Married By Christmas Bundle: Anthology

by Carol Marinelli

  She was the complete opposite—slow to wake up properly, even with an alarm buzzing. And she hated getting up in the cold. Marco, apparently, did not mind the cold.

  ‘I won’t take long to get ready,’ she said, trying to gather the energy to move.

  Marco looked down at Claudia as she turned sideways on the sofa to look up at him, dipping her head so that her hair fell forward past her shoulders to partially cover her breasts.

  She looked the perfect image of a demure young lady who felt awkward and slightly bewildered at finding herself sitting naked next to a man the morning after a wild sexual encounter, now that the heat of the moment had passed.

  Something about her innocent expression slid through Marco’s nerves like a steel blade. He would never forget what she had done, or that she was preparing to marry Vasile.

  Her face was still flushed from sleep as she stood up and stumbled round the room wrapped in the duvet, collecting her clothes. Then she headed to the bathroom.

  Marco watched her go with an uncomfortable feeling of arousal burning through him.

  The thought that he still wanted her disturbed him. He’d followed her to Wales and bedded her for revenge—to seek retribution for the way she had duped him. His intention had been to set the balance of power right—not to find himself driven to seek the delights of her body again, and again.

  He knew what kind of woman she was.

  He knew she had brought danger and corruption into his innocent sister’s life. And right now—at this very moment—she was planning to marry the bastard who had destroyed his family, simply to get her hands on a large amount of money.

  How could he want her in his bed, knowing that?

  Because it was just sex. Incredible, mind-blowing sex.

  Suddenly a nasty bolt of possessiveness surged through him. Primo Vasile would never have her! Not her money. And definitely not her body.

  The money was not important to Marco—except that by keeping it from Vasile he would continue to hound his enemy further into desperate dire straits. But Claudia’s body was a different matter. That would be his. Entirely his. Until he was utterly finished with it.

  A few minutes later they were driving away from the cottage along the winding Pembrokeshire roads. A wind had picked up, blowing the fog away, and it was a bright, clear morning. A thick hoar-frost encrusted everything, covering the landscape with a silvery white hue, and when she turned round for one farewell glance Claudia saw that the sea was a dazzling cobalt blue.

  Everything felt different from the day before. She was leaving the cottage in Marco’s sports car, and would soon reach the airport where his private aeroplane was waiting for them. It was quite a change from the InterCity train and local bus she had travelled to Pembrokeshire in.

  Later that day she would see her father. A whisper of dread coiled through her at the thought of how much he might have deteriorated since her last visit. But Marco would be there to talk to the doctors. Knowing he would be there, translating for her, gave her more strength.

  Then the next day she would fly to the Caribbean to keep her end of her bargain with Vasile.

  Part of her wanted to tell Marco. She felt guilty keeping it from him. But then, although they had spent the night together, she had no reason to trust him with such a huge personal secret. In fact, after what he’d said last night, she had every reason to believe that tomorrow he would be out of her life again, as completely as he had been four years ago.

  A nasty, cold feeling of emptiness hung threateningly at the back of her mind, pressing forward whenever her thoughts strayed to the inevitable moment when he would leave her. But she tried to ignore it. Although she had taken comfort from being with Marco, and experienced bliss in his arms, she must not mistake their time together as more than it was. She had made that error four years ago and ended up with a broken heart.

  Apart from just one night, Marco didn’t want her. For her own protection, she must always remember that.

  At least with Vasile she knew where she stood. He couldn’t hurt her because she would never make herself vulnerable by opening her heart to him. He just wanted her money. He would never let her down, because she would never hope for more from him. There was nothing to lose except the money, which was meaningless to her.

  She’d already lost everything that ever meant anything. And now she was losing her father. She had to do anything and everything possible to keep him safe and content during his final weeks and months.

  Claudia sipped the velvety thick hot chocolate and closed her eyes in a moment of sheer, unadulterated pleasure. The deliciously rich hot chocolate was a matter of local pride in Turin. And it never failed to deliver—always providing comfort and a few minutes of escape from whatever life had thrown at her. She didn’t know the recipe but it tasted just like pure melted chocolate, with maybe a dash of cream thrown in for good measure.

  She’d first discovered it not long after coming to live in Italy. Her grandmother had just died, taking with her the only link she had with her real mother, and her father had recently become the business partner of a man called Primo Vasile—someone her stepmother, Francesca, had introduced him to. Claudia always had the impression that her father did not care for Vasile, but he seemed unable to refuse Francesca anything.

  At first Claudia hadn’t really liked Turin. Uprooted from her life in London, mourning the loss of her beloved grandmother and missing all her friends, Turin had seemed alien and unwelcoming. Francesca had brought her into the city on frequent shopping expeditions, under the pretence of helping her to adjust to her new life. But in reality she still had no time for her stepdaughter and usually left her alone, drinking hot chocolate, while she spent hours moving from one designer boutique on Via Roma to another.

