Romeo for Hire

by Jane Beckenham

  She should be happy.

  Nothing had changed.

  Later that day, shopping bags from some of the best stores in town littered her bed. Carly eyed them with contempt. Okay, so they were expensive, but money and fancy clothes weren’t making her happy.

  Needing some decadence time, she retreated to the bathroom and began to run the bath. She reached for a bottle of pearly rose bath oil and poured a generous amount into the bath and ensured the water was lukewarm. It may have been an old wives’ tale about bath water being too hot for a pregnant woman, but Carly wasn’t about to take any chances.

  With the fragrant aroma wafting up from the water, soothing her frazzled nerves, she eased into the bath and let out a heavy sigh as its warmth succored her tired and aching body. Her hand trailed over her stomach. It was a very definite bump now and her breasts were fuller. Eyelids drifting closed, she began to relax and tried to forget everything, mindless to every sound around her. Time, for now at least, meant nothing.

  “What?” Her eyes shot open, and her hand dropped to her belly. There it was again. A dig in her stomach, soft and fluttery, just like a tickle. She stared down in awe at her little bulge. Again, harder. “Oh, my!” she all but shouted. Her baby had moved. She smiled, and a joyous tingle of tears cascaded down her cheeks. Her baby.

  “What’s going on? Are you okay?” Marco burst into the bathroom, giving Carly such a fright she slipped and slithered beneath the bubbles. A firm hand grasped her under the arms and yanked her upward. She came up spluttering, spitting out soapy water.

  “What did you do that for?” she accused.

  “You were drowning. Why the hell didn’t you wait until I got home if you wanted to have a bath?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because… Damn it, Carly, what are you trying to do, drown the baby and yourself?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re overreacting. The baby kicked. That’s all.”

  “Kicked?”

  “Yes. It’s what babies do. You barging in here frightened the life out of me and I slipped under the water. If you want to get rid of me that much, drowning would…” Carly stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes widened and focused on one spot. She couldn’t drag her gaze away as a practically bare-chested Marco knelt beside the bath, the broad, muscled chest revealed by the gap in his partially unbuttoned shirt now covered in tiny, glistening bubbles. Carly slapped a soapy hand over her mouth, trying to stifle a fit of giggles. “Oh, Marco. You look so pretty. Bubbles suit you. They soften the fierce exterior.”

  “I’ll give you bubbles,” he threatened with mock severity, but his eyes crinkled at the corners, mouth twitching with humor.

  Carly licked her lips, suddenly aware of the heat burning between them. “Dare you.”

  “Oh, I dare.” He reached for the sponge and soap and began a slow and rhythmic circle across her slick and very sensitive skin. It was erotic in the extreme, and her nipples peaked under the surface of the still steamy water.

  “Lean forward a little,” he instructed. She did as she was told. “Very nice. A wife who is obedient.”

  She bit back a retort, not wanting to destroy the moment. Instead, she concentrated on his touch, closing her eyes as he trailed the sponge down her back. But when the tips of his fingers teased with delicious delight over her sensitive skin, she felt as if she was burning alive, her body strumming with intensity. Every nerve cell tingled as she succumbed to his ministrations.

  Then he kissed her, a slow, thoughtful kiss, tentative and teasing, sending shivers of desire racing down her spine.

  Carly thought she’d died and gone to heaven and let out a joyous sigh. Her lips parted a fraction. It was the invitation Marco needed, and his tongue began to trace the soft edges of her mouth, dancing with hers, hungrily seeking her response.

  Time stood still, had no meaning. But when she shivered as the bathwater cooled, Marco gently lifted her out, water streaming in a cascade around them, puddling on the floor. She ignored it all. She had eyes only for her husband. For Marco.

  Marco snatched at one of the huge, fluffy bath sheets from the heated towel rail and wrapped her in it. His fingers trailed across her full breasts. Nothing had prepared her for their erotic sensitivity, and she gazed down in wonder. Her nipples were tinged a delicate shade of pink, hard and aching with need. He bent his lips to her breasts, suckling one pebble-hard tip, a caress, velvet on silk, intoxicating as it sliced through her last vestige of calm.

