Marrying the Italian: The Marcolini Blackmail Marriage / The Valtieri Marriage Deal / The Italian Doctor's Bride
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Claire sucked in a breath as he bent his head to her breasts, his mouth and tongue inciting her passion to an almost unbearable level. The hot trail of his kisses continued down her sternum to the tiny dish of her belly button, and then over the faint stretchmarks on both of her hips, before moving to the throbbing core of her body. Her breath skidded to a halt in her chest as his fingers gently separated her, the tender, honeyed flesh opening to his stroking touch. He set a slow but tantalising rhythm, each movement bringing her closer and closer to the release she could feel building and building inside her. Then she was there: her back lifting off the bed, her senses soaring out of control, as wave after wave of ecstasy smashed over her, rolling her, tossing and tumbling her, until she felt totally boneless, limp with satiation.
Claire reached for him, her fingers circling his hardness before she slithered down to brush her mouth against him. She felt a shudder go through him when she traced him with the point of her tongue. He was still in control—but only just. His breathing was choppy and uneven, each and every one of his muscles taut with tension as she drew him into her mouth, tasting him, tantalising him with the butterfly caress of her tongue.
‘No,’ Antonio growled suddenly, and pulled her away. ‘I want to come inside you. I have waited so long for this.’
Claire felt her insides tremble with excitement as his body settled over her, one of his thighs nudging hers apart, his weight propped up on his elbows as he drove into her with a deep groan of satisfaction. She felt the skin of his back and shoulders lift in a shiver as her body grabbed at him hungrily, the rocking motion he began setting her alight all over again. Electrifying sensations shot through her with each stroke and smooth glide of his body in hers. She felt the tremors begin deep inside her, the ripples of reaction rolling through her as he increased his pace, each deep thrust taking her higher and higher. She felt as if her body imploded, so forceful was the release he evoked. It rocketed through her like a torpedo, making every nerve hum and sing with sensation.
Antonio’s breathing quickened, his thrusts now so deep and so purposeful Claire could feel the exact moment his control finally slipped. With a deep groan he burst inside her, his body shuddering against hers as pleasure coursed through him, her tight body milking him until he collapsed in satisfaction above her.
She kept stroking his back, her fingers dancing over his muscled form, hoping the magical spell of sensuality would not be broken too quickly.
Antonio was right: this was the part they had always got right. It was the other details of their relationship they had tripped over: the involvement of relatives, the demands of his career and the loss of her independence, not to mention the vicissitudes of life, which in their case had been particularly cruel.
Antonio shifted his weight to look down at her. ‘It has not changed, has it, cara?’ he said, brushing a damp curl back from her forehead. ‘Although perhaps I am wrong about that; it has changed—if anything it has got better.’
Claire trembled under his touch, her body acutely aware of his, still lying encased moistly in hers. ‘What if it’s not enough, Antonio? Physical attraction will eventually burn itself out. Then what will be left?’
His eyes were dark as pitch as they held hers. ‘It has not burned out yet, in spite of our five-year hiatus. As soon as I saw you again I realised it. I wanted you back in my bed no matter what it took to get you there.’
‘This can’t go anywhere,’ she said, dropping her gaze from his in case he saw too much of what she was feeling. She was like a toy he had decided to play with for a limited time. She had to keep reminding herself this was not for ever. He was only here for three months.
‘It can go where we want it to,’ he said. ‘For as long as we want it to.’
Claire felt a prickle of alarm run over her bare flesh as she brought her gaze back to his. ‘I’m not sure what you’re saying,’ she said, flicking her tongue out over her lips. ‘This is temporary…isn’t it?’
His gaze went to her mouth, halted, and then lifted back to hers. ‘Are you on the pill?’ he asked.
Something dark and fast scuttled inside Claire’s chest, making her feel breathless, as if the faceless creature of fear had buried itself in the chambers of her heart. ‘Um…no…’ she said, unable to hold his gaze.
He nudged her chin up with the point of his finger, his dark eyes drilling into hers. ‘No?’
