Innocent of His Claim (16 page)

The news chilled him. Sickened him. To think he’d believed Tate’s lies instead of Delanie. Ass. He’d been a total ass for far too long.
No more!

Bella looked like a princess in her ivory silk gown that shimmered with threads of ice-green and gold. With a hint of makeup and her hair caught up in some sophisticated style, she was absolutely breathtaking.

“Business,” she scoffed, and added an indignant lift of her chin.

He could not help but chuckle. “Tending to business is what has given you a livelihood as well as a dream wedding befitting such a beauty.”

She beamed. “I
am
beautiful, yes?”

For a girl born in poverty, she’d learned quickly the nuances of perfecting a haughty demeanor. Of being rich.

“Yes,” he said. “You will stop hearts.”

Bella clapped both hands together. “There is only one heart I wish to stop and then make race. Giamo’s.”

The groom, the man she’d fallen in love with and into bed with, was a vineyard worker she’d met right after she’d turned twenty.

Marco had moved out of the estate and into his own home in Montiforte, believing his sister was capable of living by herself. An error on his part, perhaps. But Giamo was a good hardworking man and one Marco believed would one day run the family winery.

Now Bella laughed and twirled before him like a child, looking carefree and far from the expectant mother or bride. Her young-heiress persona was belied on the fact that she still giggled, still could be found in the gardener’s shed playing
with kittens, still looked too damned young to be a wife or a mother.

“Delanie is wonderful,” Bella said, clasping her hands to her bosom, totally unaware how mention of Delanie made his own heart stop and stutter. “You paid her well?”

“A fortune.” Which wasn’t a lie. He owed her that and more and not just for her work in planning this wedding.

Bella planted her hands at her waist, her expression suddenly fierce. “Don’t let her go, Marco. She is perfect for you. She would make you a wonderful—”

“Don’t say it,” he warned, cutting her words off.

“But—”

He slashed the air with a hand, hushing her, the playful mood shuttered. “There is no
but
. Miss Tate has done a fabulous job planning your wedding just as you requested. Now she wants to return to her job and her life in England.”

His sister scowled. “You’re making a horrible mistake letting her go.”

“No, I’m giving her what she always dreamed of having,” he said and believed it. He’d hurt her enough.

Bella tossed both hands in the air, sending her veil fluttering around her bare shoulders, before fixing him with a pitying look. “You should give
yourself
what you’ve dreamed of having, Marco. Then you and Delanie would both be happy.”

Bella flounced out the door without waiting for his reply, not that he had one acceptable to voice. In fact, his little sister had rendered him speechless with that observation. How could one so young be so wise?

He pressed the heels of his hands against his burning eyes and muttered an oath, sick inside over his lack of emotion.

There had been a time when he had believed money could buy anything. Had believed that once he was rich, he could make Delanie happy. And then, of late, had believed that he would only find peace solo.

Now he knew that was a lie.

Delanie didn’t want his wealth. She wanted his love and that was the one thing he didn’t know if he could give her.

He’d shut off that emotion years ago, swearing he would never suffer a marriage such as his parents had had, that emotional hell that bound them together and made them—and him—miserable.

“Never be so foolish as to love a woman,” his father had told Marco after a particularly violent fight between his parents. “Find a woman who satisfies you in bed, for that is all that a man can expect to have from a woman or a wife.
Amore
poisons. It slowly kills.”

That same night, his father had stormed out of the house to find his wife. Only, neither of them had come back.

He shook his head, the pain of that memory faded, replaced by the impending loss of Delanie again. She’d been on his mind since he’d left her this morning.

At the church, his gaze honed in on her the moment she arrived, dressed in an elegant dress befitting a CEO. His chest tightened, his pulse raced, his blood running thick and hot.

He wanted her. Would always want her. But would he cross to her? No!

One of the ushers motioned to him. “It’s time.”

Marco nodded and followed the man to Bella, who stubbornly refused to look at him.

“I would make her life miserable,” he whispered to Bella.