  After a while Claudia had become more confident and began to explore the city on her own. The first thing she realised was how friendly the people were. The next thing was that you could literally walk for miles under the elegant porticoes that lined so many of the grand streets around the city centre. In the height of the Italian summer they were always shady and cool, and on rainy or overcast days, when the clouds pressed in and you’d never know that the city was built so close to the looming mountains, you could still get about without needing an umbrella.

  Now she was sitting in her favourite café in the Quadrilatero Romano, drinking hot chocolate while she waited for Marco to finish his business meeting. Then he would accompany her to the hospital and talk to her father’s doctors.

  It was a crisp clear day and the café was situated in an enchanting piazza in the shadow of an ancient bell tower. It was bustling with people and suddenly she was glad to be back in Turin. She liked it inside the traditional café. The jars of old-fashioned sweets lined up so colourfully behind the counter reminded her of her childhood, and the caring motherly ladies who ran the café made her feel safe.

  Today she sat facing the door, looking out at the sunny piazza. She wanted to be able to see Marco approaching. At last she spotted him walking across the piazza towards the café. Her heart gave a little leap of pleasure and suddenly, despite the crowds of people, it was as if there was no one else in the piazza.

  He looked so impressive, dressed impeccably in a dark suit with a crisp white shirt. A gold watch and cufflinks glinted at his wrists and his Italian leather shoes gleamed. As he walked, people seemed to flow naturally out of his way. She sat up a little straighter, a feeling of pride swelling through her. That gorgeous man was walking towards her.

  ‘Ciao.’ He greeted her with a kiss and almost immediately a waitress was beside them, ready to take their order.

  ‘How was your meeting?’ Claudia asked once the waitress had gone, suppressing a smile at the admiring glances Marco was drawing from all the women in the café. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to be out in public with him, how every female eye turned his way, how every man he encountered seemed to jump to do his bidding.

  ‘Excellent,’ Marco
said. ‘In fact, I’m very pleased—I have everything I need to complete something I’ve been working towards for a long time.’

  ‘You don’t look all that pleased.’ Claudia spoke without thinking as she took in the grim set of his face.

  ‘It’s not over yet.’ He turned his gaze on to her and she was startled by the intensity in his dark eyes. ‘I’ll celebrate when it’s done.’

  She stared back at him and the coldness in his expression made an icy feeling wash over her. The thought crossed her mind that he seemed like a stranger, but then she’d always known he hadn’t risen so high in the global business arena by being warm and fuzzy. She knew that he had a ruthless streak, a steely determination to get what he wanted.

  ‘Will you be happy when it’s done?’ she asked. ‘Or will you just start work on another deal?’ It had never occurred to her before to wonder if Marco was happy. He’d always seemed so dynamic and in control that his happiness was something that she’d never questioned.

  ‘This is not just any deal,’ he said. Something in his voice told her that it really was something of great importance to him. It seemed strange to her that, given how intimate they had been, that she didn’t know what it was that was so important to him.

  ‘So you’ll be extra happy when it’s over?’ she pushed.

  ‘Happiness has nothing to do with it,’ Marco grated. A muscle suddenly pulsed on his jaw line and a dangerous glint lit his eye. Claudia bit her lip, realising that she had intruded too far into matters that didn’t concern her.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’

  Just at that moment the waitress arrived, carrying a tray with their drinks.

  Claudia fell silent and watched her place two short-stemmed glasses of the famous bicerin on the table, followed by two glasses of water.

  ‘Now I know I’m in Turin.’ Claudia slid her drink towards her, trying to lighten the atmosphere between them. After all, Marco was about to do her a great favour when he spoke to her father’s doctors.

  ‘We’ll go straight to the hospital when we’re finished here.’ The tone of Marco’s voice was back to normal and his expression was bland. But it was clear that he did not want to let their conversation return to the previous subject.

  Claudia picked up her drink and took a sip, thinking about their approaching visit to the hospital. The bicerin was a Turinese speciality, a sublime creation of rich hot chocolate, espresso and whipped cream, carefully poured in layers into a glass. It was very rich and strong, and she had never tasted anything like it anywhere else.

  Suddenly the coffee and chocolate mixture was too rich and strong for her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Claudia said, pushing the scarcely touched drink away from her and taking a sip of the water instead. ‘I already had hot chocolate—I shouldn’t have ordered anything else.’

  Marco shrugged. Despite being a speciality of his home town, the bicerin wasn’t to his taste—a double espresso was more his style. He’d been distracted when he’d ordered, thinking about the excellent report his legal team had given him.

  Everything was in place now for him to take Vasile down. One phone call to the police was all it would take for Vasile and Francesca to be taken away for good.

  But he wanted more than that. He wanted to be there when Vasile’s world fell apart—to let him know that it was he, Marco De Luca, who had totally annihilated him, destroying everything he cared about in the process.

  ‘Shall we go?’ Marco tossed more than enough euros on to the table to cover their bill.

