Melanie Milburne Bestseller Collection 201209/The Marcolini Blackmail Marriage/Bound by the Marcolini Diamonds

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  He moved his way down to each of her breasts, shaping them, moulding them with the warm broad palms of his hands, before taking each puckered nipple into his mouth. He rolled his tongue over the aching points in a circular motion, before sucking on them, his hot, wet mouth a delicious torture of feeling, sending shooting sparks of reaction to the very core of her being.

  ‘You have such beautiful breasts,’ he murmured as he trailed his mouth down to her belly button, circling it with the tip of his tongue. ‘Everything about you is beautiful.’

  Claire melted under the heat of his words. She had always considered herself an average-looking girl—not ugly, not supermodel material, but somewhere in between. Antonio made her feel as if she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on.

  When he separated her tender folds with his fingers she flinched in response. ‘Relax, cara,’ he said softly. ‘We have done this many times in the past, si?’

  She still squirmed a little, her muscles tensing in spite of how gentle he was. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said on a scratchy breath. ‘I’m not sure I can …’

  ‘Do not be sorry, tesoro mio,’ he said, stroking her inner thighs. ‘We can take our time.’

  Claire felt her heart swell. He was being so patient with her, just as he had been when they had first met. She had been reticent then, shy and uncertain of how to receive pleasure in such an intimate way, but he had patiently tutored every sensory nerve in her body, bringing every secret part of her to earth-shattering life.

  After a moment she began to relax under the gentle caress of his hands. The movements against her smooth skin were slow but sure. It became increasingly obvious to her that he recalled all her pleasure spots. He knew just where to touch, how hard, how soft, how fast and how slow. She felt her body respond with small flutters beneath her skin to begin with, and then, as he stroked against her moist cleft, a wave began to build, higher and higher, gathering momentum, until that final moment when he brushed against the swollen pearl of her arousal again and again, in a soft flickering motion, triggering an orgasm so intense she gasped out in shocked surprise and wonder, her hands clutching at him as she rode out the storm of tumultuous feeling.

  When she had calmed, Antonio tucked a springy chestnut curl of her hair behind the shell of her ear, his fingers lingering over the curve of her cheek. She looked so beautiful lying there, her dark lashes like tiny fans over her eyes, her breathing still hectic, her mouth still swollen and blood-red from his kisses.

  Would he ever get enough of her to be able to let her go for good? he wondered. Was that why he hadn’t pressed for a divorce? Was that why he had let things slide, putting his life on hold in a subconscious hope she would one day return to him? He had used her brother as a tool to get her back in his bed, but now he felt as if he had shortchanged himself in some way. She was only with him now because she’d believed she had no choice. Once she realised how much she stood to gain if they were to divorce, would she use it against him in an act of revenge?

  He drew her closer into his embrace, his body aching to have her again, but she was drifting off to sleep and he would have to wait. Then he felt her hand reach for him, her soft sigh of satisfaction at finding him hard and pulsing making him snatch in a breath of anticipation. He closed his eyes as she worked her magic on him, every sensitive nerve responding to her touch. He let her carry on for as long as he dared before he pulled her hand away and flipped her on to her back, driving into her warmth so deeply she clutched at him to steady his pace.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said, instantly stilling his movements. ‘Have I hurt you?’

  ‘No,’ she said, kissing his mouth in little feather-like kisses. ‘You just took me by surprise, that’s all.’

  Antonio smiled against the press of her mouth. ‘You took me by surprise too, cara,’ he said, slowly building his rhythm until she was quivering in his arms.

  He closed his eyes and felt himself lift off, the convulsions of her body triggering his own release, making him realise again how much he had missed her and how he would do anything to keep her right where he had her.

  In his arms, in his bed, for as long as he could.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CLAIRE could feel the pain ripping through her, the stomping march of each contraction tearing apart her abdomen. She clutched at her stomach, her eyes springing open when she realised it was flat, not distended.

