The Marriage Campaign (Harlequin Presents)

by Helen Bianchin

  The thought it could even be a possibility tore at everything she knew. It made her question love, and what it meant. Worse, she was forced to accept that love could assume many guises and with Mario she had experienced only one of them. And that wasn’t something she wanted to examine right now.

  If Dominic wanted an insight into her mind at this precise point, she would allow him to see anger. The confusion, the self-doubt. The glimmering of an enlightening revelation was hers alone.

  Francesca’s eyelashes fluttered upwards. ‘You want assurance on how you scored?’

  Something dark moved in his eyes, creating a shadow that made her feel suddenly afraid.

  He had watched every fleeting expression, divined each one of them, and felt a growing frustration at being almost completely powerless to exorcise them. There was only one path to travel, that of total honesty, even if it was accorded confrontational.

  ‘This isn’t about “Was it as good for you as it was for me?” You were with me every step of the way, and we both went up in flames.’

  The heat began to diminish, chilled by her own hand. A part of her bled for that loss, while another urged her towards re-establishing emotional self-preservation.

  ‘You’re a skilled lover.’ Dear heaven. An understatement if ever there was one.

  He was silent for a few heartstopping seconds, then he spoke in a chillingly soft voice that sent icy shivers down her spine. ‘Is that all you thought it was?’ His breath feathered against her cheek. ‘Technique?’

  It was impossible to read his expression, and she didn’t offer a word as he caught her face between both hands and tipped it so she was forced to meet his gaze.

  ‘Francesca?’ His eyes raked her features, glimpsing the defensiveness apparent in her eyes, and he swore softly beneath his breath.

  ‘What is this?’ Her eyes were dark and furious. ‘Twenty questions?’ She wanted to vent some of her anger, verbally, physically. ‘What do you want to hear, Dominic? That you’re the first man I’ve had sex with in three years?’ She was like a runaway train, unable to stop. ‘That having had sex with you, I’m going to allow you to be part of my life?’

  He fastened his mouth on hers, effectively halting the flow of words in a plundering possession that ravaged each and every layer guarding her soul.

  It went on for what seemed an age, and when at last he lifted his head she had to struggle to regain her breath.

  ‘I’m not giving you a choice.’ His voice was deep, smoky, and filled with intent.

  With an anguished cry Francesca launched herself at him, hands bunched into fists as she sought to inflict damage wherever she could connect. ‘The hell you’re not.’

  She heard him grunt as she landed a blow to his ribs, and experienced a short-lived surge of satisfaction before he caught hold of one wrist, then the other and forced them behind her back.

  He soon rendered her legs ineffectual by trapping them between his own, and she struggled against him, unable to gain any purchase except with her mouth, which she used without thought or aim, sinking her teeth into a hard muscled shoulder.

  His retaliation was swift as he shifted slightly and took hard succour from her breast before leaving his mark on its sensitive curve.

  Francesca renewed her struggle and gained nothing except a knowledge of his strength.

  ‘Enough. You’ll hurt yourself.’

  She was breathing hard, her eyes molten with self-rage as she was forced to concede defeat. While he didn’t look as if he was doing more than restraining a recalcitrant child.

  ‘I hate you.’ It was said almost matter-of-factly, without venom, and a muscle tensed along his jaw.

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  The anger was beginning to fade a little, yet it was still there, waiting to flare given the smallest opportunity.

  ‘Damn you.’ Her eyes hurt with angry tears she refused to let fall. ‘For three years I’ve been able to convince myself I’m doing fine.’ Her vision misted. ‘And I was. Until you swept into my life.’ And tore it apart.

  Dominic lifted a hand and traced the fullness of her lower lip with his thumb. ‘I don’t drive fast cars or take any unnecessary risks.’

  Francesca froze with pain, then reaction set in and she reared back from him, scrambling to the edge of the bed.

  ‘That was uncalled for, and unfair.’

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘I’d like you to leave.’ Cool clear words, as cool as the ice beginning to form round her heart. She stood to her feet and snatched up a robe, then pulled it on and tied the belt.

