Marrying the Italian: The Marcolini Blackmail Marriage / The Valtieri Marriage Deal / The Italian Doctor's Bride

But even without the threat of Isaac facing the authorities, Claire suspected she was in too deep now to extricate herself. She couldn’t quite get rid of the nagging fear she had got her wires twisted over his alleged affair with Daniela Garza. If so, she had ruined both of their lives by impulsively leaving him. The very thing she lectured her brother Isaac on time and time again was the very thing she most hated in herself: acting before thinking. How would she ever be able to forgive herself if she had got it wrong?

Antonio skilfully turned her out of the way of another couple on the dance floor, his arms protective around her. ‘You look pensive, cara,’ he said. ‘Is something troubling you?’

Claire worried her bottom lip with her teeth, finally releasing it to look up at him. ‘If you weren’t having an affair with Daniela, why didn’t you share the same bed as me after we lost the baby? You never came to me—not once.’

His expression tightened, as if pulled by invisible strings underneath his skin. ‘That was because I thought it better to leave you to rest for the first couple of days, without me taking calls from the hospital late at night and disturbing you. It was clear after a while that you did not want me to rejoin you. You seemed to want to blame me for everything. I was damned no matter what I did, or what I said or did not say.’

Claire felt the dark cavern of her grief threatening to open up and swallow her all over again. He was right—she had blamed him for distancing himself. But hadn’t she done the very same thing? She had been so lost, so shell-shocked at her loss, it had made it so hard for her to reach out to him for comfort. She had wanted to, many times, but when he’d taken to sleeping in the spare room, or staying overnight at the hospital, she had lain in the sparse loneliness of the bed they had shared and cried until her eyes had been almost permanently red-rimmed and swollen.

She had never seen him shed a single tear for their tiny daughter. She knew people grieved in different ways, but Antonio and his family had all seemed much the same in dealing with the stillbirth. They’d simply got on with their lives as if nothing had happened. Apart from the first day after Claire came out of hospital the baby had never been mentioned—or at least not in Claire’s presence. There had been a brief christening in the hospital, but there had been no funeral. Antonio’s parents had not thought it appropriate, and in the abyss of her grief she had gone along with their decision because she had not wanted to face the heartbreaking drama of seeing a tiny coffin carried into a church. It had only been later, once she was back in Australia, that she had felt ready to give her daughter a special place to rest.

The music had stopped, and Claire grasped at the chance to visit the ladies’ room to restore some sort of order to her emotions. She mumbled something to Antonio about needing to touch up her lipgloss and, conscious of his gaze following her every step of the way, made her way to the exit.

She locked herself inside one of the cubicles in the ladies’ room and took several deep breaths, her throat tight and her eyes aching with the bitter tears of regret.

For all this time she had relished placing the blame for the collapse of their relationship on Antonio. She had so firmly believed he had betrayed her. But in hindsight she could see how immature and foolish she had been right from the start. She had been no more ready for marriage than he had; she had been too young—not just in years, but in terms of worldly experience. He at least had had the maturity to accept responsibility for the pregnancy, and he hadn’t even insulted her by insisting on a paternity test, as so many other men might have done. How had she not realised that until now? He might not have loved her, but at least he hadn’t deserted her. He had stood by her as much as his demanding career had allowed.

Was it really fair to blame him for not being there for the delivery? He was a surgeon, for God’s sake. He had the responsibility of other people’s lives in his hands every single day. She hadn’t even asked him why he hadn’t made it in time. She had jumped to the conclusion that he had deliberately avoided being there because he hadn’t wanted the baby in the first place—which was yet another hasty assumption she had made. He might have been initially taken aback by the news of her pregnancy, but as the weeks and months had gone on he had done his best to come with her to all of her prenatal appointments and check-ups. She had even caught him several times viewing the ultrasound DVD they had been given of the baby, wriggling its tiny limbs in her womb. He had bought a baby name book for her, and had sat with his hand gently resting on her belly as they looked through it together.

