by Jane Porter
“I’m making you a promise, Payton. What you face, what you’ll go through, you won’t have to do it alone—”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I know. But I want to. I’ll be there with you. We’ll do it together. No matter what happens, I’ll be at your side.”
Her eyes burned but she wasn’t going to get weepy. The situation was complicated enough without her losing control of her emotions. “The princess is very generous, but I don’t know that she’ll appreciate your promise.”
“It’s not Marilena’s choice. It’s mine.” He tugged her hand. “Don’t look so stricken. Come, let’s go outside. I think we could use some air.”
She followed him across the crowded dance floor to the nearest door. He pushed the door open and they stepped outside into the considerably cooler night air. Overhead stars twinkled in a nearly black sky and Payton smelled the salt of the ocean.
“We need to talk about Marilena,” he said abruptly. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about her, about us, for a while.” He grimaced. “It seems as if there’s an awful lot I’ve been wanting to discuss with you.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to adjust to the cooler temperature. “Maybe it’s because we’ve never really talked. That night at the Trussardis’s we seemed to have leap-frogged over a lot of steps.” She swallowed. “Like conversation.”
He shot her a swift glance, his expression a little mocking. “Conversation didn’t have the appeal of other activities.”
“Yes, and look at the problems appealing activities created.” She didn’t know where to laugh or cry. Their whole relationship had been such a disaster.
A waitress stepped outside to see if they needed anything and Marco ordered two bottles of mineral water. As the waitress disappeared Marco smiled. “I didn’t think we needed another blue drink.”
“Especially not if it has suggestive connotations.”
“Does it?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I thought it was paying homage to Capri’s natural treasure.”
“Sure you did.”
He laughed quietly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and leaned against the low stone wall with the ocean view. “I’ve enjoyed myself tonight.”
She tipped her head back and looked up. The moon was nearly full and the stars were bright pricks of light against the inky blue black sky. It was a beautiful night. Marco had been great company. “Me, too.”
They were silent for a moment listening to the disco’s music pulse along with the crash of water on the rocks below. After a long moment Marco turned his head and looked at her. “If we’d talked more, do you think we could have worked things out?”
CHAPTER TEN
PAYTON didn’t know how he could make her heart ache with so few words. She turned a little, sat down on the edge of the wall. Even though she and Marco weren’t touching she was so aware of him, so aware of everything that had happened between them. “I don’t know. We probably would have still ended up separating, but it might have made the separation less painful.”
He didn’t speak for a long moment and they listened to. “I hate asking these questions, but I’m trying to understand. You make it sound like separation was inevitable with us. Why?”
She frowned as she tried to think of an appropriate answer. There were reasons, she knew there were lots of good reasons but at the moment she couldn’t think of one. “I don’t know. I just don’t see how we could have worked our differences out.”
“But why not? Fundamentally you’re not bad. Fundamentally I’m not bad. In fact, we have quite a few things in common.”
His persistence was making her feel a little crazy. What did he want her to say? What was the answer he was looking for?
She shifted against the wall, the rough stones and grout sharp against the back of her legs. “I’m really not much of a relationship expert. Dating wasn’t considered an important part of my education.”
“But surely you had boyfriends.”
“Male friends, yes, but romantic relationships? Never. You were my first.”
“Lover.”
“First everything.” She squirmed a little, feeling ridiculously gauche. “After seeing what my mom went through after my dad left, I tried to steer clear of relationships and I certainly never intended to get married.”
“But then I insisted on it.”
“You thought it’d be best for the girls.”
“It should have been. In an ideal world.”
Payton bit her lip, suppressing a sigh. His suggestion had made head sense, but their world wasn’t an ideal world. Or perhaps hers hadn’t been the ideal one. Marrying a man like Marco had simply overwhelmed her. It was like doing well in a local race and then being thrown into the Olympics. Marco was not an ordinary man, and life with Marco had been far from ordinary.
“You hated being married to me.” He shot her an apprising glance. “In one argument I think I even called you on it.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. He was referring to a fight they’d had years ago just before he’d moved out of the Milan villa leaving her and the girls alone. “Your actual words were, ‘ungrateful upstart American nobody’.”
“Ouch.” He had the grace to wince. “Not very nice of me.”
She remembered the fight clearly, as well as the next nine miserable months. Months where she cried endlessly, missing him, missing their intimacy, missing everything she’d hoped for but had been denied. She’d loved him and yet hated the marriage. “And yes, I did hate being married to you. Less than a month after we married you moved out of the villa—” she broke off, a bubble of air trapped in her throat.
But now that she had time to think about it, she realized that Marco hadn’t moved away. He hadn’t cut off contact.
She’d been the one that couldn’t handle seeing him after he left. She’d been the one filled with such pain and rage.
Had she subconsciously escalated the problems, turned a difficult situation into a full-blown war of the sexes? Worse yet, had she perhaps reenacted her parents’ falling out?
“You were saying?” he prompted.
