Innocent of His Claim

by Janette Kenny

  She stared at him through narrowed eyes, mouth drawn in a tight bow. “You were following in your father’s footsteps?”

  He gave a curt nod, the admission coming hard. “I was certainly headed that direction after the collapse of my business. Cabriotini’s death changed that pattern of life. Changed me.”

  “For the better?”

  “That depends on who you ask,” he said. “Come. I’m sure you would like to find your room and rest.”

  “Actually I’d like to meet your sister first. The sooner I can get started formulating plans for her wedding the better.”

  Not what he expected to hear but he had no objections. Bella could be another matter.

  “Of course.”

  He asked the housekeeper to summon his sister then led Delanie into the salon awash with sunlight thanks to a bank of tall windows. The French doors had been thrown open to the patio, admitting a warm welcoming breeze sweetened with the spice of ripe grapes.

  Yet the only scent teasing his senses to distraction was the floral one wafting around Delanie. She was still in his blood, but where he really wanted her was in his bed, willing and hot for him.

  Soon, he thought as he crossed to the liquor cabinet. “Would you care for a drink?”

  Definitely, but dulling her senses around Marco could be a huge error on her part. More than ever she needed to keep her wits sharp. If she ignored the sudden sexual overtones radiating from him then just maybe she could muddle through being close to him.

  Still, she heard herself ask, “Is it one of your labels?”

  “Our premiere sagrantino,” he said, handing her a glass of glistening torrid red wine. “Eight years old and entering its prime. Or would you prefer something less robust? A merlot perhaps?”

  “No, the sagrantino will be fine.”

  She took the glass from him, careful not to touch his fingers, careful not to find too much significance in that remark. It was no surprise that he remembered her favorite wine. It stood to reason that her adversary would use something she liked to lull her.

  Adversary … Her eyes flicked to Marco’s dark enigmatic ones and she suddenly couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but clutch the fine stem of the glass between her fingers.

  She ran her tongue over her lips as the intensity in his eyes burned her from the inside out, the heat so strong she feared he would devour her.

  This awareness between them had always been there. Always had been strong. But even knowing that hadn’t prepared her for the onslaught of emotions. She’d been so sure anger at him would kill her desire. But it hadn’t.

  “To Bella’s wedding,” he said, raising his glass.

  A trickle of awareness skipped up her arms and legs and she shifted, edgy, needy, instantly aware of the change in him. Was this how a hare felt being stalked?

  She stiffened but lifted her glass to his, the melodic ting of crystal resonating in the air while a different awareness played over her nerves, leaving them humming.

  “Yes, to your sister’s wedding,” she said, well aware he was the master of manipulation when it came to her.

  He drank, the bronzed column of his throat working, the seductive bow of his lips stained by the dark wine. She stared, unable to move, to do anything but remember a time when they’d found a secluded glen and come together, drinking red wine from cheap glasses and each other.

  Her skin tightened at the memory of him laving it off her body with his tongue. How his eyes had locked with hers, blazing with heat and lust and what she’d thought was love. He’d thrust into her deeply that day, making them one, making her feel whole and cherished and loved for the first time in her life.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a different wine?” he asked, breaking the spell that held her as tightly as chains.

  She flicked him a smile, hands thankfully steady on the wineglass. “No, I was just tangled in thoughts.”

  “About?”

  About what could have been if they hadn’t splintered apart.

  Wasted energy. Nothing could come of them together again, but that didn’t calm the deep hum that vibrated through her, hot and thrumming with a pulse that was so needy. Even knowing he’d never loved her, she had never been able to forget him. Never had been able to think of letting another man touch her.

  She would surely never trust so easily again.

  “I was thinking about all I need to do.” She swirled the dark wine before taking a sip.

  Her senses exploded to life while the alcohol went straight to her head. Just like the man staring at her giving her that bubbly, fuzzy feeling that coursed through her veins.

  “Lovely,” she got out a bit breathlessly.

  “I am glad you like it.” He moved closer, almost prying her glass from her stiff fingers then backing her up against the sun-warmed expanse of wall oh so easily. “The fruity taste lingers on the tongue while the tart acidity awakens the palate, don’t you think?”

  He was going to kiss her. She read it in the dark smoky glint of his eyes. Sensed it in his obviously aroused body pressing close to hers. And, God help her, she wanted that kiss. Wanted his mouth on hers, his hands stroking her body.

  Her heart raced like the wind and her mind spun in a bizarre panic. She couldn’t let it happen and yet that’s exactly what she wanted him to do. Kiss her. Mold her to his length.

  “Our relationship is strictly business,” she said, clapping a palm against the steely wall of his chest, desperate to stop this, to avoid a repeat of history that would fling her right back into the hot swirling depths of consuming passion.

  “It can be whatever we wish,” he said, stepping so close her scent swirled about him like silken scarves.

  “No. You’re wrong.”

  She held her ground, looking up at him with eyes that had known pain, known heartache. One night long ago he’d glimpsed the beginnings of that grief and believed it, got lost in her need and his own. He wasn’t gullible now.

  Yet instinct told him that what he read in her eyes was real. This was a reflection of pain learned one way—by experience.