  Sweat was pouring off her—tiny, fast-running rivulets coursing down between her heaving breasts— and the darkness of the strange bedroom only added to her sense of disorientation and deep-seated panic.

  ‘Claire?’ Antonio’s deep voice came out of the thick cloak of darkness, and she felt the mattress beside her shift as he reached for the bedside lamp.

  The muted glow was of some comfort, but Claire could still feel her heart thumping so heavily she was sure it would burst out of her ribcage. She held her hands against her breasts, just to make sure, her breathing coming in choking gasps.

  ‘I … I had a bad dream …’ she said through still trembling lips. ‘A nightmare …’

  Antonio frowned and, hauling himself into a sitting position, reached for her, gathering her close. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asked against the fragrant silk of her hair.

  She shook her head against his chest.

  He began stroking the back of her head, her unruly curls tickling his palm. ‘Dreams are not real, cara,’ he said. ‘It is just the brain processing a thousand images or more into some sense of order. Some of it makes sense; a lot of it does not. Dreams are not prophetic; they are just the workings of our deep unconscious at rest.’

  She pulled back from him and looked into his eyes, hers wide with anguish. ‘It’s not the first time it’s happened,’ she said. ‘I feel like she’s crying out to me. I hear her, Antonio. I sometimes hear her crying for me, but I can’t get to her.’

  Antonio felt his throat thicken. Five years on and he knew exactly what Claire meant. He could fill his days and even his nights with totally mind-consuming work, and yet in those eerie, unguarded moments, late at night or in the early hours of the morning, he could hear her too. A soft mewing cry that ripped at his guts and left them raw and bleeding.

  ‘I’m sorry …’ Claire’s soft voice penetrated the silence. ‘I’m keeping you awake, and you probably have another big theatre list tomorrow.’

  He continued stroking her hair. ‘Try and go back to sleep, cara,’ he said. ‘I am used to sleepless nights. It is part of my job.’

  After a while Antonio heard the deep and even sound of her breathing, but he didn’t move her out of his arms. She had her head nestled against his chest, and his left arm was almost completely numb from the press of her slim body, but he didn’t dislodge it or her. He lay staring blankly at the ceiling, his fingers still playing with her hair, his heart feeling as if a heavy weight was pressed down upon it.

  It wouldn’t take her long to realise he had never had any intention of pressing charges against Isaac. Once Claire knew she no longer had a compelling reason to stay with him as his wife, he would have to think of some other way of keeping her chained to his side. Not because of his father’s will, not even because of the money she had taken from his mother, but because he wanted to wake up each morning just like this, with her warm and soft against him.

  When Claire woke to find she was alone in Antonio’s bed she felt a wave of disappointment wash over her. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. Breakfast in bed with an avowal of love and red roses on the side was the stuff of dreams; it had no relevance to their current set-up.

  She flung the covers back and got up, wincing as her inner muscles protested at the movement. It gave her a fluttery, excited sort of feeling inside to remember how passionately they had made love.

  Had sex, she corrected herself. This was not about love—at least not from Antonio’s point of view. This was about a physical attraction that had suddenly resurfaced.

  Claire turned on the sh
ower, a frown pulling at her forehead as she waited for the temperature to adjust.

  Yes, but why had his attraction for her suddenly resurfaced? He had not sought her out until she had tried to serve those divorce papers on him. And by returning to live with him she had postponed any prospect of a divorce being processed smoothly. This reconciliation was not about working through the issues of the past; this was about a very rich man who did not want his inheritance cut straight down the middle. He could very well string her along indefinitely; she had already demonstrated to him how easily she could be won over. She cringed at how she had responded so freely to him the night before. She hadn’t lasted twenty-four hours in his company without caving in to her need of him. How he must have gloated over her ready capitulation. She might even now be pregnant. She would have that whole heartache to go through again—tied to him for the sake of a child, never knowing if he wanted her for her, or for what she could give him.

