The Italian's New-Year Marriage Wish (11 page)

‘I'm not interested in any of those options. I've seen what—' She broke off but Nick's questioning gaze was enough to tell her that she'd already said too much.

‘What have you seen, Amy?'

‘Nothing.' Her voice was hoarse. ‘Nothing. I just know that those aren't options.'

Nick studied her face for a moment but he didn't push her
for more information. ‘Well, at least now I understand why you didn't want to do the antenatal clinic.'

‘It was difficult,' she said honestly, ‘but you don't come to terms with something by ignoring it, so I'm sure that taking that clinic will do me good in the long term.'

‘Some things are more difficult to come to terms with than others. Marco can do that clinic from now on, Amy. Or I will. You can do child health or minor surgery.'

‘If we swap things around then he'll ask questions that I don't want to answer, and anyway he should do child health— he's a paediatrician. I'll be fine, Nick. I can do the clinic.' Amy walked back to her desk and picked up her coat and bag. ‘I'm sorry to dump all over you like this. I can't think what came over me.'

‘If a problem is big enough then it eventually finds its way out,' Nick said softly, and Amy slipped on her wool coat and belted it.

‘Maybe.'

‘My guess is that you've bottled this up for two years. You should talk to someone about it. Talking can help.'

She picked up her bag. ‘Do you talk to anyone, Nick?'

His gaze held hers for a moment and then he gave a humourless laugh. ‘I'm not sure if you win that point or not. It's different. I'm a man.'

‘And you know as well as I do that talking doesn't always help anything. Sometimes it makes things worse. I'd be grateful if you didn't say anything to Marco.'

‘He'd want to know, Amy.'

‘It would make everything a thousand times more complicated and painful and it wouldn't change the outcome.'

‘He loves you.'

Amy felt as though her heart was being squeezed by a vice. ‘Even if that were true, it wouldn't change the outcome either,' she said quietly, walking towards the door. ‘Thanks, Nick, for listening. Actually, it
was
good to tell someone. I
feel better now. More in control. I can do this. I can work as a locum and then walk away and pursue a career.'

‘And is that what you want?'

She paused with her hand on the door. ‘No. But life doesn't always give you what you want, does it?'

‘No. It doesn't.'

She left the room and absolutely bumped into Marco in the corridor. Knowing that the evidence of her distress would still show on her face, she kept walking. ‘I've finished the clinic. I'll see you at home.' She kept her head down but he caught her arm.

‘You're always in such a hurry! I just spoke to the hospital. Eddie doesn't have a skull fracture and they're happy with him. He's coming home tomorrow.'

‘That's good. Really good. His mother must be relieved.' She glanced at her watch. ‘I've got to dash.'

‘Why?' He slid a hand under her chin, lifted her face and then swore softly. ‘You've been crying.'

‘No, of course I haven't.' She tried to ease her arm away from his grip but he held her firmly.

‘Your eyes are red.'

‘I think I'm getting a cold.' She sniffed to prove the point. ‘It's that time of year. Germs everywhere.'

‘Germs don't give you swollen eyes. You've been crying, Amy. Why?'

Given the determined pressure of his fingers, she had no choice but to look into his eyes and this time there was no trace of anger. Just concern. And the concern brought the lump back to her throat.

Oh, for goodness' sake, what was the matter with her?
Why did her body have to pick this particular moment to release all the tension that had been building inside her? She'd had two years to break down and she'd chosen the most inappropriate moment possible and the most public place.

With a determined effort she freed herself from his grasp
and stepped away from him. ‘Honestly, I'm fine. I'm really, really pleased about little Eddie. I'll see you at home.' And she turned and hurried away from him.

‘S
HE
was crying.' Marco followed Nick back into his consulting room, anger shaking his powerful frame. ‘Amy has been crying and you were with her! What did you say to her?'

‘I can't discuss it.'

‘You
will
discuss it!' Marco slammed the door shut with the flat of his hand and gave a low growl. ‘This is my wife we're talking about.'

‘You're separated.'

‘She's
my wife
.'

‘Why would you care if she's upset?' Nick's tone was even. ‘You've been angry enough with her for the past two years.'

‘She left me. I'm human. Yes, I was angry. But that doesn't stop me caring about her.'

Nick sat down in his chair. ‘How much do you care about her?'

‘What sort of a question is that? So now you are—what do they call it?' His English momentarily abandoning him, Marco switched to Italian and then back again. ‘A marriage counsellor?'

‘Do you still love her?'

Thrown by the intimacy of the question, Marco prowled across the consulting room and stared blankly at the wall displaying a poster on the dangers of smoking. ‘Yes. I still
love her.' He turned sharply. ‘So now will you tell me why she was crying?'

‘I can't do that. Our talk was confidential.'

‘So you
do
know what's wrong.' Exasperated, Marco spread his hands in question. ‘Tell me what she said! How could it be confidential?'

‘Because she spoke to me as a doctor.'

‘It was a consultation?'

‘Yes.'

‘She's ill?' Anxiety replaced anger, but the emotion was just as sharp. ‘Is something the matter with her?' He'd wondered. It might explain why she'd lost weight and why she was looking so pale.

