Innocent of His Claim (9 page)

Love. It had no place here, not in an affair. She could expect nothing from this but pleasure. The final closing of this chapter in her life when his sister’s wedding was over and she returned to London alone.

“You are eating less than a bird,” he said, having consumed a good portion of his meal.

“Sorry. I’m not hungry for food.”

There was only one thing that would ease the tight coil pulsing in her belly. Sex.

She took a sip of wine and ran her tongue over her lips, all the while holding his gaze with hers, hoping he wouldn’t laugh at her attempt at seduction.

The potent promise swirling in his eyes was more intoxicating than the wine, both leaving her head spinning, both sending heat coursing through her. But only he had the power to turn her into this soft wanton, breasts heavy and nipples tightening into hard buds.

Only Marco could make her hunger for sex. That’s how she had to look at it. Anything else would simply crush her.

Marco took a drink of the rich wine, letting time drag out, watching as a bead of sweat dared to trickle down her slender neck. Nerves. She was a jumble of them. An act? Another contradiction that was solely Delanie?

“That is an innuendo that begs careful consideration,” he said.

“If you feel that is necessary,” she said, making some flippant wave of her hand.

“You don’t?”

“Why wait when our time together is brief?”

Her voice had gone soft with a husk that left his blood pulsating with raw need. Years before they’d come together in a cataclysmic explosion of desire, wanted only the moment, wanted only what pleased them at the time.

Now they were adults, capable of setting barriers as well as tearing them down. That’s just what she’d done, torn down the last fence separating them.

Sex between them wouldn’t be new. They knew what to expect going into it, knew it wouldn’t last. Knew that despite good intentions, somebody could walk away from it hurt.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

She nodded, her gaze lowered, her fingers fidgeting as she dropped her linen napkin on the table. “Yes, please.”

For the second time, he noted that quiet reserve which was at odds with her agreement that they embark on an affair. But he wasn’t going to dwell on that or on her sudden jitters. Or on the fact he was approaching sex with her as he would a mistress.

She deserved better than that.
They
deserved more as individuals and as a couple.

And he would see that she was treated like a queen—in his arms and out of them for the duration of her stay.

He rose silently and helped her to her feet, absorbing the tremor that shot through her when he grasped her elbow. That first teetering step she took, nearly wrenching free from him, demanded he tighten his hold on her.

“Sorry,” she said, swaying slightly before gaining her balance on the same low sandals she’d worn walking down the hillside to the winery. “I’m okay now.”

He wasn’t convinced. “How much wine did you drink?”

She sent him a helpless look that caught him by surprise,
like a punch to the gut driving the air from his lungs. As though she trusted him.

“I’m not sure,” she said, delicate brow puckered. “Every time I looked my glass was full.”

His lips thinned, more annoyed at himself for not paying attention to the overzealous waiter. If he had, he certainly would have cautioned her for imbibing a bit more than necessary.

He slipped her hand through the crook in his arm, holding it there a moment when she jolted.

“Thank you,” she said, relaxing but refusing to meet his gaze.

“My pleasure.”

And it was, he admitted.

He heaved a sigh and got them out of the restaurant without much notice other than from the curious onlookers who recognized that Montiforte’s most eligible bachelor was with a beautiful woman. Once in the car, he whipped through the streets toward the highway that would take them into the foothills.

“How do you feel?” he asked, flicking her a quick glance to find her curled a bit on her seat, head nestled against the leather back and dreamy eyes fixed on his.

She smiled, and a jolt of heat shot to his groin. “Very relaxed now. And you?”

“Fine,” he gruffed out, shifting slightly to ease his growing torment.

But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the shadows creeping down the mountains into the valley.

“We will be there soon.” Closer now that he was on the winding road that wound up from town.

“That’s good.”

He reached over and grasped her hand in his, something he’d done years ago with her. Something he’d only done with this woman. Her fingers twined with his, small and silken and lost in his big grip.

“I’ve missed this,” she said, voice drowsy, fingers tightening on his.

He gave her hand a squeeze and something—emotion?—did the same to his heart. “So have I.”

The evening was turning out to be warm, with a balmy breeze. The woman beside him was hot, willing. Relaxed.

