Free Emerald Mistress by Lynne Graham Page A

uncomfortably. ‘He’s a hard man if you cross him, but he has been extremely generous to this community and he has considerable local support. He’s offering you a very fair price. You can’t fight that amount of money and power—’
    ‘Watch me, Mr McNally,’ Harriet advised withfighting fervour. The craven suggestion that she simply accept defeat filled her with raging resentment and a fierce determination to do exactly the opposite. ‘Just watch me!’
    She swept back out to her car in high dudgeon. Rafael rotten Cavaliere! What was an Italian tycoon doing in a tiny Irish village? And calling himself Flynn, of all things! It was like finding a barracuda in a goldfish bowl. She could not believe it was true. She could not credit that once again Rafael Cavaliere had contrived to cast the long dark shadow of misfortune across her path. She stopped her car in the lay-by next to the church because she was shaking with reaction. But the momentum of anger soon impelled her on to swing left through the crumbling stone entrance of Flynn Court. The long stately drive was full of potholes, but bounded on both sides by magnificent cypress trees, which gave occasional glimpses of the stunning view down to the bay and the sea. She brought her car to a halt right outside the imposing front door.
    Tolly appeared in answer to the ancient bell she had pulled. ‘Miss Carmichael…how may I assist you?’ he enquired gravely.
    In any other mood Harriet would have been tickled pink by the solemn manner which Joseph evidently assumed to carry out his official duties as butler. ‘I’m here to see your boss.’
    ‘I’ll see if Mr Flynn is available. Please take a seat.’
    Harriet preferred to stand. The hall was a vast semi-circular space, with walls ornamented with fantastic elaborate plasterwork. Even dirty and in need of decoration, it was a spectacular space.
    ‘Miss Carmichael…bad news travels fast,’ a lazy masculine drawl commented from behind her.
    Her heart-shaped face tightening as though she was sucking on a lemon, Harriet spun round. Her tormentor was sheathed in a sleek black designer business suit. Staggeringly tall and vibrantly handsome, he also looked horribly intimidating. Every nerve in her tense body seemed to jump and her tummy flipped in concert. ‘Allow me to tell you that you do business like a gangster.’
    His lean, bronzed features remained impassive. ‘My late father would be proud of me.’
    ‘I’m not selling to you…I don’t care what you do. I have a great dislike of being forced to do anything, Mr Cavaliere. But most of all I have a great dislike, not to mention complete contempt, for your methods. Why do you call yourself Flynn? To mislead people?’ Harriet condemned with a heated sense of injustice. ‘I mean, who the heck would expect to find an Italian billionaire slumming somewhere like this?’
    ‘Let me answer you point by point,’ Rafael murmured levelly. ‘On my birth certificate it says Rafael Cavaliere Flynn, and I was born here. My mother named me. I am not concerned by the name that the press have allotted to me. Nor do I consider myself to be “slumming” in the house where many generations of Flynns have lived and died. I am proud of my ancestry.’
    His immense self-assurance infuriated Harriet beyond bearing. All worked up as she was, she was already conscious that her face was hot with temper. Being rebuked for her bad manners was the last straw. She could have screamed for, ironically, she had never before dared to be that rude to anyone. ‘Are you aware that you have blighted my life like the plague since I was fifteen?’ she suddenly launched at him, half an octave higher.
    Rafael quirked a mobile black brow.
    ‘No, I haven’t gone crazy. In the nineties you took over Benson Pharmaceuticals where my stepfather worked in the research lab and he lost his job. He was just one employee among four thousand. You shut the company down and sold off everything. The