She looked at him with eyes that were suddenly sad. “Oh, Marco. What will it take to make you see that she loves you and that you love her?”

The first strains of “The Wedding March” prevented him from answering that question. He presented his arm to his sister.

“Smile, Bella,” he said. “This is your moment.”

She held his gaze for a moment then smiled. But the full
force of her beauty didn’t shine until they started down the aisle and Giamo turned to face them.

He felt the tremble go through Bella and saw the adoration shining in her eyes and in the groom’s. It was a look much like the one Delanie had given him not so very long ago. A look he’d dismissed because the power of it terrified him.

Now the thought of losing that forever scared him more. While everyone’s attention was on the bride, his searched out and found Delanie.

Dammit, he wanted her as he’d wanted no other woman. She was his equal in bed and out of it.

But love?

He wished he knew what that emotion was. What it felt like to be caught in its grip. Wanted to know if he was even capable of such feeling.

No great change coursed through him. No miraculous sense that love had suddenly bloomed in the desert that was his heart. No epiphany revealed itself to soothe his soul.

He tore his gaze from hers. For the first time in years, Marco Vincienta felt like a failure.

The sun had set hours ago yet the massive chandeliers hanging from the beamed ceiling cast a mellow glow over tables draped in white linen. Celebrants ate and drank and laughed freely while the wedding singer warbled love songs.

Delanie hovered on the fringe of the massive ballroom, pleased that it had been a perfectly beautiful wedding for Bella and Giamo. The reception at the castle was lovely, with the paparazzi kept outside while Carlo Domanti moved through the crowd, capturing this special day for the happy couple.

A select number of pictures would find their way into the media. Delanie had been promised that a few others would be available to her for advertising purposes.

Everything she’d wanted, needed, to relaunch her business
with flare was now hers. Like the bride, she should be celebrating today as the happiest day of her life.

She
should
have been.

It was sheer torture to know she was excluded from Marco’s life now. Her choice. Her hell.

Would it always be this way? Would she always be the fool around this arousing Italian?

If only her gaze didn’t constantly swing to him. If only her heart didn’t seize and her breath catch at the sight of him laughing and mingling with the guests.

Though for the last hour, he’d been absent. She worried her hands and scanned the crowd. How long did it take for a broken heart to mend?

“This could last all night,” came a deep rich voice just behind her.

“Marco,” she said, whirling, hand over her thundering heart.

She stared at him, suddenly tongue-tied. Unbelievably at a loss for words.

With effort, she rallied her wits and managed a smile, hoping only she knew that her lips trembled. “You startled me.”

“My apologies.” He cradled a wineglass in each hand and handed her one.

She took the glass, her fingers barely brushing his. A jolt shot into her veins to set her blood on fire.

He raised his glass to her and smiled and her heart did a tumble again.
“Brava!”

“To the happy couple.” She tore her gaze from his intense scrutiny and focused on the wine, on taking a cordial sip without choking up.

A sudden quietness wrapped around her like a ribbon and had her taking a step closer to Marco before she realized it. His gaze darkened, his lips curving just a smidgeon.

“Cara,”
he breathed, head bending toward hers.

“Evviva gli sposi!” a guest shouted
.

Delanie jumped back from Marco as others joined in with applause and shouts. She raised her glass in the traditional toast, but her heart was still thundering.

If the guest hadn’t chosen that moment to salute the bride and groom, Marco’s lips would have captured hers. Despite her intentions she would have let them. Welcomed them.

She would have melted in his arms.

The music started up with people hurrying onto the dance floor to form a huge circle.

“Marco, please join us,” Bella shouted.

He waved to his sister and extended a hand to Delanie. “You will come too.”

Delanie shook her head and retreated another step. “No! I have two left feet and would truly prefer watching. Please, go and enjoy this with your family.”

For a moment she was certain he would protest. That he would insist on her participation. But she watched thankfully as he shrugged and strode toward his sister, walking away from her as he must.