He maneuvered the wheel with one-handed precision, his blood running as hotly as the high-powered engine slicing through the night.

Five more minutes and then he zipped down the poplar-lined drive to his villa.

“We’re here,” he said, killing the engine.

The silence was deafening, but the brilliant smile from a full moon shone down on them, showing Delanie with eyes closed, fast asleep.

He pressed back in his seat, his annoyance vanishing as he drank in her beauty. A smile tugged at his mouth. It was all he could do to contain his laughter at the irony of her capitulation and overindulgence.

Tonight would not be the night. But soon, he thought as he slipped from the car. As he gathered her in his arms and strode into the house, making straightway for the master bedroom.

Soon.

D
ELANIE
stirred, opening her eyes a mere slit and saw nothing familiar. Sunlight flooded the room and she winced, snapping her eyes shut and pulling the bedsheet over her head with a groan.

Snippets of last night pinged through her memory. Too much fine wine. Too bold a decision. A long, seductive drive to the villa with Marco controlling the moment and her.

Another groan whispered from her as she pressed her face into the soft down pillow, forcing herself to relax, to let the tension seep from her. But that was denied her as a spicy scent filled her senses. Familiar. Seductive. Masculine.

Marco, of course.

She levered up on her elbows, staring at the place beside her, knowing his scent wouldn’t be that strong unless he’d spent substantial time in this bed, holding her in his arms. The slightest indent visible in the pillow proved he’d been here.

That spicy scent that was uniquely his, that she’d never been able to forget, was all around her. On her bare skin.

Her breath came fast as she scrambled for the sheet, her gaze flitting around the large bedroom. Marco’s, she recognized now.

Sunlight flooded through the windows to stream across the polished wood floor and wash over the clean modern lines of the furnishings. Her jeans and jersey were draped over a chair back. Her sandals lay willy-nilly on the floor.

She swallowed hard and slowly stretched, her skin chilling as she did a quick mental inspection of herself. He’d stripped her to her skin, not the first time but the first time she had no memory of it.

But they hadn’t been intimate. She was sure of it.

If they had, her body would be replete with pleasure instead of humming with the same tension. She wouldn’t be this tight physically or emotionally.

“Buongiorno,”
he said, striding into the room bearing a tray, his muscular body as bare and bronzed as his feet.

She damned the telling shiver that rippled through her in one long delicious wave, knowing full well they’d slept in each other’s arms, skin against skin. “Good morning.”

He set the tray down on the bed with a wink and climbed in beside her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And at one time it had been.

But that thought came and went like lightning as she tried not to look at the naked man beside her. The strong, lean body she’d admired ten years ago had developed into sculpted slabs of muscle befitting a Roman God. Bronzed. Beautiful.

“I have fruit, brie and croissants.” He popped a grape in his mouth and held another out to her. “It isn’t much.”

“It’s fine. Lovely, actually,” she said, taking a deep blue grape from his outstretched palm, rattled by his buff body and good mood in the face of her humiliating performance last night. “I’m sorry about drinking so much.”

He shrugged one well-hewn shoulder and chewed, the frown pulling at his brow there and gone. “These things happen. You were tired and the waiter was being generous. We have tonight to look forward to.”

She swallowed, shifting and nearly groaning at the throb between her legs that begged for release, a need that had erupted the second he’d walked into the bedroom and stretched out beside her.

“Yes, of course. I expected you would want to get reacquainted
this morning,” she said, damning the heat that burned her neck and cheeks, a red flag of embarrassment that warred with the carnal flush burning her pale skin.

He leaned so close she could see her obvious lust reflected in his eyes. Her cheeks burned even more, and the need inside her was so unbearable she thrashed her legs, hoping he would notice, praying he would touch her there and relieve the ache.

“As much as I would enjoy making love with you long into the morning, now is not the time,” he said, trailing a finger down her neck, the upper curve of her breast and circling a nipple that grew hard and aching at his touch, that had her leaning into him. “I want to savor every second adoring you and I refuse to be rushed.”

In the quiet wake of her bold capitulation and her ensuing inelegant behavior at the restaurant, the last thing she wished to do was show how malleable she was in his hands. Yet here she was, breath hitching, her breasts full and her very core crying with need for him.

