The Secret the Italian Claims

by Jennie Lucas

  But something didn’t feel right.

  With a deep breath, Hallie pushed the feeling away. Tomorrow, she would leave the only country she’d ever known and set off into the unknown.

  Tomorrow, she would be Cristiano Moretti’s bride.

  * * *

  “Do you, Hallie Jane Hatfield,” the judge intoned, “take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  Cristiano looked down at Hallie as they stood in a quiet, elegant salon on the third floor of his hotel, with chandeliers, a frescoed ceiling and high windows that overlooked the wide avenue below.

  “I do,” she said, her face pale.

  Cristiano’s eyes traced over her voluptuous figure in the deceptively simple ivory satin wedding gown. Her dark hair was pulled back beneath a long, elegant veil. She held a bouquet of pink roses. Her beautiful brown eyes were emotionless.

  “Do you, Cristiano Moretti, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  “I do,” he said, and marveled that he didn’t have trouble speaking the words. He’d always thought making a lifetime commitment would feel like facing a firing squad. But he felt nothing.

  Everything about this wedding had been easy. His executive assistant, Marcia, with the help of the Campania’s stellar wedding planner, had pulled the ceremony together in twenty-four hours, so quickly and quietly that the paparazzi had no idea.

  Just a few guests were there to mark the occasion. Hallie’s two best friends were bridesmaids, each dressed simply in blue and holding a single rose, as requested by the bride. Two babies were also in attendance—tiny newborn Esme, the daughter of the redheaded bridesmaid, and Jack, who was dressed in a miniature tuxedo and held by the other bridesmaid, the pregnant blonde.

  His own friend, Ares Kourakis, was there as best man. The Greek owed him that much, as Cristiano had once blindly supported him through a similar endeavor. His bodyguard, Luther, was there with his girlfriend, and Marcia was with her husband. Even Clarence Loggia, the manager of the hotel, had brought a date.

  But looking down at his bride, Cristiano had eyes only for her. His gaze traced to her full breasts, pushed up against the bodice of the bias-cut satin, and his body stirred. Angry as he was, he still wanted her.

  Last night, when she’d demanded he agree to her rules, he’d been astonished. His original prenuptial agreement had been entirely appropriate, standard among the wealthy. He’d assumed Hallie would sign it without demur. Instead, she’d demanded that he add clauses legally forcing him to learn to take care of their child and always come home for dinner. Seriously?

  He didn’t necessarily have a problem with either of those things. But he wanted them to be requested, not required. No man wanted to be blackmailed by his own wife the night before the wedding.

  And then, as if that weren’t enough, once he’d signed, she’d wanted emotional reassurance that their marriage was a good idea. With the wedding arrangements made and the gold rings bought, she’d wanted him to waste another night rehashing the reasons for their marriage!

  Cristiano had seen many last-minute hardball negotiating tactics in the business world. He’d just never expected them from the mother of his child.

  Hallie had gotten what she wanted. What more had she hoped to accomplish last night, asking for reassurance? Had she wanted to hear him beg?

  Not in this lifetime. Cristiano glowered down at her.

  “Then, by the power vested in me by the state of New York, you are now husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” the retired judge finished happily.

  Hallie’s emotionless gaze flashed up to his, the sweep of her dark eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheeks. She was breathing rapidly, and he noted the quick rise and fall of her breasts.

  Cristiano was already hard for her. His hands tightened. There would be no more pleading, no more reasoning.

  Hallie was his now. Forever.

  After a year, his restraint could end. At last, he could claim his prize.

  He pulled her into his arms. Lowering his head, he crushed his mouth to hers.

  Their lips joined in a flash of heat that ripped through him like a fire. She gasped, then her resistance melted and she kissed him back, matching his desire with her own. As her hands reached up around his shoulders, he heard her bouquet fall to the floor.

  The guests applauded and whistled. He took his time, relishing his possession.

