There was no turning back. Marco looked down at Carly, whose unsmiling eyes gazed nervously up at him.
“Go on, mate,” came a verbal nudge from one of the wedding guests.
A hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “Better do as we’re told,” he said and lowered his head.
“No…” Carly began, but he covered her mouth with his, flaring an instant ardor in his loins. He meant the kiss to be brief, simply to satisfy their audience, but realized he needed to satisfy himself and couldn’t pull away even if he’d wanted to.
And he certainly didn’t want to.
Wrapping his arms around her, he tilted her head up to his. His lips seared a path over hers, seeking, teasing them apart and, as the tip of his tongue brushed against her sweet, moist mouth, a ripple of heat ricocheted through his body, making him shudder. He pulled back a fraction and murmured against her hair. “You taste of heaven.”
Her touch. Her perfume. The taste of her. Everything was a potent aphrodisiac and sent his body on a tidal wave of discovery. Again, his lips sought hers.
“Aw, heck, how long does he have to kiss her for?” Carly’s nephew Bryce’s childish voice interrupted.
Titters of laughter echoed around the cathedral and, with more reluctance than Marco wanted to admit, he pulled away. The simple fact that Carly’s breathing was as labored as his own gave him a small measure of satisfaction.
“Ready?” he asked, trying to steady the adrenaline pumping in his veins, wondering briefly if he was fighting a lost cause.
Flush-faced, his wife nodded mutely, but she kept her eyes downcast. Gently, Marco folded her arm into the crook of his and guided her down the marbled aisle and outside as family and friends crowded around.
There was a tug at his jacket, and he glanced down to see Carly’s nephew. “That kissing stuff. Looked like you enjoyed it.”
Aware Carly had stilled at his side and watched his every move, he crouched down to the young lad. “Well, son, it’s like this. Kissing can be fun. However, it’s something that requires a lot of practice.”
“Do you?” the boy asked.
“Do I what?”
“Practice. Don’t look too much fun to me, all that slobbering. Yuck.”
Marco chuckled and stood, his hand resting on the tangled mop of Bryce’s curls. “Well, look at it this way. You don’t have to start for a long time, so keep to playing with snails and puppy dogs’ tails for a while longer.” He gave Bryce a knowledgeable wink.
Seemingly satisfied, Bryce gave Marco the thumbs up in return and tottered off towards his cousins.
“Good answer. You have a knack with children,” Carly congratulated him.
“Do I?”
“Bryce seems satisfied.”
“At least someone is satisfied with me.”
The throb in Carly’s head increased with every passing minute. She wanted to escape, to be anywhere but at her wedding reception. She didn’t feel remotely like celebrating. Besides, who celebrated a marriage of convenience? Instead, she stood in the corner watching the merriment of others. It left her cold. Her sisters ignored their rambunctious children and left them to their own games while her mother latched onto Chad Burns, filling him in on every explicit and sordid detail of her life story.
In the past Carly would have cringed with embarrassment, but now she didn’t care. She’d had too many years fostering her family’s every whim, propping up her mother and caring for her siblings on her small and inexperienced shoulders, until one day she’d had enough and rebelled. She’d gotten out of the trap. Strength and determination saved her sanity and from a life of being at everyone’s call.
She was successful. Life was good.
Okay, so she was married to someone who didn’t love her. She could handle that. Unrequited love would be enough, she hoped. Besides, watching Marco interact with her nephew had eased her mind considerably. He would make a good father. Forget the good husband. That wasn’t important.
But Carly ignored her inner voice and, as the car drew up, Chad ushered her and Marco to the waiting limousine. Everyone crowded ’round, their voices loud and grating on her already overstretched nerves.
She got in and moved swiftly to the far side, followed by Marco. He said nothing, merely gave her one of his imperious glares he was so good at.
“Not the happy couple scene I thought you’d want to impart on the family, Mrs. Valente.”
