Claimed for the Italian's Revenge

by Natalie Rivers

He remembered only too well the afternoon that Bianca had introduced them. The minute he’d laid eyes on her at that high-society Turin wedding, he’d felt his blood quicken with desire. Dressed simply, with her long hair falling in natural waves around her shoulders and her pale English skin glowing in the Piedmont sunshine, she was a rare beauty. So refreshingly different from the chic Italian women he knew.

  He had taken her slim hand in his and gazed down into her incredible eyes, experiencing an exquisite rush of pleasure as he’d anticipated getting to know her.

  Then Bianca had told him her name.

  Claudia Hazelton.

  Like an unexpected icy wind scouring his skin, he had known at once who she was. Had known that eight years earlier her family had destroyed his.

  But, as he’d started to talk to her, he’d been impressed by her openness and simple charm. He’d resolved not to judge her, based on a family background she’d had no control over, and he’d suppressed his natural suspicions of her, taking the time to get to know her.

  It hadn’t been long until they had fallen into bed, where he’d discovered to his great pleasure that she was a virgin. As the days had gone by, Marco had increasingly let down his guard, distracted by the extraordinary delights of spending time with her—making love and simply being together.

  It was his sister who had paid the price.

  Looking at Claudia now, standing on the busy London street, he knew that he’d never be fooled by her beauty or her charm again.

  Her delicate face shone like an angel’s in the dark and her gorgeous copper hair, still caught inside the collar of her brown suede coat, was picking up rich multicoloured reflections from the Christmas lights.

  She looked like an angel—but she was poison.

  And she would pay for what she had done.

  He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, sensing a ripple of sensual awareness pass through her. That was the only thing between them that had been true—there was no way she could have faked her physical response to him.

  Marco was going to taste the delights of her body one last time. But this time it would be on his terms. He knew now exactly what kind of woman she was and what she was capable of. And he would enjoy taking his revenge on her.

  He let his fingers trail down the side of her neck, then slipped his hand underneath her hair. It was cool and heavy against the back of his hand, but her skin was hot under his palm. He felt her start trembling and a surge of potent desire powered through his body.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you,’ he murmured, tipping his head to one side and leaning slightly closer.

  Claudia stared up at him, almost mesmerised by the intensity of the expression on his face. He’d been gazing down at her for the longest moment and now she knew he was going to kiss her. She was sure of it.

  The sultry tone of his voice had set her senses buzzing and her nerve-endings were already zinging where his hand touched her neck. But she knew she could not—must not—let him kiss her.

  Then suddenly she felt him gently tugging her long hair, pushing the back of his hand against it and slowly pulling it free from where it was caught inside her coat.

  It wasn’t what she’d been expecting, yet somehow it felt intensely erotic. It was almost as if he were undressing her, teasing her body slowly out of a close-fitting, sexy garment. As the last strands of hair slipped free of her collar an uncontrollable shudder rippled through her. She couldn’t mask her response. He’d seen it and felt it. All she could do was continue to gaze at him.

  The moment stretched on but she couldn’t break eye contact.

  ‘The chemistry between us is still as hot as ever.’ Marco spoke quietly, but his voice tingled across her body like a sensual caress.

  Claudia could see the desire burning in his eyes and she felt her stomach tighten with the thrill of sexual anticipation.

  Then, out of nowhere, a bubble of panic started to rise within her.

  Suddenly nothing felt real. She couldn’t believe that she was really standing there with Marco. She’d thought about him so many times over the last four years, desperately wishing things could have been different—wishing she could be with him.

  But he had dumped her. Her heart had shattered into a million pieces and it had felt as if her life was over when he’d left. She’d be crazy to get involved with him again.

  Besides, she didn’t have only herself to think about now. Now there was her marriage to Primo Vasile. That didn’t seem real either—it was more like a terrible nightmare—but she knew she had to go through with it. She couldn’t do anything that might make Vasile take the incriminating information he had about her father to the police.

  She would never forgive herself if her father was forced to face the humiliation of a criminal investigation and imprisonment. Not if there was anything—anything at all—that she could have done to prevent it.

  ‘You’re wrong. There’s nothing between us,’ Claudia said, pulling back, out of Marco’s hold. ‘I never want to see you again.’

  Without giving him a chance to reply, she turned and fled.

  Marco watched impassively as she ran away from him, quickly disappearing into the crowds of Christmas shoppers.

  A slow smile spread across his cold face. That was quite a dramatic departure—he hadn’t expected to have her running scared quite so soon. But it was of no matter.

  She could run, but she couldn’t hide from him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CLAUDIA ran until she could run no more. Then she kept on walking, trying not to dwell on the complicated mess her life had suddenly become. Soon she’d have to face up to it—she had to travel to the Caribbean to marry Primo Vasile. But now, for just a couple of minutes, she needed to blot it out of her mind.

  She wouldn’t think about the appalling scene at the Ritz, when Vasile and her stepmother had blackmailed her. And she definitely wouldn’t think about her encounter with Marco De Luca. It was far too distressing.