  Claudia nodded and rose to her feet, looking pale and nervous. He realised she really was anxious about visiting her father. A strangely protective feeling ran through him, but he pushed it aside. He would not let her vulnerability blind him to what she was really like. He knew what she’d done in the past. And he knew what she was planning to do any day now—marry a man old enough to be her father, just to get her hands on her trust fund a few years early.

  Marco stood up and followed her out of the café.

  ‘He looked a lot better today,’ Claudia said as she and Marco walked away from the hospital.

  In fact she’d been surprised by just how well her father had seemed, compared to her last visit when he’d scarcely recognised her. It was a long time since he’d been able to sit up and talk to her properly. But he’d grown tired quickly, making her worried that he might overdo it. So, although she’d been reluctant to leave, once Marco had spoken to his doctors, they’d left him to rest.

  ‘He is better,’ Marco said. ‘The last few times you saw him, he was suffering from a secondary infection that was resisting the doctors’ best efforts to treat it. But now they’ve finally found the right balance of medication. Your father is responding well and the infection is on its way to being cleared up.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ She paused and turned to look at Marco. ‘Francesca never mentioned anything about that.’

  ‘Claudia, somehow you have been given the wrong impression,’ Marco said. He stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘Your father’s condition is not terminal. It is serious and his recovery will take a while—but there is no reason to expect him not to get better.’

  ‘But…how?’ She stumbled for words, finding it hard to comprehend what Marco was telling her.

  ‘I don’t know how the misunderstanding came about,’ he said. ‘But your father is not dying.’

  Claudia stared at Marco in utter shock. Her father was not dying. Her father was not dying!

  A bubble of joy started rising up through her body but she pressed her teeth into her lower lip, almost afraid to smile. She drew in a long shaky breath. Was it really true?

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asked Marco tremulously. ‘Are they sure—the doctors, I mean?’

  ‘It’s true,’ Marco said. ‘The doctors are completely sure. There has never been any question that his condition was terminal.’

  A massive smile broke across Claudia’s face and she felt a burst of happiness swelling inside her. It was as if a colossal weight that had been relentlessly dragging her down from inside her soul had been lifted off her—her father was not dying. Everything was going to be all right.

  ‘I can’t believe it!’ she gasped, throwing her arms instinctively around Marco. ‘Oh, thank you. Thank you so much for telling me!’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Marco said, automatically returning her embrace. ‘I’m pleased that he is not so ill as you thought.’

  His words sounded stiff and formal to his own ears, but they were soon engulfed in her happiness. The positive emotion that she was radiating was almost tangible—like a real physical thing that was emanating from her and wrapping around them both as she clung to him in her relief. She was glowing so warm and bright that for a moment he actually felt her happiness penetrating his heart too.

  It was a disconcerting feeling. But then he suddenly felt a shudder run through her body.

  He held her away from him, instinctively looking into her face, and saw that her eyes were sparkling with tears of happiness and relief.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about him any more,’ he said, brushing his thumb gently across her cheek.

  ‘I can hardly believe it,’ she whispered. ‘It feels so good.’

  Marco smiled at her. It was a totally natural response to her joyous emotion—he felt happy on her behalf.

  But why had Claudia believed her father was dying when it wasn’t true? Her tears in Wales had certainly seemed genuine.

  When he’d told her what the doctors had said, he’d watched the expression on her face change slowly from confusion, through disbelief and finally to pure joy. It was clear from her reaction that she really had believed her father to be terminally ill.

  It was inconceivable that she had been so wrong about something so important. The possibility that Francesca Hazelton had deliberately misled Claudia flashed through his mind. It would be an appalling thing to do—but then Francesca and Vasile had done fa
r worse things over the years.

  ‘Will you take me out to my father’s home in the countryside?’ Claudia asked suddenly. ‘He asked me to fetch him some of his things and I said I’d bring them to him.’

  Marco stared at her, a sudden jolt of shock running through him.

  Was she insane?

  Had the joy of discovering her father wasn’t terminally ill made her lose her mind? She must have momentarily forgotten who she was talking to—why else would she have asked him to take her out to the family estate?

  The very same estate that had belonged to Marco’s family before Claudia’s family had taken it away from them.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Claudia said, looking intently at his face. ‘I didn’t mean to impose—you’ve done enough already.’

  Marco looked at her, deliberately eliminating all signs of emotion from his face. He had obviously been too quick to think that someone else was manipulating her. He would take her out to the estate that should rightfully belong to him—that would soon belong to him again.

  Twelve years ago he had vowed that he would never set foot there again—not until his revenge was complete. But that glorious day was as good as here.

  ‘I apologise,’ Marco said. ‘I was distracted for a minute. Of course I’ll take you. If we leave now, we can be back in the city this evening.’

  ‘There’s no need—not if you’re too busy with that important business you mentioned at the café,’ Claudia said. ‘I can find my own way there.’

  ‘I said I’ll take you there.’ The decision had been made.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THEY left the city in the middle of the afternoon to drive out to Hector Hazelton’s home in the Piedmont countryside. Marco’s face was set in a grim expression.