When Da Silva Breaks the Rules Read online

  Is gorgeous billionaire Da Silva finally off the market?

  Reclusive billionaire Cesar Da Silva hits the headlines! Not only are his family secrets about to be exposed, but he’s been caught kissing Lexie Anderson on the set of her latest movie, being shot at his imposing castillo!

  Publicity-shy Da Silva has certainly smashed his own rules by romancing the high-profile actress. A reliable source suggests Da Silva is helping Miss Anderson over her last heartbreak with a string of dazzling dates. And if their chemistry so far is anything to go by, this is one match that’s bound to be explosive!

  Cesar was losing it. He knew he was losing it. But he couldn’t take his mouth off Lexie’s. He’d never tasted anything so sweet. Or so wicked. The way that lush mouth softened under his, the feel of that body under his hands.

  Dios.

  Cesar finally pulled back, heart hammering. He did not ravish women in the back of his cars. He was cool, calm, controlled. Right now he felt anything but. He could hardly see straight. His body was on fire.

  Lexie was looking at him with huge eyes. She thought he’d done that on purpose. And he had, but not for the reasons she obviously suspected. He wanted to make sure there was no ambiguity about how he felt about her.

  He cupped that delicate jaw. Her mouth was pink, swollen. He couldn’t help running his thumb across that pouting lower lip, feeling its fleshy softness.

  “Make no mistake, Lexie, I want you…and not just to distract the crowds. You know the truth of what I said earlier. We will be lovers for real.”

  Blood Brothers

  Power and passion runs in their veins

  Rafaele and Alexio have learned that to feel emotion is to be weak. Calculated ruthlessness brings them immense success in the boardroom and the bedroom. But a storm is coming, with the sudden appearance of a long-lost half brother, Cesar, and the three women who will change their lives forever…

  Read Rafaele Falcone’s story in:

  WHEN FALCONE’S WORLD STOPS TURNING

  February 2014

  Read Alexio Christakos’s story in:

  WHEN CHRISTAKOS MEETS HIS MATCH

  April 2014

  Read Cesar Da Silva’s story in:

  WHEN DA SILVA BREAKS THE RULES

  June 2014

  ABBY GREEN

  When Da Silva Breaks the Rules

  All about the author…Abby Green

  ABBY GREEN deferred doing a social anthropology degree to work freelance as an assistant director in the film and television industry—which is a social study in itself! Since then it’s been early starts, long hours, mucky fields, ugly car parks and wet weather gear—especially working in Ireland. She has no bona fide qualifications but could probably help negotiate a peace agreement between two warring countries after years of dealing with recalcitrant actors. Since discovering a guide to writing romance one day, she decided to capitalize on her longtime love for Harlequin® romances and attempt to follow in the footsteps of such authors as Kate Walker and Penny Jordan.

  She’s enjoying the excuse to be paid to sit inside, away from the elements. She lives in Dublin and hopes that you will enjoy her stories. You can email her at [email protected].

  Other titles by Abby Green available in ebook:

  WHEN CHRISTAKOS MEETS HIS MATCH (Blood Brothers)

  WHEN FALCONE’S WORLD STOPS TURNING (Blood Brothers)

  FORGIVEN BUT NOT FORGOTTEN?

  THE LEGEND OF DE MARCO

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT

  PROLOGUE

  CESAR DA SILVA hated to admit that coming here had had any effect on him, but his gut was heavy and tight as he stood on the path near the grave. He asked himself again why he’d even come and reflexively his fingers closed around the small velvet pouch with its heavy weight in his hand. He’d almost forgotten about it.

  He smiled cynically. Who would have thought that at the age of thirty-seven he’d be obeying urges and compulsions? Usually he was the king of logic and reason.

  People drifted away from the open grave a short distance across the hilly green space. Ornate mini-mausoleum-style headstones dotted the cemetery in the hills of Athens, its grass no doubt kept generously watered in the Greek heat.

  Finally there were only two men left by the grave. Both tall, of similar height, with dark hair. One had slightly darker and shorter hair than the other. They were broad, as Cesar was, with powerful builds.

  It was no wonder they were all similar. He was their half-brother. And they had no idea he even existed. He saw one put his hand on the shoulder of the other. They were Rafaele Falcone and Alexio Christakos. They all shared the same mother, but had different fathers.

  Cesar waited for icy rage to surge upwards upon seeing this evidence of the family he’d always been denied, but instead he felt a kind of aching emptiness. They came towards him then, talking in quiet voices. Cesar caught his youngest half-brother’s words on the slight breeze—something like, ‘Couldn’t even clean up for the funeral...?’

  Falcone replied indistinctly, with a quirk to his mouth, and Christakos riposted, smiling too.

  The emptiness receded and anger rose up within Cesar. But it was a different kind of anger. These men were joking, joshing, just feet away from their mother’s grave. And since when did Cesar feel protective of the woman who had taught him from the age of three that he could depend on no one?

  Galvanised by that very unwelcome revelation, Cesar moved forward and Falcone looked up, words dying on his lips, smile fading. Falcone’s gaze was enquiring at first and then, as Cesar drilled holes into him with his stare, it became something else. Cold.