  Marco’s arousal pressed fully against the length of her, taut beneath the constrictions of the trousers he wore. Carly shivered.

  She felt fully alive, her body on fire, pulsating and vibrant beneath his touch. She wanted him.

  “Cara mia, you’ll get cold.”

  Carly heard the passion in his voice and smiled. It matched her own. “Cold? I’m on fire.”

  With her cradled in his arms, he sought her lips once more. It was a demanding kiss, firing her yearning with a mastery she’d thought she would never feel again. Holding her close, he carried her to her bed and laid her gently before him.

  Suddenly, Carly felt vulnerable and unsure. Exposing her heart, her love for her husband, brought such pain she wasn’t sure if she could cope with the heartache of loving him. She started to cover herself with the large towel.

  “No.” Marco’s fingers halted her hand, resting against her breast. “Don’t cover yourself. Don’t hide from me.”

  Her lips quivered. She wanted Marco desperately. She wanted to love him one more time.

  “Is it safe for the baby?” he asked.

  She nodded. She couldn’t wait.

  Marco began to undress—slowly—sending Carly’s temperature skyrocketing, her senses in a whirl of delicious torment.

  First, his shirt, the flick of the buttons as he undid them a thunderous applause in the potent silence surrounding them.

  Next, the buckle of his trousers.

  Carly’s throat thickened, her lips suddenly parched. She looked away, unsure of the heat that flooded through every part of her.

  “No, look at me. I need to see your eyes on me.”

  She turned to face him. His eyes glittered with the golden glints she remembered so well, and it thrilled her to see such desire mirrored in those eyes.

  Naked, he was a superb male, his blatant need for her leaving her in no doubt whatsoever. He eased his long frame beside her onto the bed and pulled her to him, cradling her in his embrace.

  Carly let out a fulfilled sigh.

  “It’s good?” he asked.

  She simply nodded. She couldn’t speak. Only feel. And it felt wonderful, glorious. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled his head down to her. “Don’t talk. Love me, Marco. Love me now.”

  “I’m a very obedient husband,” he whispered.

  “Good.”

  He dragged her onto him, and she felt the entire length of his body hard against hers, making her tingle with anticipation. Levering herself so she sat astride him, she trailed her fingers over the wiry hair of his chest, tugging ever so gently at the fine, ebony curls. His eyes closed, and a burst of laughter bubbled up from deep within. “Nice?” she asked.

  “Nice doesn’t seem adequate.”

  Carly’s eyebrows rose at his admission. “That’s good. Very good.”

  His large, bronzed hands cupped her breasts, the broad, flat pads of his thumbs rubbing repeatedly over her swollen nipples. A shudder shot through her. She was ready to explode.

  It had been too long since she’d been in his arms. Far too long.

  She remembered his touch, every nuance of his body, the undulating curve of his ribs, the texture of his delicious skin and the feel of him inside her. Carly’s eyes fluttered closed. She wanted it all.

  But when Marco chuckled, a deep throaty laugh, her eyes flicked open. “You shall have all you desire.”

  With a hand on either side of her hips, he lifted her a fraction before letting her slide down his swollen length. He let o
ut a deep, appreciative sigh. “Cara, you have returned home. Where you should be, in my arms, my bed.”

  One part of Carly wanted this, yet her brain warned her. She chose to ignore it, her aching need for him too intense.

  “Home feels good.” Her body purred, and she began to rock in rhythm with him, the soft peaks smoldering, intensifying until they melded together as one. She clung to Marco, his mouth seeking hers in a fierce, possessive kiss, his tongue imitating their joining. Together they rode the wave of passion and reached the crest, Marco exploding into her in one long, shuddering wave while her orgasm splintered into a thousand sensations beyond thought. Only feelings.

  This, Carly believed without a doubt, was where she belonged—in Marco’s arms.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Weeks flew by. She was ecstatic. With an attentive and oh-so-very loving Marco taking her in his arms, holding her until they fell asleep, life was good.

