Innocent of His Claim (6 page)

“No. Mum wouldn’t have done that.”

He ground his teeth. If this were a man continually calling him a liar … But it wasn’t. It was Delanie, the sweetly feminine thorn in his side.

“Believe what you will,” he said, well aware she would anyway.

She set her glass down and pressed both palms to her temples. “This makes no sense. Father abused her. Why would she refuse the chance to escape that life?”

“Your mother denied everything you told me,” he said, his eyes boring into her suddenly startled ones.

“No!”

He shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

And Delanie looked into his eyes and knew it was so. He’d come for her and her mother. But her mum had sworn to her that Marco had never come. Never called.

The last bastion of her childhood crumbled before her eyes into dust, clinging, choking, leaving a remnant of deceit that couldn’t be easily wiped away.

That night she’d believed her mother, her confidant. While her heart had been breaking, it had never crossed her mind once that her mother would do anything to harm her. Deceive her.

Delanie pressed trembling fingers to her temples where a headache threatened to pound to life, sickened by the truth that loomed before her. Had the mother she’d sacrificed her own freedom for betrayed her confidence? Used her?

The walls have ears
, her mother had told her whenever she would question how her father knew of her plans. And she’d believed her mother, she admitted, hands falling to her sides.

Poor naive fool, she chided herself.

My God, her mother had been the one who’d alerted David Tate to Marco’s ailing grandmother.
She’d
told him about Delanie’s plans and concerns for her own company, setting the stage to halt her independence. Her mother had stolen her chance of happiness with Marco, all because she would not leave the abusive husband she loved and whose horrific temper she constantly made excuses for.

“I don’t know who or what to believe anymore,” she said, turning to the window, more confused and hurt and angry than she’d ever been in her life.

“It’s difficult when lies are buried among the truths.”

So true. It was glaringly clear that both her parents had manipulated and lied to her all her life. Her trust in her mother had made it so easy to play into her father’s hands. To give him control over her future while destroying Marco’s legacy.

This truth cut deep and bled.

She cast him a quick look then glanced away, unable to meet his steady gaze for long, afraid she would see pity in his eyes. “I don’t have the heart even to try anymore.”

“It’s not like you to give up.”

Strong hands cupped her shoulders. His offer of support?

God knew she desperately needed a strong shoulder to lean on now. But Marco? He’d betrayed her as well. He could be using her now.

She shrugged him off and scooted aside, heart thundering and skin tingling. “Don’t touch me. Please.”

“Cara—”

“Am I interrupting a private moment?” a woman asked, her tone holding a hint of amusement.

Delanie stared at the women. She was young and pretty, though the petulant bow to her mouth and the annoying snap of masticating chewing gum kept her from being a raving beauty or an ingénue.

“My sister, Bella,” he introduced.

“Delanie Tate,” she said.

The younger woman flashed a wide smile. “Good. You’re finally here. I’m about to go out of my mind dealing with these old traditionalists.”

Delanie flicked a look at Marco but he merely shrugged. It was the first time she’d seen him look uncertain.

She faced the bride. “I gather you would prefer a modern wedding.”

Bella bobbed her head. “Heavens, yes. It’s a joke for me to wear virginal white.”

Heat burned Delanie’s cheeks, but she continued smiling and jumped at the chance to get through this crucial meeting with Bella now. Once she knew the young woman’s wants she could get to work on a proposal. Far away from Marco Vincienta.

“Please, let’s sit and talk,” Delanie said, motioning to the
seating area where a sumptuous cream sofa was flanked by overstuffed chairs. “What are your preferences as to color?”

Bella slumped onto a stripped chair, pulling her bare feet beneath her. “Pale blue.” She frowned. “Or green.”

“Both are lovely choices,” Delanie said as she took her electronic notebook from her purse and eased onto the sofa close to Bella, ready to fill the blanks in on her unique form. “With your dark coloring, you would look stunning in either though the green would truly bring out the gold flecks in your dark eyes.”

Eyes that were strikingly similar to Marco’s. They must have their father’s eyes, she surmised, though she refrained from saying that aloud.

“I would love that,” Bella gushed.

A glance at Marco found him watching his sister, dark brows drawn over his classic nose and muscular arms locked over his broad chest. Delanie had expected impatience but he seemed as interested in what his sister said as Delanie.

She shook off the distraction that was solely Marco with a discreet cough, vowing to ignore him. “I gather you’d like nontraditional flowers as well?”

Bella nodded. “Anything but roses or calla lilies or anything else that someone has declared as symbolizing everlasting love.”

Ah, that was a telling remark if she ever heard one. But she didn’t press the point now with Marco watching them like a hawk.

She was here to please his sister. Not him. He’d already told her money was no object.

Delanie made a few notes, already having an idea of an avenue to pursue. “Where will the ceremony be held?”

“The cathedral in the village,” Marco said.