  He didn’t move, and her eyes were stormy with anger as she turned to face him. ‘Get dressed, and get out of here.’

  Had anyone told her how beautiful she was when she was mad? With her hair tumbling onto her shoulders in disarray, her skin flushed and her eyes sparking anger, she resembled a tigress.

  He slid to his feet, collected briefs and trousers and pulled them on, then stood facing her across the width of the bed.

  ‘I’m alive,’ Dominic said quietly. ‘Remember that before I walk out of here.’ His eyes held hers, equally as dark as her own. ‘And we both lose something we could have had for the rest of our lives.’

  She watched as he reached for his shirt and shrugged into it. Then he retrieved his shoes and socks and put them on.

  ‘That’s emotional blackmail.’

  He paused in tying his shoelaces and cast her a long, steady look. ‘It’s a statement of fact.’

  ‘A manipulative one,’ Francesca corrected heatedly.

  ‘You think I don’t know how difficult it is for you to let go of the past?’ There was something primitive in his expression, a ruthlessness that was harnessed, yet exigent beneath the surface. ‘Or how afraid you are to let any man too close in case you get hurt?’

  Her eyes were still stormy. ‘It’s called self-preservation. Emotional survival.’

  ‘You think so? Destruction might be more apt.’ He paused, collected his jacket and hooked it over one shoulder, aware as he said the words that he was taking the biggest gamble of his life. ‘Be happy enclosed in your glass house, Francesca.’

  The image was vivid, almost frightening. Inaccessible, destined always to be alone, leading an empty, shallow existence devoid of emotion. An observer, never a player. Was that what she wanted?

  ‘Every time I take one step forward, you force me to take another,’ she cried in anguish. She lifted one hand and let it fall helplessly to her side. ‘I don’t even know the direction, let alone the destination.’

  Dominic skirted the bed and moved to stand within touching distance. ‘I want it all. My ring on your finger. Marriage. And the right to share the rest of your life.’

  Francesca felt the blood drain from her face. ‘You can’t mean that.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ The demand was dangerously soft, and she shivered at its silent force. ‘No other woman has taken control of my emotions the way you do. I doubt anyone else could.’

  She was hesitant in her need to choose the right words. ‘That’s not a good enough reason.’

  Something flared in his eyes, a flame that was quickly masked. ‘What about love?’

  The breath locked in her throat. Love? The everlasting kind? ‘I had that once. It nearly killed me when I lost it.’

  Dominic tossed his jacket onto a chair, and she was powerless to evade his fingers as he caught hold of her chin and tilted it so she had no recourse but to look at him.

  ‘Life doesn’t come with a guarantee, Francesca.’ His hands slid to cup her face, his eyes dark with latent emotion. ‘You make the most of what you have for as long as it’s there.’ .

  His mouth settled on her with a wild, sweet eroticism, seeking, soothing, seducing in a manner that sent the blood coursing through her veins, heating her body almost to fever-pitch.

  Francesca lost all trace of time or place as she became caught up in the magic of his touch, the feel of his body as his arms shifted to bi
nd her more closely against him.

  She kissed him back, hungrily wanting as much as he could give, meeting and matching him every step of the way.

  He broke free slowly, easing the pressure, the intensity, as he trailed his mouth gently over the swollen contours of her own, then he placed light, open-mouthed kisses along the edge of her jaw, traversed the column at her neck, then settled in the hollow beneath her throat.

  ‘Will you tell me about Mario?’ Dominic queried gently. ‘I think I deserve to know.’

  She moved back a pace, putting minimal distance between them.

  Oh, God. Where did she start? Much of their lifestyle had been portrayed by media hype, some of it fact, mostly fiction. Dominic could access that any way he chose. No, it was the private story, the personal details he wanted.

  ‘We met at a party in Rome,’ she began slowly. ‘We were both celebrating a personal victory. He’d won on the race circuit and I’d signed a modelling contract with a famed Italian designer.’ She struggled to keep it light. ‘Mario was...outgoing, gregarious.’ How did you explain one man to another? Simple things, like the way he drew people, women especially, like a magnet?