  “Why so wary?” he asked. “I’ve abided by all you asked.”

  “I’ve had little cause to trust anyone.”

  Hadn’t they both? “A lesson learned from your father?”

  Her chin came up, her gaze frosting. “And from you.”

  He flinched as the salvo struck his heart. “How can I possibly be blamed for your distrust?”

  Dammit, were those tears in her eyes? No matter. He wouldn’t let them influence him again.

  Ten years ago he’d fallen for her sob story until the truth had won out. It was a painful reminder of how devious a woman could be, a lesson learned from his mother’s infidelity.

  Nothing learned in his recent investigation of Delanie swayed him to believe her now. She’d tricked him, betrayed him …

  “You said you would come for me,” she said. “You promised to help me and my mother. But you lied.”

  His fingers tightened on the glass until they numbed. That was the last thing he expected her to bring up.

  “No, that most certainly wasn’t a lie,” he said.

  “Then why didn’t you come for me? Why didn’t you call?”

  Because he’d found her out to be the liar. The one using him in a new way. Yet now he had trouble dredging up that same level of distrust. He found himself questioning what had once seemed so clear.

  He drove his fingers through his hair, hating this sense of uncertainty. Is this a hell similar to that his own father had lived with? That had left Marco feeling isolated as a teen? Abandoned? Unloved?

  “Papa, why do you ignore me? Why do you and Mama argue all the time?” he’d asked soon after they’d moved to Umbria.

  “Ignore you? I’m a busy man,” his father had said. “Ask your mother why we are like this,” his father would say.

  And when Marco had, his mother would burst into tears.

  Just as Delanie had when confront
ed with her betrayal.

  Yes, revenge had sounded sweeter than the succulent sagrantino grapes ripening in his vineyard to Marco. He’d lived for this moment. Planned it well. But the reality of forcing Delanie to do his bidding tasted as bitter as fruit harvested far too soon.

  The impulse to touch her was too strong. Too overwhelming to ignore. He brushed back errant strands of hair that looked and felt like silk, careful not to touch her skin. Careful not to spook her.

  “I did come, Delanie,” he said. “I made arrangements to spirit you both away and met with your mother as I’d promised. But when I offered her sanctuary she refused.”

  “No. Mum wouldn’t have done that.”

  He ground his teeth. If this were a man continually calling him a liar … But it wasn’t. It was Delanie, the sweetly feminine thorn in his side.

  “Believe what you will,” he said, well aware she would anyway.

  She set her glass down and pressed both palms to her temples. “This makes no sense. Father abused her. Why would she refuse the chance to escape that life?”

  “Your mother denied everything you told me,” he said, his eyes boring into her suddenly startled ones.

  “No!”

  He shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

  And Delanie looked into his eyes and knew it was so. He’d come for her and her mother. But her mum had sworn to her that Marco had never come. Never called.

  The last bastion of her childhood crumbled before her eyes into dust, clinging, choking, leaving a remnant of deceit that couldn’t be easily wiped away.

  That night she’d believed her mother, her confidant. While her heart had been breaking, it had never crossed her mind once that her mother would do anything to harm her. Deceive her.

  Delanie pressed trembling fingers to her temples where a headache threatened to pound to life, sickened by the truth that loomed before her. Had the mother she’d sacrificed her own freedom for betrayed her confidence? Used her?

  The walls have ears, her mother had told her whenever she would question how her father knew of her plans. And she’d believed her mother, she admitted, hands falling to her sides.

  Poor naive fool, she chided herself.

  My God, her mother had been the one who’d alerted David Tate to Marco’s ailing grandmother. She’d told him about Delanie’s plans and concerns for her own company, setting the stage to halt her independence. Her mother had stolen her chance of happiness with Marco, all because she would not leave the abusive husband she loved and whose horrific temper she constantly made excuses for.

  “I don’t know who or what to believe anymore,” she said, turning to the window, more confused and hurt and angry than she’d ever been in her life.

  “It’s difficult when lies are buried among the truths.”

  So true. It was glaringly clear that both her parents had manipulated and lied to her all her life. Her trust in her mother had made it so easy to play into her father’s hands. To give him control over her future while destroying Marco’s legacy.

  This truth cut deep and bled.

  She cast him a quick look then glanced away, unable to meet his steady gaze for long, afraid she would see pity in his eyes. “I don’t have the heart even to try anymore.”

  “It’s not like you to give up.”

  Strong hands cupped her shoulders. His offer of support?

  God knew she desperately needed a strong shoulder to lean on now. But Marco? He’d betrayed her as well. He could be using her now.

  She shrugged him off and scooted aside, heart thundering and skin tingling. “Don’t touch me. Please.”

  “Cara—”

  “Am I interrupting a private moment?” a woman asked, her tone holding a hint of amusement.

  Delanie stared at the women. She was young and pretty, though the petulant bow to her mouth and the annoying snap of masticating chewing gum kept her from being a raving beauty or an ingénue.

  “My sister, Bella,” he introduced.

  “Delanie Tate,” she said.

