Claimed for the Italian's Revenge

by Natalie Rivers

  So Claudia had not been able to discuss her teenage years with Marco because, when she was thirteen years old, she had gone to live in the home that Vasile had cheated Marco’s family out of.

  Marco had always known that they shared this link—but, at the time of their relationship, he had genuinely believed she was unaware of it. He had been eighteen when his family had been destroyed and he had made it his business to know who was to blame. Claudia had been a child at the time and there was no reason for her to be aware of the family who had lived in her home before.

  But now, thinking about the way she had focused all her childhood tales on her earlier years, he realised it was yet another way she had duped him.

  A creak from above caught his attention and he looked up to see Claudia making her way down the wooden staircase.

  He forced the memories to the back of his mind and studied her. She had changed into fresh clothes—a bulky jumper that did nothing to show off her feminine shape and dull, loose-fitting trousers. It didn’t matter to him—in his mind’s eye he could still see her in soaking wet, skin-tight jeans that clung to every intimate curve and a transparent T-shirt that showed her nipples jutting towards him in red-hot invitation.

  He lifted his gaze to her face as she walked down to him and, as their eyes met, a crackle of tension passed between them. Her step faltered and she took a breath, as if she was gathering herself to speak. One glance at her body language and Marco knew that things were about to get interesting.

  A buzz of anticipation ran through him and he realised he was looking forward to the exchange.

  ‘I’d like you to leave now.’

  Claudia’s voice sounded clear and determined to her own ears, but her words had no effect on Marco. He continued to stand there, simply looking up at her with an intensity that made a shiver run down her spine. He was wearing fresh jeans and a luxurious midnight-blue sweater which hugged his body snugly and made her achingly aware of his superb athletic physique.

  ‘I’m not ready to leave,’ he replied. A powerful wave of energy was emanating from him and for some reason Claudia sensed danger. But his arrogant tone grated across her nerves and suddenly she was galvanised into action.

  She walked down the stairs and slipped past him into the living room. As she went by him she couldn’t help noticing that his black hair was nearly dry and was sexily dishevelled. It looked as if he’d simply rubbed it with a towel and pulled his fingers through it. Her own fingers suddenly tingled with the need to reach out and touch it, but she ignored the urge and made herself scan the room for his belongings.

  ‘Here’s your coat,’ she said, picking up the leather jacket that he’d left lying across the back of the sofa. The leather was soft and supple in her hands and a tantalizing waft of his masculine scent filled her senses, but she ignored the disconcerting distraction and thrust the jacket towards him. ‘Now, please just go.’

  ‘Very polite,’ Marco said, with an infuriating lift of his eyebrow as he caught hold of the jacket just in time to stop it falling to the floor. ‘But, as I said, I’m not ready to go yet.’

  ‘I don’t care if you’re ready.’ Claudia was rapidly losing her temper. ‘I didn’t invite you to join me here. I didn’t even tell you I was coming to Wales—you found that out by underhand means. Is it surprising you’re not welcome?’

  ‘I was welcome enough in the shower,’ Marco said, taking a step towards her.

  ‘I told you to get out,’ Claudia said, feeling her cheeks blaze as his eyes swept down across her body. Her clothes covered her well, but she knew he was remembering the many times he’d seen her naked.

  ‘But you didn’t mean it,’ he said. ‘In fact you soon made me feel very welcome indeed.’

  ‘Well, you’re not any more.’ She spun round and marched to the front door of the cottage, which was in the far corner of the living room, and flung it open with a defiant flourish. Then she turned back to face him.

  She gasped, startled to find him right behind her. He had followed her across the room as silently as the black cat she had imagined in the shower.

  But, for once, his attention wasn’t on her. He was staring out through the open door. Something in his expression made her turn round and follow his line of vision.

  Her eyes opened wide with shock and it was her turn to stare.

  A thick blanket of fog surrounded the cottage. And the rest of Wales, as far as she could see, which was only a few feet into the dense whiteness.

  ‘That’s incredible,’ Marco said, stepping past her and walking a few paces into the fog. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ Claudia replied, momentarily forgetting her bad temper. The fog muffled their voices and the sound of his footsteps on the gravel as he walked further away into the thick white bank. ‘I’ve seen fog rolling in off the sea—but that is extraordinary.’

  She’d never seen fog so dense. In fact, she realised with a spike of alarm, Marco was starting to disappear from view.

  ‘Come back!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ll get lost.’

  ‘I can’t even see my car,’ he said, turning to walk back to her. The light from the doorway was bouncing back off the white wall of suspended moisture, making an eerie glow around him. ‘I know it’s only a few feet away.’

  ‘You can’t drive in this,’ she said. It was impossible to see anything. The fog was too dense, and the light shining from the house didn’t help at all. In fact the fog seemed to be acting like a mirror, reflecting the light straight back at them.

  ‘Are you asking me to stay the night in the cottage?’ he questioned. Even in the strange white glow she could see the gleam in his eye. ‘With you.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I said you can’t drive. But there’s nothing to stop you sleeping in your car.’