Claire had never realised how physically ill remorse could make one feel. It was like a burning pain deep inside, gnawing at her, each savage twinge a sickening reminder of how she had thrown away her one chance at happiness. Yes, they had experienced a tragedy, one that neither of them would ever be able to recover from fully, but this was the only opportunity she would get to do something to heal the disappointment and hurt of the past. It was optimistic, and perhaps a little unrealistic, to hope that Antonio would fall in love with her this time around, but she had three months to show him her love was big enough for both of them.

When she came out a few minutes later, Antonio rose from the table to hold out her chair for her, his dark eyes moving over her features like a searchlight, a small frown bringing his brows together. ‘Is everything all right, cara?’ he asked. ‘You were away for so long I was about to send someone in to find you.’

Claire shifted her gaze and sat down. ‘I’m fine; there was a bit of a queue, that’s all.’

The woman seated opposite leaned forward to speak to her. ‘I read about the reconciliation with your husband in the paper this morning. I am sure you’ll be very happy this time around. I’ve been married to John for thirty-five years this September. We’ve had our ups and downs, but that’s what marriage is all about—give and take and lots and lots of love.’

Claire stretched her mouth into a smile. ‘Thank you. I am sure there will be plenty of hard work ahead, but, as you say, that is what marriage is all about.’

‘My husband is a plastic surgeon as well,’ the woman who had introduced herself as Janine Brian continued. ‘He’s very impressed with some of the new techniques Antonio is demonstrating. You must be very proud of him. He has brought new life and hope to so many people all over the world.’

‘Yes…yes, I am,’ Claire said, glancing at Antonio, who was now deep in conversation with one of the other guests at the table. She felt her breath lock in her throat as he turned his head to look at her, as if he had sensed her gaze resting on him.

She couldn’t stop staring at him; it was like seeing him for the very first time. She marvelled at how handsome he looked in formal dress, how his tuxedo brought out the darkness of his eyes and hair, and how the stark whiteness of his dress shirt highlighted the deep olive tone of his skin. His mouth was tilted at a sexy angle, as if he knew exactly where her thoughts were leading. How could he possibly know how much she wanted to explore every inch of his body as she had done so often in the past? Could he see the hunger in her eyes? Could he sense it in the way her body was tense and on edge, her hands restless and fidgety, her legs crossing and uncrossing under the table? Desire was an unruly force in her body. She felt it running like a hot river of fire beneath her skin, searing her, branding her inside and out with the scorching promise of his possession.

‘You two are just so romantic,’ Janine said with an indulgent smile. ‘Look at them, John.’ She elbowed her husband in the ribs. ‘Aren’t they the most-in-love couple you’ve ever seen?’

Claire felt a blush steal over her cheeks as Antonio came back to sit beside her. He placed an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. ‘I was a fool to let her get away the first time,’ he said. ‘It will not be happening again, I can assure you.’

‘Well, you know what they say: there’s nothing better than making up in the bedroom,’ Janine said. ‘That’s how we got our three kids, wasn’t it, darling?’

‘Janine…’ John Brian frowned.

‘What did I say?’ Janine frowned back.

‘It is OK, John,’ Antonio said, giving Claire’s shoulder a little squeeze. ‘Claire and I cannot expect everyone to be tiptoeing around the subject of children for the rest of our lives.’

Janine Brian’s face fell. ‘Oh, dear…I completely forgot. John did tell me about…Oh, how awfully insensitive you must think me. I’m so, so sorry.’

Claire gave the distressed woman a reassuring smile, even though it stretched at her mouth uncomfortably. ‘Please don’t be upset or embarrassed,’ she said. ‘Each day has become a little easier.’

The conversation was thankfully steered in another direction when the waiter appeared with the meals for their table. Claire forced herself to eat as if nothing was wrong for Janine’s sake, but later she would barely recall what it was she had eaten.

After the meals were cleared away, Antonio was introduced by the chairman of the charity. Claire watched as he moved up to the lectern, which had been set up with a large screen and data projector. After thanking the chairman and board members, Antonio spoke of the work he carried out in reconstructive surgery under the auspices of FACE. He showed pictures of some of the faces he had worked on, including several from Third World countries, which the charity had sponsored by bringing patients to Rome for surgery to be performed.

