Dante's Stolen Wife (7 page)

“If I ask you to stop, will you?” she asked.

“Yes. Reluctantly. But, yes.”

He needed to stop. Now. “Don’t stop. Not yet. Soon—” She groaned as the buttons of her blouse gave, one by one, and he stroked his finger from the dip at the base of her throat to the scalloped edge of her bra. “Marco!”

Then his mouth followed the same path, his tongue tracing the lacy contours while he found the back fastening and released it with a flick of clever fingers. Cool air sliced across her bared skin before Marco warmed it with a single touch. He palmed her breasts and laved each tip into tight peaks, catching first one and then the other with his teeth until she could barely contain her response to the pleasure.

Her hands moved of their own accord, tearing at his shirt. She heard the cotton rip, heard the muted ping of buttons popping before she finally—finally—hit hot, bare flesh. Satisfaction bubbled through her like warm syrup as her hands plied the sculpted muscles, tripping across them with her fingertips. He groaned his encouragement.

She wanted more. Needed it. She cruised across rippled abs until she found the belt anchoring trousers to hips. Two deft tugs and she had it open and her hands plunging downward, cupping and stroking. Harsh Italian exploded from him, an endless stream of what sounded like a combination of demand, curse and plea.

“Panties,” she managed, praying he understood her shorthand. “Off.”

Rending silk competed with the sound of their desperate breathing. And then came the pause, that long moment of sweet hesitation before temptation tipped over into inevitability. She stared up at Marco, wishing she didn’t see Lazz mirrored in her husband’s face and eyes, wishing that with one glance or touch or word, she could tell the difference between them. But she wasn’t sure she could. Not unless she demanded he show her his hip each time they came together.

“I’m not him,” Marco bit out.

“I know you’re not,” she attempted to soothe.

“You don’t. Not yet. But you will.” He fumbled behind him. She heard a drawer being yanked open and the distinctive crackle of foil. The instant he’d protected himself, he measured her length with his eyes. “Maybe this will help.”

He swept his hands from her knees to her thighs, dragging her skirt upward as he went, baring her to the waist. She’d never been taken like this, simply flipped onto a bed and driven so insane with want that removing their clothes proved beyond them. She shuddered as he palmed the back of her thighs, lifting and opening her for his possession. A rush of cool air competed with the scalding heat of him as he came down on her, drove inward with a single, powerful thrust. She thought she screamed, but if she did he caught the helpless sound in a desperate kiss.

She locked her legs around his hips and surged upward to meet his next stroke, the need in her so huge and overwhelming, nothing else mattered but having this man inside her. The past didn’t count anymore than the future. All she cared about was right here and right now.

Marco loosened another barrage of Italian, and she answered as though she understood, inciting him to go higher and harder and further than they’d gone before. It was her turn to plead. To demand. To pray that she survived the encounter if only so she could do this again and again.

Her climax hit with unexpected suddenness, careening through her in chaotic, unmanageable waves. No order. No logic or reason. She could only hang on and give in to something beyond her ability to control. To surrender utterly. Endless minutes passed while they fought to regain their breath.

“
cara
, please. Don’t cry.”

“Am I?” She lifted a boneless hand to her cheek. “I didn’t realize.”

“Does it seem so wrong to you?”

No, that was the scary part. It seemed all too right.

“It’s just…” Damp hair curled across his brow, framing a face still carved with the remnants of desire. She itched to brush it from his eyes, and with a sigh of impatience, caved to the impulse. “It has to be more than this. More than just good sex.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that how you’d describe what just happened here? What happened between us last night?”

She refused to consider it might be anything else. That would give it too much importance. “There’s more to a relationship than great sex,” she argued doggedly. “Far more to a marriage.”

“So now it’s great sex,” he said. “At least that’s an improvement.”

She slammed the heel of her palm against his shoulder, hurting herself more than him. “Would you be serious? At least with Lazz—” She broke off at the expression on his face, eyeing him apprehensively.

