Raffaele: Taming His Tempestuous Virgin

by Sandra Marton

  “Baby. What’s this all about?”

  “Do not call me that. And do not treat me as if I were stupid. I assure you, I am not.”

  Rafe stepped in front of her as she came down the rest of the steps. “Chiara…”

  “Please get out of my way.”

  Her chin rose. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. She was, once again, his tough yet vulnerable Chiara. And though he didn’t understand the reason, she was making it clear she didn’t want him.

  His eyes narrowed. “What’s going on here?”

  “The truth. That is what is going on here. You and your brothers have no need to worry. I do not want this marriage. I never did. I want a divorce, as we agreed, and I want it as fast as possible.”

  “Chiara—”

  “I heard everything,” she said, and felt her composure slipping. “I heard every word, Raffaele!’

  “You heard…? No. Wait a minute. See, you misunderstood. What I was telling my brothers was that…Chiara!” Rafe’s voice rose as she swept past him and ran not to the elevator but to the kitchen.

  Okay. At least she hadn’t left. All he had to do was get rid of Nick and Falco and talk to her, get her to listen…

  The kitchen?

  “Damn it,” Rafe said, “the service entrance!”

  Falco grabbed his arm. “Raffaele. Let her go.”

  “Damn you, let go of me!”

  “Rafe,” Nick said. “Okay, she got the last laugh. So what? Who cares who made the first move? You wanted her gone. Well, she’s gone. Give it a couple of days, a week, you’ll forget this little scene ever—”

  Rafe wrenched free of Falco’s hand.

  “You idiots,” he roared. “I didn’t want her gone! I love her. I’ll always love her. She’s my wife!”

  Nicolo and Falco looked at each other as Rafe raced into the kitchen. The service door stood open. Beyond it the lights above the service elevator showed that it had already reached the basement.

  “Cazzo!” Falco said.

  “You got that right,” Nick said.

  Then they took off after Rafe, who was already pounding down the fire stairs.

  Chiara burst into the street and stopped in confusion.

  She was on an unfamiliar side street. Then she heard the blare of a horn, looked toward the corner and saw that she was a few hundred feet from Fifth Avenue and its taxis and buses. She had no money for either but that was a problem she’d handle when she had to.

  She began to run.

  What a fool she’d been! This afternoon, lying in Raffaele’s arms, her heart filled with love, she’d indulged in a little fantasy, let herself think that what she saw in his eyes was more than desire, that it was love.

  “Idiota,” she said, and she ran faster.

  He didn’t love her. Why would he? She’d been an encumbrance that had changed into a sex toy. Very nice for him, but then, sex was what men were all about. She knew that, she had always known that. How could she have forgotten?

  “Chiara!”

  It was his voice. Her Raffaele was running after her, but he wasn’t “her” Raffaele anymore, he wasn’t “her” anything.

  “Chiara! Wait!”

  She had the advantage of a head start but his legs were longer. He would catch her; it was just a matter of time. She was on Fifth Avenue now. There were taxis whizzing by and she ran into the street, waving her hand wildly, but she might as well have been invisible. The cabs kept going.

  “Chiara!”

  She looked back. Dio! His brothers were just behind him. She had to do something!

  Chiara dove into the snarl of traffic, ignoring the blasting horns, the squeal of brakes. She heard Raffaele shout after her again, and then, mercifully, she was in the park.

  Running was easier here.

  No cars. No buses. Pedestrians, but she raced past them. She was a good runner. She had strong legs from years of tromping the hills outside San Giuseppe. If she could just put some real distance between her and—

  Raffaele grabbed her from behind.

  She yelped, his legs tangled with hers and they went down in a heap. She tried to roll away but he had her on her back, his hips straddling hers, his hands clasping her fists. Now his brothers were there, too, disheveled and panting and looking down at her with anger in their eyes.

  “Let me go!” she demanded.

  Raffaele stood up and dragged her to her feet.

  “I said, let—me—go!”

  “Never,” he growled, and the hard look in his face made her shudder.