Carly looked the other way and stared out the window. Bryce stood watching. He gave her the thumbs up, and she replied with a fleeting smile. But the moment the car drove away, the heavy layer of sadness she’d fought all day broke the flood banks and enveloped her in its gloom.
Second by second, as the car eased into the city traffic, Carly’s sense of desperation escalated. Cocooned by the exotic aroma of leather seats, mingling with the heady spice of Marco’s cologne teasing her senses, she couldn’t fight the way her body reacted to Marco.
She had to get away. Leaning forward, she tapped the window between the driver and herself. “Drop me off at High Street.”
Marco jerked around to face her, his expression narrowed and hooded. “Where the hell are you going?”
“I want to go to the office.” Carly was ready to go back to work. She needed to.
“I should have known.” He sneered. “A woman who works on a beach with a laptop would certainly want to work on her wedding day. I presume that’s the reason you changed into a suit. Off with the wedding dress and back to reality.” He gave her a withering, glacial look. “Far be it from me to suggest we spend some time together.” He gave the driver a nod, and the car turned at the next intersection.
Satisfied they were heading in the right direction, Carly relaxed and, once curbside, the driver opened the door for her. But she didn’t move. She wanted Marco to say, “Stop, don’t go,” pull her into his arms and declare his undying love. She twisted on the seat and looked into his face. It was hard as granite, his gaze so bleak it sent a shiver down her spine.
“Your office awaits, Mrs. Valente.” Marco’s scathing retort killed her hopes.
Fairy tales don’t exist. Haven’t you learned that yet?
Disappointment and defeat cut through Carly’s heart. She battled to contain it. Head held high, she blinked back the threat of tears and bit her bottom lip to stop herself from trembling. With as much dignity as she could muster, she exited the car, but before she had time to straighten her skirt, Marco yanked the door closed behind her, and the car sped off, leaving her alone.
Alone on her wedding day.
Well, wasn’t that she wanted?
Of course it was. She wanted the safety of her office, her work and the things she knew and understood, not the feelings and emotions playing havoc with her senses.
Didn’t she?
Stoically, Carly walked into her office. It was empty.
She was married and she was alone. Somehow, she’d made the two things that weren’t meant to go together synonymous.
Slumped in a chair, she dropped her head into her arms and finally gave in to the tears she’d forcibly held back all day. One by one they trailed down her cheeks. Soulful tears, heart-wrenching sobs full of pain and hurt and every emotion she’d ever felt, ever owned and denied. They rose to the surface, brutal and unrelenting. Yet there was no one to hear it, no one to comfort her.
Just like her whole life.
“It’s okay, baby,” she whispered. “I love you.” Carly caressed her stomach. “Your daddy will love you. He just doesn’t love me, that’s all.”
Chapter Eleven
Carly took the lift to the penthouse. The butterflies in her stomach were definitely not rioting because she hadn’t eaten all day. Her nerves were as taut as a high wire. Any slack and she’d probably crumple to the floor.
The lift came to a halt with a soft hiss.
“Here we go. Shoulders back,” she muttered as she stepped into the lobby. Swiping her key tag in the locking system, she ope
ned the door.
He’s a man, that’s all. Just a man.
He’s my husband.
Marco’s sharp, deriding tone attacked her as soon as she entered. “So, you decided to come home. Work all done, is it?”
“There’s always work to be done.”
“Si.” Marco shrugged and gulped the last of his brandy. “Work is so important.”
Carly tried to brush past him, but his hand snaked around her wrist. He held her fast, and she bit back a cry as a wave of heat radiated from his firm grasp and thundered through her veins. “Work is my life,” she confirmed.
“And our baby is not?”
“Of course it’s important.”
“But not the marriage.”
“Marriage? This isn’t a marriage, Marco. Your threat determined that. This is a deal to make a family for our child. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine.”
“Which is?”
