Claiming His Wedding Night

CHAPTER ONE

SHE SHOULD BE PLEASED. Good publicity was what charities like hers survived on. Only it was doing more than surviving, Addie Farrell thought with a small smile of satisfaction as she glanced down at the newspaper. It was just five years since they had opened their doors to offer music to disadvantaged children in the city, but the way things were going, they might be able to open a second centre soon.

Addie frowned. The article was one hundred per cent approving—even the photograph was flattering. So why did she feel so deflated? Her smile faded. Probably because the glossy red curls tumbling over her shoulders and the nervous excitement in her blue eyes hinted at a different Addie—an Addie she had been a long time ago, for a few blissful months. The Addie she might still be now if Malachi King hadn’t taken her heart and tossed it aside like some unwanted corporate gift.

Don’t go there! she warned herself. The article was about her hard work and determination. It had absolutely nothing to do with her rat of an estranged husband. Or their foolhardy and doomed marriage.

That was all in the past now.

Her present—her future—was a world away from that dark place she’d slipped into after Malachi had broken her heart. And she had survived worse than his defection. Her muscles tensed as she remembered the car accident that had shattered her dream of playing the piano professionally. It had been devastating, but she had not given up and now she had the best job in the world: bringing music to children whose lives were a constant battle with poverty and neglect.

She sighed. Only that would keep happening if she got on and knuckled down to her admin.

Opening her laptop, she began clicking through her emails. Twenty minutes later she reached across the desk and picked up a pile of envelopes from her in tray. Glancing at the one on top, she felt her breath catch sharply in her throat, the beat of her heart suddenly swift and urgent. As though mesmerised, she stared blankly at the embossed logo on the front of the envelope.

King Industries. Owned by her very rich, very handsome and very estranged husband Malachi.

The blood was roaring in her ears, and for a moment she imagined tearing up the letter and hurling the pieces into the warm Miami air. And then, with hands that shook slightly, she tore it open and read the letter inside.

It took three attempts before her brain could connect the words to their meaning. Not that the letter was badly written. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was polite and succinct, informing her that, after five years of funding, King Industries would be withdrawing their financial support from the Miami Music Project.

Heart pounding, Addie scanned through the lines, her eyes inexorably drawn to the signature at the bottom of the page. Bracing her shoulders, she felt her chest squeeze tight as she stared at her husband’s name.

Fury snapped through her bones like electric sparks. Was this some kind of cruel joke?

He hadn’t been in touch for five years. Five years! Not a phone call, an email, a text.

Nothing.

This was the first time he’d contacted her since their wedding day and it was some stock letter telling her that he was cutting the funding for her charity! It was despicable! And so cowardly when he hadn’t even had the guts to speak to her, let alone meet her face-to-face.

Somewhere beneath her ribs she felt something twist—a wrench, slight yet irrevocable. If she hadn’t known better she might have thought it was her heart.

Her whole body was shaking and she felt a sudden spasm of helpless rage. Wasn’t it enough that he’d crushed her romantic dreams? His support for her charity was the one good thing that had survived their marriage. Only now he wanted to wreck that too.

What kind of man would do something like that to his wife?

Her stomach cramped as she miserably remembered her wedding day, and how Malachi had promised to love her. Looking into her eyes with a shimmering heat that had made her heart quiver, he had made her believe he meant every word.

Gritting her teeth, she stared down at the face looking back up at her from the newspaper.

How could you have ever believed that he loved you?

Her face tightened. She’d known all about his reputation as a womaniser, a player of hearts as well as cards. But of course she’d believed him. Who wouldn’t? That was what Malachi did best. He looked into your eyes and smiled, a gorgeous, curving smile, and he made you believe.

He made the gamblers in his casinos believe they would beat the tables.

And he’d made her believe that he loved her.