From Exposé to Expecting: An Uplifting International Romance

By Andie Brock

Attention-grabbing headlines and stunning surprises are plentiful in this sexy enemies to lovers romance by Andie Brock.

The most shocking story of all:
“I am going to have a baby.”

Following the sexiest time of her life with Leonardo Ravenino, journalist Emma Quinn is left mortified by his swift rejection. To let off steam, she writes a private, scandalous exposé on the tycoon…and is horrified when it’s accidentally published! Yet that’s nothing compared to the surprise that soon follows…

Leo’s enraged to see the woman who ruined his name on his doorstep. But once he discovers Emma’s pregnant, he knows what he has to do. Claiming his child will be easy. Trusting Emma and their palpable chemistry? Unimaginable!

From Harlequin Presents: Escape to exotic locations where passion knows no bounds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlequin Presents
• Release date: May 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781488073533

Andie Brock

Andie Brock started inventing imaginary friends around the age of four and is still doing that today; only now the sparkly fairies have made way for spirited heroines and sexy heroes. Thankfully she now has some real friends, as well as a husband and three children, plus a grumpy but lovable cat. Andie lives in Bristol and when not actually writing, could well be plotting her next passionate romance story.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

THE ENORMOUS BUNCH of flowers wobbled through the air. Without thinking, Emma stepped forward, her arms outstretched, ready to catch it. Her fingers managed to grab hold of the twisted stems, but the weight took her by surprise and she had to clasp the bouquet to her chest to stop it from toppling forward. Only then did she wonder what on earth she thought she was doing.

For a moment she stood there, feeling silly, the crushed blooms held tightly, hopefully, like she was expecting some sort of reward. A future husband possibly. Ha!

But no one was looking at her. All eyes had turned to the woman who had thrown them. On the other side of the security barriers a beautiful female with tumbling dark hair was having a full-on argument with the security guards.

‘Do you have any idea who I am?’ Her voice echoed around the atrium. ‘My name is Vogue Monroe and I’ve a good mind to have you both sacked.’ She positively shimmered with rage, glaring at the guards with flashing eyes and a heaving chest.

Vogue Monroe. Emma had guessed right. Hollywood actress and latest in a long line of stunning women to be romantically linked with Leonardo Ravenino. She edged closer for a better look.

‘I’m sorry, miss, it doesn’t matter who you are, you are not coming in without an appointment.’

‘Fine. Whatever.’ Vogue held up her hands, nails like talons. ‘But you can give him a message from me.’ She tossed her head, dark curls rippling down her back. ‘You can tell Leonardo Ravenino that he is nothing but a...a selfish, arrogant, egotistical bastard.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘You can tell him that I actually feel sorry for him. Because he is emotionally sterile, incapable of forming a real relationship with anyone because the only person he loves is himself!’

It was an award-winning performance—Emma had to give her that. And she had certainly got everyone’s attention, as a quick glance at the row of receptionists along one wall revealed. They retained a professional air, but their hands on their keyboards had stilled.

‘And you can tell him...’ Her piercing gaze now fell on Emma, her green eyes flicking from the bouquet still held in Emma’s arms to Emma’s startled face. ‘You can tell him exactly what he can do with his flowers.’

Well! Emma stood rooted to the spot. If only she worked for one of the tabloids this would be pure gold.

But Emma Quinn didn’t work for the tabloids. She was junior features reporter for the Paladin newspaper. A serious, well-respected publication with a politically and socially well-informed readership. She was here to do an interview with Leonard Ravenino on renewable energy. Except he was already over two hours late. If Ms Monroe did but know it, even if she had managed to gain entry to Raven Enterprises, her ex-lover was not around to feel the weight of her wrath.

She watched as, with a final flourish, the actress exited the building, long legs folding themselves into a chauffeur-driven car waiting outside, tinted windows hiding her from view as the car pulled into the traffic.

Drama over, Emma turned back. Two hours of waiting meant she was familiar with every inch of Raven Enterprises’ gleaming reception area. A sleek white desk ran along one side, where four receptionists, all dressed in black, quietly turned back to their work. One of whom, Nathalie, had been kindly trying to update Emma on Signor Ravenino’s likely time of arrival. Even if she hadn’t known herself.

But Emma would wait as long as it took. She was not going to let this opportunity slip through her fingers. Securing an interview with Leonardo Ravenino was the biggest coup of her journalistic career so far. The enigmatic Italian businessman gave very few interviews—in fact, he had a reputation for mistrusting the press. Emma had had the feeling, when her editor had set her the task, that he hadn’t really thought she stood a cat in hell’s chance—a bit like sending the new kid out for a tin of striped paint. But somehow, against the odds, she had done it. And she was not going to mess this up.

She had done her research, reading everything she could about this handsome billionaire. Far more than the interview called for, in fact. But she had found herself fascinated by the man. Fabulously wealthy but notoriously private, he had a penchant for dating high-profile women but loathed the tabloid press.