Claire looked at one of the young children he had worked on. The little girl, who was seven or eight, had been born with hyperteliorism, a congenital condition which presented as a broad face with wide, separated eyes and a flat nose. Fixing it required major cranial-facial reconstruction, with a team of three surgeons: a neurosurgeon, a facial maxillary surgeon and a plastic surgeon. In this case it had been Antonio. The team had operated for twelve hours to give the little girl a chance at a normal life, without shame or embarrassment over her unusual appearance. The before and after photographs were truly amazing. So too were the happy smiles of the child’s parents and the little girl herself.

Once Antonio had finished his presentation he took some questions from the floor before returning to the table to thunderous applause.

The band began to play again and Antonio reached for Claire’s hand. ‘Let’s have one more dance before we go home,’ he suggested.

Claire moved into his arms without demur, her own arms going around his neck as his went around her back, holding her in an intimate embrace that perfectly matched the slow rhythm of the ballad being played.

‘I thought you handled Janine Brian’s little slip very graciously,’ Antonio commented after a moment or two.

She looked up at him with a pained expression. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But you’re right in saying we can’t expect people to avoid the subject of babies all the time. I have friends with little ones, and I have taught myself to enjoy visiting them, even babysitting them without envy.’

He looked down at her for a beat or two. ‘That is very brave of you, Claire.’

She gave him another little grimace before she lowered her gaze to stare at his bow tie. ‘Not really…There are days when it’s very hard…you know…thinking about her…’

Antonio felt the bone-grinding ache of grief work its way through him; it often caught him off guard—more lately than ever. Being with Claire made him realise how much losing a child affected both parents, for years if not for ever. The mother bore the brunt of it, having carried the baby in her womb, not to mention having the disruption of her hormones during and after the delivery. But the father felt loss too, even if it wasn’t always as obvious as the mother’s. Certainly the father hadn’t carried the child, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the devastation of having failed as a first-time father.

Antonio had grown up with an understanding of the traditional role of husband and father as being there to protect his wife and children. He might have gone into marriage a little ahead of schedule, due to the circumstances of Claire’s accidental pregnancy, but when their baby had died it had cut at the very heart of him. He had felt so helpless, swamped with grief, but unable to express it for the mammoth weight of guilt that had come down on top of it.

He wondered if Claire knew how much he blamed himself, how he agonised over the ‘what if’ questions that plagued him in the dark hours of the night. He still had nightmares about arriving at the delivery suite to find her holding their stillborn baby in her arms. A part of him had shut down at that point, and try as he might he had never been able to turn it back on. He felt as if he had fallen into a deep, dark and silent well of despair, locked in a cycle of grief and guilt that to this day he carried like an ill-fitting harness upon his shoulders.

The music changed tempo, and even though she didn’t say a word Antonio felt Claire’s reluctance to stay on the dance floor with him. He could feel it in her body, the way she stiffened when he drew her close. Whether she was fighting him or fighting herself was something he had not yet decided. But then he had the rest of the night to do so, and do so he would.

He felt a rush of blood in his groin at the thought of sinking into her slick warmth again. The tight cocoon of her body had delighted him like no other. It made his skin come alive with sensation thinking about her hands skating over him the way they’d used to, tentatively, shyly, and then boldly once her confidence with him had grown. The feel of her soft mouth sucking on him that first time had been unbelievable. He had felt as if the top of his head was going to come off, so powerful had been his response. He wanted to feel it all again, every single bit of it—her touch, her taste, the tightness of her that made his body tingle for hours afterwards.

‘Time to go home?’ he asked as he linked his fingers with hers.

Her cheeks developed a hint of a blush. ‘Yes…if you like…’ she said, her gaze falling away from his.

Antonio led her back to the table, from where, after a few words of farewell to the other guests, he escorted her out to the waiting limousine. It would take them back to his hotel, where she would have to share his bed in his arms or spend the night alone on the sofa.

