Innocent of His Claim

by Janette Kenny

  “That is because this is heaven,” he said, whisking her top and bra off and filling his palms with the creamy swells of her breasts, convinced this was as close to paradise as he would ever get.

  His first flick of his tongue over a hardened peach nipple had her surging forward, wrapping her legs around his hips. The jolt of her moist sex against his belly shocked his system while pumping moisture to his engorged tip.

  Yes, foreplay was over.

  He cupped her lush bottom and slid her close, mouth bonding with hers in an explosion of raw lust. White lights exploded from their touch, blazing red as his sex found her wet, hot core and thrust in hard.

  The world stopped for an instant, electricity streaking up and down his length, holding him in that erotic chasm for an instant. Heaven and hell.

  No woman had ever brought him to such heights, made him feel so intently. He hated it as much as he craved it, ached for it.

  She climaxed first, screaming his name. His hoarse shout, a benediction, a curse, he didn’t know, burst from him a heartbeat later.

  All thought left him then, replaced by a torrent of sensations that roared through him with cataclysmic force.

  “Marco,” she whispered against his shoulder, her hands clutching him tightly as if she feared she would tumble off the earth if she didn’t hold on.

  “I have you,” he managed to get out, dredging deep to find the stamina he needed to carry the most precious thing he’d ever held in his hands.

  Delanie. To his bedroom.

  Each step was agony, taking a lifetime. But he got there and collapsed with her on the bed.

  “You are amazing,” she said and planted a kiss on his temple, lips sliding down his cheek even while her small hand sought and found his sex. “Amazing.”

  She made him believe that perhaps he was when blood rushed again to that part of him. The lethargy that had bound him was cut free, replaced by the beginning surge of desire.

  He smoothed hands that shook just a fraction down her back, savoring the curve of her hip, the firm globes that filled out her jeans so very well. “I intend to spend every day I have with you right here.”

  “Good plan,” she said, kissing her way past his belly, sliding lower to find his length that pulsed with need.

  All rational thought fled him then, replaced by a nirvana he had known too seldom. But it felt right.

  Everything felt right with Delanie.

  No matter what, he damned sure wasn’t letting Delanie go this time.

  A week had never passed so pleasurably or quickly. They ate, they drank, they made love.

  On the morning of the wedding, Delanie couldn’t believe it was over. Didn’t want to face the fact that their idyll was history.

  Her contract would soon be satisfied and her affair with Marco would end. And then the heartache would truly set in.

  She pressed a hand to the gnawing ache in her stomach. The only way she would be able to get through this day was to stay busy and stay away from Marco. So far so good.

  But then, she thought as she stepped from the guest shower, he’d yet to rouse from their bed.

  She dressed quickly in a beige shirtdress that was comfortable yet stylish enough to get her through the morning. Winding her still-damp hair in a French twist sufficed, and a bit of mascara helped divert attention away from the red streaks in her eyes. A bit of blush gave her unusually pale cheeks much-needed color.

  So did the red patent belt she cinched around her waist. Stepping into matching red patent pumps and adding a strand of red beads with matching earrings completed her business attire.

  “You are up at an ungodly early hour,” Marco said.

  She gasped, shaken to see him lounging against the doorjamb, his dark eyes unreadable, his jaw rigid. How long had he been watching?

  “Today is the wedding so it is a workday for me.”

  He snorted. “Your bag looks packed.”

  “For the most part,” she said. “I wanted as much done now as I could since I’ll be busy all day.”

  There was nothing welcoming about the muscular arms crossed tightly over his bare chest either. Strong arms that had held her close to his heart last night, that were now hard with tension.

  Her gaze followed the dark hair that arrowed over his washboard abs, disappearing under faded jeans that rode indecently low on his lean hips. How could he look angry and sexy at the same time?

  “Why are you doing this, cara?”

  “Because my job will be completed and there is no reason to remain in Italy any longer.”

  He muttered something in Italian that she couldn’t guess. Just as well, for it was likely a curse.

  “There most certainly is a reason.” He waved a hand between them. “This thing between us is not over.”

  So close to the words she’d longed to hear. But she didn’t want close anymore. She wanted the words, wanted to hear passion and his heart behind them.

  All or nothing.

  “This thing?” she repeated, and he jerked his hand back and stared at some point beyond her. “Can’t you call it what it is? A love affair? Or is using the world love as much a problem for you as professing what’s in your heart?”

  His impossibly broad shoulders stiffened with military precision. His eyes burned with something she’d never seen before—an emotion that left her shaking inside.

  “Love is nothing more than a word to me,” he said. “A word without substance. A word that deceives.”

  She lifted a hand, right on the verge of reaching for him. Of cupping the jaw set like stone. Rubbing a thumb over lips that were pulled into a thin disagreeable line.

  But she reined that impulse in and reached for her bag of toiletries instead. She tossed them in her case with hands that shook, and she blinked her suddenly stinging eyes, desperate to stay the tears that threatened.

  Crying would solve nothing. She’d learned that long ago.