She shook her head. She didn’t know how to share it, didn’t know if she should.
The waitress returned with their bottles of mineral water and Marco paid her. But once the waitress disappeared back into the disco, Marco resumed their discussion.
“Why did you hate being married to me? It’s what you wanted.”
“What did I get being married to you? Certainly not your company!”
“You wanted my company?”
“Oh, Marco, what do you think?” Payton raised the bottle to her lips and taking a long cool drink.
“I thought you wanted the package.”
“As in position, wealth, visibility?” She did laugh this time. “Please. I’ve never wanted a free ride, and quite frankly, I’ve never wanted anyone to provide for me. I can take care of myself.”
“Which you were doing quite nicely these past two years.”
“Until the diagnosis,” she retorted, again aware of the grim reality that one had so little control in life.
They returned in silence to the villa and yet Payton’s thoughts raced. She didn’t know what to think, or feel. Part of her felt overwhelmed by all they’d discussed, and yet another part of her felt peace, as well as relief.
Pietra left and Marco locked up the house. At the door of her bedroom they said good-night.
He turned to leave and Payton stopped him, placing a hand on his sleeve. “Marco, during one of our fights before we divorced, you said I was only interested in the d’Angelo name and our conversation tonight reminded me of it.”
“We said a lot of things back then—”
“I know.” Her hand tightened on his forearm. “But it’s important to me that you know this. I was fascinated by the d’Angelo name. I still am. But not for the reason you think. I could care less about the celebrity aspect. I’m intrigued by color, textiles, pattern. If
I found you or your father interesting it’s because I love what you do. What we do.”
He still didn’t get it, did he? Her attraction wasn’t based on his name, or even his handsome face. She was attracted to all of him. Attracted to his energy, his drive, his vision.
She loved him. It was that simple.
It was that complicated.
In his room Marco slowly stripped off his shirt, his pants, his silk boxers and showered in a spray of hot water, trying desperately to relax. His muscles felt bunched. His head throbbed with tension. Payton.
He still cared so much for her. It made him wonder what the hell he’d been thinking these past two years. Made him wonder what the hell he’d been doing.
He and Marilena were not right for each other and yet he’d spent years clinging to this ridiculous notion that she’d be the right wife, the right image, the right partner.
Why? What made Marilena the better choice than Payton? Marilena certainly didn’t engage his emotions the way Payton did. With Marilena he always felt supremely in control. With Marilena he could suppress his emotions.
With Marilena he felt controlled. Rational. Reasonable.
With Payton he felt life intensely. He felt passionately. He felt, period.
He felt. Marco suddenly turned the shower off and stood in the marble shower enclosure, water dripping off him. He wiped a forearm across his face. Was that the problem? With Payton he felt emotions and the emotions scared him?
Grabbing his towel, Marco rubbed himself down before pulling on a pair of comfortable Egyptian cotton pants he’d designed for lounge wear. The pants were cut from a Moroccan print the color of paprika. They hung low on his lean waist, exposing his hip-bones and were comfortable for sleeping.
He used his fingers to comb his hair back from his brow and headed back to Payton’s room.
She looked surprised to see him back at her bedroom door. “What’s wrong?”
She’d showered, too, and in her black and white silk pajamas—men’s style, he thought with a wry smile—she looked small and very young still. It suddenly occurred to him that she was still young. When they’d married she’d been just twenty-three. She’d soon be twenty-seven. He had almost twelve years on her—almost a lifetime of experience, not to mention wisdom. But had he ever acted wise? Had he acted mature?
Marco took in the tumble of dark red curls and the wide blue eyes and saw the innocence still there. He hadn’t allowed himself to look at her closely in years. He hadn’t want to acknowledge that he’d taken something from her that night when she’d lost her virginity. He hadn’t wanted any emotional responsibility.
He’d hurt her. She’d been naive and he’d been ruthless. What a combination.
He couldn’t change the past, but the future still lay ahead of them. “If you knew you only had four days left, what would you do?”
Her blue eyes widened, revealing flecks of purple and black in the blue irises. He’d shocked her with the question. “I’d spend as much time as possible with our girls.”
He felt a vibration of emotion within him. “Is that it?”
“No.” Her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “I’d want to spend as much time with you as I could, too.”
He reached out and stroked her soft cheek. “I knew you’d say that.”
“Am I that predictable?”
“No. It’s what I hoped you say.” Touching her, he felt a savage twist inside his chest, a wrench of emotion so strong it actually hurt. “Tell me, Payton. Is it too late to start over?”
She blinked, eyes growing moist. Her mouth trembled. “I thought we’d already agreed to work on becoming better friends.”
There it was again, a reckless surge of hunger and adrenaline, a purely primitive response that made him want to take her and make her his. He didn’t want to be just friends. He wanted more from her than friendship. He wanted some of the fire and hunger he’d tasted that first night. He’d made love to many women but making love with Payton had been more real, more intense than anything he’d ever felt before.