“No! I will marry in St. Antonio de Montiforte or not at all,” Bella said.

An uneasy tension pulsed between the siblings. Delanie
cleared her throat, having dealt with similar matters in the past.

She faced Marco. “You hired me to plan a wedding that would please your sister, to do as she wishes. That means that she decides where to exchange her vows. Correct?”

Marco mumbled something, likely a curse. “Fine. Have the wedding in Montiforte. Force your guests to drive an hour to your wedding and back here for the reception. Unless you have changed your mind about that as well!”

“We want to hold the reception in Castello di Montiforte,” Bella said.

Marco scrubbed a hand over his mouth and shifted, and for a moment Delanie almost felt sorry for him having two women tear down his plans. But his refusal to believe her still rose like a wall between them, bolstering her determination to keep her distance from him.

He heaved a sigh. “Perhaps since the gardens are less than perfect it is best to hold the reception there.”

“I knew you would understand,” Bella said, then smiled such a serene smile that Delanie nearly laughed.

Marco snorted but kept his thoughts to himself.

In short order, Delanie went over a few more points to ensure she had no doubts as to the bride’s preferences.

“That should do it,” Delanie said. “I’ll contact you if I have any questions. And please, if you want anything changed, no matter how insignificant it seems, let me know right away.”

“I will.” Bella clapped her hands together and rose. “Thank you for agreeing to plan my wedding after all.”

“Thank your brother,” Delanie said. “He convinced me to travel here.”

Bella squealed and ran to her brother, throwing her arms around him with a hug that looked comfortable. “Marco,
grazie!
It will be perfect now. Oh! I must tell my fiancé. You will take care of Miss Tate?”

“Very good care.” He gaze flicked to Delanie, his smile going from brotherly to something knowing and hot.

A zillion butterflies took flight in her stomach and she pressed a hand to her middle before taking a breath. She couldn’t stay here at the villa while she was planning a wedding that was taking place an hour away. She couldn’t stay anywhere near Marco without having to battle her desire every moment.

“I have a tremendous amount to do in short order,” she said as she stuffed her electronic notebook back in her purse. “Which is why I must relocate to Montiforte.”

“You’re serious?”

“Very.” She rose and faced him, and damned her suddenly weak knees. It simply wasn’t fair that he had this effect on her. “I would appreciate it if your driver would take me there now so I can get settled in. I want to start early in the morning with the arrangements.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and lifted one mocking brow. “Why do I have the feeling you are anxious to get away from me?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know. The driver?”

“I sent him home for the night.”

“Then I’ll ring for a cab.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

She slapped her hands on her hips and fumed. “I suppose you have a better idea?”

His widening smile was a sensual promise that every nerve in her body recognized and responded to with a quickening sizzle through her blood. “Of course,
cara
. I’ll take you to Montiforte and personally see you settled in.”

E
MOTIONS
whirled like a vortex within Delanie, leaving her shaking. Being in Marco’s company for another hour was the last thing she wanted. But suffering the sexual allure of his body again was preferable to staying in this villa with him in residence, knowing he was just down the hall.

If only she could fully trust that she would walk away from this in total control of her business. But she couldn’t.

Her father had used her. If Marco had told the truth, then her mother had lied. Even then, there was the fact that Marco refused to believe her.

She bit her lower lip, trying to get entranced by the ribbons of sun streaming over the undulating hills. If only she could find more appeal in this sunset instead of the man beside her.

Impossible to do with him behind the wheel of the powerful red sports car. Ferrari? Bugatti? She hadn’t a clue.

No matter how hard she tried, her gaze kept flicking back to his hands on the leather-wrapped wheel. Hands that she remembered all too well coaxing oh-too-ready responses from her body with equal ease.

“You will have absolute privacy here,” he said.

Twilight bathed the hills in shades of amber and crimson by the time they reached the walled hamlet of Montiforte. An ancient castle dominated one end of town and an equally aged church filled the other.

In between rose a collection of oddly shaped buildings, some standing nearly atop the other. All faced a small square piazza where a lichen-covered god stood on an equally aged stepped pedestal next to an old well.

“I didn’t expect Montiforte to be so small and medieval,” she said.

“It is one of the oldest settlements in Umbria. Come, the village market is still open. You will need supplies at the villa.”

She climbed out before he could assist her this time and walked with him to the lone shop. The sweet fragrance of ripe grapes hung in the air, but Marco’s spicy scent dominated. Just like the man.

The shopkeeper greeted him by name, but the rest was lost to her as they lapsed into a rapid flow of Italian. She took the time while they visited to wander around the small shop.

The savory smells were feasts in themselves. Balls, ropes and small wheels of cheese hung amid an array of sausages.

Canted tables held an assortment of fresh fruits and vegetables. She leaned over a baker’s case filled with baguettes, fat rounds of breads and a selection of rolls. One round loaf caught her eye.