  “You’re wrong, Marco,” she said. “But until you stop fearing the emotion that can free you, you’ll never believe in its power. There will always be something missing from your life, something you can’t buy or take over.”

  He snorted. “If you say so.”

  She shook her head. Sighed.

  At least Marco was being honest. He wasn’t promising her something he couldn’t give her.

  For that reason alone she respected him. Loved him even more, which made the pain of leaving him all the more intense.

  But one-sided love was worse than an arranged marriage. She’d seen it in her parents but she hadn’t understood how a woman could accept such a situation until she’d experienced it firsthand with Marco.

  But, unlike her mother, she wouldn’t settle for less than all his heart.

  Her time with Marco was over. Now she would begin the process of filing those special memories of them away so she could pull them out and cherish them when her thoughts were clearer, when her heart wasn’t aching so much.

  “I trust you’ll have my paperwork ready for me today.” She walked to the doorway he filled so completely, expecting him to at least be a gentleman and move.

  He didn’t budge, but the muscle along his jawline quivered. She had her choice of trying to push past him or stop. She stopped.

  “If that is your wish,” he said, his upper lip curling with obvious distaste.

  Her wish would be for this to be a bad dream. When she awoke it would be to Marco vowing to love her forever. But that wasn’t going to happen.

  She tried for a professional smile. “It is.”

  Because she simply couldn’t spend another night in his arms. Already her stomach cramped and her nerves felt raw and frayed at the thought of leaving him. At least if she was busy all day, she could rush to the airport tonight and be gone before her heartache truly set in. Before she surrendered to the flood of tears that were sure to come.

  “Anything else?” he asked, voice flat. Emotionless. Sounding as empty as she felt inside.

  “I
need transportation to the villa to ensure all is well with Bella’s wardrobe, then back here so I can oversee that events will run smoothly at the church and the castle.”

  “Fine,” he said, pushing away from the doorway and storming back toward his bedroom. “I’ll drive you.”

  She opened her mouth to argue and then promptly snapped it shut. Avoiding him was going to be impossible so why try?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MARCO remained silent and brooding as he drove her to St. Antonio de Montiforte Cathedral. She half expected him to abandon her while she double-checked the wedding preparations, but he waited for her, likely impatiently.

  The tense silence continued to pulse like a frantic heart beating as he ushered her into his flashy sports car and sped down the highway toward Cabriotini villa. It promised to be the longest hour trapped in an auto that she’d ever endured.

  Delanie managed the first ten minutes or so by staring out the window, admiring the scenery. After that she was torn between remaining quiet or making an attempt to talk to him. Neither felt right to her, not when they were at such odds after being so close.

  Not when the silence screamed inside her head.

  One glance at his set jaw and wounded eyes tore at her heart. She swallowed hard and wadded her fingers together to keep from reaching out to him.

  A clean break was needed here. That meant no touching. No softening. Yet she couldn’t be that cold, that unfeeling. Not when she felt his pain as deeply as her own.

  “I never intended to hurt you or be hurt,” she said. “Please believe that.”

  He didn’t answer for the longest time, then finally heaved a sigh and then another. “I know,” he said, his voice hushed yet catching. “We seem to excel at inflicting pain on each other.”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice cracking, her chest so tight she could barely draw a breath.

  He fell silent again, but then there was nothing left to say. Nothing left to do but get through this day without shedding any more emotional blood.

  Once at the villa, Delanie was relieved to find Bella a serene, glowing bride-to-be. Her gown fitted perfectly as did those of her attendants. They were a charming gaggle of young women, some seeming thrilled to be part of such grandeur.

  There was simply nothing more for her to do here but ensure that the bridal party would arrive on time. Marco was in charge of that, and she sought him out. No surprise, he was outside standing beside his car.

  “I trust you’ll be on hand to see that the bride and her attendants arrive at the church on time,” she said.

  “Her chauffeur will deliver her and her friends in a white limousine, and the housekeeper will see that all leave the villa on time.” He nodded to his Bugatti. “If you’re ready to return to Montiforte, let’s go.”

  Delanie took a fortifying breath and complied. As on the drive up, silence reigned and tension rose like an ice mountain between them as they sped back to Montiforte.

  Marco wheeled under the portico at Castello di Montiforte, and a valet rushed to open her door. She managed a smile as she faced Marco. “Thank you for escorting me about today.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. “The day isn’t over. I’ll wait for you.”

  A fact she was all too aware of. “Don’t bother. I’m sure you have things to do and I look forward to the walk back.”

  His eyes narrowed, but their intensity burned stronger. Hotter. “As you wish.”

  She managed a smile and quickly exited his car, but her legs shook so badly she feared they would give out as she hurried inside the castle. Once there she was able to take a breath, to steer her thoughts on what she must do. That pulled her out of her emotional tumble and allowed her to focus on her job, on doing what she did best.

  All the preparations were going well or were finished. All her plans had fallen neatly in order. Her only task was to oversee that nothing unforeseen cropped up to cause a problem.

  She refused to think of one sexy Italian as a problem now. Her personal life and her profession could not collide and crash now, not when so much was at stake.