  With a quick flick of a glance to the younger man by his half-brother’s side, Cesar noted that they’d also all inherited varying shades of their beautiful but treacherous mother’s green eyes.

  ‘May we help you?’ Falcone asked coolly.

  Cesar glanced over them both again and then at the open grave in the distance. He asked, with a derisive curl to his lip, ‘Are there any more of us?’

  Falcone looked at Christakos, who was frowning, and said, ‘Us? What are you talking about?’

  Cesar pushed down the spreading blackness within him and said with ominous quiet, ‘You don’t remember, do you?’

  But he could see from the dawning shock that his half-brother did, and Cesar didn’t like the way something inside him tightened at that recognition. Those light green eyes widened imperceptibly. He paled.

  Cesar’s voice was rough in the still, quiet air. ‘She brought you to my home—you must have been nearly three, and I was almost seven. She wanted to take me with her then, but I wouldn’t leave. Not after she’d abandoned me.’

  In a slightly hoarse voice Falcone asked, ‘Who are you?’

  Cesar smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes. ‘I’m your older brother—half-brother. My name is Cesar Da Silva. I came today to pay my respects to the woman who gave me life...not that she deserved it. I was curious to see if any more would crawl out of the woodwork, but it looks like it’s just us.’

  Christakos erupted. ‘
What the hell—?’

  Cesar cast him a cold glance. Somewhere deep down he felt a twinge of conscience for imparting the news like this, on this day. But then he recalled the long, aching years of dark loneliness, knowing that these two men had not been abandoned, and crushed it ruthlessly.

  Falcone still looked slightly shell-shocked. He gestured to his half-brother. ‘This is Alexio Christakos...our younger brother.’

  Cesar knew exactly who he was—who they both were. He’d always known. Because his grandparents had made sure he’d known every single little thing about them. He bit out, ‘Three brothers by three fathers...and yet she didn’t abandon either of you to the wolves.’

  He stepped forward then, and Alexio stepped forward too. The two men stood almost nose to nose, Cesar topping his youngest brother in height only by an inch.

  He gritted out, ‘I didn’t come here to fight you, brother. I have no issue with either of you.’ Liar, a small voice chided.

  Alexio’s mouth thinned, ‘Only with our dead mother, if what you say is true.’

  Cesar smiled, but it was bitter. ‘Oh, it’s true all right—more’s the pity.’ He stepped around Alexio then, before either man could see the rise of an emotion he couldn’t name, and walked to the open grave.

  He took the velvet pouch out of his pocket and dropped it down into the dark space, where it fell onto the coffin with a hollow thud. In the pouch was a very old silver medallion featuring the patron saint of bullfighters: San Pedro Regalado.

  Even now the bitter memory was vivid. His mother was in a black suit, hair drawn back, Her features as exquisitely beautiful as any he’d ever seen. Eyes raw from crying. She’d taken the medallion from where it hung around her neck on a piece of worn rope and had put it around his neck. She had tucked it under his shirt and said, ‘He will protect you, Cesar. Because I can’t at the moment. Don’t ever take it off. And I promise I will come back for you soon.’

  But she hadn’t come back. Not for a long time. And when she finally had it had been too late. Something had withered and died inside him. Hope.

  Cesar had taken off the medallion the night he’d let that hope die. He’d been six years old. He’d known then that nothing could protect him except himself. She deserved to have the medallion back now—he’d had no need of it for a long time.

  Eventually Cesar turned and walked back to where his half-brothers were still standing, faces inscrutable. He might have smiled, if he’d been able, to recognise this familiar trait. An ache gripped him in the region of his chest where he knew his heart should be. But as he knew well, and as he’d been told numerous times by angry lovers, he had no heart.

  After a taut silence Cesar knew he had nothing to say to these men. These strangers. He didn’t even feel envy any more. He felt empty.

  He turned and got into the back of his car and curtly instructed his driver to go. It was done. He’d said goodbye to his mother, which was more than she’d ever deserved, and if there was one tiny piece of his soul that hadn’t shrivelled up by now then maybe it could be saved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Castillo Da Silva, near Salamanca

  CESAR WAS HOT, sweaty, grimy and thoroughly disgruntled. All he wanted was a cold shower and a stiff drink. A punishing ride around his vast estate on his favourite stallion had failed to put a dent in the dark cloud that had clung to him since his return that afternoon from his half-brother Alexio’s wedding in Paris. Those scenes of chirpy happiness still grated on his soul.

  It also irritated him intensely that he’d given in to the rogue compulsion to go.

  As he neared the stables his black mood increased on seeing the evidence of a serious breach of his privacy. A film was due to start shooting on his estate after the weekend, for the next four weeks. If that wasn’t bad enough, the stars, director and producers were all staying in the castillo.

  He wasn’t unaware of his complicated relationship to his home. It was both prison and sanctuary. But one thing was sure: Cesar hated his privacy being invaded like this.

