Castellano's Mistress of Revenge. Melanie Milburne

mine this time around.’

      She glared at him. ‘Women are not possessions you can own, Marc, or at least not in this century.’

      He gave a lift of one shoulder as if he couldn’t care less what she thought. ‘If you are not going to eat then you can watch me, as I am starving,’ he said, signalling for the waiter.

      ‘No doubt all the machinations you’ve been engineering have worked up quite some appetite,’ she put in spitefully.

      His eyes glinted as he laid the menu to one side. ‘Not just for food, ma belle,’ he said. ‘I have other appetites that require satiation, but I am prepared to delay gratification, for a little while at least.’

      Ava narrowed her eyes in wariness. ‘What do you mean by that?’

      He gave her an enigmatic slant of his lips that was almost a smile. ‘You think I am such an animal that I would insist on you sleeping with me from day one?’

      She pursed her mouth, thinking about it for a moment. ‘You’re paying me a lot of money,’ she said at last. ‘I am not sure why you would want to wait on your return on it unless you have a specific agenda in mind.’

      ‘I have no agenda other than the one I stated earlier,’ he said. ‘I want you to be my temporary mistress. It’s as simple as that.’

      The waiter approached, which meant Ava had no chance to respond. She gave the man her simple order, while her mind shuffled through various scenarios.

      Marc was a proud and bitter man who wanted revenge for the way she had supposedly betrayed him. He had gone to extraordinary lengths to get her back into his life, but it seemed he was not going to rush her into his bed.

      Why?

      She chewed at her lip as she heard him interact with the waiter, her eyes watching his mouth, the way it moved with each word he articulated. His lips were beautifully sculptured, the lower one fuller than the top one, hinting at the sensuality she had already experienced. Her mouth tingled at the memory of the pressure of his, the way his tongue had played with hers, teasing it, taming it and mating with it until she had melted in his arms.

      Marc looked across the table and met her eyes, a hot spurt of lust shooting through his groin as he saw the way her small white teeth were playing with her soft lips. She released her lower lip and the blood flowed back into it, making him want to crush his mouth to hers to taste her beguiling sweetness. Her grey-blue gaze wavered for a moment under the scrutiny of his, her guilt no doubt making her lower it in shame.

      His gut twisted with knots of tension as he thought of the photographs in the Press of her wedding to Cole. She had been a beautiful bride; he had never seen a more stunning one, which had somehow made it so much worse. He fisted his hands beneath the table, not trusting himself to hold his wine glass without breaking it. Hardly a day went past when those images didn’t taunt him with her perfidy. What a fool he had been to trust her the way he had. He had thought she was playing a game when she left him. He had bided his time, waiting for her to come crawling back to him, begging him to take her back as his mistress. But instead she had humiliated him in the most devastating way possible.

      But he was five years older now, five years wiser and five years more successful and powerful. This time things would be different. Ava McGuire had humiliated him before, but this time around he was going to have her right where he wanted her.

      Not with his ring on her finger, not even in the palm of his hand, but in his bed for as long as he wanted her.

      Chapter Three

      ONCE their meals arrived, Ava picked at her salad, her stomach recoiling from every mouthful she tried to swallow. She was intensely aware of Marc’s brooding gaze, the ruthless set to his mouth at times unnerved her far more than the sexual tension she could feel pulsing between them.

      They had moved to the coffee stage when Ava became aware of a slight commotion behind her. She turned in her seat to see a photographer with his lens aimed at her sitting with Marc.

      ‘Act as naturally as possible,’ Marc said in an undertone as he reached for her hand across the table.

      Ava felt the blood rush to her fingertips where his fingers touched hers, but she forced her stiff posture to relax, reminding herself all of this was for Serena’s sake.

      Several photos were taken and the young female journalist who had come in with the photographer asked Marc about his decision to reunite with his exmistress.

      ‘Signor Castellano, earlier this evening you released a Press statement citing your intention to resume your relationship with Ava McGuire, the woman who left you for the late property tycoon Douglas Cole five years ago. Do you have anything further to add to that statement?’

      Marc gave his white slash of a smile. ‘As you can see, we are back together and very happy,’ he said. ‘That is all I am prepared to say.’

      The journalist scribbled madly before asking with a provocative smile, ‘Is there any chance of wedding bells in the not too distant future?’

      Marc’s polite smile was still in place, but Ava could see the flint-like momentary flash in his gaze as it briefly met hers before returning to the journalist’s. ‘My stance on this subject has not changed. I have no intention of marrying anyone.’

      The journalist turned to Ava. ‘Mrs Cole, you have developed quite a reputation throughout Europe as a trophy wife. After all, your late husband was thirtyeight years older than you. Do you have any comment to make on that?’

      Ava felt Marc’s fingers subtly tighten around hers. ‘Um…I am not prepared to comment on my private life,’ she said, feeling her cheeks flame at the condescending look the journalist was giving her. ‘It has always been, and will always remain, off limits.’

      The journalist was undaunted. ‘Do you have any intention of working for a living other than as Signor Castellano’s mistress?’

      Ava squared her shoulders. ‘I am his…’ she paused as she hunted for a word ‘…his—er—partner, not his mistress.’

      The journalist lifted one finely plucked eyebrow. ‘His lover, don’t you mean?’

      Ava felt another warning squeeze from Marc’s strong fingers. ‘I have already told you I am not prepared to discuss my private life,’ she said.

      Still with her hand encased in his, Marc rose to his feet, signalling to the journalist that the impromptu interview was now at an end. ‘If you will excuse us,’ he gave the young woman another smile, ‘Miss McGuire and I have a lot of time to catch up on.’

      ‘One last question, Signor Castellano,’ the young woman said as she strategically blocked their exit. ‘Does your reunion with Mrs…I mean, Miss McGuire mean you have forgiven her for marrying the man who won the bid for the Dubai hotel over yours? Word has it the contract was as good as yours until she shifted camps, so to speak.’

      There was a stiff silence broken only by the clatter of plates and cutlery being cleared from the other tables in the restaurant.