He cupped her cheek, savoring the warm satin texture of her skin even as he fought the animal impulse to devour her then and there. “You and I could never be just friends. There’s too much here. Too much heat. Too much chemistry.”
Payton swallowed hard, desperately trying to contain the chaotic emotions rising within her. His thumb was drawing slow circles against her cheek and she couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, not with his hand against her feverish cheek, and not with her whole body responding to his incredible touch.
God, she’d missed him. She’d missed being touched. Missed being loved by him. Yet touching him, kissing him, would only complicate things more. And hurt her more. Making love to Marco only heightened her emotions, made her love stronger, more powerful.
“It’s late,” she whispered faintly, knowing she had to pull away before she lost her head completely.
His mouth curved but his dark eyes didn’t smile. He looked fierce. Determined. “It’s not that late.”
She reached up to clasp his hand, wanting to lift it from her cheek. Instead she found herself holding him, holding on as if terrified to let go.
But this is just what she couldn’t let happen. She couldn’t start wanting and needing. She couldn’t become vulnerable again.
Fight it, Payton. Fight back. If you don’t resist now, you never will.
Unshed tears thickened in her throat, burning the back of her eyes. “I think I hear the girls.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“You don’t know what to listen for,” she answered, her heart hammering harder as his palm slipped, his hand flush against neck, his thumb against the base of her throat as if taking her pulse.
He wasn’t about to be distracted. “And what if they did come? They wouldn’t see anything but me touching you.”
“But Marilena—”
“Isn’t here, and she isn’t part of the equation.” His head dipped, his mouth brushed her cheek. The caress felt as if he’d set her face on fire. “The equation is Marco, Payton, Gia and Liv. The four of us. That’s all that should matter to you.”
She trembled as he caressed her neck and throat. Her sensitivity to him was overwhelming. It had been like this that very first night, it’d been raw and intense and she, completely inexperienced, had just let it happen.
But she was older now and more experienced. She knew better. She couldn’t switch off her brain—much less her conscience. Marco might be able to forget Marilena tonight, but she couldn’t. Yes, she craved him, absolutely craved his mouth and his hands and his touch, she also knew that this, being together, was wrong.
“No, no, no,” she whispered, hands against his chest, her fingers spread to push him away. “I can’t do this, Marco. You’re not mine—”
“I’m not anyone’s,” he answered thickly. “I belong to no one.”
“But Marilena!”
His dark head lifted, his eyes blazed. “It’s over between us.”
Payton felt a spike of elation immediately followed by guilt. She loved Marco, still wanted to be with Marco, but to take him from another woman?
“This is my choice,” he said almost fiercely. “I don’t love her, not the way I should.”
“You’re saying that now, but it’s the heat of the moment. What if you change your mind later?”
“Heat of the moment, is it?” Marco demanded as he reached into his pocket and held up a gold band with an enormous stone. “Then what is this?”
Payton stared at the marquis-cut diamond for the longest time. “Whose is that?”
“You know perfectly well.”
“Marco—”
“You didn’t believe me when I said I’d ended it with Marilena. Well, here is your proof. Her ring. What more do you want?”
Payton’s eyes searched his. She felt such horribly conflicting emotions. Hope and fear. Excitement and guilt. Her gaze dropped to the ring in his hand. The enormous stone g
linted in the light.
“You said if you only had four days left, you’d want to spend as much time with me as possible.” Marco tilted her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet his again. “I feel the same way about you. If you’re the one I want to be with, and you’re the one I want to raise my children, how can I be with her? How can I consider marrying her?”
“But you said once you had much in common. You said you had a similar background and shared values—”
“I also thought I’d lost you forever. I thought you were never coming back, and God forgive me for saying this, but Marilena was an expensive insurance policy. My relationship with her kept me from being hurt by anyone again.”
“You lose her, you lose that policy,” Payton whispered.
“I know. But that policy wasn’t working anyway. You came back and you brought me news that you’re sick, and could possibly die, and I realize I’m nothing but a fool. I’ve been playing safe for years and playing safe is just stupid. It’s a coward’s way out and I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a coward. And I’d rather have four days with you than a lifetime with another woman.”
He closed the bedroom door and moved toward her. “I feel like the clock is ticking, Payton. Haven’t we talked enough for one night?”
She knew he was going to kiss her and she wanted the kiss as much as she feared it. She knew that when they touched reason when out the window.
Hands on her upper arms, he pulled her against him. His head lowered, his mouth descended, covering hers. She could feel his own ambivalence, feel his frustration the tension of his arms and the hard press of his mouth. At one level he wanted to punish her, wanted her to feel the pain he’d felt, but even as his lips crushed hers, his arms gentled, his hands leaving her upper arms to cradle her head.
He shifted slightly, adjusting her against him and the anger was gone, leaving only his warmth, his impatience, his strength. She felt the tight corded muscles of his thighs and the relentless pressure of his hips. He wanted her, that much she knew, and when his lips parted hers, she shivered, overwhelmed by her own longing.