  Huge equipment trucks lined his driveway. People were wandering about holding clipboards, speaking into walkie talkies. A massive marquee had been set up, where locals from the nearby town were being decked out as extras in nineteenth-century garb.

  All that was missing was a circus tent with flags flying and a clown outside saying, Roll up! Roll up!

  One of his biggest stable yards had been cleared out so that they could use it as the unit base. The unit base, as a film assistant had explained earnestly to Cesar, was where the actors got ready every day and where the crew would eat. As if he cared!

  But he’d feigned interest for the benefit of his friend Juan Cortez, who was the Lord Mayor of Villaporto, the local town, and the reason why Cesar had given this idea even half a second’s consideration. They’d been friends since the age of ten, when they’d both had to admit defeat during a fist fight or remain fighting till dawn and lose all their teeth. And they would have—both were stubborn enough.

  As his friend had pointed out, ‘Nearly everyone has been employed in some capacity—accommodation, catering, locations, the art department. Even my mother is involved in making clothes for the extras and putting up some of the crew. I haven’t seen her so excited in years.’

  Cesar couldn’t fail to acknowledge the morale and economic boost the film had already brought to the locale. He was known in the press for his ruthless dealings with people and businesses—one journalist had likened his methods to those of the cold, dead-eyed shark before it ate you whole. But Cesar wasn’t completely heartless—especially if it involved his own local community.

  More than one person caught a glimpse of his glowering features and looked away hurriedly, but Cesar was oblivious, already figuring out how he could rearrange his schedule to make sure he was away for as much of the next four weeks as possible.

  To his relief, his own private stable yard, which was strictly off-limits to the crew, was empty when he returned. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone—not even a groom. After unsaddling his horse and hosing him down, Cesar led him back to his stall and made sure he was secure, patting his still quivering flesh after their exertion.

  It was only when he was turning to leave again that Cesar spotted a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look.

  And stopped breathing, and thinking.

  In the other corner of the quiet stable stood a woman. Cesar felt slightly dizzy for a moment and wondered if he was seeing an apparition.

  She was wearing a white corset that cinched in her waist to almost impossible proportions while provocatively pushing up the abundant swells of her breasts. Long wavy golden hair was pulled back from an ethereally beautiful face and left to tumble down her back. Very feminine hips curved out from that tiny waist and a long, voluminous skirt almost touched the ground.

  She was stunning...exquisite. She was Venus incarnate. She couldn’t be real. Nothing so perfect existed in reality.

  Almost without realising that he was moving, Cesar closed the distance between them. She didn’t move. Just stared at him, looking as transfixed as he felt. Imbuing the moment with an even headier other-worldly feeling.

  Her eyes were huge and blue...piercing. She was tiny, and it seemed to call to some deep, primal part of him. Evoking an alien urge to protect.

  Her face was small and heart-shaped, but with an inherent strength that elevated it out of the merely beautiful to the extraordinary. High cheekbones. Elegant straight nose. A full, lush mouth made for sin and sinners. Skin like alabaster.

  There was a beauty spot close to the edge of her upper lip. She exuded an earthy and very feminine sexual allure. She couldn’t be real. Yet every single ounce of his masculinity was humming and throbbing in reaction to her luminosity.

  As if to check that he wasn’t losing it complete
ly, Cesar reached out a hand, noting with almost dispassionate surprise that it trembled slightly. He cupped his hand near her cheek and jaw, without actually touching her, almost afraid that she might disappear if he did...

  And then he touched her...and she didn’t disappear. She was real. Warm. Skin as soft as silk.

  A movement made his eyes drop and he saw her chest moving up and down rapidly with her breaths.

  ‘Dios,’ he said faintly, almost to himself, ‘you are real.’

  Her mouth opened. Cesar saw small, even white teeth. Her tongue-tip pink. She said, ‘I...’ and then stopped.

  Just that one tiny word had been uttered in a husky voice, making Cesar’s whole body tighten with a need that was unprecedented.

  Sliding his fingers further around her jaw to the back of her neck, silky hair tickling his hand, Cesar tugged her into him and after a minute hesitation she came, stumbling ever so slightly. All he knew, once he felt the barest whisper of a touch of her body to his, was that he couldn’t hold back now even if a thousand men tried to stop him.

  He lowered his head and his mouth touched hers, and all that sweet, soft voluptuousness pierced him right to the centre of his being, and threw him into the pit of a fire of lust so strong it obliterated everything he knew, or thought he knew.

  Cesar felt her hands clutching at him, grabbing his shirt. Any resistance vanished when her mouth opened under his, and his arms tightened around her as his hungry tongue thrust into that hot, moist cavern.

  However sweet that first initial taste had been, it turned to pure sin. Decadent and rich. Her tongue was sharp and smooth, teasing. Stoking his levels of arousal so that every bit of blood seemed to be rushing to the centre of his body, making that shaft of flesh lengthen and stiffen painfully.

  Moving his hands to her waist, encircling it, Cesar almost groaned aloud when he felt his fingers meet. That evidence of her intense femininity pushed his body over the edge, made it betray him as if he were an over-sexed teenager.