by Jane Porter
Payton’s head jerked up, heat suffusing her face. The caressing note in his voice knocked her off balance nearly as much as what he’d said.
“Shh,” she hushed him, indicating the girls sitting at the table eating scoops of chocolate and vanilla ice cream.
He shrugged. “They’re focused on other things.”
“Still.”
“Still what?”
He’d leaned forward and his voice had dropped an octave. He was doing something to her, stirring her senses, not to mention her imagination. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
Marco reached over, borrowed her spoon for a taste of her coffee flavored ice cream. “Why not?”
He looked up at her, dark eyes hot, interest shimmering. “It’s true.”
CHAPTER NINE
RETURNING from town, they all cooled off with a swim. Then Pietra put the girls down for a nap and Marco and Payton lingered at the pool.
As Marco stretched out on a towel in the sun, Payton settled in a chaise with a book. Yet as she stared at the page, the words didn’t penetrate her brain. She sat rereading the same paragraph for the third time, thinking about everything but the novel.
It struck her that she’d been so focused on doing the right thing for the girls, keeping it all together for the family, she’d forgotten some of her needs had nothing to do with the world at large.
Some of her needs had absolutely nothing to do with duty, responsibility, or maturity.
Being around Marco was making her feel—even if she didn’t want to feel. For the first time in ages she was aware of the old heat and fire, the whisper of want that Marco stirred inside of her.
She had expected the trip to Italy would drain her, deplete her. She’d expected anger and pain, frustration and regret, and while she’d felt some of that, she also felt more. She felt warmth. Fullness. Security. Perhaps the fullness and warmth wouldn’t last forever, but it was reassuring to find it again.
It was rather wonderful to feel something intense and tangible again.
“It’s getting hot,” Marco said, rising. His body gleamed with perspiration, each hard muscle in his flat abdomen distinct.
She felt a ripple of desire in her middle, an attraction that wasn’t just physical but emotional. Even if she wanted to ignore him, she couldn’t. She felt him always, was aware of him always. It was almost as if she’d been wired from birth to know him.
To feel him.
To want him.
And she did want him, very much so. The intensity of her feelings scared her.
He dived back into the pool and she watched him swim laps. He was a good swimmer with a strong effective stroke and he covered the pool quickly, doing a dozen laps freestyle before flipping over and swimming another dozen on his back.
He pulled up at the end of the pool, not far from her chair and gave his head a toss, shaking the water from his hair. “Why would you take the girls for your haircut?” he asked, leaning on the pool’s edge.
“Why wouldn’t I? They’ve always gone with me to my hair appointments.”
“Yes, but to cut your hair all the way off? It’s pretty drastic.”
“Chemo is pretty drastic.”
“I’ve never known anyone who has gone through chemo.”
Payton gave up all pretense of reading and tossed her book aside. “I’ve seen more of it than I ever wanted to see. It can save a life, but it’s hard on the body. My mom’s hair fell out in huge clumps. One day she had a head of hair. The next strands began to fall out. By the end of the week she’d had to shave her head.”
“So you thought if you cut your hair short now, it wouldn’t be such a overwhelming change later.”
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly. “These next six months will be very difficult on you, won’t they?”
“Very,” she agreed softly.
He looked up, smiled at her and yet his expression in his eyes was somber. “Then I say we enjoy every minute of our time here so we both go home with unforgettable memories.”
Her heart lurched a bit. Time seemed so short. She’d never felt so mortal. “That sounds great.”
“Let’s start with dinner in Capri tonight,” he said, toweling off. “I’ll make some reservations at a little place I like and this evening will be for just you and me.”
Marco waited outside by the taxi as Payton kissed the girls good night. He could see the twins hugging Payton, their arms wrapped tight around her waist. They absolutely adored her. And Payton was so good with them. She was firm and yet fun at the same time. She knew how to handle Gia’s high spirits and Liv’s sensitive nature.
Please, God, don’t let anything happen to Payton.
She was heading his way now and he admired her casual yet chic elegance. She was wearing a beaded camisole—tiny black beaded flowers over delicate white silk—and black velvet slacks that sat low on her hips, the pant legs slightly flared. Her pale shoulders were bare and she wore high strappy sandals. It was a great look for her.
She had incredible style. Marilena knew how to dress, he thought, but Payton had fire.
Yet as Payton reached the taxi he saw her blue eyes were wet and her black lashes stuck together black and spikey.
He put his hand on her back. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
Payton looked at him, and tried to smile yet her full lips quivered and she couldn’t mask her emotion. “It’s nothing. I’m just thinking too much.”
She caught a glimpse of the girls still standing Pietra on the villa’s front steps with Pietra and she lifted her hand in a final wave. “I want to have forever with them,” she said, struggling to hold back fresh tears. “I want to be well and strong and a good mother always.”
He drew her against him, held her in his arms. “We’ll get you well, I promise.”
“But what if chemo doesn’t work?” Her voice came out muffled. “What if I’m not there for them as they grow up? I can’t bear it, Marco, I can’t.”