Delanie sucked in a breath, painfully aware the time had come for her to leave. That the longer she stayed, the more she risked being seduced by Marco again.

Her job here was over.

Nobody would notice if she left. Nobody would miss her.

A
FTER
the Tarantella, which seemed endless no matter how enjoyable, had ended, Marco went in search of Delanie. He wasted fifteen minutes before he realized she’d left the castle soon after the dancing began.

No doubt she was exhausted after a day spent overseeing a wedding and reception. The tension he’d added fuel to was a burden she hadn’t needed either.

But then that type of behavior should be expected from an ass, and he’d done all in his power the last two days presenting that very image to her. No longer.

He wasn’t done with her by a long shot and this time she would hear him out.

The second he fulfilled his duty and saw his sister and brother-in-law off in the wee hours of the morning, Marco sped back to his villa. A gentleman would have waited until morning to confront her, but Marco had proven time and again he was not fully of that league.

Without hesitating, he went straight to Delanie’s room. He gave one sharp knock on the door then pushed inside, too impatient to wait for her to rouse from sleep and welcome him in.

Or tell him to go to hell, which was what he deserved!

The dim light from the hall stretched into the room and across the bed—the neatly made bed.

“Delanie,” he called out, flicking on the light.

A quick scan of the bedroom confirmed what he already knew in his heart. Delanie was gone.

The only trace of the woman who had occupied his thoughts was the new clothes he’d bought for her, still hanging in the closet untouched.

He stood in the middle of the room, fists bunched at his sides, chest heaving. She’d been so anxious to leave Italy and him that she’d done so tonight.

Not that he blamed her for running off. He was the one responsible for that. He’d driven her away.

He sucked in air, hands fisted, chest heaving as he fought the demon inside him. Letting her go was easy. It was what he’d always done.

Going after her took something he didn’t know whether he possessed, something that terrified him. But to lose her forever …

In moments he was behind the wheel again, speeding toward the
autostrada
. He wanted her back, but convincing her that she belonged with him wouldn’t be easy. Impossible perhaps.

Giving up wasn’t an option. Not now. It was all or nothing.

He had to succeed. Had to make her believe him. The fear that had held his emotions prisoner was nothing compared to the fear of losing her forever.

Delanie paced the waiting area, wondering how much longer it would take for the airline to ready the plane for boarding. Flight times here at night were obviously an estimate and a rough one at that, but there was no other recourse available.

So she paced and she fretted and she tried to think of anything but the tall Italian who’d broken her heart again. It would take time to get over the hurt. Forever to forget him.

“
Attenzione
. Boarding will commence in ten minutes,” the clerk said in Italian, and then in English.

Finally
, she thought, reaching for the bag at her feet.

“Delanie!” rasped that deep Italian voice that sent chills up her spine. That awakened every nerve in her body to the powerful throb of his presence.

She whirled around and stared at Marco bearing down on her, his hair tousled and face ravaged. His stark white shirt was open at the neck, the bow tie long gone. And then she saw the worry in his eyes and her blood ran cold.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Has something gone wrong?”

Not the greeting he’d hoped for. “No. But we need to talk.”

“About what?” she asked again.

“Us.”

She stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “I can’t imagine why.”

He dashed fingers through his hair. “You need to know this. My CEO at Tate Unlimited found a hidden stash of your father’s papers. In it were documents about your mother’s peculiar accidents and Tate’s dictate to ensure they stayed hidden. The mark of an abuser, as you’d said. As your mother denied.”

She flinched and stiffened. “Fine. You now have proof of what I told you long ago.”

“Part of me always believed it,” he admitted. “But there’s more. There was a written note from your mother to your father dated mere days before he acquired my grandparents’ vineyard. She told him about my nonna’s failing health. Of my concern. Your mother was the one to betray your trust.”

“I’d already come to that chilling conclusion, but I’m glad you know that as well, not that it makes any difference. Now if you’ll excuse me—” She turned to leave.