  When he finally let her go, Hallie’s deep brown eyes were shocked and wide. She looked dizzy as they turned to face the cheers of their friends. Stepping forward, she stumbled and he grabbed her arm to steady her. The truth was, though he was better at hiding it, he felt exactly the same way. He wished they were alone so he could take her straight to bed. As it was, he had to adjust the coat of his morning suit to hide the blatant evidence of his desire.

  While they accepted the congratulations of their well-meaning friends, Cristiano hummed with impatience. As they enjoyed lunch in a private room of his hotel’s elegant restaurant, it was all he could do not to tell his friends to get the hell out.

  Midway through their friends’ champagne toasts, Cristiano could take it no longer. He cut them off, rising to his feet.

  “You’ll have to excuse us,” he said perfunctorily. “My bride is tired, and needs time for a nap before our flight to Rome.”

  Everyone looked at Hallie, who appeared astonished.

  “Thank you for coming,” Cristiano said firmly. Rising to his feet, he reached his hand out to Hallie. “Please feel free to stay as long as you want and order whatever you like.” He turned to the pregnant bridesmaid, who was holding Jack. The baby was happily smiling and clapping his hands. “Would you mind watching the baby for an hour?”

  “Sure,” she said, a glint of wicked amusement in her eyes.

  As he pulled his new bride out of the private dining room, he saw the bridesmaids look at each other with a knowing grin, and even Ares Kourakis gave him a smug smile, as if to say, See? It happened to you, too.

  Cristiano didn’t give a damn. After all this time, Hallie was his wife. She was his by right.

  He intended to make her so—in every way.

  “You were rude,” Hallie snapped once they were alone in the elevator. He pushed the button, then turned to her.

  “Do you want to go back and make my excuses?” he said in a low voice, running his hand softly over her ivory satin wedding gown, up her arm, to her neck, to her sensitive earlobe and her cheek. He felt her shiver.

  “You’re a brute,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he growled. “And now you’re mine.”

  “I’m not—”

  Lowering his head, he cut her off with a rough kiss. Pressing her against the wall, he cupped her breasts, kissing down her throat. With a soft gasp, she surrendered, closing her eyes as her head fell back. With her in his arms, he was lost in a sensual haze. He’d almost forgotten they were in an elevator when he heard the bell ding and the door slide open on the top floor.

  Lifting her in his arms, he carried her into the penthouse, kicking the door wide over the threshold. Once inside the bedroom, he set her down on her feet, letting her body slide slowly over his so she could feel how hard he was for her.

  “Mrs. Moretti,” he whispered, and felt her shiver at hearing her new name. In front of the windows revealing the shining New York skyline, with deliberate slowness Cristiano pulled out the pins holding her veil. Her lustrous dark hair fell tumbling down her shoulders.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said hoarsely.

  Reaching up, she loosened his tie. Her brown eyes were soft and inviting. Tossing his black morning coat on the white sofa, he pulled her in his arms.

  “You’re mine now, Hallie,” he said, fiercely searching her gaze. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Only if you admit you’re mine.”

 

“Yes,” he whispered. “Forever.”

  He lowered his mouth to hers, crushing her body against his own. Sensation and yearning and desire ripped through him, and in that moment he simply let go.

  Let go of his anger. His self-control. His reason. He let go of his need to guard himself from everyone and everything.

  All that mattered was her.

  All that mattered was this.

  He slowly unzipped her wedding dress, letting it drop to the floor. He took a ragged breath when he saw her in her wedding lingerie—a white lace bra and tiny panties that clung to her deliciously full hips.

  Lifting her up with a growl, he lowered her reverently onto the bed.

  Never taking his eyes off her, he loosened his platinum cuff links and unbuttoned his white shirt, then dropped it onto the floor. Pulling off his black trousers, he climbed beside her on the enormous bed, pulling her against his body.

  “I’ve wanted you so long,” he whispered.

  Her eyes were luminous, and, like a miracle, she lifted her lips to his.