Even so, there was no shortage of pictures of him, a different actress or socialite on his arm every time, a minor royal draped around his six-foot-four frame as they left a nightclub, or a fashion model lounging on the deck of his yacht, all tiny bikini and golden tan, caught by the powerful zoom lenses of the paparazzi.

Enigmatic was a word the tabloids bandied about a lot, so were inscrutable, mysterious. Charming when he chose to be but taciturn in equal measure. Rude even, especially when confronted with a microphone or a sea of camera flashes.

His background was puzzling too. It hadn’t taken long for Emma to discover that he had been next in line to inherit the title of Conte di Ravenino, head of the Italian principality whose name he bore, which had been in his family since the sixteenth century. But for some reason he had turned his back on the place and walked away, the title going to his younger brother. Try as she might, Emma couldn’t find out why.

‘Would you like me to take that from you?’ Indicating the heavy bouquet in her arms, Nathalie beckoned Emma forward. The two women exchanged a glance.

‘All part of the job?’ Emma raised her brows enquiringly. ‘Spurned lovers turning up, chucking flowers around?’

Nathalie laughed. ‘Well, let’s just say there’s never a dull moment when Signor Ravenino is in town.’

‘He has quite a reputation, I gather?’ Emma perched herself on the edge of the desk.

‘He is a force to be reckoned with, that’s true,’ Nathalie agreed. ‘You’ll see what I mean when you meet him.’

‘If I ever get to meet him.’ She pulled a face.

‘I’m really sorry you have had to wait so long.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ Emma hesitated. Maybe she could make use of all this hanging around by gleaning some more information about her subject. Purely in the interests of background research, of course. ‘So, do you have to do a lot of this, apologising to people Signor Ravenino has kept waiting, making excuses, rearranging schedules?’

Nathalie considered. ‘He doesn’t spend a lot of time in the UK office. But when he is here it’s fair to say we earn our money.’

‘He is a good employer?’

‘Yes. As long as you don’t mind working long hours. And having a positive attitude to some of his more challenging requests. You learn to expect the unexpected with Signor Ravenino.’

‘What sort of challenges?’

‘Oh, you know, arranging a private viewing at the Natural History Museum at a moment’s notice. Flying a top chef to serve dinner on a remote Scottish island. He once bought every painting in an exhibition then wanted them hung in twelve different locations. That meant four different countries, two different continents! One of them is over there.’ She pointed to a huge abstract canvas dominating the far wall.

‘So, what Leonardo wants, Leonardo gets?’

‘Something like that. But Mia, that’s his PA here in the UK, is the one who has to deal with the more personal issues. The fallout from his complicated love life.’

‘Would you say that Leonardo Ravenino treats women badly?’

‘Not exactly.’ Nathalie frowned. ‘It’s more that no woman ever manages to get him to behave the way they want him to behave. They all think they will be the one to tame him, to get him down the aisle, but they end up disappointed, just like all the others.’ She glanced at the forsaken flowers on the chair beside her. ‘Mia has the florist on speed dial.’

Emma followed her gaze. Clearly an exotic bouquet had done nothing to pacify the recipient in this instance. But this was all interesting stuff. She wanted to hear more. ‘I’m guessing you must pick up a lot of stories working here.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Nathalie hesitated, suddenly wary. ‘Though you’re a reporter, aren’t you? I probably shouldn’t be sharing them with you.’

‘Off the record. I promise.’ Emma gave an encouraging smile. ‘The piece I’m writing is about ocean thermal energy. Very dry. Well, very wet, but you know what I mean.’

Nathalie laughed. ‘Okay.’ She gave a quick glance to her side, lowering her voice. ‘But you didn’t hear this from me.’

Emma mimed her lips being zipped.

‘Well...’ Nathalie leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘There was this one time...’

---

It was another hour before Leonardo Ravenino finally appeared. Emma had almost given up when a sleek black limo pulled up outside and in a flurry of movement a group of people entered. Moving forward like a swarm, Emma could just make out Leonardo in the centre, tall and dark, his shoulders back, his head held high, issuing orders to his minions as he marched through the echoing space.

She leapt to her feet, joining the edge of the throng, hurrying along beside them, her futile attempt at waving her notebook in the air going unnoticed. They were heading towards the elevator. If she wasn’t careful, he was going to have disappeared before she had even had the chance to call out his name. The elevator doors opened and moving as one mass the group entered. No! Something told Emma that this was her one and only chance. If she let him get away now, she might as well kiss her interview goodbye.

The doors were almost closed when she stuck out her leg, jamming her foot between them. Immediately they opened again to reveal the group collectively staring at her, suddenly silent.

‘Hi.’ Emma gave a nervous cough. ‘My name is Emma Quinn, from the Paladin newspaper.’

‘Remove your foot from the elevator, young lady.’ A heavily muscled man stepped forward, blocking her view.

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Emma faltered. ‘But I have an appointment with Signor Ravenino.’ She fumbled in her jacket for her phone. ‘Here, look.’ She brought the screen to life with a shaking hand. ‘This is the email confirmation. I’ve been waiting for ages.’

