth that placed him high on a list of the European rich.

      And it showed … as he meant it to do, from the Armani tailoring, hand-stitched Italian shoes, to the fine Rolex at his wrist.

      The long flight had done little to ease the anger simmering beneath his control. The luxuriously fitted Gulf Stream privately owned jet offered every comfort, geared with the latest technology enabling him to have an essential office in the sky.

      Although he’d worked, studying print-outs, graphs and data, checked his BlackBerry and kept in touch with Sandro … he hadn’t been able to switch off and sleep.

      Something he usually achieved at will, given the comfortable bed situated with its own en suite at the rear of the jet.

      Instead he was plagued by a young woman’s image, startlingly vivid and recently taken via camera phone.

      Shannay Martinez … née Robbins.

      And his daughter.

      The before and after shots.

      The first serene, happy and loving. Mother and child, laughing.

      In the second image, the child’s expression remained the same. His estranged wife’s features, however, mirrored shock and something else …

      The innate knowledge life as she’d known it since leaving Spain was about to change?

      Without doubt.

      A muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw as he exited the terminal’s automatic glass doors and stepped into a limousine waiting at the kerb.

      The chauffeur stowed his bags in the boot and moved up front to slide in behind the wheel.

      Marcello barely noticed the passing scene beyond the tinted windows as the limousine left the airport and began picking up speed en route to the city.

       A child.

      Anger, barely held in control since Sandro’s enlightening phone call, rose to the surface.

      How dared Shannay keep him in ignorance of the child’s existence? His initial reaction had been to instruct his pilot to ready the Gulf Stream jet for an immediate flight to Australia.

      Instead, he’d delegated with icy calm, consulted his legal team and planned his strategy.

      Tomorrow he intended to bring it into play.

      Marcello’s suite in the inner-city hotel offered first-class luxury, and with practised ease he shrugged off his jacket, discarded his tie, organised his unpacking and settled down to peruse the report handed to him on check-in.

      The private-investigation resource he’d utilised had done a good job. The document revealed a detailed listing of Shannay’s movements over the past few days, her address, unlisted telephone number, the make, model and registration of her car, place of work, Nicki’s kindergarten facility.

      Details which filled in some of the blanks, and revealed she hadn’t touched so much as a cent of the money he’d initially deposited into a bank account bearing her name. Or the amount he’d contributed each month since.

      He wanted to shake her, and would have if she’d been within reach.

      What was she trying to prove?

      Something he already knew.

      His family connections, his wealth and social status had never impressed her.

      She’d fallen into his life, literally, he mused, recalling the moment the fine heel of one of her stilettos had become caught in a metal grating and had pitched her against him on a busy city street in the heart of Madrid.

      He’d been unprepared for the instantaneous physical chemistry … and an instinctive need to lengthen contact with her.

      They’d shared coffee in a nearby upmarket café, exchanged cellphone numbers … and the rest was history. Marcello closed the report and crossed to the wide expanse of double-glazed glass offering a brilliant view of the Swan river.

      The sky provided an azure backdrop to tall city buildings, selected greenery … a colourful panoramic pictorial, he noted absently, reminding him of a similar visit a few brief years ago when his ring on Shannay’s finger had claimed her as his wife.

      A time when they couldn’t get enough of each other, and had rarely spent a moment apart.

      Marcello felt his body tighten at the memory of all that СКАЧАТЬ