‘She isn't ill.'

Marco let out a long breath. For a moment he'd been afraid that— ‘Well, if she wasn't ill, why did she need to talk to a doctor?'

Nick was silent for a moment. ‘How well do you know Amy?'

Marco frowned and rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Well enough to love her. I know the sort of person she is. She's shy with people she doesn't know, she finds it quite hard to talk about her feelings but underneath she's very loving and giving. She loves children, or at least I always thought she did.' Marco broke off, wondering why he was revealing so much to his partner. ‘I don't understand what you're getting at.'

‘How much do you know about her past? Her background? Before she met you?'

‘I don't know. Not much. I never really worried about it. It's not that relevant, is it?' His gaze sharpened. ‘You think it's relevant?'

‘I don't know.' Nick's voice was thoughtful. ‘I think it could be. If you want my advice, and frankly I wouldn't blame you if you didn't take it because advice on the matters of the heart isn't exactly my strong suit, I'd get to know her better. I mean
the Amy underneath. What makes her tick? What made her believe the things she believes? Find that out and you might find the answers you're looking for.'

‘You can't tell me more than that?'

‘No. I can't.' Nick leaned forward and switched on his computer. ‘That's already far more than I should have said.'

 

Amy took a hot shower but it didn't stop the shivering. Desperate for warmth, she dressed in a pair of jeans and a warm jumper, her hair hanging damp and loose to her shoulders.

Her head throbbed from crying and outside the wind had picked up. The sky was grey and threatening and the word among the villagers was that there was more snow on the way.

Still shivering, she walked down to the kitchen to make herself a hot drink. The conversation with Nick had left her feeling raw and vulnerable. She felt slightly odd, having exposed so much of herself to another person. And yet, despite that, telling Nick had made her feel better. He was the first person she'd confided in and she felt lighter.

Or did she feel lighter because he'd told her that Marco had been so badly affected by her departure?

He'd cared.

And she'd so badly wanted him to care. Not that it changed anything, she reminded herself miserably. It didn't change anything at all. No relationship was strong enough to withstand such a bitter blow—she knew that better than anyone.

Thoughts flew into her head and clashed, a cacophony of child hood memories that unsettled and disturbed her. Not now.
She wasn't going to think about any of that now.

Hearing the unmistakable sound of the Maserati, Amy tensed.

Marco was home.

Which meant more questions.

She was just debating whether to go up to the spare room and close the door when she heard his key in the door and moments later he walked into the kitchen.

‘It's freezing out there and as for the wind…' He gave a shudder that more eloquently described his views on the weather than his words did. ‘They were planning fire works on New Year's Eve but they won't be able to do them if this wind keeps up. It will be too dangerous. We will be treating burn victims.'

Amy found herself looking at the curve of his mouth and then at the dark shadow of stubble on his hard jaw. She turned away quickly. ‘It will be a shame if we have to cancel. The fire works are always a high light of New Year in Penhally. I used to love them when I was a child.'
Why did she still have to feel like this?
It was so unfair!

Marco reached for a bottle of wine. ‘You stayed with your grandmother.'

‘That's right.'

‘In the cottage? I've often wondered why you sold it.'

‘It would have been too small for us.'

‘
Sì
, but I would have thought it had sentimental value.' He jerked the cork out of the bottle and reached for a glass. ‘Wine?'

‘No, thanks.'

‘You look tired.' His eyes lingered on hers for a moment and then he turned away and poured wine into his own glass.

Her heart pumping hard, Amy closed her eyes briefly, hoping that he couldn't sense her body's response to him. Everything suddenly felt confused. She'd arrived with one clear objective and an iron resolve, but now everything was clouded. Suddenly what she had to do and what she wanted to do seemed a million miles apart.

It was just because she was living and working with him,
she thought helplessly. Marco didn't exactly melt into the back
ground. He was a very confident, very physical man. Even now, with his powerful shoulders and long, strong legs, he seemed to fill the room, and suddenly the large, beautiful kitchen seemed claustrophobically small.

‘So, your grandmother's house—was it full of memories?'

Full of memories, many of them not good. ‘I didn't want to keep it.' Why was he watching her so closely?
Had Nick said something to him?

‘You're very tense,' he said softly. ‘Is something wrong?'

Of course she was tense. She was so aware of him that it was almost impossible to breathe.

‘Amy?' He stepped towards her and lifted a hand, stroking her hair away from her forehead with the tips of his fingers. ‘Do you have a headache?'

This was insane.
She had to move away now. The brush of his fingers set her body on fire, even though she knew that his touch hadn't been sexual in nature.

Her gaze lifted to his and she saw the hot burn in his eyes, the look they exchanged an intimate meshing of their thoughts.

Terrified that he'd see too much, Amy moved away from him, ignoring the instinct that was telling her to move closer. ‘I do have a slight headache. Do you have any paracetamol in the house?'

His eyes didn't leave hers. ‘Go and lie on the sofa. I'll bring you something.'

Relieved to put some space between them, she did as he suggested and moments later he reappeared with a glass of water and the tablets.