  When she had showered and dressed she found the note he had written next to the tea-making facilities in the suite, informing her he had an early list at one of the large teaching hospitals and would see her for a late dinner at around eight to eight-thirty that evening. There were no words of affection, no I love you and can’t wait to see you phrases—nothing for her to hang her hopes on. She crumpled the note and tossed it in the bin, annoyed with herself for wishing and hoping for what she couldn’t have.

  Downstairs in the car park a few minutes later, Claire hoisted her handbag over her shoulder and narrowed her gaze at the parking attendant. ‘What do you mean, this is my car?’ she asked.

  The parking valet smiled and handed her a silver embossed keyring. ‘It is, Mrs Marcolini,’ he said. ‘Your husband had it delivered late yesterday. If you would like me to go through all the features with you, I would be happy to explain them—’

  Claire plucked the keys from his hand. ‘That will not be necessary,’ she said with a proud hitch of her chin. ‘A car is a car. I am sure I will be able to work out where the throttle and the brakes are.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  She gave the young man a quelling look over her shoulder as she got behind the wheel. She took a moment to orientate herself. The new-car smell was a little off-putting—not to mention the butter-soft leather of the seats. Then there was the dashboard, with all its lights and gadgets, which looked as if it had been modelled on the latest space shuttle from NASA. Maybe she had been a little hasty in sending the helpful assistant on his way, she thought ruefully. After her old and battered jalopy, this car looked as if it needed a rocket scientist to set it in gear, let alone start it.

  She took a deep breath and inserted the key that didn’t even look like a key into the ignition. The car started with a gentle purr of the engine, its side mirrors opening outwards as if by magic, and the seatbelt light flashing to remind her to belt up.

  ‘All right, already,’ Claire muttered, and strapped herself in with a click.

  OK, so where was the handbrake? It wasn’t in between the driver and passenger seats, so where the hell was it?

  The parking valet tapped on the window. Claire pursed her lips and hunted for the mechanism to lower the window, locking all the doors and popping the boot open before she finally located the button with the little window symbol on it.

  ‘There’s a foot brake on the left,’ the man said with a deadpan expression. ‘And the release is that button on the right, marked brake release.’

  Claire mentally rolled her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she said, stiff with embarrassment. ‘Have a nice day.’

  The valet smiled and stepped well back. ‘Have a nice drive.’

  ‘Oh, my God.’ Rebecca’s eyes ran over the showroom-perfect gunmetal-grey of the vehicle Claire had parked outside the salon. ‘You’re driving a sports car?’

  Claire dumped her handbag on the counter and sent her hand through her disordered curls. ‘Yes, well, you could call it driving, I suppose,’ she said wryly. ‘Not that I had to do too much. The slightest spot of drizzle has the windscreen wipers coming on without me having to leaf through the manual to locate the appropriate switch. Apparently there’s some sort of sensor that detects moisture. Going through the city tunnel, the headlights came on automatically—and turned off again once I was back out in daylight. And just now, parking between that florist’s van and that utility, all I had to do was listen to the beeps and watch the flashing red lights as the parking assist device told me when I was getting too close.’

  Rebecca let out a whistling stream of air through her teeth. ‘Gosh, I wish my estranged husband would buy me a sports car. All he has given me so far is a lawyer’s bill for the division of assets, most of which I own, since I was the only one with a full-time job the whole time we were together.’

  Claire hid her scowl as she shrugged herself out of her coat and hung it on a hook in the back room. Rebecca was right. She shouldn’t really be complaining about such a generous gift. Most women would be falling over themselves to have been given such a luxurious vehicle. Besides, Antonio had openly expressed his concern over her driving a less than roadworthy car. She didn’t fool herself his concerns were for her safety, it was his reputation he was most concerned about—he had said as much at the time. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if he had done it out of love for her? Money was no object for him, it never had been, so how could he know what such a gift would mean to her if the right motives had been behind it?

