Innocent of His Claim (15 page)

She opened her mouth to argue and then promptly snapped it shut. Avoiding him was going to be impossible so why try?

M
ARCO
remained silent and brooding as he drove her to St. Antonio de Montiforte Cathedral. She half expected him to abandon her while she double-checked the wedding preparations, but he waited for her, likely impatiently.

The tense silence continued to pulse like a frantic heart beating as he ushered her into his flashy sports car and sped down the highway toward Cabriotini villa. It promised to be the longest hour trapped in an auto that she’d ever endured.

Delanie managed the first ten minutes or so by staring out the window, admiring the scenery. After that she was torn between remaining quiet or making an attempt to talk to him. Neither felt right to her, not when they were at such odds after being so close.

Not when the silence screamed inside her head.

One glance at his set jaw and wounded eyes tore at her heart. She swallowed hard and wadded her fingers together to keep from reaching out to him.

A clean break was needed here. That meant no touching. No softening. Yet she couldn’t be that cold, that unfeeling. Not when she felt his pain as deeply as her own.

“I never intended to hurt you or be hurt,” she said. “Please believe that.”

He didn’t answer for the longest time, then finally heaved a sigh and then another. “I know,” he said, his voice hushed yet catching. “We seem to excel at inflicting pain on each other.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice cracking, her chest so tight she could barely draw a breath.

He fell silent again, but then there was nothing left to say. Nothing left to do but get through this day without shedding any more emotional blood.

Once at the villa, Delanie was relieved to find Bella a serene, glowing bride-to-be. Her gown fitted perfectly as did those of her attendants. They were a charming gaggle of young women, some seeming thrilled to be part of such grandeur.

There was simply nothing more for her to do here but ensure that the bridal party would arrive on time. Marco was in charge of that, and she sought him out. No surprise, he was outside standing beside his car.

“I trust you’ll be on hand to see that the bride and her attendants arrive at the church on time,” she said.

“Her chauffeur will deliver her and her friends in a white limousine, and the housekeeper will see that all leave the villa on time.” He nodded to his Bugatti. “If you’re ready to return to Montiforte, let’s go.”

Delanie took a fortifying breath and complied. As on the drive up, silence reigned and tension rose like an ice mountain between them as they sped back to Montiforte.

Marco wheeled under the portico at Castello di Montiforte, and a valet rushed to open her door. She managed a smile as she faced Marco. “Thank you for escorting me about today.”

“My pleasure,” he said. “The day isn’t over. I’ll wait for you.”

A fact she was all too aware of. “Don’t bother. I’m sure you have things to do and I look forward to the walk back.”

His eyes narrowed, but their intensity burned stronger. Hotter. “As you wish.”

She managed a smile and quickly exited his car, but her legs shook so badly she feared they would give out as she hurried inside the castle. Once there she was able to take a breath, to steer her thoughts on what she must do. That pulled her out
of her emotional tumble and allowed her to focus on her job, on doing what she did best.

All the preparations were going well or were finished. All her plans had fallen neatly in order. Her only task was to oversee that nothing unforeseen cropped up to cause a problem.

She refused to think of one sexy Italian as a problem now. Her personal life and her profession could not collide and crash now, not when so much was at stake.

Delanie bit her lip and discreetly checked her watch. In a little over an hour the wedding would commence, followed by the reception. Her hours left in Italy were few. This time tomorrow she’d be back in London.

Her company and her life would be hers to command again. She’d be free of a man’s control. Independence would finally be hers.

It was what she’d always wanted, yet there was no excitement in her victory. No reason to gloat.

Not that she could with her heart in tatters.

Love. If she were a cynic like Marco she would swear off ever allowing that emotion into her scope again. But she’d tried to do that with him. And she’d failed.

She downed her head and started up the trail toward the villa. But no matter how many times she mentally went over her checklist, Marco remained the last person commanding her thoughts.

Every second she’d spent with him tormented her. Dammit, she shouldn’t be plagued with indecisions now.

