The Sicilian's Defiant Mistress

By Jane Porter

From a New York Times–bestselling author, a woman reunited with the Italian bachelor who broke her heart conceals a secret that could change everything.

Cass can’t continue with a relationship that involves just her body when her heart is breaking. . . . But the deal she made with Sicilian tycoon Maximos Borsellino was for sex—and when that fails to be enough for Cass, Maximos ends the affair. Cass is completely destroyed. Worse, she discovers she’s pregnant. . . .

But an explosive reunion is on the cards in Rita Award–winning author Jane Porter’s dark, passionate and utterly gripping story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Mar 4, 2010
• ISBN: 9781426858000

Jane Porter

Jane Porter loves central California's golden foothills and miles of farmland, rich with the sweet and heady fragrance of orange blossoms. Her parents fed her imagination by taking Jane to Europe for a year where she became passionate about Italy and those gorgeous Italian men! Jane never minds a rainy day – that's when she sits at her desk and writes stories about far-away places, fascinating people, and most important of all, love. Visit her website at: www.janeporter.com

Book preview

PROLOGUE

SHE was sleeping with the enemy now.

With his gut clenched, muscles rock hard, Maximos watched Cassandra, his woman, his lover, take Emilio Sobato’s hand as she stepped from the low sports car onto the sun dappled drive.

Torn between fascination and revulsion, Maximos saw Emilio’s arms close around Cass’s slender frame, watched as Emilio’s dark head tipped, watched his enemy’s mouth brush Cass’s beautiful ear.

Maximos swallowed roughly, bile rising in his throat.

You shouldn’t be surprised, he told himself, trying to make himself move from the palazzo window. Women are just as treacherous as men.

If not more so.

But Cass hadn’t seemed like the type to play a man for a fool. Cass had been different.

Or had she?

His gut burned. He felt like he’d drunk a liter of battery acid.

Why had he thought she was different? How well did he know her? For that matter, how well did any man really know a woman?

The door to his study opened. He heard footsteps, and then a light hand touched his back. Emilio’s here.

It was Adriana, his baby sister, and this was the weekend of her wedding. Tonight was a reception at the palazzo honoring the bride and groom. So I see, Maximos answered, his deep voice betraying none of his anger.

He’s brought one of his tramps with him, too, Adriana continued in the same hushed, furious tone. How dare he do that to you? To Mama? To any of us? What kind of man is he?

Maximos’s lips curved as he stared out the window, but he wasn’t looking at Emilio. He was studying Cass, taking in her chic high heels, her formfitting black lace blouse, the cut of her elegant black knit skirt which showcased the most incredible legs he’d ever seen in his life.

He knew those legs intimately.

For nearly three years he’d owned those legs, parted them, tasted them, wrapped them around his waist as he’d taken her, made her his.

And he’d made her his, many, many times over the two and a half years they were together.

She’d been the ideal lover, the perfect mistress—until she broke the agreement. And then he’d done what they’d agreed they’d do. He left. Moved on.

Now it’d seemed she’d moved on, too.

Maximos glanced at his sister, his rueful expression concealing more than it revealed. What kind of man is he? Maximos repeated his sister’s question. We already know the answer to that. He reached out, strummed Adriana’s flushed cheek, her beautiful features tight with indignation. A backstabber—

A snake, Adriana interrupted hotly.

And a thief, he concluded evenly.

For a moment neither spoke, both lost in thought before he turned back to the window to gaze out on the palazzo’s entrance where Emilio and Cass were now climbing the front steps.

Adriana stepped closer to him, pressing her face into his shoulder. I hate him, she whispered, voice muffled. I hate him. I’ll hate him forever for what he did to you.

He reached up, cupped the back of her head. He’s not worth it, baby.

Maximos felt her tense, felt her press even closer and when her entire body shuddered he realized she was crying. But you are, she answered, her face still buried in the crook of his arm, her voice rough, thick, the words nearly indistinguishable. You’ve been Maximos, my big brother, my very own hero, for as long as I can remember.