  She turned and walked back inside, but she didn’t pull the door shut behind her. A moment later she heard Marco follow her in.

  The clunk as he closed the door reverberated through her like an omen. Fogbound in the tiny cottage with Marco, she knew she was in for a long night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CLAUDIA took a deep breath and walked purposefully through to the bathroom. She didn’t want to talk to Marco. Maybe, if she looked busy, he’d leave her alone.

  She picked up the digital camera, which was lying on the floor near the door, gathered her wet clothes together and carried them through to the washing machine in the kitchen. Then she collected her laptop computer case from the bedroom and sat down at the kitchen table, looking at the camera.

  Despite the battering it had taken at the beach, it didn’t look to be in too bad shape. At the very least, she hoped the memory card would have survived—then she could transfer her photos on to the laptop and get on with writing her review.

  At that moment it seemed much easier to focus on her job than to think about the night ahead.

  ‘I need a drink.’ Marco’s voice right behind her made her jump. She wished he’d stop doing his cat impersonation, stalking silently round the cottage. ‘And something to eat—I suddenly feel ravenous.’

  The word ravenous, spoken in his sexy Italian accent, rumbled down her spine like thunder. She tried to suppress a shiver and spoke without looking up.

  ‘I haven’t got much food—I didn’t plan on entertaining.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to cook for me,’ he replied, unaffected by her sharp tone. ‘I knew I’d be staying the night, so I brought a few supplies myself. You can share them, if you’d like.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said crisply, irritated by his confident assumption that he would end up staying. If it wasn’t for the fog, he would already be on his way. ‘I’ve got work to do. Actually, if you’re going to be cooking, I think I’ll take myself into the other room.’

  Still without looking at him, she picked up her stuff and headed through to the living room. The coffee table would be just as easy to work on, and at least Marco would be out of the way for a while. S
he knew it wouldn’t take him all evening to cook and eat his supper. But she didn’t let herself think about the long hours that stretched out before her.

  She was surprised to notice a fire burning merrily in the hearth. She frowned, wondering when Marco had found the time to light it. It was burning so well that it must have been lit for a while. She hadn’t noticed it when she came downstairs, but then she’d been concentrating hard on making Marco leave the cottage.

  She sat down on the sofa, disconcerted to find that being around Marco still had the power to make her oblivious to her surroundings. When he looked at her, locking his rich espresso eyes with hers, it was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist.

  It had always been like that. But, four years ago, Marco had exuded an all-encompassing charm that had wrapped around her like a gossamer blanket, shutting out all of her worries and melting her heart. She closed her eyes and pictured his face as it was then, back when they were lovers—the crinkles around his eyes as he laughed and his wide generous smile.

  Now, when he looked at her, she was no longer transported away from her concerns. Instead, she felt a wave of anxiety rising within her. He had treated her so badly that she knew she could never let herself trust him again. But he still had the power to make her yearn to be with him.

  She shook her head, trying to clear her troubling thoughts, and busied herself with her camera. She was pleased to discover the memory card was all right and loaded the photos on to the computer. She began to scroll through them, feeling increasingly hungry as the delicious smell of cooking drifted in from the kitchen.

  ‘I thought you might change your mind,’ Marco said, placing a glass of mulled wine and a plate of grilled cheese and tomato on toast on the coffee table beside her.

  Right on cue, her stomach growled, making it impossible for her to refuse the food without looking churlish.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said briefly. She pulled the plate towards her, wondering if Marco had remembered that grilled cheese and tomato was one of her favourite light meals. It seemed a coincidence, but cheese and bread were easy foods to transport.

  She picked up her glass and took a sip of aromatic mulled wine. The spicy liquid slipped down her throat easily, creating a delicious glow inside her.

  They started to eat in silence, and Claudia found herself watching the orange flames flickering in the hearth as a way to avoid thinking about conversation. But as the minutes went by, she found herself becoming more relaxed in Marco’s company. She didn’t know if it was the warm mulled wine or the good food that helped to ease the tension, but by the time she finished the meal she felt a lot better.

  ‘That was delicious—much tastier than the sandwich I was planning,’ Claudia said, breaking the silence. ‘You made it seem so easy, and you got the fire started too.’

  ‘It wasn’t hard,’ Marco replied. He slipped off the sofa for a moment to prod the fire with the poker, making a shower of glowing sparks fly upwards. Then, once he’d arranged the burning logs to his liking, he sat down again and turned to look at her, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight. ‘It wasn’t exactly a three course meal.’

  ‘All the same, I probably would have burnt it.’ Claudia smiled, feeling slightly surprised that they seemed to be having a normal conversation.

  ‘I take it you still don’t cook much,’ Marco said. ‘Don’t you ever get tired of plain sandwiches and fruit?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ Claudia paused, taken aback that he remembered her tendency to live on simple uncooked food that took virtually no preparation. ‘There never seems to be much point cooking for one.’

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted it. It was silly to draw attention to the fact that she was on her own—Marco did not need to know that. And, now that she had agreed to get married, she soon wouldn’t be on her own. But in her heart she knew she’d be more alone than ever.