They’d struck a bargain. Stuck to it. If she was the weak link and let her heart get involved, that was her problem.

She was making the right choice in leaving. So why did it feel so wrong?

By the time Delanie reached the villa she trembled with nerves scraped raw. Her gaze lit on the Bugatti.

Her body quivered with need and worry, but she tempered
her fears and faced her demons full-on. She stepped into the villa, her gaze searching for him.

Marco stood in the salon, wearing a pale gray suit specially tailored for those broad shoulders that she’d caressed and clung to, the trousers conforming to lean hips that had moved so sensuously with hers. His shirt was black, the bride’s choice and befitting the rebel in him.

And she adored the look. Her foolish heart rejoiced at the sight of him. A lonely ache wrapped ghostly arms around her, their touch imagined but not felt.

She shivered, feeling nothing. Knowing that her memories of him were tucked away. If one moment of fabulous sex was enough then she would be blissfully happy. But it wasn’t.

It never had been. It never would be, which was why she had to put distance between them now.

“A moment, please,” he said as she started to walk past him.

It was a demand, not a question. But then that shouldn’t surprise her.

She pushed out a tight breath and stopped, knees locked and toes curling in her sensible flats. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

He crossed to the window, presenting a stiff back to her as he stared through it. She worried her hands together, dreading to know what he wanted to tell her less than an hour before they were to leave for the wedding.

“Is Bella all right?” she asked, worrying that something was wrong, that she might have failed.

He flipped a hand, the motion abrupt. “Bella just called me en route to the church. She is stressed and nervous but otherwise fine.”

“Good,” she said, hand to her heart. “I was afraid you had bad news.”

He faced her then. Grim-faced, solemn and giving her no reason to think that still wasn’t the case. Her nerves twitched
as he pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and held it out to her.

“You’ve done everything you said you would do to ensure Bella had the wedding she wanted.” His gaze stroked her length once, twice, so personal, so intimate she shivered as if his fingers and hands and tongue had stroked over her willing flesh. “More, actually. There is no reason for me to forestall honoring my promise to you.”

By sheer determination, she willed her hand not to tremble as she took the envelope from him, careful not to touch the long blunt fingers that had played over her skin. She slid a nail under the seal and pulled out the papers.

Her mind went numb as she stared at the check and the obscene number of zeros. He’d promised a fat check for professional services.

But this— This was a fortune, far more than she would ever charge a client. Far more than her struggling company was worth.

It was an insult. Wasn’t it? A payoff?

Then her gaze landed on the very legal contract. She skimmed it once, heart racing as its significance sunk in.

Elite Affair was hers. All shares reverted to her name only. Her baby. All hers again.

“Why did you do this?” she asked, waving the check, certain the combined value of it and the whole of the company trumped any amount he would give a mistress he’d just dismissed. “What’s the catch?”

“There is none.”

She sucked in a breath, then another, her mind spinning. “That’s hard to believe. Father taught me nothing was free. Nothing good came without a price.”

“And I told you to never compare me or the way I work to your father.”

“Trust,” she said. “We never had that.”

“The best lesson my father taught me was never to trust a woman,” he said.

“Experience taught me never to trust a man you loved, whether he was a relative or a lover.”

His mouth pulled into a flat line and his eyes narrowed to slits, yet enough anger shot from them to make her take a cautious step back. “Point taken. Again. But this is given freely because you deserve a bonus.”

“Oh? Then I overreacted,” she said and meant it, knowing she’d crossed the line, that she’d insulted him without cause. “I’m just—” How to say it? “Flabbergasted you would do this.”

He gave a quick hike of one broad shoulder. “It was wrong of me to hold this over you when it is clear to me now that you were ignorant of your father’s plan to destroy me.”

She stared at the papers and shivered, far colder inside than she’d been at her father’s funeral. But then, this parting was a far different type of grief.

Her father’s death had brought relief. Closure.