  ‘We had a whirlwind romance, and married three weeks later.’ She hugged her arms tightly over her midriff in a protective gesture, and stared sightlessly ahead. ‘He lived and breathed the race circuit. There was the constant adrenalin rush of the practice sessions, improving lap times, always needing to go faster, be better than anyone else. Each time he went out on the track I mentally prepared myself for the fact he mightn’t come back in one piece.’

  Dominic pulled her close and she wound her arms around his waist as she absorbed his strength.

  They stood together like that for an age, then she felt his fingers drift up and down her spine in a soothing gesture, and there was the touch of his lips on her hair, at her temple.

  ‘I love you.’

  His hands captured her face, and she almost died at the expression in his eyes before his head descended and his mouth closed over her own.

  A slight tremor shook her slim form, at what he sought to give and what she was almost afraid to take. Then she let herself go with the magic of his touch, matching his passion with such a wealth of feeling she had no recollection of anything other than the moment and the need for total fulfilment.

  Their loving held a primitive quality, wild and so incredibly intense that it surpassed anything they had previously shared together. It was a long time before their breathing slowed and they lay sated, completely enervated by the depth of their emotions.

  They must have slept, for Francesca stirred at the drift of fingers tracing a lazy pattern across the soft curve of her hip. Then she murmured a faint protest as the hand slipped lower and began an intimate exploration that warmed her blood and turned her body into a molten mass of malleable sensuality.

  This time there was none of the heat and hunger of the night before, only a slow, leisurely loving that displayed exquisite care.

  Francesca’s eyes met his and held them, witnessed the strength, the purpose, and she knew she didn’t want to lose him. Whatever it was they shared, she wanted the opportunity to explore it.

  He saw the subtle change, felt the tension in her body begin to ebb, and sought to provide the reassurance she needed.

  His mouth was gentle yet possessive as he loosened his hold and traced the indentations of her spine.

  Heaven was the mutual giving and taking of pleasure, discovering, wanting to test his restraint as he tested hers until nothing else mattered but the moment. Each time they came together it seemed as if she gifted him a little bit of herself.

  They slept a little, then made love whenever one or the other stirred into a dreamy state of half-sleep, part-wakefulness.

  Something which happened often, Francesca acknowledged as she felt the soft passage of Dominic’s lips across one cheek.

  ‘I have an exhibition in Cairns on Saturday,’ Dominic imparted close to her ear. ‘Cancel any plans you have and come with me for the weekend. We’ll fly up tomorrow and have a day in Port Douglas.’

  From the soft dawn light filtering through the drapes, ‘tomorrow’ had already arrived.

  She gave in to the temptation to tease him a little. ‘I’ll give it some consideration.’

  ‘Minx,’ he accorded huskily. ‘Do you have to think about it?’

  ‘The exhibition sounds fun. It means I get to view some of your work. Not to mention being able to observe you in the role of artist.’ She was on a roll. ‘And the far north holds special childhood memories for me.’

  ‘Is that a yes or a no?’

  She smiled in the semi-darkness. ‘What time do you want to leave?’

  ‘Eight. I need to collect my bag from the house.’

  She’d call her parents to let them know she’d be out of town.

  His lips traced a path to the corner of her mouth. ‘Hungry?’

  ‘For you, or food?’ she teased, and felt his smile.

  ‘Both.’

  She ached in places she hadn’t thought it was possible to ache. ‘I guess that means I don’t get to snatch an hour’s sleep before we need to shower, change and have breakfast?’

  ‘Do you want to sleep?’

  ‘You’re offering something better?’

  He didn’t answer, merely showed her. It took quite a while. And afterwards he tested the speed limit, and they were last to board the flight north.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT WAS hot and sultry in Cairns, with high humidity, dull skies and the threat of an imminent tropical Wet Season.

