Claiming His Wedding Night

But he hadn’t. Instead he had used her and exploited their relationship to improve his bad-boy image. Their marriage had been nothing

more than a stunt conceived and executed by a man who had built a multibillion-dollar business by ruthlessly taking what he wanted. A man who liked playing games almost as much as he liked to win.

Her head snapped up and, lifting her shoulders, she eased her head from side to side, like a fighter about to step into the ring.

Maybe it was about time he found out what it was like to lose.

Breathing out slowly, Addie lifted up the letter and stared at it bleakly.

He might have had the ‘house edge’ during their relationship, but if he thought this letter would be the last word on their marriage he could think again. A lot had changed in the five years since they’d separated. She knew what lay behind his smile now, and she certainly wasn’t the same lovestruck young woman he’d married.

Rapidly typing into her keyboard, she narrowed her eyes as she picked up her phone and quickly punched in the number at the top of the letter.

‘Good morning! King Industries. How may I help you?’

Feeling her heart start to pound, Addie took a deep breath and said quickly, ‘I’d like to speak to Mr King!’

‘Could I take your name, please?’

Her shoulders stiffened. Gripping the phone tightly, she bit down hard on her lip. It was her last chance to change her mind. To leave the past sealed.

For a moment she almost hung up, and then, dry-mouthed, she closed her eyes and said hoarsely, ‘Addie Farrell.’

There was a pause.

‘I’m sorry, Ms Farrell, I don’t seem to have you down for an appointment.’

‘I don’t have one,’ she said, surprised and even a little impressed by the firm, even tenor of her voice. ‘But it’s important—vital that I speak to him!’

‘I understand that, Ms Farrell.’ The girl sounded young, and a little nervous. But despite her youth she had clearly been well-trained. ‘And I’ll do my best to help, but Mr King doesn’t speak to anyone without an appointment.’

Opening her eyes, Addie cursed softly. Of course he didn’t. Malachi was the CEO. His calls would obviously be screened and only the most important would be put through to him. She gritted her teeth. But who could be more important than his wife?

Somewhere at the back of her head a voice was warning her to hang up, but it was muffled by the angry, insistent beat of her heart. ‘He’ll speak to me,’ she said slowly. ‘Just give him my name.’

There was another, longer pause. ‘I can’t do that, Ms Farrell. But I can certainly arrange an appointment. Or if you’d like to leave a message—’

Addie smiled grimly. ‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘Tell him it’s his wife. I just wanted to remind him that it’s our wedding anniversary tomorrow.’

There was a total, frozen silence and she felt an unexpected but welcome ripple of satisfaction wash over her.

‘If you wouldn’t mind passing that message on? I don’t mind holding,’ she said sweetly.

* * *

Outside the window of his private jet an ethereal pale blue sky stretched to the horizon. It was beautiful, humbling. But Malachi King was oblivious to the view. Instead his gaze was locked to the screen in front of him, his dark grey eyes moving swiftly over the columns of figures that filled the page.

‘What happened on Table Twenty-five?’ he asked abruptly, looking up at the thickset, middle-aged man seated opposite him.

‘There was an incident. A bunch of guys on a stag night got a bit messy. But I dealt with it. Nice and smooth, Mr King.’

‘That’s what I pay you for, Mike. To keep it all smooth!’

Glancing at the message on the screen of his phone, Malachi gave a small, tight smile. If only he could smooth out his parents’ messy lives so easily. But unfortunately Henry and Serena King were showing no sign of giving up their decadent habits any time soon, and as their only son he had no option but to clean up after them.

There was a knock on the cabin door and both men watched in silent appreciation as a sleek brunette wearing the uniform of the King Industries private airline sashayed into the room.

‘Your coffee, Mr King! Will there be anything else?’