It would be interesting to see which she chose.

CHAPTER EIGHT

IT WAS a mostly silent trip on the way back to the hotel.

Antonio looked at Claire several times on the way, but each time she had her gaze averted, and her fingers were restless as they toyed with the catch of her evening purse.

‘Do I unsettle you so much, cara?’ he asked, as the car purred to a smooth halt outside the hotel.

She turned her gaze on him, a shadow of uncertainty shining in their ocean-blue and green depths. ‘A little, I guess,’ she confessed as he helped her out of the car.

Antonio led her into the hotel, his hand at her elbow, his stride matching her shorter one. He pressed the call button for the lift, and as he waited for it to come turned to look at her. ‘I told you, Claire, we will not resume a physical relationship until we are both ready. I am not going to force myself on you. You can be absolutely sure of that.’

She rolled her lips together as she lifted and then dropped her gaze again. ‘I’m not sure what I want…that’s the problem…I feel confused right now…’

He tipped up her chin with the end of his index finger. ‘I want you,’ he said. ‘I think you know that. That is something that has not changed in the last five years.’

‘But is this right…what we’re doing?’ she asked, the tip of her tongue sneaking out to sweep over her lips. ‘It seems to me we’re back together for all the wrong reasons.’

The lift came to a stop at Antonio’s penthouse floor, and he held the doors open with his forearm for Claire to move past.

He swiped his key and led her into the suite, closing the door behind him. ‘We have a past, Claire,’ he said, securing her gaze with his. ‘We have to deal with it one way or the other.’

She bit her bottom lip, her throat moving up and down over a little swallow. ‘But is this the right way?’ she asked. ‘What if we make more problems than we’ve got now?’

‘Like what?’ he asked, pulling at his bow tie.

She gnawed at her lip again, releasing it after a second or two to say, ‘I don’t know…it’s just I don’t want any misunderstandings to develop between us.’

He tossed his bow tie and his jacket on the nearest sofa. ‘The whole point of this exercise is to see if what we started out with is still there, hidden under the sediment of our separation,’ he said heavily. ‘I do not want to go through the messy process of a divorce only to take the same unresolved issues to another relationship.’

Claire felt her heart clamp with pain. ‘So this arrangement you’ve orchestrated between us is basically an experiment?’ she asked, frowning at him.

He held her look for a moment before he blew out a sigh. ‘I want to get on with my life, Claire. You need to get on with yours. Neither of us can do that until we work through this.’

She pulled herself upright and faced him squarely. ‘So what you’re really saying is you need to have a three-month affair with me to see if there is anything worth picking over before you move on to the next woman you want to get involved with. Is that it?’

He gave her a brooding look. ‘No, that is not it at all.’

Claire felt as if her hopes and dreams were about to be shattered all over again. Would she ever be anything more than a fill-in for him? Was it too much to ask him to care something for her?

Her rising despair made her voice come out sharper than she had intended. ‘Then what the hell is it about, Antonio? I just don’t know what you want from me.’

He took her gently but firmly by the shoulders, his dark eyes almost black as they pinned hers. ‘I think deep down you know exactly what I want from you, cara,’ he said and, swooping down, captured her mouth with the searing warmth of his.

Claire had no hope of resisting such a potently passionate kiss. Flames of need licked along her veins, sending her heart-rate soaring as Antonio’s tongue probed for entry, the hot searching heat of him making her whimper in response. She could feel her lips swelling under the pressure of his, her body melting into his embrace as he pulled her closer. She felt the erotic ridge of his erection against her—a heady reminder of all the passion they had shared in the past and how earth-shattering it had been.

His mouth continued its sensual assault on her senses as his hands went from her waist to her lower back, the gentle pressure of his hand against her lumbar region bringing her right up against the hard probe of his arousal. Her belly quivered at that intimate contact, her legs becoming unsteady as a raging tide of desire flooded her being.