For a split second he couldn’t breathe. His chest squeezed, compressed, lungs squashed viselike while his vision went black and suddenly he was thrust back in time, back somewhere so wretched he couldn’t see, think, feel. And in that moment there was no past, no future, no present—just blackness, the blackness that dwelled within the heart of man.

My big brother, my very own hero…

His sister’s innocent words penetrated the darkness shrouding his mind.

Gradually the pressure on his chest eased, and his bursting lungs filled with air. He drew a breath and his vision cleared. The darkness receded and Maximos was able to laugh. There are no heroes anymore, Adriana. Only men.

Adriana pulled away, looked up into his face, her dense black lashes damp, matted, with silent tears. You’re wrong. You’re Sicilian. You’re one of the great ones. Then with a kiss on his chin, she wrapped an arm around his elbow. Come, let’s go to my party. I need you there to help us celebrate.

CHAPTER ONE

"YOU’RE certain you want to do this? Emilio asked, his tone mocking. It’s not too late to leave."

Cass stood perfectly still on the palazzo’s steps, briefly blinded by the intense light of the setting sun, and refused to let herself see-think-feel beyond the moment.

She had to do this.

She didn’t have a choice.

The second you walk through the doors it’ll be too late. Emilio was still talking, his words rushing over her like the warmth of the dazzling Sicilian sun. If you’re going to run scared, do it now.

Cass’s head jerked up and she forced herself to look at him, focus on his face. Emilio’s lips were curved and yet his eyes were hard. This was no game.

Once inside those doors, you’re committed. Emilio leaned toward her, dominating her. He’d once been Maximos’s best friend and former business partner but the two were enemies now. Don’t think you can run away then.

The ugliness in his eyes repelled her. She turned her head, smoothed her black skirt, made sure her fitted lace blouse lay flat over the waistband of her narrow skirt. I’m not running, she said huskily, before glancing up at the imposing face of the palazzo, the Giuliano family villa. The tall slender stone columns flanking the doorway supported a lovely iron balcony. Smaller iron balconies framed each of the white painted French doors overlooking the medieval piazza. It was a beautiful impressive home.

But why shouldn’t it be? Maximos was a beautiful impressive man.

Beautiful, impressive and cruel.

For a moment Cass felt nothing but grief. Grief borne of loss, the pain nearly as stunning as it had been six months ago when it felt as though Maximos had driven an iron nail into her heart.

Every breath hurt.

Every thought blistered.

Every emotion, pure agony.

She drew a sharp breath, remembering, reliving the pain. He’d destroyed her. Shattered something precious inside her. In the blink of an eye. In the parting of lips. In the single beat of the heart.

Fire raced through her veins now. Fire, anger, grief.

She’d loved him. Loved him more than she thought she’d ever love anyone and it had meant nothing. She’d just been a body. In his bed.

Emilio’s hand shot out, touched her arm. If this is to work, he’s got to believe we’re together, that our relationship is serious.

He’ll believe it. She swallowed hard, fighting the surge of emotion. She’d never liked Emilio—not when Maximos first told her about him, and her opinion hadn’t changed after a day traveling with him from Rome—but she needed him. He was her ticket into Maximos’s home. I haven’t come this far to fail now.

So when are we getting married? Emilio persisted.

April 16. Cass’s eyes burned. Maximos despised Emilio—no, despise wasn’t a strong enough word—make that hate. Maximos hated Emilio, and once Maximos saw the two of them together—she inhaled hard, sharply, pain splintering through her—he’d hate her, too.

Where did we meet?

At the EFFIE Awards and we immediately hit it off.

Emilio smiled. And how did I propose?

During a romantic weekend in the Seychelles. The wedding is now just six months away. Did I forget anything?

Emilio reached out, brushed a golden-brown tendril of hair from Cass’s brow. He’ll never forgive you.

For a moment she couldn’t breathe, her chest burning, heart on fire.

She didn’t want Maximos to hate her…didn’t want him to see her as the enemy. She’d once been his. She’d belonged to him body and soul…but wasn’t that why she’d agreed to do this in the first place?

Close the door on the past?

Focus squarely on the future?