“Do not,” he said in a low voice, “do not put my brother in bed with us. Not ever.”

“It’s just—”

“Am I not clear on this point?”

“Fine. You’re clear.” She shoved at his shoulders.

“I’d like to get up, please.”

He rolled to one side, allowing her to escape. It annoyed her that he remained so comfortable with his partial nudity, while she needed desperately to cover herself while they talked. She tugged at her wrinkled skirt, attempting to restore it to some semblance of order. Next she tackled the buttons of her blouse, only to realize she hadn’t a hope of rehooking her bra unless she removed her blouse first. Turning her back on him, she did just that. A small, choking sound emanated from the direction of the bed and sounded suspiciously like a smothered laugh, though when she turned back around he regarded her with such a sober expression that it stretched the bounds of credulity.

She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I’m a logical person, Marco,” she finally said. “And though I enjoy sex as much as the next person—”

“Great sex,” he reminded her.

“Fine. Great sex.” He’d thrown her off track and it took a split second to find her stride again. “Marriage is more than sex. Even great sex,” she hastened to add before he could correct her again.

“True,” he surprised her by saying. “Since we have that part down pat, we can spend the next fifty or so years working on the rest.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Does that alleviate your concerns,
moglie mia
?”

Caitlyn planted her hands on her hips. “Why do you use so much Italian? Lazz never—” She broke off and rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes. He was right, Lazz didn’t belong in the room with them. “I’m sorry. I meant to say that you use a lot of Italian and I don’t understand a word of it. What does mog-whatever mean?”

Marco left the bed. “
Moglie
means wife.” After stripping off the remains of his tattered shirt, he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. When he reappeared, he paused in front of her and dropped a swift kiss on her brow. “Thank you for trying.”

She didn’t dare admit that Lazz might as well not have existed right then, despite her reference to him. Not while Marco stood in front of her, shirtless, his trousers gaping at the waist where a thin line of dark hair darted downward along a path she’d just recently followed. She struggled to keep her gaze fixed on his face. He must have known how difficult she found it not to peek, because a slow grin built across his mouth.

“I’m your husband, remember?” he said. “We have a piece of paper that says it’s not rude to look.”

“I must have missed that particular line on our marriage license,” she muttered.

“Ah. That’s because you forgot your reading glasses.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “And if I’d remembered them?”

He shrugged those magnificent shoulders of his.

“Fate and chance give life interesting twists and turns, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Since I’m currently in a twist over one of those wrong turns, I’m not sure interesting is the word I’d use.”

He fell silent for a moment. “I don’t consider our marriage a wrong turn,” he informed her quietly. “In time I hope you won’t, either.”

She’d been inconsiderate, and hurt him without meaning to. It occurred to her that in the short time they’d been together, he’d used great care with her. Despite some of his more outrageous actions, everything he’d said, as well as his overall treatment of her, had been not just careful but downright tender. The least she could do was follow his example.

“Where are we supposed to go from here?” she asked.

“I was thinking the kitchen might be a good direction.”

She stared at him in patent disbelief. “You want me to cook for you?”

Lord help her, but Marco liked to laugh. “Actually, I thought I’d cook for you.”

After snagging a shirt, he ushered her into the kitchen and seated her at a tiny table tucked within the sunny embrace of a bay window. Opening a drawer, he removed an apron, which he tied around his waist with such familiarity and efficiency, she realized this was far from his first foray into the kitchen. Coffee came first, freshly ground. And then he proceeded to cook. Really cook. In less than thirty minutes he placed two steaming plates of shrimp fettuccini on the table. After whipping off his apron, he joined her.

“If this is to impress me…”

“Has it succeeded?”

“And then some.” She sampled the dish and groaned.

“Do you cook like this all the time?”