This parting brought sorrow. No matter how good they’d been at one time, no matter how much better they were in bed, it wasn’t enough to make him tear down the walls around his heart. And if he couldn’t do that, their passion wasn’t enough to make her take him as he was.

She deserved more. They both did, but she was the only one who recognized it.

“That isn’t our greatest obstacle, is it?”

He shook his head. “No. We want—expect—different things in a relationship.”

He couldn’t even bring himself to say
marriage
. It wasn’t in his immediate future, and love— Well, love was never part of their equation, at least not mutually.

She wanted his heart. He wanted her body.

On the heels of their brief affair, his largesse came off as a perk for services rendered for work above and beyond the
contract. All she’d ever expected was her due, but to argue the point now, before the wedding, just wasn’t done.

With strength that was fast slipping, she reminded herself she was the professional here. Making a scene would ruin everything and voicing her opinion would cause a scene.

“Yes, you’re right,” she said, and managed a smile.

He scowled, his nod coming in an abrupt jerk, his steps toward the door stiff. “I must go to the church now. I’ll arrange for a driver to be at your disposal for the rest of your stay.”

“Thank you,” she managed, waiting for a surge of relief to flow over her.

He stopped on the threshold, fingers splayed on the door frame. “It is I who should thank you.” He cut her a look then was gone.

She clutched her hands together, feeling empty. Deserted.

The thud of his footsteps across the terrace was a dirge in her head, signaling the end of their time together. Her shoulders bowed. The raw pain lancing across her heart was simply too much to take after days of so much laughter and passion.

She stared down at the papers that would change her life forever, that gave her the chance to do exactly what she had always wanted. Why wasn’t she dancing with joy? Why was she so damned miserable?

The powerful engine on the Bugatti broke the silence, its purr cracking the ice that had held her immobile. She blinked, but her eyes still filled with blinding silent tears.

Somehow she stumbled to the chair by the window, her composure deserting her the second she dropped onto the cushion. Scalding tears poured from her eyes and she let them fall.

If he had insulted her she could have clung to her pride and annoyance and gotten through this. But how could she cope with his polite indifference?

She couldn’t and she wasn’t about to keep trying.

For the first time in years, she let herself cry over the fact that she and Marco simply couldn’t make it work. That they
were dynamite in bed. That he could give her anything in this world except the one thing she desperately wanted—his love.

So she cried it all out now, well aware her day wasn’t over with him. That she still had hours to get through.

When the emotional storm ended, she hurried to her room and changed clothes, slipping into a simple blue sheath a shade darker than a spring sky.

It fitted her well but was modest. Businesslike. The type of thing she always wore while working. So unlike the lovely dresses and gowns crowding the closet, clothes that Marco had ordered. Clothes she’d refused to try on, let alone wear.

She slipped her feet into taupe pumps and gave herself one last critical look in the mirror. A pale woman with sorrowful eyes stared back at her.

Not the look she wanted to present at the wedding, but how could one erase those lines of heartache? And even if she could, who would really care?

Still, a repair of her makeup, including eye drops, hid the redness in her eyes and minimized the puffiness. A dash of peach blush restored color to her too-pale cheeks.

It was good enough. For the most part, she would be dealing with the workers, not the guests. Surely not Marco. She would do all she could to avoid him, and if their paths crossed and she didn’t look her best, so be it.

Their business was concluded. Her wisest course was to do her job and get out of Italy as she’d planned.

Without hesitating, she placed the call to the airline securing a one-way ticket to Heathrow tonight. Then she left her room and focused her thoughts on one thing—ensuring that this wedding went off as perfectly as she’d planned it.

“Marco, why do you look so sad on the happiest day of my life?” Bella asked.

Delanie
was the easy answer, and the one that would only prompt a multitude of questions.

“Sorry, my mind was on business,” he said, forcing a smile which came easier as his gaze lit on his sister. He wasn’t in a mood to answer questions, not on the day that he’d just received word from his CEO at Tate Unlimited who’d found David Tate’s hidden personal documents from ten years ago.