  A rush of overwhelming need poured through him, and he crushed her violently against his hard body, plundering her mouth with his own. He yanked off his silk boxers, intending to roll her onto her back and push himself inside her, to impale with a single thrust.

  Then he remembered that he had to be gentle. Even though his body was raging with the need to take her, she’d just had his baby three months before. A low curse escaped his lips. He might be a brute, but he wasn’t a...a brute.

  Gentling his embrace, he lingered, naked against her lingerie-clad body, kissing her slowly and thoroughly. Their tongues touched and intertwined in their kiss until he heard her soft sigh, until he felt her body rise. He stroked her face, lightly kissing her forehead, then caressing slowly down her cheek to suckle her ear. He gloried as he felt her shiver beneath him.

  Moving down her body as she lay stretched on the bed, he cupped her breasts over the white lace, then with agonizing slowness, removed her bra. He nearly groaned at the sight of her magnificent breasts. He felt their naked weight, before he kissed down the sharp crevice between them, down to the sweet slope of her belly.

  For a moment, he teased her with the warmth of his breath. Then he moved lower, and lower still. Finally, gripping her hips, he lowered his head between her legs, teasing her thighs with his breath.

  Her hands gripped his shoulders, as if she were afraid of what he might do next, or afraid he might stop.

  He ran his tongue along the edge of her white lace panties, letting the tension build in her. Then he ripped the lace off her body entirely.

  Lowering his head, he tasted her, caressing her with the hot, slick pressure of his tongue. As she gasped beneath him, he spread her thighs wide with his hands. Ruthlessly, he pressed his mouth against her hot wet core, working the taut nub of her pleasure with his tongue. She gasped, then held her breath.

  Then...she exploded.

  Fierce joy filled him at seeing her ecstasy.

  Moving quickly, he covered her naked body with his own. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to hers, swaying his hips sensuously against hers. Still lost in pleasure, she accompanied him, her body rising anew. With deliberate slowness, he positioned himself between her legs. He watched her face, keeping himself under control as he finally pushed inside her, filling her inch by delicious inch. He heard her shocked gasp of pleasure. She wrapped her hands around his shoulders, pulling him down harder against her. And, with a groan, he obliged her, thrusting deeper until he was all the way inside her, all the way to her heart.

  * * *

  He was deep, so deep inside her.

  Still dazzled by the pleasure he’d given her with his mouth, Hallie moaned softly as he entranced her anew, filling her so completely. She tried to remember when she’d ever felt such intense pleasure. Even their first night together, as incredible as it had been, hadn’t been like this. What was the difference? Was it that they were wed, bonded together forever as man and wife?

  Or was it something more, something she felt in the deepest corner of her soul—that he belonged to her, and she to him?

  But, as he filled her so slowly and deeply, it wasn’t just her body that ached desperately for release.

  She wanted to love him.

  That was the one thing she couldn’t do. The one thing that could only lead to ruin: loving her husband.

  For a moment, she looked up at his handsome face looming over hers, at his heartbreaking dark eyes. She closed her eyes, turning away as he kissed slowly down her throat.

  Slowly, deliberately, he began to ride her. And all she wanted was more. She gasped, clutching at the white comforter beneath her, wrapping her legs around his hips. His thrusts seared her, hard and deep.

  Gripping her shoulders, he pushed into her with increasing roughness until their bodies were sweaty, their limbs tangled. Her fingernails tightened into his shoulders, her back rising off the bed, until she exploded, flying even higher than before, higher than she’d ever imagined. Pleasure overwhelmed her in waves so intense she almost blacked out.

  With a low growl, he thrust one last time, then roared as he exploded with her.

  Gasping, they clutched each other, eyes closed. She struggled to catch her breath. He collapsed beside her, holding her as if she were the only thing that existed. They held each other, tangled in the shadowy bed, for what could have been minutes or hours.

  When Hallie finally opened her eyes, she saw Cristiano was pulling away from her, sitting up.