“When I’m not out of the country or entertaining potential clients. I got lucky and found a woman to shop for me who appreciates fine food as much as I do. I e-mail her when I want something to appear in my refrigerator.” He shrugged. “And it appears. She also takes care of general housekeeping and various other chores that don’t appeal to me as much as cooking.”

For some reason, that had Caitlyn returning her fork to her plate. “Maybe this would be a good time to discuss our marriage.”

He picked up her fork and speared a succulent piece of shrimp and held it to her mouth. “Fine. What, in particular, would you like to discuss?”

“Marco…” She couldn’t resist. She ate the shrimp, took the fork from him and dug in again. “What do you want from our marriage?”

“Ah. You’d like rules. Order.”

“I’d like some idea of your expectations.”

“Scintillating conversation and companionship. Incredible sex—we’ll have to work to nudge it up from great. And with God’s blessing, more laughter than tears.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I can go on. Do you want me to fetch your PDA so you can jot down some notes?”

“I need you to be serious. Marriage is a serious business.” Her fork clattered to her plate. An empty plate, she realized to her amazement. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this. None of this is real and it’s pointless to pretend otherwise.”

“Marriage is not a business and I refuse to turn it into one.” He reached across the table and caught her hand.

“Relax,
cara
. You need to give our relationship time and stop applying an agenda to it. Do flowers bloom on command? Does spring arrive simply because the calendar says it must? If it makes you more comfortable to create some sense of order, then let’s call this moment in our marriage point A. In a few weeks we can reassess and see if we haven’t moved to B or C.”

For some reason that had her eyes filling. “This is crazy, you know that, don’t you?”

“Tears,” he said with a frown. “Now that I will keep track of. Because for every tear, I’m going to make certain you have reason to laugh at least a hundred times.”

“At this rate I’m going to spend all day laughing.”

“See how easy that was? We already have our first marital rule. A hundred laughs for every tear.” The humor in his gaze eased, replaced by undisguised warmth. “I know you planned to tell me today that you’re leaving and putting an end to our marriage. But will you agree to stay and give it a try? We can set a time frame if that makes you more comfortable.”

“A negotiation, Marco?”

“I could, if I considered marriage a business deal. I could use
The Snitch
as an excuse or the Romano account.”

She stirred uneasily. “Will our marriage have an adverse impact on that?”

“No. But our divorce would.” He let that settle for a minute before continuing. “I could explain how much more beneficial it would be to your career to remain with me, or how it would look if we divorced after a single day of marriage. But this isn’t about business, as I’ve already explained. There’s only one real reason to stay together.”

“Which is…what?” She hazarded a guess. “To get to point Z?”

He smiled, a gorgeous, sexy smile that she’d never ever seen on Lazz Dante’s face. Only Marco could smile like that. “Why would I want to jump straight to Z when there are so many fun points to explore in between? The point of a dance is not to rush to the end, but to enjoy each step along the way.” He pulled her up from her chair and swung her into his arms, causing her to melt helplessly against him. “Come, my beautiful wife. What do you say? Let’s dance.”

O
ver the next few days, Caitlyn discovered that Marco meant just what he said. He didn’t seem to care about the business ramifications should she walk out on him. He only cared about her. For some reason, that realization left her shaken. All the while a small voice whispered insistently in her ear that it had to be a lie. How could she possibly be more important than winning an account that would guarantee the meteoric success of Dantes in the European market?

Marriage should be more complicated than Marco was making it out to be. It certainly had been for her grandmother. Thanks to her disastrous union, there’d been exhaustive instructions on how to build a proper foundation and which qualities to look for in a husband, an endless list to be detailed, considered and checked off long before marriage should ever be contemplated. She and Marco hadn’t done any of that, and Caitlyn couldn’t help but believe that lack would bring a fast end to a short marriage.

Fortunately, she didn’t have long to dwell on her worries. The minute she returned to work, she was assigned a huge, complex project to oversee that involved transferring decades worth of old financial records from paper to computer.