She rolled her lips together, trying to think where she was in her cycle. ‘I’m not on it at the moment…’ she said, grimacing slightly.
He kept his gaze steady on hers for several heart-chugging seconds. ‘Do you think you are in a safe period?’ he asked with an unreadable expression.
‘Yes,’ she said, even though she was not quite sure. It would be disastrous if she was to fall pregnant by him, setting off another heartbreaking cycle of waiting and hoping, and yet…
Oh, God, the thought of another chance at being a mother was so very tempting. Maybe this time it wouldn’t end in tragedy, in spite of the information she had sought on the internet. She had learned that after a previous incident of placental abruption the chances of a second occurring was between ten and seventeen percent. The statistics stated that whereas one out of one hundred and fifty deliveries cited a case of placental separation, the severe form, where foetal death occurred, was only one in five hundred.
It was all a matter of chance…
‘Are you sure?’ Antonio asked, his gaze now darkened with intensity.
She nodded and eased herself away from him, hugging her knees to her chest to affect some measure of decency. ‘But even if we had used a condom there’s no guarantee it would have prevented a pregnancy,’ she said. ‘That’s how it happened the last time, if you remember?’
‘Yes, but only because you had not been taking the pill long enough for it to be effective,’ he said.
Claire felt resentment rise up in her like a viper wanting to strike at its tormentor. ‘So you’re blaming me for what happened in the past, is that it? It was my fault for being so naïve in thinking I was covered when I wasn’t? We would not have had to go through any of what we went through if I had taken the time to read the leaflet in the box? Is that what you are saying?’
A deep crevasse appeared between his brows. ‘I did not say that, Claire. An unplanned pregnancy can happen to anyone.’
She still felt herself bristling in spite of his response. ‘Then what exactly are you saying?’
It seemed a long time before he answered. ‘This is probably not the right time to bring up the subject of babies.’
Claire felt the faint hope she had secretly harboured in her chest deflate at his words. He was after a good time, not a long time. He was at a loose end in a foreign country. No wonder he had looked her up—hooked up with her in a blackmail bargain that would see him as the only winner at the end. He wanted no ties, no lasting consequences of their brief encounter. Just like last time he wanted a short, hot, full-on affair to compensate for the punishing hours he worked.
He also wanted revenge, she reminded herself. He wanted to have things on his terms this time. He would be the one to walk away, not her.
‘I can’t do this,’ she said, springing off the bed to snatch up a bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. She thrust her arms through the sleeves and tied the waistband securely before she faced him again. ‘I can’t do casual, Antonio. I’m not built that way.’
‘This is not casual, Claire,’ he said, locking gazes with her. ‘We are still married.’
She frowned at him, her heart fluttering in panic. ‘What do you want from me?’ she asked in a broken whisper.
‘I want you, Claire,’ he said with an intransigent look as he stepped towards her. ‘This is not over. You know that. What happened in that bed just minutes ago proved it beyond any shadow of a doubt.’
Claire tried to back away from him but came up against the wall. ‘What happened in that bed was a stupid mistake on my part,’ she said, flattening her spine against the cold hard surface behind her. ‘I got carried away with the dancing and the wine. I wasn’t in my right mind. You should have known that.’
He lifted one brow in a perfect arc of derision. ‘It seems to me it is only my fault when you do something you later regret,’ he said.
‘You’re trying to make me fall in love with you, aren’t you?’ she asked.
He came closer, his eyes meshing with hers. ‘Is that your biggest worry, cara?’ he asked as he trailed his index finger down the curve of her cheek, before tracing over her top lip in a nerve-tingling caress.
Claire’s biggest worry was how she was going to prevent a repeat of what had just occurred between them. The sex had been mind-blowing and blissfully satisfying. Even now she could feel her body responding again to his nearness. It didn’t help that she was totally naked beneath the bathrobe she was wearing. She could feel the way her breasts were pushing against the soft fabric, her nipples still swollen and sensitive from his mouth. She could feel the moistness of his essence between her thighs. She could even smell the fragrance of their coupling—an intoxicating reminder of how she had fallen apart in his arms and how easily it could happen again. She was hard-wired to respond to him. No one else could affect her the way he did. The intimacy they had shared had only intensified her longing. She could feel it building in her; it was like an on-off pulse deep inside.