“The
torta di testo
is delicious toasted and drizzled with olive oil,” Marco said, standing beside her holding two cheeses and a string of sausage. “It is good for sandwiches as well.”

The shopkeeper nodded and brought out a basket filled with the round flat bread. His smile encouraged her to choose.

“Thank you,” she said, selecting several and trying not to recall a similar day outside London when she and Marco had stopped in a shop for a takeaway lunch, deciding spontaneously to turn it into a picnic instead.

And they’d feasted the better part of the day on sweets and savories and hot kisses, getting more intoxicated on each other than on the wine. One look at him now was proof he could do so again.

A hot swirl of heat curled low in her belly and she frowned,
annoyed her thoughts always splintered off into something torrid with him. It would be so easy to fall into his arms, his bed.

But with pleasure came heartache. She’d learned that lesson well. Even the unspoken promise of pleasure she glimpsed in his eyes could turn on her like a viper.

“This is really more than enough,” she said.

“Who knows? You may have company.”

Like him? Her throat went dry at the thought of entertaining Marco in a villa, just the two of them. There had been a time when she would have done anything to get him alone.

“I’m sure I’ll be far too busy working to receive guests,” she said, pulling out her wallet to pay for her purchases.

“Meals are included in your contract,” he said, giving the shopkeeper a look that had the man turning from her.

There wasn’t a thing in the contract regarding meals and they both knew it, but again arguing would only raise another passion. Best to let that issue rest.

She was already tired from the journey and stressed to the max by being with Marco again. “Thank you then.”

Outside her gaze drifted over the stone buildings and narrow streets and walkways rising like steps up the hillside. There was just enough sun to give the village a Monet aura with bluing shadows creeping over stucco washed a mellow gold by the setting sun.

“There is a bistro near the castle that serves amazing food,” he said as he joined her, his shadow swallowing her whole much as she knew his passion would do if she surrendered to it. “I suggest we eat before you retire to your residence.”

And wouldn’t that be cozy? Her sharing an intimate meal with the man she still found far too desirable.

She diverted her eyes from the magnetic draw of his. “I’m far too weary from the journey to enjoy it. Besides I have ample food to sustain me should I get hungry.”

Over the thud of her own heart she heard the melodic strains of a mandolin, the music floating on a cooling breeze.
But she felt no chill, not with Marco standing so close, not when his nearness warmed her from the inside out.

“Very well then,” he said. “Another time.”

Not if she could avoid it.

He pressed a hand to her back and she swallowed a gasp as heat flooded her, spiraling out from his splayed fingers to flow through her in sultry waves. No, she had to keep her distance from this man who was already taking far too many liberties.

She hurried to the car and climbed in, not waiting for him to assist her. He hissed a curse and closed the door after her, and she took a breath then another as he walked around the front of the car, one strong, well-boned hand riding the sleek hood.

In moments he threw himself behind the wheel and they were off, the car winding up the hills lined with poplar and flanked by fields of grapes, their leaves a burnished gold hiding grapes that looked black this time of day.

Marco handled the powerful car with ease, seeming so arrogantly sure of himself that her nerves tightened another notch. She was no match for him. Never had been.

How funny that he accused her of betraying him, using him, when she’d been the vulnerable one, caught up in the magnetic pull of the dashing Italian. In the span of several weeks, he’d romanced her and proposed marriage.

While she desperately waited for him to come for her, he’d deserted her without explanation. Left her to believe her family’s lies.

She’d lost her heart and her will to trust in love again. Lost control of her company and her life. Regaining it had became her goal. Her only vow was to avoid Marco should their paths ever cross again.

Yet here she was with him again, trying valiantly to subdue the stirrings of need inside her. She searched for gaping holes in everything he told her yet found nothing more than shadowed valleys.

She wanted to hate him, but her heart wouldn’t let her. So
she hated herself for her inability to get over him, for not purging him from her system long ago.

“We’re here.” He stopped the car in front of a villa bathed in a burnished gold swath of sunset.

Her stomach tightened. “Is this a bed and breakfast?”

“No.” His shirt glowed white with the sleeves rolled up and his tanned muscular forearms bared. “It is a private villa above Montiforte.”

“A rental then?” she asked, thinking the fee must be exorbitant and glad she didn’t have to pay the cost.

“It is yours for your stay here.”

He extracted himself from behind the wheel with predatory grace and she stole a deep breath to steady her nerves, her entire body surrendering to a tremble as she blew it out. The trunk opened and closed, jarring her to move. But her door opened just as her hand was reaching for it.

She stared up into his eyes that were darker than sin and for the life of her she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

His hand reached for her and she froze, forgetting to breathe. “I won’t bite.”

Ah, but he had. Delicious nibbles along her limbs that she remembered with sensual clarity.