She shuddered and then drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” Lifting her head she forced a watery smile. “We better go before I really scare the girls.”
Marco was silent in the car and Payton felt worn out before the night had even begun. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and he looked very grave and preoccupied.
“I don’t know why I fell apart,” she said, her voice still husky. “Everything was fine. I was actually feeling very happy.”
“You’re going to beat this, Payton,” he said, reaching over and taking her hand. “You’re strong. Much stronger than you think.”
“But if I don’t, I know the girls will be fine with you.”
His hand squeezed hers. “No. They need you. They’ll always need you. So dammit, fight, Payton. Beat this. You have to.”
“I intend to.”
The restaurant was in the middle of town, flanking the charming Piazzetta. They were seated at an outside table in the colonnaded courtyard and strands of white lights were strung above the courtyard and candles glowed on each table.
The menu made Payton’s mouth water. Ravioloi all’ Annibale—ricotta and herb stuffed ravilois served with butter, sage and parmesan cheese. Penne alla Cantinella—pasta with aubergines, tomato and mozzarella.
“I’m really hungry tonight,” she said, closing the menu. “I want one of everything!”
“Go ahead.”
She laughed. “You’d have to roll me out of here.”
“So what? At least you would have had a good time.”
The warmth and intensity in his eyes made her breath catch. If only it had been like this when they were married. If only they could have been friends before they were lovers. “Thank you, Marco.”
He set his menu aside. “And what have I done?”
Her hands lifted. “This,” she said, gesturing to the night, the pretty lights, the festive atmosphere around them. “This is wonderful, Marco. This is really special. This time with you, with the girls, it helps more tha
n you know.”
“I think you’re wonderful—”
“No.”
“You are. You’ve an amazing attitude, Payton. You’ve a beautiful heart. And somehow you still manage to look sensational, too.”
A knot formed in Payton’s throat. When he complimented her, and looked at her with such warmth in his eyes, she felt fizzy on the insides. Felt ridiculously giddy and happy, almost like the night at the Trussardi’s when he asked her to dance.
The night at the Trussardis had been just as magical. After dancing they’d gone outside to have a drink and they talked for an hour straight. When he offered her a ride home, she accepted without a second thought. It had never crossed her mind to seduce him. It hadn’t crossed her mind that they’d even kiss.
But he did kiss her, he kissed her on her doorstep after he’d walked her to the entry of her pension. The small light above their heads attracted moths and the moths flit and flickered and Marco bent his head and covered her mouth with his and—magic
It hadn’t been just a kiss, but The Kiss. The kiss of a lifetime. The kiss where everything in life made sense and emotion and intellect and passion came together for the first time ever.
Maybe the only time ever.
Even now she remembered how natural it had all been, how uncomplicated it had felt. There had been no doubts, no questions. She just wanted more with him, more of his touch and more of his passion and more of the pleasure.
In his arms that one night she’d experienced something so powerful and so profound she’d never wanted anyone else. Couldn’t contemplate being with anyone else.
“Payton.”
Marco was saying her name, asking her a question. She jerked, returning to the present. “What was that?”
He smiled faintly. “I asked if you wanted more wine.”
“No. I’m good. Thank you.” She felt a bittersweet prick, a fluttering of regret. If only she and Marco had handled things differently, if only they’d been able to make the marriage work out.
The waiter presented them with the bill at the end of the meal. “Well, I’d consider dinner a success,” Marco said, putting away his wallet.
“And we’ve done all right without our two little chaperones,” Payton said.
“I’m not the one in need of a chaperone,” he retorted.
Just what was he implying? “You think I need one?”
His eyes narrowed a little as his gaze settled on her mouth. “I think you want one.”
It suddenly felt as if someone had let loose a hundred butterflies in her middle. “And why would I need one?”
His gaze left her mouth to slowly travel over her face. His intense scrutiny made her aware that her long hair had been tousled by the evening breeze and the scoop neck of her beaded camisole probably exposed more skin than it should.
“You think I’m immune to you?” he persisted, his deep voice dropping even lower. “You think I don’t find you attractive anymore?”
“I don’t know—”
“I do. For your information that mysterious spark which was there from the start has never gone away, never flickered out.”
His words pulsed inside her, quickening her pulse, warming her body. She shouldn’t get carried away. They were just words and yet she didn’t know if it was the warm night or the wine she’d had with dinner, but she liked the way his words were making her feel. She liked the way his gaze made her belly knot and muscles tighten.
“This isn’t smart, Marco.”
“Have we ever been smart…at least when it came to each other?”
“But that’s cause for alarm now, don’t you think?”
“Maybe, maybe not. It all depends on one’s perspective.”
Perspective. Good word, she silently acknowledged, and something to think about right now. She needed to keep some perspective. If she lost her head, she wasn’t the only one to get hurt.
There were the girls. And Marilena. That was at least three others impacted.
Payton forced herself to shut down her emotions, deaden her senses. She had to act responsibly. She couldn’t give in to hunger and need. “It’s getting late. Maybe we should head back before Pietra starts worrying.”