  Delanie bit her lip and discreetly checked her watch. In a little over an hour the wedding would commence, followed by the reception. Her hours left in Italy were few. This time tomorrow she’d be back in London.

  Her company and her life would be hers to command again. She’d be free of a man’s control. Independence would finally be hers.

  It was what she’d always wanted, yet there was no excitement in her victory. No reason to gloat.

  Not that she could with her heart in tatters.

  Love. If she were a cynic like Marco she would swear off ever allowing that emotion into her scope again. But she’d tried to do that with him. And she’d failed.

  She downed her head and started up the trail toward the villa. But no matter how many times she mentally went over her checklist, Marco remained the last person commanding her thoughts.

  Every second she’d spent with him tormented her. Dammit, she shouldn’t be plagued with indecisions now.

  They’d struck a bargain. Stuck to it. If she was the weak link and let her heart get involved, that was her problem.

  She was making the right choice in leaving. So why did it feel so wrong?

  By the time Delanie reached the villa she trembled with nerves scraped raw. Her gaze lit on the Bugatti.

  Her body quivered with need and worry, but she tempered her fears and faced her demons full-on. She stepped into the villa, her gaze searching for him.

  Marco stood in the salon, wearing a pale gray suit specially tailored for those broad shoulders that she’d caressed and clung to, the trousers conforming to lean hips that had moved so sensuously with hers. His shirt was black, the bride’s choice and befitting the rebel in him.

  And she adored the look. Her foolish heart rejoiced at the sight of him. A lonely ache wrapped ghostly arms around her, their touch imagined but not felt.

  She shivered, feeling nothing. Knowing that her memories of him were tucked away. If one moment of fabulous sex was enough then she would be blissfully happy. But it wasn’t.

  It never had been. It never would be, which was why she had to put distance between them now.

  “A moment, please,” he said as she started to walk past him.

  It was a demand, not a question. But then that shouldn’t surprise her.

  She pushed out a tight breath and stopped, knees locked and toes curling in her sensible flats. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.”

  He crossed to the window, presenting a stiff back to her as he stared through it. She worried her hands together, dreading to know what he wanted to tell her less than an hour before they were to leave for the wedding.

  “Is Bella all right?” she asked, worrying that something was wrong, that she might have failed.

  He flipped a hand, the motion abrupt. “Bella just called me en route to the church. She is stressed and nervous but otherwise fine.”

  “Good,” she said, hand to her heart. “I was afraid you had bad news.”

  He faced her then. Grim-faced, solemn and giving her no reason to think that still wasn’t the case. Her nerves twitched as he pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and held it out to her.

  “You’ve done everything you said you would do to ensure Bella had the wedding she wanted.” His gaze stroked her length once, twice, so personal, so intimate she shivered as if his fingers and hands and tongue had stroked over her willing flesh. “More, actually. There is no reason for me to forestall honoring my promise to you.”

  By sheer determination, she willed her hand not to tremble as she took the envelope from him, careful not to touch the long blunt fingers that had played over her skin. She slid a nail under the seal and pulled out the papers.

  Her mind went numb as she stared at the check and the obscene number of zeros. He’d promised a fat check for professional services.

  But this— This was a fortune, far more than she would ever c
harge a client. Far more than her struggling company was worth.

  It was an insult. Wasn’t it? A payoff?

  Then her gaze landed on the very legal contract. She skimmed it once, heart racing as its significance sunk in.

  Elite Affair was hers. All shares reverted to her name only. Her baby. All hers again.

  “Why did you do this?” she asked, waving the check, certain the combined value of it and the whole of the company trumped any amount he would give a mistress he’d just dismissed. “What’s the catch?”

  “There is none.”

  She sucked in a breath, then another, her mind spinning. “That’s hard to believe. Father taught me nothing was free. Nothing good came without a price.”

  “And I told you to never compare me or the way I work to your father.”

  “Trust,” she said. “We never had that.”

  “The best lesson my father taught me was never to trust a woman,” he said.

  “Experience taught me never to trust a man you loved, whether he was a relative or a lover.”

  His mouth pulled into a flat line and his eyes narrowed to slits, yet enough anger shot from them to make her take a cautious step back. “Point taken. Again. But this is given freely because you deserve a bonus.”

  “Oh? Then I overreacted,” she said and meant it, knowing she’d crossed the line, that she’d insulted him without cause. “I’m just—” How to say it? “Flabbergasted you would do this.”

  He gave a quick hike of one broad shoulder. “It was wrong of me to hold this over you when it is clear to me now that you were ignorant of your father’s plan to destroy me.”

  She stared at the papers and shivered, far colder inside than she’d been at her father’s funeral. But then, this parting was a far different type of grief.

  Her father’s death had brought relief. Closure.

  This parting brought sorrow. No matter how good they’d been at one time, no matter how much better they were in bed, it wasn’t enough to make him tear down the walls around his heart. And if he couldn’t do that, their passion wasn’t enough to make her take him as he was.

  She deserved more. They both did, but she was the only one who recognized it.