“I want that too,” she said, digging deep to find the strength to tear herself away from him, to sweep her shredded dignity around her like a sturdy wrap.

But she couldn’t pull her gaze from his, couldn’t scramble away when he leaned in, his big hands gliding up her bare arms, dredging a shiver from her that had nothing to do with the chill air and everything to do with the hot hard man.

His warm inviting breath on her face had her lifting her face to his in greedy invitation. She’d waited for this for so long. So long …

Her lips parted, heart hammering beneath her breasts. His mouth met hers with a groan, a soft brush of lips that fizzed in her blood like the finest champagne, sweet and intoxicating and going straight to her head.

“Marco,” she breathed against his lips, her fingers splayed over his bare chest, the muscles hard, the skin hot and smooth, the sprinkling of dark hair crisp and slightly damp beneath
her palm as she slid a finger down the chiseled contours of his body to his length thrusting hard against her thigh.

He sucked in a breath, pressing himself against her palm. The same insistent pulse she felt in him thrummed between her legs and deeper into her core where she ached for him to be. In her, part of her.

“Tonight,” he said, grasping her hand and pulling it away.

His breath sawed hot against her neck, sending delicious chills rippling over her skin. It had been too long since she’d felt this wicked, this easy with a man.

He dropped one last lingering kiss on her too-sensitive skin, then sauntered away, his bare buttocks tight, his legs long and muscled. She clutched the sheet in both hands, the soft fabric abrasive to her sensitized nipples, trying to focus, trying to shake off the sensual haze swirling around her like early-morning fog.

She clenched her thighs together and stifled a groan, wanting him so badly she physically ached. Don’t gawk at him. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from such masculine beauty. Couldn’t forget how that strong body had felt on her, in her.

Modesty would goad most people to dress in private but Marco clearly didn’t possess such inhibitions. He unabashedly stood in the opening of the dressing room and thrust long legs into navy trousers before shrugging into a pale blue shirt.

And she sat on the bed transfixed, drinking in every second. Branding it all on her memory.

His mobile trilled no more than twice before he answered and moved into the shadows. He was too far from her and his voice was pitched too low to understand a word, but the sudden tensing of his broad shoulders alerted her that the news wasn’t good.

“I should return before dark,” he told her, striding from the dressing room without glancing her way.

And just like that the playboy she’d dined with last night and had a teasing respite with this morning was gone, hidden
behind a custom-made suit that was undoubtedly Italian and clearly tailored to fit his admirable physique.

“I have a lot to do as well,” she said—starting with a trip to a women’s clothing shop.

“
Si
, the wedding,” he said, pausing at the door. “A selection of clothes and shoes will be delivered for you today.”

Just what a rich man would do for his mistress. That tainted what they’d agreed on. Brought it down to a level that made her skin crawl. Yet wasn’t that what she had agreed to? A brief affair? To be his mistress for two weeks?

She seized a quick breath, chin held high, as the bubble of euphoria inside popped to rain ice on her blood. “Thanks, but I prefer choosing my own clothes.”

“I prefer buying these gifts for you,” he drawled. “But if you wish, consider them as compensation for dragging you from London with the clothes on your back.”

“Fine. Thanks.” She would purchase her own clothes and when she left she’d take them and leave his behind.

His brow furrowed as he executed a perfect knot in an indigo silk tie and snugged it to his throat with a quick twist of his wrist. “Just so you know, I have never brought a woman here before.”

What was she supposed to say to that?
You’re kidding … Thank you …

In the end she said nothing because her libido was shorting out her brain cells with the way his gaze was fixed on her, peeling away the sheet she clutched to her bosom, kissing skin that was moist and flushed with desire.

How could he make her nearly come with a look?

The control she’d had the past ten years was nonexistent now in the face of his potent sensuality. Which made this entire job all the more challenging to endure.

But she would get through. She wanted to get through it!

She had to do a stellar job, had to garner the top publicity
this wedding would offer her. Had to have this last fling with Marco because …

Because she wanted him.

She’d willingly added an affair to her list of things to accomplish here because of that burning desire. Selfish and carnal and so unlike her, but that was the truth.