  The younger woman flashed a wide smile. “Good. You’re finally here. I’m about to go out of my mind dealing with these old traditionalists.”

  Delanie flicked a look at Marco but he merely shrugged. It was the first time she’d seen him look uncertain.

  She faced the bride. “I gather you would prefer a modern wedding.”

  Bella bobbed her head. “Heavens, yes. It’s a joke for me to wear virginal white.”

  Heat burned Delanie’s cheeks, but she continued smiling and jumped at the chance to get through this crucial meeting with Bella now. Once she knew the young woman’s wants she could get to work on a proposal. Far away from Marco Vincienta.

  “Please, let’s sit and talk,” Delanie said, motioning to the seating area where a sumptuous cream sofa was flanked by overstuffed chairs. “What are your preferences as to color?”

  Bella slumped onto a stripped chair, pulling her bare feet beneath her. “Pale blue.” She frowned. “Or green.”

  “Both are lovely choices,” Delanie said as she took her electronic notebook from her purse and eased onto the sofa close to Bella, ready to fill the blanks in on her unique form. “With your dark coloring, you would look stunning in either though the green would truly bring out the gold flecks in your dark eyes.”

  Eyes that were strikingly similar to Marco’s. They must have their father’s eyes, she surmised, though she refrained from saying that aloud.

  “I would love that,” Bella gushed.

  A glance at Marco found him watching his sister, dark brows drawn over his classic nose and muscular arms locked over his broad chest. Delanie had expected impatience but he seemed as interested in what his sister said as Delanie.

  She shook off the distraction that was solely Marco with a discreet cough, vowing to ignore him. “I gather you’d like nontraditional flowers as well?”

  Bella nodded. “Anything but roses or calla lilies or anything else that someone has declared as symbolizing everlasting love.”

  Ah, that was a telling remark if she ever heard one. But she didn’t press the point now with Marco watching them like a hawk.

  She was here to please his sister. Not him. He’d already told her money was no object.

  Delanie made a few notes, already having an idea of an avenue to pursue. “Where will the ceremony be held?”

  “The cathedral in the village,” Marco said.

  “No! I will marry in St. Antonio de Montiforte or not at all,” Bella said.

  An uneasy tension pulsed between the siblings. Delanie cleared her throat, having dealt with similar matters in the past.

  She faced Marco. “You hired me to plan a wedding that would please your sister, to do as she wishes. That means that she decides where to exchange her vows. Correct?”

  Marco mumbled something, likely a curse. “Fine. Have the wedding in Montiforte. Force your guests to drive an hour to your wedding and back here for the reception. Unless you have changed your mind about that as well!”

  “We want to hold the reception in Castello di Montiforte,” Bella said.

  Marco scrubbed a hand over his mouth and shifted, and for a moment Delanie almost felt sorry for him having two women tear down his plans. But his refusal to believe her still rose like a wall between them, bolstering her determination to keep her distance from him.

  He heaved a sigh. “Perhaps since the gardens are less than perfect it is best to hold the reception there.”

  “I knew you would understand,” Bella said, then smiled such a serene smile that Delanie nearly laughed.

  Marco snorted but kept his thoughts to himself.

  In short order, Delanie went over a few more points to ensure she had no doubts as to the bride’s preferences.

  “That should do it,” Delanie said. “I’ll contact you if I have any questions. And please, if you want anything changed, no matter how insignificant it seems, let me know right away.”

  “I will.” Bella clapped her han
ds together and rose. “Thank you for agreeing to plan my wedding after all.”

  “Thank your brother,” Delanie said. “He convinced me to travel here.”

  Bella squealed and ran to her brother, throwing her arms around him with a hug that looked comfortable. “Marco, grazie! It will be perfect now. Oh! I must tell my fiancé. You will take care of Miss Tate?”

  “Very good care.” He gaze flicked to Delanie, his smile going from brotherly to something knowing and hot.

  A zillion butterflies took flight in her stomach and she pressed a hand to her middle before taking a breath. She couldn’t stay here at the villa while she was planning a wedding that was taking place an hour away. She couldn’t stay anywhere near Marco without having to battle her desire every moment.

  “I have a tremendous amount to do in short order,” she said as she stuffed her electronic notebook back in her purse. “Which is why I must relocate to Montiforte.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Very.” She rose and faced him, and damned her suddenly weak knees. It simply wasn’t fair that he had this effect on her. “I would appreciate it if your driver would take me there now so I can get settled in. I want to start early in the morning with the arrangements.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and lifted one mocking brow. “Why do I have the feeling you are anxious to get away from me?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. The driver?”

  “I sent him home for the night.”

  “Then I’ll ring for a cab.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  She slapped her hands on her hips and fumed. “I suppose you have a better idea?”

  His widening smile was a sensual promise that every nerve in her body recognized and responded to with a quickening sizzle through her blood. “Of course, cara. I’ll take you to Montiforte and personally see you settled in.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  EMOTIONS whirled like a vortex within Delanie, leaving her shaking. Being in Marco’s company for another hour was the last thing she wanted. But suffering the sexual allure of his body again was preferable to staying in this villa with him in residence, knowing he was just down the hall.