“With the expansion into the international market, we need to have this information available at the touch of a button,” Caitlyn’s supervisor explained. “And we need someone with your background in finance and attention to detail to sort the wheat from the chaff. Determine what’s important to computerize and what can be safely discarded.”

“But what about my current duties?”

“We’re assigning you temporary help with that while you concentrate on getting this other project in hand. I’ll be honest with you, Caitlyn. We’re hoping you can succeed where every other person who’s attempted this assignment has failed.”

It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull, Caitlyn realized with a touch of Marco’s sense of humor. The idea that she could accomplish what no one else had appealed immensely and she threw herself into the project with unfettered enthusiasm. Unfortunately, it meant a temporary move from the Dantes main office to their warehouse where most of the records were stored.

Toward the end of the week, Britt tracked Caitlyn down at her new location and tossed a folder onto her desk. “Here. Lazz said you needed this. I could have e-mailed it to you, but it gave me an excuse to come for a visit. Just so you know, you’re missed.”

“Thanks. I miss you and Angie, too.” She checked her watch. “I wish I’d known you were coming. I’m actually scheduled to have lunch with Francesca in about five minutes.”

“Sev’s wife, right?” Britt grimaced. “Makes sense. I guess she’s been assigned to explain what the family will expect from the latest Dante bride.”

Caitlyn’s brows drew together. “Expect? What are you talking about?”

Britt snapped her fingers. “Oh, come on, girl. Get with it. You’re in the public eye now.
The Snitch
will be all over you when news of your whirlwind marriage to Marco breaks. I suspect Primo or Nonna assigned Francesca as your handler, to guide you through the various family dos and don’ts so you don’t accidentally make matters worse for them than you already have.”

It took an instant before Caitlyn could gather herself enough to reply. “I’m sure that’s not the case at all.”

Britt shrugged. “If you say so.” She shoved a pile of papers to one side and levered herself onto the desktop. Lifting Caitlyn’s left hand, she let out a low whistle. “That’s one hell of a rock, sweetie. Even more impressive than the one Lazz was planning to give you.”

Caitlyn tugged her hand free, annoyed at the hint of color she felt creeping into her cheeks, and even more annoyed at Britt. “You and Angie made a bigger deal of my relationship with Lazz than it warranted.”

“Apparently. Poor Lazz. I guess you fell for Marco’s charm just like every other woman working at Dantes.” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “So is it true?”

“Is what true?” But Caitlyn could guess, given the various rumors flying around the office about the events that had transpired the night she and Marco had eloped.

A wicked light gleamed in her friend’s eyes. “Did you realize it was Marco before he made love to you, or did he wait until afterward to tell you the truth?”

Even though Caitlyn had seen the question coming, she still winced. “I should have expected something like that from you, but you must realize I’m not going to answer it.”

Britt blew out a sigh. “Or which of the two is the better lover?” She paused a beat, but when Caitlyn remained stony silent, added, “It’s gotta be Marco. I mean, why else would you marry him, especially considering that jealous streak of his?”

“Caitlyn?” Francesca’s voice came from a short distance away.

“Oops. That’s my cue to scoot.” Britt jumped off Caitlyn’s desk and waggled her fingers. “We’ll catch up again later.”

Francesca, tall, blond and as elegant as she was beautiful, appeared in the doorway. She waited with ill-disguised disapproval while Britt made good her escape. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” she said to Caitlyn. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some fresh air.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Nonna’s so she can explain how you’re expected to behave now that you’re a Dante bride.” She waved the comment aside with a broad grin. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. We are going to Nonna’s for lunch, but I assure you if there’s a Dante bride how-to instruction booklet somewhere, Britt will have to show it to me. To be honest, there are times I could really use one.”

On the way to Francesca’s car, Caitlyn attempted to defend her friend, though why she bothered, she couldn’t say. “Britt’s just a bit outspoken.”