  Instead, she found herself heading automatically towards the offices of the magazine she worked for, writing reviews of new digital cameras. She’d always intended to pop into work that evening to pick up a new model she was testing—and there was no reason to change her plan. She needed to cling on to normality—that way everything else didn’t seem so bad.

  That was how she had got through the last few months when her father, Hector, had become terribly ill. She’d visited him in Italy as much as she could, taking long weekends and using flexitime, then eventually she’d persuaded her boss to let her work from home for a while. But all the time she had been working hard, taking pride in her professionalism, she’d secretly known at the back of her mind that she was simply making a futile effort to keep life the way it was.

  She’d been devastated by Hector’s illness. He was her only living relative and she loved him dearly. She’d already lost her mother when she was just five years old, her beloved grandmother who had been so important to her throughout her childhood. Now her father was leaving her.

  It seemed that everyone she loved eventually left her.

  Even the only man she had ever loved, Marco De Luca, had left her.

  Suddenly, the sound of someone calling her name caught her attention. It was her friend, Rosie, from work.

  ‘What are you doing here so late?’ her friend asked curiously. She was just leaving the building where the magazine had its offices.

  ‘I came to collect a camera.’ Claudia smiled warmly at her friend, despite the way she was feeling inside. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ve got a date later on and there wasn’t any point going home first,’ Rosie said. ‘We’re going ice-skating. Have you met my boyfriend, Rob?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Claudia said, noticing that Rosie was following her back into the building. Although a large part of her wanted to be left alone right then, she knew instinctively that a little distracting company wouldn’t hurt. ‘Is he the tall, gorgeous one?’ she asked, th
inking of another man that description could equally well apply to.

  ‘Yes.’ Rosie grinned. ‘Walk with me to Somerset House and I’ll introduce you.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Claudia said, ‘but I don’t think I’d be very good company this evening. I’m feeling really tired.’

  ‘Come on,’ Rosie said. ‘You don’t have to stay—actually, I’d prefer to keep him all to myself—but I just want to show him off!’

  ‘All right—’ Claudia laughed ‘—I promise I’ll just admire him, then I’ll take myself home and leave you two together.’

  They walked down to The Strand, where an ice rink had been set up in the courtyard of the magnificent eighteenth century building of Somerset House. A giant Christmas tree was illuminated at one end of the rink and the ice was glittering under the sparkling coloured lights.

  It wasn’t long before Rosie’s boyfriend arrived, then a few minutes later Claudia waved goodbye as they joined the queue for the next skating session.

  She stood beside the railings for a moment, watching the skaters circling the rink. It was a beautiful scene, full of happy couples and families skating together.

  Suddenly a wave of sadness washed over her. She felt more alone than ever before.

  ‘You know where everything is,’ Gwen said, handing Claudia the key to the old fisherman’s cottage. ‘Stay as long as you want—there’s no one booked in till the New Year.’

  ‘Thanks, Gwen,’ Claudia said, leaning forward to kiss the eighty-year-old Welsh lady affectionately on the cheek. She was an old friend of her grandmother’s, but she was still as sprightly as someone ten, or even twenty, years younger. ‘I can only stay a night or two, but I just had to get out of the city for a little while.’

  ‘Should I call Rhys to give you a lift down the hill?’ Gwen asked in her wonderful accent.

  ‘No thanks. My bag isn’t heavy,’ Claudia said, turning to leave. She didn’t want to bother Gwen’s son, Rhys. He must be close to retirement age, but she’d seen him busy working in his vegetable garden as she’d walked from the bus stop. ‘After the train and bus, I could do with some fresh air.’

  ‘Plenty of that here,’ Gwen laughed as she wrapped her woolly cardigan tightly around herself and closed her front door.

  Claudia hefted her bag on her shoulder and set off along the winding road that led down to the cottage. She’d been coming to this part of Wales all her life and it was like a second home to her. In fact, until her grandmother died when she was thirteen, it had felt more like her home than the pristine town house she’d lived in with her father and Francesca.

  Gwen had been her grandmother’s friend and neighbour for sixty years. After her grandmother died, Gwen had extended a permanent invitation for Claudia to visit whenever she wanted. Gwen and her son Rhys owned a little cottage that they rented out to holidaymakers for a bit of extra income, but whenever it wasn’t booked Claudia was welcome to stay in it.

  It was mid-afternoon by the time she got to the cottage and, as she wanted to fit in an hour’s work before it got dark, she grabbed her camera and headed straight down to the sea.

  It was good to be back in Wales. It was the one place in the world where she felt a strong connection with her mother. Maybe here, far away from all her troubles, she might find some much needed peace of mind—if only for a day or two before she gave herself over to Francesca and Vasile’s unthinkable scheme.

  It was at this cottage that Marco had left her four years ago, and she’d briefly wondered whether it was wise to come here and risk stirring up memories. But it was already too late—meeting Marco yesterday had seen to that.

  Besides, she’d been to the cottage lots of times since he’d left, and right now the blustery conditions couldn’t have been more different from the glorious summer weather they had enjoyed when she’d brought Marco to her mother’s home village.