  “Don’t leave,” she pleaded, reaching for him. “We still have a few hours.”

  He smiled down at her, taking her hand and kissing it tenderly. “It would be good to arrive in Rome early. My jet is already waiting. We should go.”

  “But our friends...”

  “Our friends will understand.” Leaning down, he kissed her naked shoulder with a sudden wicked grin. “And there’s a bedroom on my jet.”

  Shivering with need, exhausted with desire, Hallie grinned at him. She blushed, shocked at her own wantonness.

  Lowering his head to kiss her one last time, he whispered, “You are magnificent, Mrs. Moretti.” Getting up from the bed, he headed for the en suite shower.

  Once he left her, she felt suddenly cold, bereft. She wanted him back in bed. Beside her. For always. And not just that.

  With an intake of breath, Hallie realized how easy it would be to give her husband—the man who’d told her outright that he could never love her—not just her body, but her soul.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AS THE ROLLS-ROYCE drove from the private airport into the crowded and winding streets of Rome, Hallie’s head was twisting right and left. She knew she was gaping like a fish, but she didn’t care.

  After five years in New York, she’d thought no city could easily impress her; yet she’d never seen anything so beautiful, so decadent, so ancient, as the Eternal City.

  She looked out the window at a red sports car zipping by, at a young girl in a scarf clinging to a smiling boy on the back of a cherry-colored moped. Down the street, she saw a passionate young couple gesticulating angrily at each other in front of a sidewalk café, before the man swept the woman up into a hungry kiss.

  Roma. Hallie felt the city like a thunderbolt. It was like, she thought, a huge, sexy party, with food, wine and dancing—all on top of an ancient tomb. The city itself seemed to cry out: Take every bit of joy today, for someday you will not be at the party, but below it.

  “What do you think?” Cristiano looked at her over the baby’s seat in the back of the limo.

  She shivered at the frank sensuality of his gaze. She could hardly believe that she was his wife. Cristiano was her husband. Good thing, too. What he’d done to her last night...

  After their passionate interlude at the penthouse, they’d made good use of that bedroom on his private jet. Any time the baby slept, he drew her into his bed, into shockingly sensual delights so new she still shook at the memory.

  He smiled, his eyes amused, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking about.

  Blushing, she turned back toward her window, marveling as their Rolls-Royce sped down slender, crowded roads, following traffic laws she didn’t understand. They’d been met at the airport that morning by their new Italian driver, who was called Marco, and new bodyguard, Salvatore. She gaped as they drove past one incredible ancient monument and cathedral after another. Finally, they arrived at the Campania Hotel Rome, a magnificent Mediterranean-style edifice near the top of the Spanish Steps.

  Tilting back her head, she gaped when she got out of the Rolls, staring up at the glamorous hotel. She held her breath as she turned to see the view. All of Rome was at their feet.

  “Like it?” Cristiano murmured lazily.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Of course you have not.” He grinned, looking pleased. “Campania is the best luxury hotel brand in the world. And the Campania Roma is the best of them all.”

  As Marco and Salvatore collected their bags, Hallie and Cristiano strolled hand in hand. Baby Jack, pushed by his father in the stroller, didn’t seem nearly as impressed by their surroundings. He chewed on the stuffed giraffe clipped to his shirt.

  Hallie looked down at the letters imprinted on a manhole cover near the sidewalk. “What is SPQR?”

  “It’s Latin. Senatus populusque Romanus—the Senate and People of Rome. You’ll see the emblem everywhere in the city.”

  “Wow. This city is really old,” she said in awe, and flashed him a grin. “Almost as old as you.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Am I old?”

  She liked teasing him about the eleven-year difference between them. She countered, “You’re teaching me Latin now?”

  His dark eyes simmered. “Let me take you to our room, cara. And I’ll teach you other things. All night long.”

  Her cheeks burned as a smiling, dark-eyed doorman held open the hotel door. Pushing the stroller ahead of them, they walked into the soaring lobby.

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