“Pietra’s not going to worry. Besides, she’d love for us to stay out all night. She needs the cash.”
“I should call her though.” Come on, keep your perspective. Put some distance between the two of you. “I’ll just go use the phone—”
“Here, use mine,” he pleasantly interrupted, reaching into his coat pocket and holding the phone out.
His dark eyes met hers, challenging her and Payton felt a current of excitement fizz through her. He knew she didn’t really want to call. He knew she was just trying to hang on to what was left of her self-control.
“Maybe later,” she answered huskily.
He shrugged, a very Latin shrug, and slipped the tiny phone back into his pocket. “Just let me know.”
And then he looked up at her again and the guard had dropped from his gaze, and in his eyes she saw heat, fire, hunger. He wanted her. He wanted to take her back to the house and strip her clothes off and do things she hadn’t done in way too many years.
Then his mouth slowly curved into a sexy, sinful smile. “Don’t get nervous.”
“Who’s nervous?”
“Payton, it’s just you and me. We know each other well enough to let down our hair a little, have some fun together. You do still know how to have fun, don’t you?”
Her heart raced. “Of course I do.”
“Good.” He was trying not to laugh at her. “Then let’s enjoy ourselves. The night’s still young, you look unbelievably sexy, I think we ought to go dancing.”
They crossed the plaza and took a right on a side street, following the sound of thumping music. Payton spotted the disco by the long snaking line of bodies waiting outside the front door.
“I guess we can’t dance after all,” Payton said brightly, relieved that she wouldn’t have to go shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip with Marco tonight. She didn’t trust him in this mood.
“Not a problem,” he answered, taking her hand.
He was right. There was no waiting in line and no charge for admission, either. The door manager spotted Marco and immediately waved him in. Nice life, Payton thought, as Marco led her through the disco’s dark interior with the curving walls painted aqua-marine-blue.
Marco found them a small booth on the side of the dance floor and whenever the shimmering disco ball turned and the strobe hit, the blue neon club turned ghostly white and silver. The music was loud and the bass thumped so hard the floor literally jumped.
Conversation was next to impossible and before Marco could order a bottle of wine, two cocktails arrived, the drinks the same shade of blue as the walls of the disco.
“Courtesy of the lady sitting at the booth over there,” the cocktail waitress said, and she gestured to the booth on the other side of the disco. A young woman with a mass of golden-brown hair lifted her drink in salute.
Payton did a double-take. The “lady” was only America’s biggest film star.
“You know Lyssa Harper?” Payton demanded, practically shouting to be heard over the music. She was trying not to stare but Lyssa was now blowing Marco kisses. The actress had either been drinking or had a major soft spot for Marco.
Marco shrugged. “I dressed her for this year’s Oscars.” He nodded at the drinks on the table. “Do you want this or should I order something a little more sedate?”
“Why should I want something more sedate?” She practically had to shout to be heard above the din.
He picked up the neon blue cocktail and took a sip. His nose wrinkled a little as he swallowed. “I just wasn’t sure if you were ready for a Tongue in the Grotto.”
She nearly choked on her own tongue. “What?”
“Tongue in the Grotto,” he repeated, dark eyes glinting with amusement.
“I heard you. I just couldn’t believe that’s
actually the drink’s name.”
“It’s the house drink. Named after Capri’s famous Grotta Azzurra. The Blue Grotto draws thousands of tourists each summer.”
Tongue in the Grotto, indeed. She felt heat flood her cheeks and she crossed her legs, clenching her knees. “I don’t think we’ve been there yet, have we?”
“No.” Marco leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. “But it is something I’ve always wanted to do with you.” And from his wicked expression she knew he didn’t mean sightseeing, either.
Payton tried to drink the neon cocktail, but every time she lifted the bright blue vodka beverage to her mouth she pictured erotic activities that had nothing to do with touring a cave in a little four person rowboat.
“You can’t drink it,” Marco said watching her.
“It’s a bit much for me. But that’s fine. I don’t really want anything else to drink.”
“Shall we dance then?”
It’d been years since they danced and yet it was something they both loved to do. Besides, it had to be safer than sitting and sipping potent cocktails with him. “Please.”
He led her out onto the crowded dance floor and astonishingly the frenzied throng parted a little, giving them room.
They knew Marco, she realized. But then, most people here would. He was a regular on Capri. His family had been coming for three generations. His mother’s father had even played a role in the island’s colorful history.
The two fast songs gave way to a slow number and Marco drew her closer, his hand settling low on her waist, his thighs pressed against hers. She’d liked watching him dance—there was no question he knew how to move—but she enjoyed being in his arms even more. He had grace, strength, and the easy elegance of an athlete.
As they danced, Marco took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. His eyes met hers and turning her hand over, he kissed her wrist, his mouth so warm on the wild beating of her pulse. “I think this is exactly what you needed,” he said. “What I needed, too.”
Her wrist tingled and her heart pounded and she felt like they were on the start of a significant journey. Could they cross the great divide?