  Soaring outdoor temperatures hit them like a wall of heat as they left the comfort of the air-conditioned terminal and walked the short distance to their hire car.

  Francesca stripped off her cotton jacket and tossed it onto the rear seat, and Dominic loosened the top few buttons of his shirt.

  The air was different up here, the pace of life less frenetic than the southern cities, and the foliage covering the ranges bordering the coastline was a lush dark green.

  Port Douglas lay approximately seventy kilometres further north, with wide sweeping beaches bounding the eastern fringes and an inner harbour to the west of a narrow promontory.

  Sugar cane country, Francesca mused as they passed acres of freshly farrowed paddocks. Mechanical planting and cutting now. Only firing the cane remained the same as it had in years gone by. Small rail tracks crossed the road at intervals, connecting one farm to another, so that cut cane could be loaded and transported to the mill.

  She remembered holidaying in this region as a child, visiting Italian grandparents who’d owned vast cane holdings and a farmhouse that was filled with exotic cooking smells, much love and laughter. Now her grandparents lay buried side by side, and the land had been divided and sold off in part to developers.

  There were several resorts bordering each side of the four-kilometre stretch leading into Port Douglas, and Dominic took the long, curved driveway that led to the exclusive Sheraton Mirage.

  Their suite was luxurious, with sweeping views of the ocean. ‘I need to make a couple of calls,’ Dominic relayed as he stowed their bags. ‘Then we can swim, explore, drive up onto the Tableland. Or,’ he suggested, closing the space between them, ‘stay here and order in as the mood takes us.’

  Francesca moved into his arms and lifted her face for his kiss, loving the feel of his mouth on hers, the gentle possession that rapidly led to hunger of a kind neither of them wanted to deny.

  He was a caring lover, pacing his needs to her own, then, when he’d driven her to the point of wildness, he tipped her over the edge and held her as she fell.

  There was no sense of time or place in the long afterplay. The drift of fingers, the exploration by lips and the slow sensual tasting that teased and lingered, incited, until only total fulfilment would suffice.

  It was dark when they rose from the bed, showered and dressed.

  Dominic regarded her quizzically as s
he applied minimum make-up and stepped into heeled sandals.

  ‘Does this mean you’d prefer to eat dinner in the dining room?’

  Francesca’s eyes held a devilish gleam, and her smile was almost wicked. ‘I need food as an energy boost to last me through the night.’ She touched her lips with the tips of her fingers and blew him a kiss. ‘Besides, it would be nice to enjoy the ambience, don’t you think?’ The corners of her mouth lifted with delicious humour. ‘A light white wine, seafood. The local barramundi is superb, and when we’ve had coffee we can stroll through the grounds.’

  Dominic pulled on trousers, added a polo shirt, and slid his feet into loafers. ‘Just remember this was your idea.’

  A soft bubble of laughter emerged from her throat. ‘Think of the anticipation element.’

  He bestowed upon her a brief, hard kiss, then caught hold of her hand. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

  The dining room was well patronised, the food excellent and the wine superb. They lingered over coffee, then elected to traverse the extensive pool perimeter before retreating to the covered walkways linking the resort’s various guest villas together.

  Dominic’s arm curved round her shoulders, pulling her close, and she smiled in the semi-darkness. It felt good. Better than good. It felt right.

  Their air-conditioned suite was blessedly cool after the heat of the night, and it was she who moved into his arms, pulling him close for a long, hungry kiss.

  Clothes soon became an impossible barrier, and they took pleasure in the process of discarding them before tumbling down onto the bed.

  This time there was no feeling of guilt, no sense of shame. It was Dominic’s features she saw, the passion she experienced solely for him.

  In the morning they woke late, enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, then checked out of the resort and took the inland highway through Julatten and Mount Molloy to Mareeba, before heading east via the Kuranda range to Cairns.

  A late lunch, a check of the gallery, then they returned to their hotel for dinner. Invited guests were scheduled to arrive at the gallery at eight, and a limousine was to be despatched to the hotel to transport them the two blocks distant.