  The water foamed around the slick black boulders as she carefully picked her way out across the rocky beach towards the incoming tide. The water was already filling the deeper recesses between the rocks and she had to tread carefully so as not to slip. She knew there was still plenty of time to make it out to her favourite vantage point—a particularly giant rocky mound that stood higher than the surrounding beach.

  It felt good to be working. For a few minutes she could put all her troubles out of her mind and concentrate on taking photos. Photography had always been her passion. She felt so fortunate that her job included taking photos to assess how each camera performed in different conditions.

  The sky was low with dark clouds and the churning sea was a deep slate grey with an ever-moving pattern of white water as the waves broke across the rocks. A strong wind whipped her hair about and roared in her ears, combining with the sound of the crashing waves to create a wild, atmospheric soundtrack. It was a dramatic scene—and it suited her mood.

  But, despite her efforts to clear her mind, Claudia’s thoughts turned to Marco. She bit her lip and stared out across the bay, but she wasn’t seeing the view. She was remembering how devastated she’d been when Marco had left her.

  She’d woken up early in the morning, the thin dawn light filtering through the curtains in the cottage bedroom, to find him gone. At first she’d been frantic with worry, imagining something terrible had happened to him. But then she’d realised that his sports car was gone and he’d packed and taken all his things with him.

  Then she’d remembered he’d received a phone call late in the evening. At the time she hadn’t thought anything of it. He had always worked, day and night, and phone calls had been an inevitable part of that. But, when she’d thought about it, she didn’t remember him coming back to bed afterwards—she must have fallen into a deep sleep after hours of lovemaking that evening, and had been oblivious to him packing and leaving.

  She’d started to worry that he’d received terrible news, that maybe his sister had been in an accident or perhaps there’d been an incident at one of the businesses he owned.

  But she’d never found out what had happened.

  His mobile phone had been switched off, then later on the number had been discontinued. His PA had changed immediately to someone she didn’t know—a brisk Italian woman who’d stonewalled all her attempts to contact him by any method.

  She tried to get in touch with Bianca, but her number had been changed too. Eventually, the only information she ever received to explain what happened, was a brief text message from Bianca, saying that Marco was taking her to America, to set her up with contacts in the fashion industry.

  And that was it.

  After a while Claudia had been too upset to try any more. It was clear that she hadn’t been anything more to Marco than a summer fling. He had broken her heart and it had taken a long time to heal. Maybe it had never healed.

  But Bianca had hurt her too. She’d thought they were friends, but the nineteen-year-old girl had been quick enough to drop her when exciting new opportunities arose.

  Claudia shook her head decisively. She wouldn’t dwell on the past. She took a deep breath of the fresh sea air, lifted the camera and concentrated on the task in hand. She was here to work.

  She told herself firmly that the tumultuous conditions were perfect for some excellent shots, with huge waves rolling in and crashing spectacularly over the jagged rocks. Although the afternoon light slanting down in erratic bursts through the gaps in the clouds would be challenging.

  Marco De Luca strode purposefully across the meadow that led down to the beach. He frowned as he glanced around, disconcerted by how familiar everything looked—the rocky beach, the spectacularly eroded dark grey limestone outcrops that flanked the bay and even the rickety wooden stile that led to the cliff path.

  It was more than four years since Claudia had brought him here, and it was winter now rather than summer, yet for some reason he seemed to recall everything with absolute clarity.

  He’d been surprised by how easily he’d found the old fisherman’s cottage but, as he’d
wound his sports car through the maze of narrow farm lanes, he’d remembered exactly which turnings to take.

  Claudia had not been at the cottage, so he’d come to the beach to look for her. He reached the edge of the shingle and paused to scan the small bay. It was cold and damp and, as the light was starting to fade, he guessed Claudia couldn’t be far away. Despite her love of the outdoors, she wouldn’t want to get caught on the beach or cliff path after dark. There were no street-lights here and, with the amount of cloud cover, it seemed unlikely there’d be much moonlight either.

  It only took him a couple of moments to spot her, perched on top of a rocky mound that appeared to be surrounded by the sea. He realised she was taking photographs and started walking towards her.

  Suddenly he was taken aback by the familiarity of her body language. Although she was quite a distance from him, and was crouched down looking out to sea, he knew with complete certainty what expression would be on her face. He could tell she was lost in her craft, only aware of the dramatic seascape in front of her and how it appeared through the lens of her camera.

  That meant there would be a faraway look on her beautiful face. Her brow would be smooth and relaxed and she’d hardly notice as her hair blew in her almond shaped eyes, catching in her exquisitely long eyelashes.

  He stopped abruptly and his dark eyes narrowed dangerously as he stared at her. What was he doing, letting his thoughts run away like that? He started striding purposefully towards her once more. Then, for the second time in as many minutes, he was suddenly brought up short again. It didn’t just look as if Claudia was surrounded by the sea—she really was cut off.

  A bolt of alarm shot through him. The incoming tide had got the better of her while she had been distracted by her photography. And so far she still seemed completely oblivious to her perilous situation.

  Foolish girl! He cursed her angrily and broke into a run, quickly assessing the terrain between them for the highest, safest route out to her. The black rocks were slick with sea water washing over them and were interspersed with deep, ankle-turning crevices that he had to avoid.