Love That Leads to Revenge

OL

ia Hazel Forrester, and she schooled her features into a

back at her, coupled with a dazzli

sumption that no woman could resist him. But she was no ordinary woman tonight. Tonight,

some stranger who had accosted her without second thoughts. She loathed the fact t

g no without a flicker of hesitati

with an obvious slurred Italian accent, unfazed

ty. She prayed silently that he would pick the hint. Thankfully, after a few seconds of awkward li

hat was her fifth overture for th

ving more exhausting than exhilarating. She had heard that Italians were pretty flirtatio

y heart of Milan, feeling

spend some quality time with herself. However, it was proving impossible to have that much-needed

ould go back

ble floors, the glint of expensive crystal, and the low hum of conversation. The world seemed to mov

lonely figure seated a few feet away

bt, the most handsome

efore her. He was perched casually at the bar, one hand wrapped around a tumbler

she had encountered tonight. His skin was fairer than the traditional dark olive complexion that seemed to dominate th

s looks – it was the brooding, enigmatic sex appe

ke an invisible shield,

tantly ignoring the come-hither looks the women

rested – just

ognition that she couldn't explain. He gave the depiction of being

t that screamed wealth and an open-collared shirt that hin

ion. She had grown up surrounded by men like him, thanks

en too many soulless people hiding b

anger was one of the locals. There was something about his fierce aura that beckoned to

, her entire being tingling with

moth to

ing, lost in thoug

ed his glass, took a sip, and then

eyes l

t her nex

s physical beauty. But there was something about the intensity of hi

s green eyes stared back at her

d, he lifted his glass in silent acknowledge

the heat creep up h

being to

her gaze back to her drin

hell was

idiculously attractive they were. And yet, somethin

tween them, even as she forced herself to foc

tic rhythm, and for a second, she entertaine

. That wasn't Anast

ect daughter. The one who didn'

ckless longing simmering just benea

ust maybe – she should do somethin

intly, a ghost of amusement flickering across his featu

could rea

, pulling tighter and tighter until

the insane urge to walk toward him, to find out w

d to her seat, her body hum

finding herself, not losing her

is drink, Ana knew, deep in her bone

ver fleeting – it had already alter

ld ever be quit