Establish a future?

She put her hand to her middle, her insides churning, stomach knotting. It had been over six months, six months since the end of their relationship and she was still barely functioning, still dragging herself through the days, stunned, broken, catatonic.

Intellectually she knew this couldn’t continue. She was dying at work, losing accounts, losing respect. She couldn’t let a broken heart ruin her life.

It was time to move forward. She had to move forward, which is why she’d agreed to play the part of Emilio’s adoring fiancée.

It won’t be pretty, Emilio said, his voice dropping, the warning clear and yet he was also eager. Exhilarated.

It boggled her mind how much men loved war. And this was war, a horrible war that used love and betrayal instead of bullets and guns.

Emilio had invited her to join him at Maximos’s sister’s wedding, suggesting they pretend to be romantically involved because he wanted blood, Maximos’s blood, and she’d accepted Emilio’s invitation because in her own way, she wanted blood, too.

Her chest burned, fire, fire, and she felt only desperation to put an end to this madness. That she could have ever loved Maximos so deeply… that she could have ever given three years of her life to him, waiting, always waiting…

Fine, she said softly, facing the fire, letting the awful heartbreak burn, and it raged. Hot. Furious. Feverish. She’d been torn in half by love and now she’d fight, and fight hard. I don’t want it pretty. I just want peace.

She’d spent the worst six months of her life, the absolute worst months imaginable, trying to accept that she and Maximos were over. Finished. Through. And even after her body had stopped the wretched aching—experiencing a brutal physical withdrawal—her mind played games, turning every night, every dream, every man on the street into phantoms of Maximos.

She’d lived without him six months. It had felt like six years. She’d died a hundred times in the months since they said goodbye and in all that time, in all those months, there hadn’t been a call. A card. A word.

He simply let her go. But why shouldn’t he? She was just his mistress. He was entitled to have who he wanted, when he wanted. He was entitled to take and forget. After all he was Maximos Giuliano and she’d never asked for anything from him but sex.

Abruptly Cass moved forward, quickly climbing the villa’s broad stone front steps, the sun behind them painting the door a violent red. Before she could entertain second thoughts, she rapped hard on the stately front door and stepped back.

Seconds later the immense wooden front door opened. Emilio turned to Cass, flashed her a cunning smile. Congratulations, Cass, darling. You’ve done it now.

There was no time for regrets as the butler was ushering them through the vaulted entry into a grand salon off to the right, the salon’s high ceiling stenciled in gold and rose and pale blue.

Emilio kept his arm loosely slung around her waist as they entered the salon even as the enormity of her decision, the incredible stupidity, hit her, a violent blow to the side of the head and she exhaled with a whoosh.

Why had she gone for the dramatic end, the death of hope, the burial of love?

Make that the burial of her love as he’d never loved her. He’d worshiped her body, and only then, when he’d found her convenient and available, the brutal truth made clear six months ago when she dared to ask…to whisper…for more.

Ice coated her heart and for a moment she felt like little Oliver Twist from the Dickens novel, begging, begging. Please, sir, can I have some…more?

And just like that Maximos had roared back, More? Did you say more?

Actually he hadn’t shouted. He hadn’t even asked her to repeat what she’d said. He’d simply given the Maximos acceptance, a half shrug, the calm, unruffled approach he took to all matters pertaining to her. To them.

Them. What a horrible little word. Them, just the with an m tacked on at the end.

Them.

But them, in terms of Maximos and Cass meant only one thing—sex. Hot, hungry, insatiable.

Just thinking of sex—Maximos—her body ached inwardly, the terrible craving still there, beneath the surface, her emotions still so volatile.

What the hell are you doing here?

The familiar voice sent icy prickles rippling down Cass’s spine. Maximos.

She stiffened helplessly, the hair rising on her nape. Slowly she turned toward the voice, her body hot and then cold and hot again. From the beginning she’d been aware of Maximos as pure energy, a life force, a life force that completely overwhelmed her own. And then she saw him.

Maximos.