  Carly eyed the world outside her office. The color schemes for the hotels were all in place, and everything was set for the first hotel.

  She let out a contented sigh and patted her stomach. “Everything’s going to be okay, bubs.”

  Marco had come with her to the scan, but both had decided not to ask the baby’s sex. To those around them, the Valente marriage was the epitome of success. Only one thing was missing.

  Love.

  She had long ago forgiven him for his intimidation, realizing she would have married him regardless. She loved him. It was as simple, and as complicated, as that.

  He made love to her with an intensity that belied all reasoning, but not once had he uttered a single word about loving her. But, like a beggar who craved food, she would take whatever was offered while vowing not to open her heart. She kept her own counsel—for self-preservation.

  She prayed it was enough.

  Her phone rang, and she swiftly picked it up. “Hello.”

  “Meet me downstairs.”

  “Marco?”

  “You were expecting another lover?”

  Carly swallowed and bit her tongue, lest she give away her heart. There would never, ever be another lover. Only him.

  “I’m downstairs waiting.” The phone line went dead.

  She stared at the receiver for a fraction of a second before reacting and dropping the phone on her desk. She called to Tansy. “I’m going out,” she almost shouted.

  Tansy winked at her enthusiastically. “A midday assignation with that hunk of yours?”

  Carly felt a telltale heat color her cheeks. She offered a smile, but said nothing.

  She grabbed a bag and raced for the door as quickly as her growing size allowed. Marco wanted her at his side. She wasn’t going to waste a minute of this special time—in case it ended.

  She saw him the moment she stepped outside. He leaned against one of the large, blue glazed pots that housed an assortment of geraniums and trailing ivy. Marco Valente was a man everyone noticed. He drew people to him like a magnet. More than once she’d witnessed women fawning over him, despite the fact she stood at his side.

  For weeks now, though, she’d been receiving odd phone calls. They were incessant. She was certain it was Rosaria, but had decided to say nothing to Marco about his ex-girlfriend and her attachment to the phone.

  Marco hugged her to him. “I thought a little retail therapy appropriate.”

  “I don’t need anything.”

  One darkly angled brow rose as he looked at her with amusement glittering in his eyes. “Did I mention you? I think our baby could do with a few items, hmm?”

  “But…”

  “Humor me?” he teased.

  “Never let it be said I turned down an opportunity to shop.”

  Marco joined in her laughter. “Typical woman. Especially when it’s someone else’s money.”

  It was as if he’d doused her in ice, freezing her blood and heart. Marco seemed to sense the change and stopped walking. He held up his hands in surrender. “Joke!”

  “Oh. Ha, ha.” She tried to find the humor, but failed. “I’m not a gold digger, Marco. I earn my own money and have never had to rely on any man. I rely on myself.”

  Not daring to look at him in case she lost her temper further, Carly walked ahead. Right now she didn’t care whether he followed or not.

  Who was she trying to kid?

  Several hours later, laden with shopping bags, she turned to Marco. “Talk about shop till you drop. I’m ready to do just that.” She gave him a rueful smile.

  Concern etched his face. “I’m a fool. I forget the most important thing. Our baby needs its rest.”

  The most important thing?

  Not her.

  Sadness swaddled Carly’s heart and she struggled to keep her gaze steady. Inwardly, she tried to rationalize his statement. She was being pedantic, childish, hormonal. Of course the baby was the most important thing. That Marco had bought every single title in the shop hadn’t failed to impress her. This baby was important to him. But just for once, she wished she could be the most important thing in his life because trying to ignore the hurtful emotions such an admission dug up was proving harder every day.

  As she set the table for dinner later that evening, Carly tried to extinguish the heavy sense of foreboding that had been with her since they’d returned from the shopping expedition.

  She flicked a quick gaze toward the room designated as the nursery. The painters had finished the artwork, and it was full to the brim with every conceivable baby gadget.

  Marco stood at the stove and lifted the lid from cast iron casserole. “Smells good.”

  “Just like a kid, can’t wait,” she admonished.