  ‘You have a full list of clients today,’ Rebecca said, when Claire came out of the back room into the salon. ‘It seems everyone wants to be styled by the woman who has stolen the heart of Antonio Marcolini, celebrity surgeon extraordinaire.’

  Claire organised her cutting and styling trolley with meticulous care. ‘He’s just a normal man, Bex,’ she said, keeping her gaze averted. ‘He brushes his teeth and shaves every morning, just like most other men.’

  ‘So what’s it like being back with him?’ Rebecca asked. ‘I read in the paper you’ve moved into his hotel suite with him.’

  Claire lined up her radial brushes with studious precision. ‘That’s because my flat is too small. He is used to living in the lap of luxury. A one-bedroom flat in a tawdry inner-city suburb is hardly his scene. Moving in with him seemed the best option—for the time being, at least.’

  ‘Have you done the deed with him yet?’

  Claire couldn’t control the hot flush of colour in her cheeks. In fact she could feel her whole body heating up at the memory of what she had done to him and what he had done to her.

  ‘Bex, don’t ask me questions like that,’ she said, frowning heavily. ‘There are some things even best mates have to keep private.’

  Rebecca perched on the nearest stool and crossed her booted ankles. ‘So that’s a yes,’ she said musingly. ‘I thought as much. As soon as he came in here I knew you were a goner. He’s hardly the sort of man you could say no to, is he?’

  Claire put on her most severe schoolmistress sort of frown. ‘This is just a trial reconciliation between us,’ she said. ‘Nothing has been decided in the long term. Just because he bought me a car it doesn’t mean he wants me back for ever. For all I know it could be a consolation prize for when he hotfoots it back to Italy without me.’

  Rebecca’s forehead creased. ‘But I thought you were still in love with him,’ she said. ‘You are, aren’t you? Don’t shatter all my romantic delusions, Claire. I’m counting on you to get me back into the dating pool with hope not despair as my personal floating device.’

  Claire decided to come clean. ‘It’s a farce, Bex,’ she said on an expelled breath. ‘I’m not really back with Antonio. Not in the real sense.’

  Rebecca narrowed her gaze. ‘But you’ve all but admitted you slept with him,’ she said. ‘If that isn’t being back together, what is? And what about that kiss in here yesterday, huh? That looked pretty full-on and genuine to me.’

  ‘He’s only here for three months,’ Claire said flatly. ‘There’s no way I would go
back to Italy with him unless I was absolutely sure he cared something for me, and quite frankly I can’t see that happening. He’s not the “I love you” type. I had his baby, for God’s sake, and he never once said how he felt about me. Doesn’t that tell you something?’

  Rebecca grimaced. ‘I guess when you put it like that …’

  Claire blew out a breath. ‘His father is dead. He died just a couple of months ago. I have reason to believe that is why Antonio is here now—not just to do the lecture tour, but to see what gives where I am concerned.’

  ‘So what does give?’ Rebecca asked with a pointed look.

  Claire looked away and started realigning her brushes again, even though they were all neatly spaced on the trolley. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, fiddling with a teasing comb, running her fingers across its pointed teeth, the movement making a slight humming noise. ‘A divorce has always been on the cards. For all this time I have been waiting for him to make the first move, but he didn’t. I decided to take matters into my own hands once I heard he was coming here, but now I wish I had let sleeping dogs lie.’

  ‘Have you ever asked yourself why he never asked you for a divorce?’ Rebecca asked after a small pause.

  Claire continued to turn the comb over in her hands. ‘What happened back then was …’ She stopped for a moment, thinking about why Antonio had not sought his freedom as soon as he could. If he had been involved with Daniela Garza, why wouldn’t he have activated a divorce as soon as possible, so he could be with the woman he wanted to be with? Everything pointed to Claire having got it horribly wrong about him. It didn’t sit well with her to be in the guilty seat—that was the position she had always assigned him.

  ‘Or, more to the point, have you ever asked yourself why you didn’t divorce him?’ Rebecca added.