‘Remove your foot from the elevator.’ The guy didn’t look remotely interested in her message.

‘Yes, but—’

‘I’ll deal with this, Harry.’

The deep velvet tone, the faint Italian accent, there was no mistaking whose voice it was. Suddenly Leonardo Ravenino was standing before her, all sleek tailored suit, white shirt, perfectly knotted tie. Close up he was every bit as handsome as Emma had been led to believe, but it wasn’t his beauty that took her by surprise, more the overpowering sense of him.

Nostrils slightly flared, thick, dark brows pulled together over narrowing eyes, his mouth tightly closed, there was an invincibility about him, as if nothing could touch him. Only his shadowed jawline gave any sign that it had been a long day, the close-cut stubble giving him a slightly feral, dangerous edge.

His gaze held hers steadily, dark and all-seeing. He gave a dismissive flick of his hand to the silent group still waiting in the elevator behind him, indicating they should go on without him.

‘Ms Quinn, did you say?’ His frown deepened as if he was trying to place her. Now that his full attention was trained on her he was even more formidable.

‘Yes.’ Emma swallowed. ‘From the Paladin. We had an appointment for an interview.’

His puzzled expression was not encouraging.

‘To discuss Raven Enterprises’ investment in renewable energy?’ Emma tried again. ‘It was supposed to be at three o’clock.’

‘Then please accept my apologies.’

‘That’s okay.’ It wasn’t actually. He had clearly forgotten all about her. Weren’t people like him supposed to have a team of secretaries and PAs reminding him of his appointments? Why hadn’t that Mia done her job? But he was here now, that was all that mattered. ‘Perhaps we can do the interview now?’

‘Mi dispiace... I am sorry, you misunderstand me. The interview will no longer be possible.’ His lips set firmly.

‘No!’ In a rush of panic Emma grabbed hold of his arm, a gesture that was met with a small, pointed glance. She quickly removed it. ‘I mean, it was all agreed.’

‘Well, now it’s unagreed.’ For a moment it looked as though he was going to brush at his sleeve where her hand had been, but he resisted the temptation. ‘I do hope you haven’t been too inconvenienced.’

‘No! I mean, yes, I have! We have to do this interview. You promised.’ It wasn’t the most grown up of replies, but panic was setting in fast.

‘Time has unfortunately made it impossible.’

No, you are the one who has made it impossible. Emma swallowed down her rising anger. And what’s more, you don’t even care. He might be saying the right words, but his eyes held no hint of apology—more a sort of distracted indifference.

She bit down hard on her lip to stop herself from saying what she really thought. There was nothing to be gained by doing that.

‘It needn’t take long,’ she implored. ‘An hour, less even.’

‘I’m sorry...’

‘Well, later this evening perhaps.’

‘If you will excuse me...’

‘No!’ As he started to move away, Emma reached out to grab his arm again, not caring any more what he thought.

‘Signor Ravenino.’ She tried to steady herself. ‘I appreciate how busy you are, but the fact is I was promised an interview with you, I have been waiting for over three hours, and quite frankly I think it is incumbent on you to honour that arrangement.’

She released his arm, tucking her hair behind her ears, waiting.

At least she had got his attention back. She watched, barely breathing, as his leisurely gaze took her in. Slowly he crossed his arms over his chest, all studied nonchalance. Finally, a hint of a smile curved the corner of his finely drawn lips, like a cat playing with a mouse. ‘Do you now?’

‘Yes, yes, I do.’ Emma felt a flush creeping up her neck. ‘I think you owe it to me to give me at least an hour of your valuable time.’

He pushed back a starched white cuff to check the flashy timepiece on his wrist. Maybe there was a glimmer of hope.

‘I can fit in with whatever you suggest.’ Emma rushed to blow on the embers. ‘I’m prepared to be flexible.’

One dark eyebrow rose. Emma felt her flush creep higher, but she stood her ground, refusing to acknowledge the way his tone had changed from one of irritation to something more like mild flirtation. Her stomach, however, was doing traitorous little leaps of interest.

‘Very well.’ He paused, giving her that look again. Assessing, stern but seriously hot. ‘My nightclub, this evening.’

His nightclub? Taken by surprise, Emma tried to collect herself.

‘To do the interview?’

‘Sì, to do the interview.’ He angled his head slightly, like he was dealing with someone who was a bit slow. Or, worse, someone who had jumped to the wrong conclusion. An awful thought that made Emma cringe. She countered it by putting on her most businesslike voice.

‘That would be acceptable.’

‘Bene.’ Leo made a small adjustment to his stance. He had a way of owning every movement, as if it was his alone.

‘Shall we say eleven p.m.?’

Eleven o’clock? She was normally tucked up in bed long before that, reading a good biography or maybe a historical novel. Certainly not prancing about in nightclubs.

‘Isn’t that a little late?’

Leonardo’s response was a take-it-or-leave-it shrug.

‘Fine. Eleven o’clock. Thank you.’ Why was she thanking him? He was