His kiss became deeper and more insistent, and Claire responded with the same ardour. She took his full bottom lip in her teeth, gently tugging, then sucking, and then sweeping her tongue over it in a caress that brought a groan from deep inside him.

His hands pressed her even harder against him; even the barrier of his clothes did not lessen the sensation of feeling the potent length of him so close to the heart of her need. Her body was already preparing itself; she could feel the slick moistness gathering between her thighs, her breasts tight and aching for the feel of his mouth and hands.

His kiss became even more urgent as she moulded herself against him, his tongue more insistent as it mated with hers.

She reached between them and shaped him with her fingers, her mouth still locked under the scorching heat of his. He made another guttural sound of pleasure, and she increased the pace of her stroking, up and down, glorying in the licence to touch him, to feel him pulsing with such intense longing for her.

He dragged his mouth from hers, looking down at her with eyes so dark with arousal they looked bottomless. ‘Are you sure this is what you want, cara?’ he asked in a husky tone. ‘We do not have to continue with this if you do not feel ready.’

Claire moistened her passion-swollen lips as she held his gaze. ‘I’m not sure about anything,’ she said. ‘I can’t seem to put two thoughts together in my head when you are around.’

His wry smile was intoxicatingly sexy. ‘Then maybe we should not think, but instead concentrate on feeling,’ he said, moving his hand to the zipper at the back of her dress and slowly but surely sliding it down until the satin pooled at her feet.

Claire felt her breath catch as his dark gaze ran over her, taking in her naked breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the slight flare of her hips and the tiny black lace panties she was wearing.

Her breathing almost stopped altogether when he trailed a fingertip down between her breasts, circling each one before he bent his head and took each tightly budded nipple in his mouth. It was torture and pleasure rolled into one, and the sparks of fiery need shooting up and down her spine at the rasp of his tongue made every rational thought fly out of her head.

He lifted his head and, locking his gaze on hers, sent his fingertip down to the cave of her belly button, and then lower, tracing over the cleft of her body through the lace that shielded her. ‘Take them off,’ he commanded in a toe-curling tone.

Claire kicked off her heels and peeled off the tiny lace garment, her heart kicking in excitement as he began to undress. Becoming impatient, she helped him with the buttons of his shirt, stopping every now and again to press a hot, moist kiss to his chest, then lower and lower, until she came to the waistband of his trousers.

He shrugged his shirt off and stood with his thighs slightly apart as she undid his belt, pulling it through the loops until it joined her dress on the floor.

She heard him draw in a breath as her fingers pulled down his zipper, and then she felt him jerk in awareness when she peeled back his underwear to touch him skin on skin.

He was like satin-covered steel under her fingertips, and so aroused he was seeping with moisture. She blotted it with her fingertip and then, lifting her eyes to his, brought her finger up to her mouth and sucked on it.

‘Dio. you are driving me crazy,’ he growled, as he heeled himself out of his shoes, his trousers and underwear landing in the same heap as his belt and her dress.

Claire drew in an uneven breath as he walked her backwards towards the bed, his hands on her hips, the heated trajectory of his body setting her alight all over again. She could smell his arousal, the hint of salt and musk that was as intoxicating as the notes of citrus she could pick up from his aftershave.

‘Tell me to stop, Claire, otherwise I will not be able to,’ he groaned as his mouth brushed against hers.

She linked her arms around his neck, pushing her pelvis against his. ‘I don’t want you to stop,’ she said in a breathless whisper. ‘It’s been such a long time…’

‘You are right about that,’ he said as he eased her down on the bed, his eyes devouring her all over again before he joined her. ‘It has been far, far too long.’

Claire shivered as his long, strong legs brushed against her smooth ones. The arrant maleness of him had always made her heart race with excitement. The hardness of his body against her dewy softness made her feel light-headed with anticipation. She arched her spine in invitation, aching for him to pin her body with his, to drive her towards the paradise she craved.

‘Not so fast, cara,’ he said, stroking his hands over her belly, thrillingly close to where she pulsed for him. ‘You know how it was between us before. It was always much more intense when we took our time.’