For the second time she placed her hand in his and left the car. Thankfully he let go of her first, reaching for the bag of groceries she clutched in one hand.

“I’ve got it,” she said, stepping back.

He stared at her another moment before he motioned to the villa, his teeth wickedly white in the fading light. “Let’s get you settled. A housekeeper comes twice a week. She’ll be in tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Her skin tingled, nerves pinging wildly as she marched up the winding walk to the arched door. What was the matter with her that she couldn’t squash thoughts of them entangled?

It was over. Done. She was here to do a job. Nothing more.

Her fingers closed around the antique brass knob but the door was locked. He reached around her to work a key into the lock, his spicy scent enveloping her and sending her senses on another spiraling jolt.

She turned, thinking to scoot away and give him room to open the door. Instead he caged her in with an arm to the door at her back and his hard unyielding length at her front.

His warm breath fanned her cheek and she bit back a moan. “Back off.”

“No way.”

His teeth flashed in a wolf’s smile a heartbeat before he claimed her mouth with a possessive hunger that sparked a firestorm in her blood, that flung her right back to when Marco had first swept into her life like a hot tropical storm and spun her static existence on its head.

Distantly she heard a muffled thump. Her bag? She didn’t know. Didn’t care.

His arms banded around her, hauling her close, molding her to his length. His gaze burned into hers, melting her resolve. Every nerve in her body came awake, snapping and sizzling.

She wanted his kiss even though she knew it was wrong of her, even though she knew it could throw open the door to old pain. Her palms pressed against the unforgiving wall of his chest, but instead of shoving him away, they relearned the impressive contours of toned muscles.

His kiss commanded. Consumed. Her rigid admonition to keep him at arm’s length caught fire and burned to ash as her fingers splayed, exploring the breadth of the man who haunted her dreams.

He was broader, more muscled, more dominant than before. More arrogantly male than any man she’d ever met, but she couldn’t find the strength or reason to resist him, couldn’t do anything but press against him and return his kisses with a matching heat, like a flower unfurling its petals to the glory of the sun.

One hand held her head just so, fingers threaded through her hair while the other stroked down her side, grazing the side of her breast, the dip of her waist and flare of her hip, setting off sensations she’d hadn’t felt in too long.

She stirred, restless for him to do more than tease. To slip a hand between her thighs and ease the ache building inside her to the point she feared she would explode.

But he did nothing more than hold her tight and plumb the cay of her mouth. The spicy taste of him on her tongue was a delicious bubble that fizzed through her blood like champagne.

And popped as he pulled away, his smile smug. Victorious.

Why shouldn’t he be since he’d beaten down her defenses with little effort?

Her face burned but her body chilled. She pushed away from him and stormed inside, whirling to face him, fingers taking a punishing grip on the open door.

“Leave me be, Marco. Get it through your head that I want nothing to do with you.”

Near-black eyes drilled into her, his desire evident. “Then why did you kiss me?”

“Consider it a weak moment that won’t happen again,” she said. It could lead nowhere but to more hurt for her because she wasn’t one who could have an affair without emotions. “I’m here to do a job. Not to delve into casual sex with a former lover.”

He smirked. “You could have fooled me.”

She hiked her chin up and shoved the door shut, refusing to dignify that remark. All she wanted now was privacy so she could sort through the tangle of emotions tugging at her.

He caught the heavy panel before it arced halfway and pushed it wide. “We aren’t done yet.”

“I disagree. Now please leave so I can focus on your sister’s wedding, or have you forgotten that’s why you forced me to come here?” She swept up her bag of groceries and stormed
into the salon, hoping the kitchen lay through the wide arched opening ahead.

Her instincts were right, amazing considering the steady thud of his steps on the terra-cotta tiles that should have sent her running. Despite the dark open-beamed ceilings, the villa was surprisingly light, the kitchen especially so thanks to arched double doors that opened onto the terrace to let the last rays of the setting sun arrow through their multi-paned glass panels.

“I have not forgotten,” he said, his voice so close that she knew he was right on her heels.

She placed her bag from the market on the large brick bar topped with the same warm terra-cotta tiles and whirled to face him. “Then please, leave me in peace.”

His lips pulled into a thin line, but it was the windows slamming down on his desire at the same time as rigidity stole over his features that fascinated her. He looked every inch the unforgiving ruthless businessman.

To think she’d been so close to letting him command her body again. Far too close to risk being in his company much longer.

“How long do you really think you can go on denying what we both want?” he asked.

“Forever,” she shot back.

He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. “You will change your mind.”

Damn his arrogance! Damn it that he was right! If she spent much time with him she would crumble into his arms, into his bed. That kiss had proved just how weak she was around him.

That admission shamed her. Hadn’t the pain of having her father and then Marco betray her been enough?

And if he was telling the truth? If Mother did lie to him that night, sending him away with the belief that Delanie had been in league with her father?