He muttered a curse. So much for thinking the truth would free them of their pasts. That she would greet him with open arms. That she would be as glad to see him as he was to be near her again.

His old fears rushed forward with the warning he’d heeded
all of his adult life. Fool! Trust a woman with your heart and you will end up hurt.

But he already was hurting, his heart aching, his blood pounding so hard his head spun. All his life he’d believed his father’s words had kept him from making a mistake with countless women. Then he’d blamed Delanie’s betrayal—or what he’d believed was her betrayal—when that wasn’t the case at all.

What kept him from committing to any woman was his lack of feeling for those women whose names were long forgotten. All but Delanie. She broke through his defenses. Touched him, even though he’d denied it years ago.

Up until an hour ago he’d still denied it.

Never again. He no longer doubted her word. No longer doubted the feelings surging through his blood. No longer could stand to be apart from her.

Now he knew what was in his heart. He only had to convince her that he was telling the truth.

He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “If you have nothing to say to me, then you will at least grant me the courtesy of listening while I talk.”

Why was he doing this, ripping her heart apart more just by being here? “Sorry, I have a plane to catch.”

She grabbed her bag and darted around him, starting toward the shrinking boarding line. He let her take all of two steps before he grabbed her arm and turned her around.

“The damned plane can wait.”

Her jaw dropped open, then snapped shut. “It won’t wait, even for your arrogance. I’m not about to miss this flight and have to wait another two hours.”

The anger he’d wielded like a shield cracked, falling away. His frown deepened as he read the tiredness in her eyes.

“You can’t go, Delanie. You can’t leave me.”

Her shoulders slumped, her fingers clutching her bag when what she really wanted to cling to was him. Stupid, but true.
That’s how badly she had it for him still. That’s why she couldn’t miss this plane.

“I won’t stay,” she said, staring into his eyes that seemed darker. More intense. More pained. “I won’t be your lover.”

His big hands cupped her upper arms and did that slow glide down and back up, setting her skin on fire and threatening to melt her fast-fading resistance. “But that is just what you are,
cara mia
.”

She shook her head and found the strength to push him away. “Past tense. What we had is over. I can’t go through that again. Goodbye.”

She whirled and ran to the check-in, fumbling to pull her boarding pass from her bag. Just a few more seconds and she would board the plane. A few more would carry her away from Marco before her composure deserted her.

“I love you, Delanie Tate,” he shouted.

An arctic blast couldn’t have froze her in place any quicker. All thoughts of continuing out the door onto the tarmac and the waiting plane were over.

“What?” she asked, turning to face him.

“I love you,
cara
.”

She swallowed, pulse trembling wildly. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” He nudged her chin up and dropped a kiss on her lips, fleetingly, yet she burned for more. “I loved you ten years ago but was too damned afraid of becoming the same obsessed man as my father. I clung to that belief the past two weeks when all I could think of doing was spending every day and night with you for as long as I lived.”

Her gaze probed his and he let her in, let her see the naked soul before her. The barest smile trembled on her lips.

“You aren’t just saying the words. You really do love me as I love you,” she said, wonder in her eyes, in her smile.

“With all my heart and soul,” he said, his lips finding hers
again for a long lingering kiss that chased away her doubts, that freed the man she’d fallen in love with years ago.

“Marry me,” he said when they finally came up for air. “Stay in Italy with me and run your company. Be my wife. Mother to my children. Balm to my soul.”

Her lips trembled and tears sprang to her eyes. This was no joke. No ploy.

This was the declaration she’d waited a lifetime to hear.

She dropped her bag and threw her arms around his neck. “Yes. God, yes!”

His arms banded around her, molding her to his length, oblivious of the stragglers watching. He had Delanie in his arms, in his heart, right where she belonged.

He kissed her forehead, her nose, her inviting lips. “I will make you happy,
cara mia
. I’ll make your dreams come true.”

She smiled and cupped his face, tears of joy swimming in her eyes. “You already have, Marco. You already have.”

* * * * *