Her only saving grace was the ability to hide the emotions rioting in her, a knack perfected as she’d suffered the company of businessmen eager to align with Tate Unlimited. Men who’d thought the fast track to getting to the top of Tate Unlimited was to woo her. But she’d kept them all at arm’s length, earning the reputation of being an ice princess. All but Marco.

“Give me a ring if you need me,” he said.

“I shall,” she said, managing a smile.

He stared at her a long assessing moment before striding from the house. But she didn’t draw a decent breath until she heard the powerful roar of the Bugatti racing away.

Dusk cast a surreal glow over the vineyards stretching to the foothills and had turned the tiled roofs of Montiforte a fiery red by the time Marco returned from Rome. It had been a stressful day and he was eager to conclude it and return to Delanie.

But that would have to wait, thanks to a problem at the Toligara press. The man who always oversaw issues like this was off to Arezzo for the night with his wife of thirty-five years, celebrating their anniversary.

Though Marco hated postponing his evening with Delanie, he wasn’t about to ruin a trusted employee’s happy occasion. Besides, his time with Delanie should be savored like fine wine, savored to its fullest.

In bed and out of it.

He tugged his phone from his pocket and punched in her number, one that he’d put in over a month ago but had never
called. “Are you through for the day?” he asked when Delanie answered with a hesitant greeting.

“Almost. I am finalizing the date for a fitting and should be back to the house in thirty minutes or so,” she said. “Are you there?”

Was that a note of dread in her voice?

“No, I have just reached Montiforte,” he said. “There was a problem at the oil press that needs my attention. I’ve no idea when I’ll return home.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“That is good to know,” he said, smiling. “How did your day go?”

“Productive. I’ve arranged for Bella’s first fitting with the dressmaker tomorrow and should have sample arrangements of flowers ready for her approval by then as well. Tomorrow I’ll see that all is in readiness for the church, then I’ll tour the castle where she wishes to hold the reception.”

As her contract dictated, she told him about the businesses she’d contacted, her preferences for each and why she’d chosen to work with locals.

“I was amazed at what was available here and their willingness to adapt. It’s a good start,” she said.

He smiled, hearing the enthusiasm in her voice. “It seems you have everything in line.”

“There is still much to do,” she said. “Bella expressly stated she did not want the men in tuxedos so I spoke with the tailor. But she’s also decided she wants a blend of traditional and modern so I’ll arrange a very relaxed Mediterranean theme.”

“I doubt the groom will complain about the lack of formality,” he said, and neither would he.

“Just what I thought as well,” she said. “There are two photographers of note in Montiforte and both of their works are good. But I’d prefer gathering samples to show Bella since each one has a far different style.”

“My sister is quick to speak her opinion,” he said.

She laughed. “That is obviously a family trait.”

He laughed, enjoying this banter. Enjoying her.

“True. I want you,
cara
. How is that for expressing my opinion?”

He heard her breathing, quick and hurried. “To the point. Honest, and I appreciate honesty.”

“As do I,” he said, serious again.

“Good, because I want this as well,” she said in a whisper that hummed through his blood.

A new tension surged between them in waves. Hot and intense. A tension that had nothing to do with his sister’s wedding and everything to do with their affair.

“I regret this postponement,” he said.

“There is always tomorrow.”

Every nerve in his body screamed for release tonight. Now. His biological father would have let the workers deal with the mess at the mill and gone off to meet the lady.

Which is exactly what he would not do, he vowed as he neared the olive press. This was his company. His problem to solve.

Ah, but if he just had a few more minutes to at least talk with Delanie …

“Have a good evening,
cara
,” he said as he killed the engine.

“Yes, you as well.”

“Delanie,” he said, rolling her name over his tongue, savoring it as he had hoped to do to her tonight.

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow will be our time,” he said. “We’ll start with dinner.”

And end up in bed.

She didn’t reply, but then no words were necessary. Tomorrow he would have her in his arms where she belonged.

* * *

As busy as she’d been all day, she should have fallen into an exhausted sleep. But here it was near two in the morning and she was still wide awake.

Delanie hugged her arms to her bosom and strolled back to the glass doors that opened onto the terrace. A bloated moon bathed the hills in a wash of silver, the effect almost magical.