Forgotten Mistress, Secret Love-Child

155 Pages·2016·0.76 MB·English

by  West Annie

“You have no right to do this. Let me go.” Yet she’d stopped
struggling, merely stood straighter and unyielding in his embrace.
“No right?” He swiped his thumb across her mouth, tugging at her lower lip,
feeling its luscious pad and the moist heat of her breath against his skin. Her
mouth opened and those eyelids flickered betrayingly. “You give me the right
when you respond to me that way.” Again he slid his thumb along her mouth,
this time pressing deeper, till he felt her tongue slick against his finger.
Madonna mia! How potent was this woman that the mere touch of her tongue
could splinter his control?
Surprise darkened her eyes. She felt it, too.
An image filled his brain. Of rich dark hair spread over plump white pillows. Of
his hands threading through its satiny splendor, splaying it out like a radiant
sunburst.
Not just an image.
A memory!
ANNIE WEST discovered romance early—her childhood best friend’s house
was an unending store of Harlequin® books—and she’s been addicted ever since.
Fortunately she found her own real-life romantic hero while studying at
university, and married him. After gaining (despite the distraction) an honors
classics degree, Annie took a job in the public service. For years she wrote and
redrafted and revised: government plans, letters for cabinet ministers and reports
for parliament. Checking the text of a novel is so much more fun!
Annie started to write romance when she took leave to spend time with her
children. Between school activities she produced her first novel. At the same
time she discovered Romance Writers of Australia. Since then she’s been active
in RWAus writers’ groups and competitions. She attends annual conferences,
and loves the support she gets from so many other writers. Her first Harlequin
novel came out in 2005.
Annie lives with her hero (still the same one) and her children at Lake
Macquarie, north of Sydney, and spends her time fantasizing about gorgeous
men and their love lives. It’s hard work, but she has no regrets!
Annie loves to hear from readers. You can contact her via her Web site,
www.annie-west.com or at [email protected].
FORGOTTEN MISTRESS, SECRET LOVE-CHILD
ANNIE WEST
REGALLY WED
FORGOTTEN MISTRESS, SECRET LOVE-CHILD
This one’s for Judy!
Hope it brings you joy.
Warm hugs and huge thanks to Anna, Josie, Marilyn, Monique and Serena,
whose expertise made this book possible.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
ALESSANDRO spared barely a glance for the promotional material he tossed into
his out tray. His newest PA still hadn’t learnt what he should see and what he
had no time for. The textile manufacturing arm of the company would be
represented at the upcoming trade fair. But one of his managers could handle
that. It hardly needed the CEO to…
Oddio mio!
His gaze caught on a photo as a brochure landed askew, half covered by
discarded papers.
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed on the curve of a woman’s smile, a tiny mole like
a beauty spot drawing attention to a mouth that would catch any man’s interest.
Wide, lush, inviting.
Every muscle froze even as his pulse revved and blood roared in his ears.
That smile.
That mouth.
Yet it wasn’t sexual awareness that arrested him. A tantalising wisp of almost-
memory wafted behind his conscious thoughts. A taste, sweet as ripe summer
cherries, rich and addictive.
Heat filled him, despite the climate-controlled air in his spacious office. A zap
of something that might have been emotion stifled the breath in his lungs.
Alessandro froze, telling himself not to analyse but to relax and let the sensations
surface. Willing the recollections to come.
Like a lacy curtain in a breeze, the blankness cloaking his memory of those
missing months two years ago rippled. It shifted, parted, and then dropped back
into place.
His hands clenched, white-knuckled on the edge of his glass and black marble
desk. But Alessandro didn’t register pain, just the infuriating, familiar sense of
nothingness.
Only to himself would he acknowledge how helpless that void made him feel.
How vulnerable. It didn’t matter that he’d been assured those lost months
contained nothing out of the ordinary. Other people remembered that time: what
he’d done and said. But he, Alessandro Mattani, had no recall.
Swift as thought, he tugged the brochure from the papers. It was an
advertisement for a luxury hotel. He turned it over. A luxury hotel in Melbourne.
advertisement for a luxury hotel. He turned it over. A luxury hotel in Melbourne.
Alessandro waited, but no spark of recognition came. He hadn’t travelled to
Melbourne.
Not that he could remember.
Impatience flared and he forced it down, breathing deeply. An emotional
response wouldn’t help. Even if the sense of loss, of missing something vital,
sometimes threatened to drive him to the edge.
He flipped over the flyer again. A woman, a receptionist, smiled at a
handsome couple as they checked in. The photo was professionally styled, yet
despite its air-brushed gloss, there was something riveting about the
receptionist’s smile.
The setting was opulent, but Alessandro had grown up with luxury and barely
bothered to notice. The woman, on the other hand…she intrigued him.
The more he stared, the more he felt an atavistic premonition that made his
blood pump faster and prickled the skin at his nape. She was so familiar.
Had she smiled at him like that?
A tickle of awareness started low in his belly.
A tickle of…certainty.
Carefully he catalogued her features. Dark hair pulled back sleekly from a
pleasant but unremarkable face. Her nose was pert, a trifle short. Her eyes were
surprisingly light for her brunette colouring. Her mouth was wide.
She wasn’t beautiful. She wasn’t exotic enough to turn heads. And yet she
had…something. A charisma the photographer had seen and capitalised on.
Alessandro traced the angle of her cheekbone, the gentle curve of her jaw, to
pause on the lush promise of her lips.
There it was again. That tingle of presentiment. The intuition that she was no
stranger. It drew every muscle and sinew in his body tight, as if in readiness for
action.
Behind the opaque gauze of his faulty memory something shifted.
Sensation, soft as the tentative brush of those lips against his. That taste again,
of sun-ripened cherries. Irresistible. The phantom caress of delicate fingers along
his jaw, over his rapidly pulsing heart. The sound of feminine sighs, the
aftermath of ecstasy.
Alessandro’s chest heaved as if from intense physical exertion. Sweat prickled
his nape and brow as his body stirred with arousal.
Impossible!
Yet instinct clamoured with a truth he couldn’t ignore.
He knew her. Had met her. Held her. Made love to her.
His nostrils flared on a surge of wholly masculine possessiveness. The
primitive sense of ownership, of a male scenting his mate, was unmistakeable.