‘Thank you.' She took them gratefully and then leaned her aching head against the back of the sofa, hoping that the tablets wouldn't take long to work. ‘Sorry. Long day.'

‘I can imagine.' He took the water from her, put it on the table and then moved behind the sofa.

The next thing she felt was the touch of his hands in her hair. ‘Marco—'

‘This will ease the pain of your headache far more effectively than medication,' he murmured softly, sliding his fingers into her hair and gently massaging her scalp. ‘I remember that you often had headaches when we first met.'

‘Like little Harry. Poor thing. I wouldn't wish this on anyone.' She knew she ought to move but she couldn't. His fingers were firm and rhythmic as they moved over her scalp. ‘That feels good.'

‘Tell me about the Penhally fire works. Tell me about your grandmother.' His voice was deep and soothing and her eyes drifted shut.

‘I stayed with my grandmother every Christmas and New Year, right through the holidays. There was a window-seat in my bedroom and on New Year's Eve I'd kneel there and watch the fire works—they were fantastic. Then we'd have hot chocolate together. When I was older, I was allowed to go along and watch.'

‘And that was fun?'

‘Yes. Everyone was very friendly.' For a short time she'd felt as though she'd belonged somewhere.

‘You spent every holiday with your grandmother.'

‘Because my mother was working right through and she couldn't look after me.'

‘And your father?'

The question disturbed the calm flow of her thoughts. ‘My father spent every Christmas with his twenty-four-year-old secretary.'

‘Ah…' Marco's fingers stopped moving. ‘He had an affair?'

‘It started as an affair, but then he married her and at the last count they had four beautiful children, two boys and two girls.' The tension flowed back into her veins and she sat up. ‘Why are we talking about my father?'

‘Why not?' He walked over to the table and picked up his wine. ‘You said that we didn't know each other well enough and I'm starting to think that perhaps you were right. I want to know more about your life before I met you. It must have been tough, spending every holiday with your grandmother.'

‘I loved it,' she said honestly. ‘She was a wonderful woman.'

‘You didn't miss your home? Your mother?'

Her heart beating rapidly, Amy rose to her feet. ‘No, not really. What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?'

‘Calmo, tesoro.'
His voice was soft. ‘Suddenly your voice is rising and you're very tense. Why does a simple question feel like an inquisition? Is the subject matter that painful?'

‘Painful? I didn't say it was painful,' she said quickly. ‘I just don't see how my past is in any way relevant to our current situation. You don't
need
to know any more about me, Marco. It's irrelevant. Our marriage is over, we both know that.' She regretted the words instantly, knowing that such a declaration simply invited the very response on his part that she was trying to avoid.

‘It is over? Ah, yes.' His tone was deceptively casual as he strolled across the room towards her. ‘I remember now. It is over because you feel nothing for me, isn't that right?'

She didn't dare look at him and she didn't need to because his slightly husky, lazy drawl revealed his feelings all too clearly. Amy ceased to breathe. ‘I think I'll go upstairs and—'

‘You're not going anywhere.' Without allowing her time to move, he curved an arm around her waist in an unmistakably possessive gesture and pulled her against him, ignoring her soft gasp of protest.

‘What are you doing?'

‘What I should have done two years ago. When you talk, nothing makes sense so the obvious solution is to try a different method of communication.' She was breathlessly aware
of the dangerous glint in his eyes and then his mouth came down on hers and they were kissing, their mouths hungry, the pleasure hot and instantaneous.

It was like a storm breaking and Amy sank her fingers into the hard muscle of his shoulders to stop herself sliding to the floor. Her legs shook, her whole body trembled and the heat of his mouth coaxed a response from her, even though she was dimly aware that what they were doing now was going to make everything much more complicated later.

She didn't care about later. She only cared about
now
, and anyway it was impossible to think or concentrate when his skilful hands were reacquainting themselves with her body. They slid under her jumper and stroked the warm skin of her back and then they moved back to her waist and one thumb circled her navel. And all the time he kissed her, his mouth and hands creating sensations that threatened to consume her.

She'd missed him so much.

The hot, desperate kiss was briefly interrupted as he pulled her jumper over her head and then her shirt followed and her bra until she stood only in her jeans, shaking and shivering in his arms.

‘You are cold?' He muttered the question against her mouth and she shook her head, wondering how she was expected to answer when she could barely stand.

‘No. Not cold.'

Hot.
Dangerously, deliciously hot.

Marco kissed her again and she clung to him as he pulled her gently off balance and lowered her onto the thick rug. Next to them the fire flickered but neither of them noticed or cared.

Amy could hardly breathe and she gave a low moan as his mouth moved to her breast, his tongue teasing her nipple to hardness. He seduced and tormented until the sensation that shot through her body was almost agonising in its intensity.
And then he shifted his attention to her other breast and Amy writhed and gasped, her body arching against his as he used all his skill and experience to drag a response from her.

Oblivious to everything except her own need for him, she reached down to touch him and only then realised that he was stillfully clothed. With a whimper of frustration she tugged at the belt of his trousers and he covered her hand with his and swiftly helped her.