“Is that what you call it? I call it pea green with envy.” Slipping the car in gear, Francesca pulled out of the parking lot and jumped on the 101 toward the Golden Gate Bridge. “She’s always had a thing for Marco. But he and his brothers made an agreement years ago that they wouldn’t date in the workplace. Of course, that agreement fell apart when I came onboard.”

“Did that count? I thought you were dating Sev before you joined Dantes.”

“Was blackmailed into joining Dantes. Don’t you read
The Snitch?
I guess Britt saw my relationship with Sev as a loosening of the rule and made a concerted effort to catch Marco’s eye. Then when both Lazz and Marco went after you…” Francesca shrugged. “I’m sure it felt like a slap in the face to poor Britt.”

Caitlyn considered the situation. Sunlight poured down across the red spans of the bridge and bounced off the whitecaps far below. If Francesca’s comments were accurate, it explained many of the barbed remarks Britt claimed were jokes. “Thanks, Francesca. I appreciate you clueing me in.”

Sympathy gleamed in Francesca’s dark eyes. “Anytime. I’m just sorry I had to trash someone you consider a friend.”

Caitlyn leaned back against her seat and studied her sister-in-law for a long minute. How odd that with one simple “I do” she’d gone from having almost no family to having one so sizeable that she didn’t even know all their names or faces yet.

A few minutes later they climbed the hillside above Sausalito and pulled into the drive of a large, rambling gated home. Francesca led the way through the dusky interior and out into a huge, meticulously tended garden, overrun with flowers, shrubs and shade trees. A wrought iron table had been placed beneath the widespread arms of a mush oak and set for lunch. Seated at the table was a woman who could only be Nonna.

Caitlyn returned the older woman’s stare, fascinated by Marco’s grandmother. She must be well into her seventies, considering she and Primo just celebrated their fifty-sixth anniversary. Yet she looked a full decade younger, her face one of radiant beauty despite the lines life had carved there. Or maybe because of them.

“Marco has your eyes,” Caitlyn observed.

Laughter danced within the hazel depths, revealing that Marco had inherited a second characteristic from his grandmother. “So does Lazzaro,” she said, her voice carrying the lilting strains of her Italian heritage. “Or did you not notice?”

Caitlyn blinked in surprise. “I…I guess I never did. But, of course they would since they’re identical twins.”

Nonna lifted a shoulder. “Ah. Once you have been touched by The Inferno, you see only one man clearly.” She kissed Caitlyn on both cheeks, followed by Francesca, then gestured to the two empty chairs. “Come. Sit. You will call me Nonna as Francesca does, and we will break bread together and talk as women have talked since the day we were formed from Adam’s rib. About men, life, children and then, inevitably, about men again.”

Francesca grinned. “Sounds good to me. Especially the men part.”

“Hah. With you I suspect children are more on your thoughts, yes?”

“Not quite yet, Nonna.”

“Time will tell. I am rarely wrong about these matters. But since that is not yet an issue, we will have a lovely glass of wine with our lunch.” A mischievous expression twinkled in her eyes. “Maybe two.”

“I’m sorry, Nonna,” Caitlyn began. “I can’t—”

“Because you are not finished with your workday.” Nonna waved that aside and poured the wine. “If it makes you more comfortable, consider keeping me happy for the rest of the day one of your duties. One of your primary duties since I have arranged for you to have the afternoon off. And keeping me happy right now involves drinking some Dante wine while we get to know each other.”

Caitlyn gave in gracefully. “A dangerous proposition. Last time I had a glass of your Dante wine, I ended up married to Marco.”

The other two women dissolved into laughter. “Such is The Inferno,” Nonna said. “It turns sane, rational women into creatures of instinct.”

The comment roused Caitlyn’s curiosity. “Would you mind if I asked you both a personal question?”

“Hit me,” Francesca said.