  ‘I may not cook much, but I do still enjoy baking. I took a cake into work for a colleague’s birthday last week,’ she rushed out, hoping to move the conversation on.

  ‘One of your grandmother’s recipes?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She drew her brows together without realising what she was doing and frowned at him. Did he remember everything about her?

  For some reason it bothered her. There were very few people who knew that her most treasured possession was her grandmother’s handwritten recipe book. It was an ancient thing, with fragile curling grease-stained pages. But within its brown covers were wonderful recipes that represented more to Claudia that she could ever explain.

  The lemon drizzle cake her grandma had made for Sunday tea when Claudia and her father, Hector, had escaped from Francesca for the afternoon. The large chocolate cake with expensive ingredients that meant it had only been made for birthdays. The cherry cake that Grandma said was Claudia’s mother’s favourite when she was a little girl. And Mother’s Christmas Cake—which was Grandma’s mother’s recipe—Claudia’s great-grandmother.

  She’d never met her great grandmother and she’d lost her own mother when she was very young. But somehow that recipe book made her feel close to them. When she made those recipes she as if like she was making a connection to the past—as if she hadn’t really lost them for ever.

  ‘I’ll get us a refill,’ Marco said, reaching forward to take the empty wineglass from Claudia’s hand. ‘And I’ll warm up some mince pies for dessert.’

  Claudia leant back on the sofa, thinking how wonderful it was to be waited on. For such a dynamic, successful man, Marco was really very skilled in the kitchen and was not too proud to get down to work preparing food.

  One of the reasons Claudia never cooked was that she didn’t really know how to make even the most basic of meals. Her grandmother had taught her to bake cakes, but her stepmother, Francesca, had no interest in cooking and didn’t see it as a useful skill. As far as she was concerned, you employed a chef or always ate out.

  She heard a muted clang as Marco closed the oven door and for some reason Claudia found herself thinking about the many times his sister, Bianca, had sung his praises. There was no doubt that Marco had taken his role as his sister’s guardian very seriously, even to the point of preparing meals for her himself.

  She looked over her shoulder and saw him coming back into the room with two refilled wineglasses in his hands.

  ‘Bianca often told me how wonderfully you took care of her after the death of both your parents,’ Claudia said. ‘Is that when you learnt to cook?’

  A nasty jolt jarred through Marco at Claudia’s comment.

  She had no business talking about Bianca as if they were friends—not after the things she’d done. Also, hearing her mention his mother—the De Luca family’s shameful betrayer—was unacceptable.

  ‘My mother is not dead,’ Marco said shortly, holding the fierce rush of anger that powered through him in check. ‘I don’t know where she is now, and I do not care to know. She betrayed our family and abandoned Bianca, her only daughter, when she was still a child.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Claudia looked genuinely upset and confused as she pushed her hair back from her face with a shaky movement of her hand. Her eyes were wide with concern. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I looked after my sister, of course,’ Marco said, staring down at her coldly.

  He knew that wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but there was no way he was going to discuss how Primo Vasile had seduced his mother, tempting her into her treachery against his father.

  Although treachery was something that Claudia could understand—just like his mother, she had committed the same crime. But he wasn’t ready to accuse her of that now.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know,’ Claudia said quietly. ‘About your mother, I mean. I always got the impression she had died at the same time as your father.’

  ‘As far as I am concerned, she did,’ Marco said flatly.

  Claudia looked at his stony face in silence. It must have been awful for Bianca to
lose her mother like that—worse, in many ways, than if she had actually died. No wonder they never talked about her.

  ‘Thank goodness, for Bianca’s sake, that she had such a devoted brother to look after her,’ Claudia said.

  For a long moment Marco was silent, staring into the crackling fire with dark eyes. She began to think that she’d made him really angry by bringing up a sore subject from his past. But then he seemed to shake off his black mood and turned back to her again.

  ‘I never learnt to cook—it always seemed instinctive,’ he said, finally sitting down on the sofa beside her.

  ‘Well, I guess I don’t have the right instincts,’ she said wryly, pleased that he was talking to her again. ‘Everything I try to cook comes out tough and overdone, or raw on the inside and burnt on the outside.’

  ‘You can bake cakes,’ Marco said. ‘But I think photography is where your true instincts lie. I’d love to see the photos you took this afternoon.’

  ‘Really?’ Claudia glanced at him, suddenly feeling shy. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted him looking through her photos. But there were still a lot of hours of the evening to get through and she should make the most of the quiet mood they seemed to have reached.

  ‘I’ll get some mince pies,’ Marco said. ‘Then we’ll look at them together.’

  It didn’t take him long to return with a plate of spicily fragrant mince pies, then she started scrolling through the beach photos. She was apprehensive to be looking at them for the first time in front of Marco, but at the same time very pleased with what she had achieved that afternoon.

  ‘They’re amazing,’ Marco said, moving closer to her and angling the laptop screen for his benefit. A moment later his hand covered hers as he took control of the computer, moving through the photographs at a rate that suited him.