She was acutely aware of how he was watching her, with that dark, intelligent gaze of his, noting every nuance of her expression, every movement of her body as it stood so close to his.
He placed his hands either side of her head, on the wall behind her, not just trapping her with the brackets of his arms but with his eyes as well. ‘Would falling in love with me be a problem?’ he asked.
Claire ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, her chest rising and falling on an uneven breath as she looked into his deep dark gaze. ‘It…it would only be a problem if it wasn’t reciprocated.’
His eyes went to her mouth. ‘If we fall in love then we will not need to go through a divorce,’ he said, bringing his gaze back to hers. ‘A good solution, si?’
She tightened her mouth. ‘For you, maybe, but not for me,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to move back to Italy with you.’
He measured her with a cool, appraising look. ‘You might not have a choice if you have conceived my child,’ he said. ‘I am not prepared to be separated by thousands of kilometres from my own flesh and blood.’
Claire felt her heart lurch, panic fluttering like startled wings inside her chest. ‘If I have fallen pregnant there is no guarantee it will end in a live birth,’ she said, trying to ignore the blade of pain that sliced through her at admitting it out loud. ‘If you want to become a father you would be well advised to pick someone who is capable of doing the job properly.’
His eyes held hers for a tense moment before he dropped his hands from the wall. ‘I am aware of the statistics, Claire,’ he said. ‘But with careful monitoring it may not happen again.’
‘I am not prepared to risk it,’ Claire said. ‘If we are going to continue this farcical arrangement I want you to use protection. I will see my doctor tomorrow about arranging my own.’
Antonio watched as she pushed herself away from the wall, her arms around her middle like a shield, her eyes flashing resentment and pent-up anger against him.
He could still feel the tight clutch of her body around him, the way she had convulsed to receive every drop of his seed. He wanted her so badly it was a bone-deep ache inside him; it had never gone away, no matter how hard he had tried to ignore it. And she wanted him, even though she resented it and did her best to hide it. Her body betrayed her just as his had. And it would betray her again. Of that he was sure.
CHAPTER NINE
CLAIRE slipped past Antonio to the plush bathroom and closed the door firmly behind her. She considered locking it, but upon inspecting the device recognised it was one of those two-way models which could be unlocked from either side of the door—no doubt installed as a safety feature, in case a guest in the hotel slipped and fell in the bathroom. She realised the only lock she really needed was a lock on her heart, but as far as she knew no such item existed. She was as vulnerable to Antonio as she had ever been—maybe even more so now she had experienced such rapture again in his arms.
She stepped into the shower stall, hoping to wash away the tingling sensations Antonio’s touch had activated, but if anything the fine needle spray of the shower only made it worse. Her whole body felt as if every nerve beneath her skin had risen to the surface. Every pore was swollen and excited at the anticipation of the stroke and glide of his hands, the commandeering of his mouth. She touched her breasts. They felt full and heavier than normal, and her nipples were still tightly budded, the brownish discs of her areolae aching all over again for the sweep and suck of his mouth.
Her hands went lower, over the flat plane of her belly and down to the cleft of her body where he had so recently been. She felt tender and swollen, still acutely sensitive, the intricate network of nerves still humming with the sensations Antonio had evoked.
She turned the water off and reached for a fluffy white towel. But even after she was dried off and smothered all over with the delicately fragrant body lotion provided, she felt the tumultuous need for fulfilment racing through her body.
The hotel suite was large, but it only contained one bed—and Claire knew she would be expected to share it with Antonio. Because of their history, she also knew there would be no demarcation line drawn down the middle of the mattress.
Antonio was a sprawler. She knew there would be no hope of avoiding a brush with a hair-roughened limb or two. It would be a form of torture, trying to ignore his presence. If it was anything like in the past he would reach for her, drawing her close to him, like two spoons in a drawer, his erection swelling against her until she opened her thighs to receive him as she had done so many times before.
