The last time Andreas Ferrante saw Sienna Baker, she was naively trying to seduce him. While her provocative sensuality is emblazoned on Andreas's memory, the terrible consequences torment him. So the news that they must marry to secure his inheritance is unthinkable....
Once devastated by his heartless rejection, seeing Andreas again makes Sienna's humiliation burn brighter. And as for marrying him? They'd be lucky to last the ceremony without killing each other!
But there's a fine line between love and hate.... Will these flames of anger turn to white-hot passion on their wedding night?
From the book
Andreas got the call from his younger sister Miette in the early hours of the morning. 'Papa is dead.'
Three words that under normal circumstances should have evoked a maelstrom of emotion, but to Andreas they meant nothing other than he was now free from having to play happy families on the extremely rare occasions his path crossed with his father. 'When is the funeral?' he asked.
'Thursday,' Miette said. 'Will you come?'
Andreas glanced at the sleeping woman lying beside him in the king-sized hotel bed. He rubbed at his stub-bled jaw and let out a frustrated sigh. It was just typical of his father to choose the most inconvenient time to die. This coming weekend in Washington DC was where he had planned to ask Portia Briscoe to marry him once his business here was complete. He even had the ring in his briefcase. Now he would have to wait for another opportunity to propose. There was no way he wanted his engagement and marriage to be forever associated with anything to do with his father, even his demise.
'Andreas?' Miette's voice pierced his reverie and his conscience. 'It would be good if you could be there, for me even if not for Papa. You know how much I hate funerals, especially after Mamma's.'
Andreas felt a claw of anger clench at his insides at the thought of their beautiful mother and how cruelly she had been betrayed. He was sure that had been what had finally killed her, not the cancer. The shame of finding out her husband was sleeping with the hired help while she was battling gruelling rounds of chemotherapy had broken her spirit and her heart.
And then, to add insult to injury, the brazenness of that witch Nell Baker and her trashy little sleep-around slut of a daughter Sienna had turned his mother's final farewell into a cheap and tawdry soap opera.
'I'll be there,' he said.
But that little hot-headed harlot Sienna Baker had better not.
The first person Sienna saw when she arrived at the funeral in Rome was Andreas Ferrante. At least her eyes registered it was him, but she had felt him seconds earlier in her body. As soon as she had stepped over the portal she had felt a shiver run up her spine and her heart had started a crazy little pitter-patter beat that was nothing like its normal, healthy, steady rhythm.
She hadn't seen him in years and yet she had known he was there.
He was sitting in one of the pews at the front of the cathedral. Even though he had his back towards her she could see he was as staggeringly gorgeous as ever. His aristocratic bearing was like an aura that surrounded him. He exuded wealth and power and status. His glossy raven-black head was several inches higher than any of the other black-suited men sitting nearby, his thick, slightly wavy hair neither long nor short, but cut and styled so it brushed against the collar of his shirt.
He turned his head and leaned down to say something to the young woman seated beside him. Just seeing the profile of his face made Sienna want to put a hand to her chest where her heart was flapping like a frantic fish suddenly flung out of its fish tank. For years she had dismissed his features from her mind. She had dared not think of him. He was a part of her past she was ashamed of--deeply ashamed. She had been so young and foolish, so immature and insecure. She hadn't thought through the consequences of twisting the truth. But...
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