  “Baby, I can never wait.”

  Carly didn’t ask what for because, as usual, there seemed to be too much left unsaid and she was too scared to ask.

  During dinner, Marco regaled her with humorous tales. Not once did he mention his childhood, however. She couldn’t understand it. Daphne was such a lovely woman. She knew Marco’s father had died young, when Marco was barely a toddler. That was certainly where their lives were in tandem.

  When Marco offered to tidy up the kitchen, Carly went and put her feet up on the sofa. She gazed out into the dark night and across the inky sway of the harbor.

  “I bet you never realized how domesticated I could be,” he called from the kitchen.

  “Actually, if I remember right, you did pretty well on the island. Keep it up, a girl could get used to it.” Just then, her dear, nearly-to-be-born child gave her a kick. “Ouch.”

  Marco was at her side in the flicker of an eye. “What’s the matter?”

  She gave him a beaming smile. “The baby is playing baseball tonight.”

  Marco wiped his damp hands on a cloth and dropped to his knees. Gently, almost timidly as if he was scared, he rested a hand on her stomach. The baby kicked repeatedly, and he burst into a broad smile, his laughter infectious as she joined in. “Perhaps he tries for the soccer World Cup.”

  “He could be a she.”

  “Si, a beauty like her mother,” he said, trailing a finger down her cheek. It was a purely magical moment, and Carly dipped her head sideways as Marco cupped her head, fingers smoothing the toss of her wayward curls.

  “You say the nicest things.”

  “I’m a nice guy.”

  Carly stared up at her husband. Nice guy. Oh, he sure was. But exactly how nice, she wasn’t going to say. Not yet. Maybe one day. Sometime. First, she needed to trust his heart—and hers.

  The shrill peal of the phone echoed in the silence. Carly wished it would go away, but its persistence forced her awake. Groggily, she struggled upright and snatched up the phone. “Hello.”

  “Get Marco.”

  “Marco?”

  “Are you dumb as well as pregnant?”

  “Rosaria?”

  “Who else. Get him on the phone now!”

  Carly froze. Was her intuition correct, had Rosaria been her phantom caller? “Before I do as yo
u ask, answer me one thing. Have you been phoning me, saying nothing?”

  There was a moment of hesitation at the other end. Carly knew the answer without hearing it.

  At her side, Marco stirred. “Who is it?”

  “Your ex-girlfriend. She needs you.” Carly tossed the phone at him and, as he switched from English to Italian, a wave of panic swelled in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t be certain what was said, but one thing was certain: the sultry Italian was upset and demanding.

  Marco’s expression dulled, and he turned away from her. Carly wanted to screech, “No, don’t.” Her hands covered her stomach as if to prevent her baby from seeing its father turning to another woman.

  Minutes seemed to last forever until finally, Marco switched off the phone and climbed out of bed. He disappeared into the bathroom, taking the phone with him and closing the door. She heard the beep of Marco punching numbers into the phone and his muffled voice through the door.

  In that single moment, Carly’s heart tore apart, her dreams and hopes dying.

  Seconds later, a grim-faced Marco reappeared. “Rosaria needs me. I have to go.”

  “Needs you? Doesn’t she have other friends?”

  “She’s an old friend.”

  “Friend being the operative word here. Try lover.”

  But Marco ignored her taunt. “Old friends help each other.”

  “So you go running to your lover, leaving your very pregnant wife to cope alone.”

  “You’re very capable, cara mia.”

  Hearing the endearment on his lips nearly undid Carly, but when he returned to their room fully dressed, her resolve was fueled. “And she’s not?”

  “Rosaria is distraught, her…” Marco’s voice trailed off and he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

  “Call her back. Tell her you can’t come, find someone else.”

  “You’re being unreasonable.”

  “Am I? You come and go as you please. Never mind your wife, she’s tough. I mean, look at the rabble-rouser family she comes from. You’re right. I don’t need you. Go to your lover.” Carly knew she sounded like a fishwife, but…damn it, she cared. She wished she didn’t.