Nonna looked momentarily disconcerted at the response but nodded energetically, anyway. “Yes, yes. You may hit me, too. But I am old, so do it very gently.”

“It’s more of a verbal hit,” Caitlyn explained with a smile. “I know you believe in The Inferno, Nonna. Marco told me how it changed your life and forced you to make a difficult choice.”

“Not so difficult. More sad and unpleasant.”

Caitlyn glanced at her sister-in-law. “But you, Francesca. Do you believe in it?”

Francesca relaxed in her chair and took a sip of the crisp, golden Frascati. “I gather you don’t?”

Caitlyn shook her head. “I think it must be legend or fantasy,” she said, shooting Nonna an apologetic look.

“Yes, so did I. At first. It’s only natural, all things considered.”

“You said…at first. That implies that at some point you bought in to the story.”

Instead of laughing, an odd expression settled over Francesca’s face. “Give me an honest answer, Caitlyn. Was there an electric current when you and Marco first touched? I mean, an honest-to-goodness spark?”

“There was something like that,” she admitted.

“And do you feel him, even when you don’t see him? If I lined up Lazz and Marco in identical suits. If I mixed them up and turned them so their backs were to you. Could you tell which was your husband and which your brother-in-law?”

“I’m not sure.” Perhaps if she could look directly at them, catch some clue as to expression or attitude. Or would it take that much effort? The mere idea of Lazz putting his hands on her struck her as downright distasteful. She closed her eyes. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe.”

“Does Marco rub his palm, like this?” Francesca demonstrated, digging the fingers of her left hand into the center of her right. “Look familiar?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn whispered. “I’ve caught him doing it on occasion. I catch myself doing it, too.”

“It happens with all the Dante men once they have been struck by The Inferno, and it would seem, with some of the Dante brides,” Nonna explained. “Primo. Our two sons. And now Sev and Marco. So it has been since the beginning of the Dante line.”

“It’s up to you whether or not you choose to believe that it’s The Inferno.” Francesca shrugged. “I happen to believe.”

Before Caitlyn could ask more questions, Primo delivered their lunch, one he’d prepared for them himself. Clearly, Marco had inherited Primo’s ability in the kitchen, despite there being more of a physical resemblance between the older man and Sev. Though Primo’s countenance reflected an almost harsh nobility, only warmth showed in his expression. After welcoming her with a warm bear hug and a smacking kiss on each cheek, he checked to see whether they had everything they needed, then made himself scarce.

The hours raced by after that, brimming with sweet, tart laughter and rich, full-bodied feminine conversation. Caitlyn couldn’t remember ever having a more enjoyable time in the company of women. At one point she attempted to compare Nonna with her own grandmother, but aside from a certain strength of character, the two couldn’t be more dissimilar.

Early evening had just crept into the garden, pinching shut colorful day blooms and coaxing open their heavy-scented nocturnal sisters, when the Dante boys descended. Sev took one look at his wife and shook his head in mock dismay. “I see Nonna’s been a bit heavy-handed with the wine,” he addressed his grandfather. “I’m going to need your wheelbarrow to get this one home.”

“You know where I stash it,” Primo said with a chuckle. He pulled a chair up beside Nonna and gathered her hand in his. Heads bent toward each other like a pair of sleepy white daffodils and they murmured softly in Italian.

Caitlyn sensed Marco’s approach and knew that Francesca and Nonna would claim it was The Inferno at work. Whatever caused the awareness, it mitigated her surprise when he simply picked her up in his arms, stole her seat, then sat down again with her on his lap.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Perfect.” Her head dropped of its own accord to his shoulder. “Better than perfect.”

“I’m glad. Nonna is…” He shrugged.

“There’s no describing her, is there?” Caitlyn agreed.

They continued to sit, the six of them, and talk for another hour before Marco called it a night. They made their farewells and exited through the garden gate to the circular drive, maintaining a comfortable silence on the drive from Sausalito to Marco’s apartment.