  “I will scream—”

  “No. You won’t,” he said, and covered her mouth with his.

  Chiara beat her fists against her husband’s powerful shoulders. She nipped at his lip. And then, even though it was disgraceful to do it, she gave herself up to this one last kiss.

  And then another. And another…

  “Uh, Rafe? You need us, buddy?”

  Rafe didn’t answer. Instead he framed his Chiara’s face with his hands, changed the angle of the kiss and felt his heart take a tentative leap when she gave one of those little moans.

  “He doesn’t need us,” Falco said.

  “No,” Nick said, laughing, “he doesn’t.”

  They wished him luck, said they’d really like to meet the little woman if the two of them ever came up for air—

  And then they were gone.

  “I love you,” Rafe whispered against his wife’s lips.

  “No,” she said brokenly, “you do not. I heard every word you said.”

  “You couldn’t have, because I never had the chance to say the only words that mattered.” Rafe held her away from him, just far enough so he could see her beloved face. “I love you, Chiara.”

  “But you said you didn’t know how to tell me you wanted to end our marriage. You said—”

  “I said I didn’t know how to tell you I loved you. At least, that was what I was going to say.” Rafe smiled. “You just didn’t give me the chance.”

  “Oh, Raffaele. Be sure. Please, be sure…because I love you. I adore you. I—”

  Rafe kissed her again. This was New York, and people were detouring around them, but even some of those hardened New Yorkers smiled.

  “I love you,” Rafe said. “I don’t ever want to lose you. I want you to be my wife, forever.” He swallowed hard. “That is, if you’ll have me.”

  Chiara laughed, even though tears still shone in her eyes.

  “I will have you for all the rest of our lives, my Raffaele,” she said, and her husband swept her into his arms. Those hardened New Yorkers whistled and cheered, and Raffaele Orsini carried home his beautiful, tempestuous bride.

  Not every man got to marry the same woman twice.

  Rafe did.

  When he broke the news of his marriage to his family, everyone went a little crazy.

  His mother wept. His sisters, too. Falco and Nicolo, who, of course, already knew all about it, rolled their eyes at the unseemly commotion. Dante, who’d been clued in on his return from only he knew where, shrugged and flashed a cryptic smile.

  Cesare just looked smug and said he had known it would happen. Rafe decided to leave it at that. His father had meddled in his life, not to benefit his son but to salve his own conscience. That things had worked out changed nothing.

  “A wedding,” his mother said, drying her eyes on her apron. “We must have a real wedding.”

  Rafe said they’d already had one, but his sisters took up the chant, and when he looked at his wife, he saw that her eyes were shining at the very idea. So he did what men always do in such situations.

  He gave in.

  The ceremony took place in the little neighborhood church Sofia Orsini had always loved. Either the Feds and the cops were kind that day or they simply kept a low profile, but there wasn’t an agent or a police officer in sight.

  Chiara wore a gown of antique French lace over silk. Tiny pink silk rosebuds adorned the train, and Sofia’s wedding veil fell grac
efully from a tiara of pink roses in her dark hair.

  “Cesare and I eloped,” Sofia said shyly, “but my mama knew our plan and gave me her veil. I would be honored if you wore it.”

  Chiara wept a little, kissed her mother-in-law and said it was she who would be honored.

  Anna and Isabella were her maids of honor. Nick, Falco and Dante were Rafe’s best men. It made for a crowd at the altar. The men grinned, the women giggled, but everyone grew solemn once the simple ceremony began.

  “My Chiara,” Rafe whispered when it was time to lift his bride’s veil and kiss her.

  She smiled into his eyes. “My Raffaele,” she said softly, and kissed him with all the love in her heart.

  Afterward, at the reception, Isabella and Anna happily agreed it had all been like a fairy tale.

  There were no fairy tales, Dante thought grimly, not for him, anyway…. But he wisely decided to keep that bit of information to himself.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-4270-2

  RAFFAELE: TAMING HIS TEMPESTUOUS VIRGIN

  First North American Publication 2009.

  Copyright © 2009 by Sandra Myles.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  www.eHarlequin.com