“My business. I’ve not worked for years to let it slide away. I intend to keep working. I won’t let you take from me all I’ve worked for.”
“And you intend to tag the baby along with you?”
Her shoulders sagged, and she fought off a rush of exhaustion. “I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”
His hold on her dropped away. “Alone, I take it.”
“We had a deal.”
“We did. A marriage with two bedrooms.”
“I didn’t force this situation.”
“So you keep reminding me. But you came nevertheless.”
“I came because you blackmailed me.” Carly clamped her lips firmly closed. She wasn’t about to tell him her other reasons. Why put herself through that much hurt?
Marco stepped away and picked up a magnificent bouquet of roses from a side table. Dozens of them in every color and shade imaginable. “These are for you.”
Tentatively, Carly took them from him, mindful her fingers didn’t touch his. At all costs, she had to keep away from him—touching him had always been her downfall. She bent and inhaled their heady fragrance. “They’re divine.”
“Si.” His voice was thick and full of velvety promise and stirred an instant nervousness, amplified as her gaze locked with his.
“Thank you.”
“Wait, there’s more.” He handed her a gold-wrapped box.
“You sound like the man from television, hawking his wares.”
“That’s good.”
“What is?”
“You’re smiling. A wedding day, no matter what the circumstances, should at least see a smile on the bride’s face, hmm?”
Carly’s fingers trembled as she undid the silk ribbon and lifted the lid. “Chocolates.” Her stomach rumbled at the sight of food, reminding her she hadn’t eaten for hours.
No good for a baby.
Awash with guilt, she tucked the box under one arm and carried the flowers in the other. “Thanks, Marco. It’s a nice gesture.”
“Nice. I seem to have heard that word from you before.”
The corners of her lips twitched. “I presume the champagne is for you,” she said, pointing to the large bottle of bubbly still on the table.
Marco glanced at the bottle and back at her. “Si. No alcohol for you or baby,” he said sternly.
She laughed. “You’ve been reading up on daddy stuff.”
Color suffused his cheeks, and she realized she’d hit the jackpot. It took her by surprise.
But Marco hovered, his closeness disconcerting. His eyes darkened, face etched with the lines of a man with something on his mind. A hitch of uncertainty captured Carly.
Finally, he spoke. “I have something I wish to ask you.”
Carly feigned exhaustion, though it wasn’t far from the truth. But she didn’t want any more confrontation. Not now. “Can’t it wait, Marco? I’m beat.”
“No, it can’t. I want a…”
Her heartbeat stopped. “A divorce?”
All color drained from his face. “Never. I will not have my child tossed from parent to parent. No, Carly, not divorce, but we cannot live as two people who pass in the night, with never a civil word.”
Carly watched the play of emotions flicker across her husband’s face. Suspicion was powerful, and she steadied herself for the onslaught of disaster. Marriage to a man who didn’t love her, a man she ached to touch and couldn’t allow herself to, was more than she could bear. And the future, knowing he would find release with other women, even if discreetly, was too overwhelming to consider.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked, although she really wasn’t courageous enough to want to know the answer.
“I want a truce.”
Was that all? Carly’s relief was absolute, and she sagged against the door. “All right,” she agreed and turned to escape to her room, to shut out the pure physical attraction Marco’s presence caused—lest she cave in.
“Before you go,” he cautioned, and she halted. Her eyes shuttered for a moment. “This is for you.” Marco held out a large white envelope. She looked questioningly at it then at him, but his eyes were hooded, veiling any expression.
She took it.
“Open it.”
Her heart thudded and her throat tightened as she tore it open. She pulled out a cream and gold folder.
“A contract for the interior design of all the new CV Hotels,” he informed her.
Carly’s legs buckled beneath her. “Do you think I married you to get the contract?”
“Didn’t you?” he asked, his tone hard-edged.
Hadn’t she?
No! No! No!
She held the contract to her chest. “Why, Marco?”
“You’re the best designer around. I want the best. I wanted you.”