Her mind began to race with erotic images of how he had taken her that way: the breathing of him against her ear as he plunged into her wetness, the pace of their love-making sped up by its primal nature, the explosion of feeling that would make her cry out and make him grunt and groan as each wave of ecstasy washed over them, leaving them spent, tossed up like flotsam on the shore.
Claire exchanged the towel for the bathrobe and, tying the belt securely around her waist, took a steadying breath and opened the door back into the suite.
Antonio was sitting with his ankles crossed, a glass of something amber-coloured in his hand. ‘Can I get you a drink, Claire? You look as if you need something to help you relax.’
She gave him a brittle glance. ‘The last thing I need is something that will skew my judgement,’ she said. ‘What I need is a good night’s sleep—preferably alone.’
His mouth tilted at a dangerously sexy angle. ‘There is only one bed, tesoro mio. We can fight over it, if you like, but I already know who will win.’
Claire knew too. That was why she wasn’t even going to enter into the debate. She eyed the sofa. It looked long enough to accommodate her, and certainly comfortable enough. She would make do. She would have to make do—even if it meant twice-weekly trips to a physiotherapist to realign her neck and back as a result.
Antonio got to his feet in a single fluid movement. ‘Do not even think about it, Claire,’ he said, placing his drink down with a clink of glass against the marbled surface. ‘Our reconciliation will not be taken seriously if the hotel cleaning staff come in each day and see we have not been sleeping in the same bed.’
Claire fisted her hands by her sides and glared at him. ‘I don’t want to sleep with you.’
He gave her an indolent smile. ‘Sleeping is not the problem, though—is it, cara?’ he asked. ‘We could sleep in the same bed for weeks on end if we were anyone other than who we are. Our bodies recognise each other. That is the issue we have to address in sharing a bed: whether we are going to act on that recognition or try to ignore it. My guess is it will continue to prove impossible to ignore.’
I can ignore it. Claire decided—although with perhaps not quite the conviction she would have liked, given what had occurred less than an hour ago.
Antonio pulled back the covers on the bed. ‘I will leave you to get settled,’ he said. ‘I am going to have a shower.’
She clutched the edges of the bathrobe tightly against her chest. ‘Do you expect me to stay awake for you—to be ready to entertain you when you get back?’ she snipped at him.
He smoothed the turned-back edges of the sheet before he faced her. ‘I expect no such thing, cara,’ he said. ‘You are tired and quite clearly overwrought. Perhaps you are right. I should not have taken advantage of your generous response to my attentions. I thought we both wanted the same thing, but in hindsight perhaps I misjudged the situation. If so, I am sorry.’
Claire captured her bottom lip, chewing at it in agitation. He made it sound as if he had ravished her without her consent, when nothing had been further from the truth. She had practically ripped the clothes off his body in her haste to have him make love to her. She had been as out of control as he had, her need for him like an unstoppable force—a force she could still feel straining at the leash of common sense inside her, waiting for its moment to break free and wreak havoc all over again.
‘It’s not your fault…’ The words slipped out in a breathless rush. ‘I shouldn’t have allowed things to go so far. I don’t know why I did. I don’t think it was the wine or the dancing…it was just…curiosity…I think…’
His brows arched upwards again. ‘Curiosity?’
Her tongue darted over the surface of her lips, her gaze momentarily skittering away from his. ‘I guess, like you, I wanted to know if it would be the same…you know…as it had been before…before things went wrong…’
He came closer and, using his finger, brought up her chin so her eyes met his once more. ‘We cannot change what happened,’ he said. ‘Our past is always going to be there, whether we continue our association or not. We will both carry it with us wherever we go in the future, and whoever shares our future will have to learn to accept it as part of who we are.’
Her eyes misted over. ‘Hold me, Antonio,’ she whispered as her arms snaked around his middle. ‘Hold me and make me forget.’