Dressed impeccably, elegantly, in a dark suit that fitted him as only an Italian cut suit could, he wore a sage-green shirt and tie and his golden-olive skin looked more burnished than ever, his onyx hair more polished, his hard features more beautiful. No one had eyelashes thicker, darker, longer than Maximos. No one had a mouth that smiled so rarely but kissed so beautifully.

Her belly knotted. The desire nearly as painful as the heartbreak.

She tried to look away but couldn’t. She’d missed him too much. Missed his height. His build. His face. His body. She’d missed everything about him. But particularly his body. Missed the way his body stretched to cover hers, missed the way his hands wrapped around her wrists, missed the way he held her, made love to her, missed the tension of him—them—together.

There was sex, and then there was passion, and what they had was sex and passion—the hottest, most explosive, most intoxicating passion, the kind that grabbed hold of you by the throat and didn’t let go. The kind that owned you, possessed you, made you its slave.

There were other big men in the room, other men with height, but no one carried himself the way Maximos did. No one with his confidence. His arrogance. His intense physical presence. Even from across the room she felt aware of him. Too aware. And just looking at him she felt sick with longing. Missing. Desire.

Nothing in her life had ever felt as good as Maximos with her, against her.

Nothing in her life had ever felt as awful as Maximos leaving her, walking out the door.

Good to see you, too, Emilio said, filling the awful silence.

You’ve no business being here, Maximos said, ignoring Cass completely and she wasn’t entirely surprised. Once he moved forward he didn’t look back. He didn’t harbor regrets.

I was invited, Emilio answered, raising his wineglass in a mock salute.

Not by my family.

Emilio allowed himself a small smile. No, by the groom’s family. My father and Antonio’s father go way back.

How extremely unfortunate.

Emilio grinned. Are you going to call off the wedding now?

No. I’ll just have to dispose of you. Quietly. Quickly. Maximos flashed teeth, a savage wolf snarl. Shouldn’t be difficult.

Not with the connections you have.

If I had the mafia connections you say I do, you wouldn’t still be around. Maximos turned his head, fixed his dark gaze on Cass. And I would have known about you, he added softly, his tone velvet with danger.

Cass’s heart stopped, flipped, as Maximos’s hard gaze rested on her.

She felt him consider her, felt the uncomfortable weight of his close scrutiny, and his expression, like the rest of him, was closed. Detached. Unreadable.

She’d never really known him, had she? She’d never really had him, either. And the shock of seeing him again, especially like this, was almost too great, her body awash in heat and ice, her stomach heavy, nauseous.

She’d planned this, she’d come here to confront him and yet she wondered now what she’d thought she’d really achieve.

How could there ever be peace between them? How could there ever be any resolution?

She’d loved him and he hadn’t cared. The memory was like a knife cutting inside her, slipping between her heart and breastbone. How could she be so easy to forget? So easy to lose?

How could she have meant so little to him…?

Remnants of the old pain rushed through her, and she sucked in her breath, lifted her shoulders so that the straps of her silk bra cut into her skin. Cass stared straight forward, stared at the hard lines and angles that shaped Maximos’s fierce face.

A man without tenderness. A man without softness of any kind.

Yet wasn’t he—their relationship—so perfectly her? So perfectly Cass? She’d never taken the easy road, never wanted that which was simple or familiar. No shortcuts for her. Just hard work. Incredible challenges. And impossibly high standards.

Let me show you two to the door, Maximos said now, his expression hard, blank, as he gestured toward the entry.

Sorry to disappoint you, friend, Emilio answered, wrapping his arm around Cass and kissing her temple. But we’re going nowhere. Cass and I’ve traveled a long way and intend to stay.

For a moment Maximos didn’t speak, his features blank, only his dark eyes betraying his anger. This is my sister’s wedding.

Romantic, isn’t it? Emilio answered.

But Maximos wasn’t paying Emilio attention. He only had eyes for Cass and his expression was hard, dangerous, so dangerous that Cass inhaled sharply and reminded herself to be brave. Fierce.

"You’re really here with him?" Maximos asked her, his deep voice pitched even lower.

Emilio drew Cass even closer to his side. "You have a