She nodded. He thought her the best. Her spirits soared.
For a few drawn-out minutes, his words hung thickly between them, the air crackling with tension.
“The best,” she whispered.
“Si.”
But it was the words he left unsaid which disturbed her, ingratiating themselves into her conscious. Wanted. He said wanted—past tense. Tears pricked her eyes and she felt a thick cord choking her, cutting off all air. Perhaps Marco had wanted her once, but now his words intimated that was in the past.
He’d screwed up—again. Big time. Marco’s muttered curses rent the air as he paced his home office.
It had been her tears that got to him. Soft, silent tears that slid down her face.
Carly had thought she’d hidden them from him. But no—he’d seen them, and it tore at his gut—and his heart. Yes, he would admit it. She’d gotten to him, and in more ways than one.
That she obviously thought him an ogre, forcing her into marriage, was of little consequence.
He could handle being hated.
But being loved would be infinitely better. Marco had tried to tell himself it was for the baby’s sake, but even if he was only slightly honest with himself, that wasn’t the whole truth. Not by a long shot.
But the truth scared the hell out of him, made him react. And reaction made Carly cry.
Damn it.
He wasn’t an ogre, wasn’t some mean-spirited bastard bludgeoning others to do his bidding.
Was he?
Marco tempered that question and refused to answer it, though he acknowledged his actions were a prime rendition of caveman tactics.
He knew Carly must be going through hell with all the emotional and hormonal changes, realizing she was pregnant, wondering about her future.
Wasn’t that where he came in?
The fact was, somewhere deep down inside him, a primal instinct to protect had reared itself, taking him totally and utterly by surprise. It shocked him. It terrified him.
Marco eyed the papers that littered his desk. Unable to concentrate because of the visions replaying in his brain, work was anathema to him.
Carly in paradise.
Carly in his arms.
Carly kissing him as his wife.
She had t
aken his breath away as she walked up the aisle, but it hadn’t been until that moment, as he released a breath all pent up and expectant, that he’d realized his fear. Would she turn up?
But she had, and now they were married. For better or worse.
Chapter Twelve
“Tell me I don’t look like a beached whale,” Carly wailed as she tried on a maternity dress two months later.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re blooming,” Daphne chirped.
“Fat, frumpy, and…”
“No. Never say that. Enjoy your baby, even before it comes. Some people never get the chance at all.”
Carly’s lips pursed. “True. I shouldn’t be so careless with my words. I’m lucky,” she admitted. And she was. She felt so very lucky. “I admit it was a shock at first, but after reality set in, I really am loving every moment.”
Liar.
“Is Marco taking care of you?”
Carly’s gaze lowered. She didn’t want to tell the truth. “Oh, he’s fine.” Well, as far as she knew he was.
“You don’t sound so sure.” Daphne looked directly at her, and Carly felt the older woman’s intuitive gaze. Her heart plummeted. So far they’d managed to fool everyone. Their marriage had been hailed the wedding of the year. What a joke.
“Having a baby is new for both of us. It takes time to get used to, I suppose…” Carly’s excuse trailed off.
She spied the small pile of color samples in the bag next to her handbag and brightened. “The plans are almost ready for the hotel at the Viaduct,” she said, changing the subject.
Daphne’s brows rose. “You are a wonderful woman, Carly Valente, and clever to boot. Marco did right choosing you.”
“Well, my designs seem to fit the style the hotel wishes to project.”
A spirited chuckle burst from Daphne. “Oh, no, dear, I don’t mean the design work, although it’s true, you are a master, or should that be mistress, in that field. No, what I meant was Marco did right to fall in love with you. How could he not?”
Okay, so they’d called a truce, which she supposed was going well. Marco spent very little time in her presence, and when he did, it was usually to do with work. Night after night she cried herself to sleep, the old sense of aloneness all enveloping, crushing her spirit.
Romeo for Hire Page 15