Antonio held her close, lowering his chin to the top of her silky head, breathing in the freshly showered flowery fragrance of her as his body stirred against her. He wanted her again, but he was conscious that this time her need for him was motivated by a desire for solace, not sensual fulfilment. He closed his eyes and listened to her breathing, feeling the slight rise and fall of her chest against his, every part of him aching to press her down on the bed and possess her all over again.
He’d had to rein in such impulses before. In the weeks following the loss of their baby he had thought the best way to help her heal would be to mesh his body with hers again—to bring it back to life, to start again, to reignite the passion that had flared so readily from the moment they had met. But she had been so cold, so chillingly angry, as if he had deliberately orchestrated the demise of their daughter. Her reaction had been like an IV line plugged into the bulging vein of his guilt, hydrating it, feeding it, until it had flowed through every pore of his body, poisoning him until he finally gave up.
Antonio stroked the back of her hair, the bounce of her curls against his fingers making the task of holding her at bay all the more difficult. She was crying softly, so softly he would not have known it except for feeling the dampness of her tears against his bare chest. He was used to tears. How many patients had fallen apart in his consulting rooms over the years? Time and time again he had handed them tissues and spoken the words and phrases he’d hoped would make the burden they faced a little easier to bear. And most times it had worked. But it hadn’t worked with Claire. Not one word he had spoken had changed anything.
He knew his feelings were undergoing a subtle change, but he wasn’t ready to examine them too closely. He had been trained to see things from a clinical perspective. He had seen for himself how often emotions got in the way, complicating the decision-making process. What he needed was a clear head to negotiate his way through the next few months.
Divorce was a dirty word just now. It had always been a dirty word in his family. His parents were of the old school, their religious beliefs insisting on marriage being ‘until death do us part’. His father’s will might easily have been remade in the years since Claire had left, but Salvatore had done nothing. Antonio had told himself it was a simple oversight—like a lot of people his father hadn’t expected to die so soon—but he wondered if there had been more to it than that.
Antonio hadn’t been particularly close to either of his parents since late adolescence. His desire to be a surgeon had not been met with the greatest enthusiasm, and he had subsequently felt as if he had let them down in some way, by not living the life they had mapped out for him. He had been assured of their love growing up, and certainly they had done everything possible to support him during his long years of study, but the chasm that divided them seemed to get bigger as each year passed.
His father had only once spoken to him about Claire’s desertion. Antonio had still been too raw from it all; he had resented the intrusion into his personal life, and after a heated exchange which had caused months of bitter stonewalling between them eventually his father had apologised and the subject had never been raised again. His mother too had remained tight-lipped. Over the last five years he could not recall a single time when she had mentioned Claire’s name in his presence.
Looking back now, he realised he had not handled things well. He had allowed his anger and injured pride over Claire leaving him to blur his judgement. He had been so incensed by her accusation of him having an affair that he hadn’t stopped to think why she had felt so deeply insecure, and what he had done or not done to add to those feelings. He had believed her to be looking for a way out of their relationship, and he had done nothing to stop her when she took the first exit.
Antonio put her from him with gentle hands. ‘Go to bed, Claire,’ he said. ‘I will sleep on the sofa tonight.’
She looked up at him, her eyes still glistening and moist. ‘I don’t want to be alone right now,’ she said, so softly he could barely hear it.
His hands tightened on her shoulders. ‘Are you sure?’
She nodded, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. ‘Please, Antonio, don’t leave me alone tonight. I just couldn’t bear it.’
Antonio sighed and slid his hands down the length of her arms, his fingers encircling her wrists. ‘You make it so hard to say no, Claire,’ he said, looking down at the faint marks he had left on her tender skin. ‘Everything about you makes it hard to say no.’
She placed her hands on his chest, looking up at him with luminous eyes. ‘I want to forget about the past,’ she said. ‘You are the only person who can make me forget. Make me forget, Antonio.’
He brought his mouth down to hers in a kiss that was soft and achingly tender. The pressure of his lips on hers was light at first, gently exploring the contours of her mouth. He took his time, stroking her lips until they flowered open on a little sigh. His tongue danced just out of reach of hers, tantalising her, drawing her to him, challenging her to meet him in an explosive connection.