Innocent in the Billionaire's Bed
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Clare Connelly
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Prologue
IT WAS STRANGE that here, on an island where she’d spent only a few weeks of her life, Rio should feel so close to his mother. It was almost as if her presence roamed the walls of the shack, or drifted in off the salted waves that were rolling towards him. He didn’t see her here as she’d been at the end, so weakened and ill. Here he imagined her free, running across the sand, her laugh tumbling out of her of its own volition.
He cradled his Scotch, swirling it slightly so the ice chipped against the glass. The sound was swallowed by the surrounds of the island. The beach, the birds, the rustling of the trees. Even the stars seemed to be whispering to one another—and there were so many stars visible from this island in the middle of the sea, far from civilisation.
Rosa had loved it here.
He didn’t smile as he thought of his mother.
Her life had been shaped by loss and hardship, right to the end. And now he sat on the island of the man who could have alleviated so much of that pain, if only he’d bothered or cared.
No.
The island was no longer Piero’s.
It was Rio’s.
A too-little-too-late offering that Rio sure as hell didn’t want.
Even now, a month after his father’s death, Rio knew he’d been right to reject him. To reject any overtures at reconciliation.
He wanted nothing to do with the powerful Italian tycoon—never had, never would. And as soon as he’d offloaded this damned island he’d never think of the man again.
