Claiming His Wedding Night Consequence

by Abby Green

‘You did beautiful things—like the graveyard, and forcing me to confront my mother. But the emotions you stirred terrified me. It was easier to push you away. So I can understand why you won’t believe me when I say I love you.’ He sighed heavily. ‘And, yes, it did take Sofia’s birth and the terror of thinking I’d lost you to make me finally come to my senses... I needed to almost lose you to find my heart...’

  Chiara was stunned into speechlessness. Nico drew a rolled-up sheaf of papers out of his back pocket and handed it to her. She went clammy at the thought that it was divorce papers. That he might have given up on hoping he could convince her.

  She said, ‘Nico—’

  He put up a hand. ‘Just take a look before you say anything.’

  She unrolled the papers and it took a second for her eyes to make out the ornate calligraphy. Slowly she said, ‘These are the deeds to the castello...in the Caruso name.’ She looked at him, not understanding.

  ‘I needed to do something to convince you. The castello is back in your name. It’s yours. I couldn’t care less any more about my claim on it, because it’s just bricks and mortar. What I care about is here in this garden, not on those deeds.’

  And then he pulled a small box out of his jeans pocket. Chiara saw that his hands were trembling. He opened the box and revealed a plain gold band inlaid with tiny glittering emeralds.

  ‘It’s an eternity ring. Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Chiara, being your husband, partner, lover. I want to take you to all those cities and show you the world...’

  Chiara was overwhelmed. She shook her head. ‘I don’t....’ She couldn’t speak. Her throat was too tight with emotion.

  She saw Nico’s face fall, the light in his eyes fade. He closed the velvet box and put it down before standing up. She realised that he was misreading her reaction.

  ‘I’m sorry, Chiara, I never meant to hurt you. If you still truly want a divorce then you can have it.’

  He had turned to walk away before Chiara could make her body work. She stood up and called out hoarsely, ‘Stop!’

  Nico stopped, his back to her.

  She started towards him, her legs like jelly. ‘You didn’t let me finish...’

  He turned around and she saw the pain etched into his features. She took a deep shaky breath. ‘What I was going to say was that I don’t know what to say—except I love you with all my heart, and, yes, I want to spend the rest of my life with you too...’

  The dawning relief on Nico’s face told Chiara better than anything just how much he’d been holding back for so long. She wasn’t sure who moved, but they were in each other’s arms, mouths fused in a desperate kiss of love and reunion.

  When they broke apart Chiara looked up in wonder and traced Nico’s mouth with a shaking finger. ‘I love you so much. You deserve to be happy, Nico.’

  His eyes were suspiciously bright. ‘You are my happiness—you and Sofia. I love you both. For ever.’

  Chiara looked deep into Nico’s eyes and saw his soul reflecting back all the passion and emotion he’d been denying himself. She took a deep breath and allowed herself to believe. Really believe.

  As if reading her mind, he said, ‘You deserve to be happy too, cara.’

  She smiled tremulously and nodded. ‘I am—finally.’

  Just then a mewling cry sounded from the pram and they both smiled.

  Nico traced Chiara’s jaw and whispered, ‘Later, mio amore, I’ll show you just how much I love you...’

  Chiara took Nico’s hand and led him to where the pram sat in the shade. She took Sofia out, and as she nursed their daughter Nico picked up her hand and placed the eternity ring on her finger. He pressed a kiss to her hand before interlacing their fingers and letting the peace that had eluded him his whole life infuse every bone in his body.

  He’d never believed in love...but now it was all he could see.

  EPILOGUE

  CHIARA FELT ARMS slide around her midriff from behind and the intimate contact of her husband’s hard body against her back as he settled behind her and stretched his legs alongside hers, where she sat on the sand in the shade.

  As it always did without fail, her pulse sped up and her body reacted to his proximity. She leant back against him, letting him take her weight. She sighed happily. ‘You’re home.’

  ‘I told you I’d make it back before dinner.’

  She craned her head to look at him. ‘You’re not missing the buzz of Rome or New York too much?’

  Nico had moved his main office from Rome to Syracuse, and he commuted in and out of there every day now—apart from the occasions when he had to go abroad, when he invariably took Chiara with him.

  ‘It’s the only thing that keeps me sane, having you near me,’ he’d told her.

  ‘No way,’ he said now.

  Chiara felt his voice running through her body like a happy hum of contentment. She’d never have guessed he could smile so much, or laugh, but that was all he seemed to do these days.

  ‘Did you speak to your mother?’

  She could feel him nod—yes. ‘She’s coming at the weekend.’

  ‘Good.’ Chiara was happy for Nico that he and his mother had developed a relationship at last. Patrizia adored visiting and spending time with them.

  Nico’s lips feathered a kiss near her ear and he asked, ‘Well, is this close to what you imagined all those years ago?’

  Chiara had told him of her fantasies about the kind of life she’d wanted at the castello. She looked around them and smiled. Sometimes her heart felt too full, as if it would burst. Now was one of those moments, on the small beach she’d always loved so much.

  Their eldest daughter Sofia was holding one-year-old Luca by the hand and encouraging him to walk in the shallows of the sea. He was squealing with delight every time a small wave washed over his feet and pudgy legs. He had a head full of thick dark hair, and sometimes he reminded her so much of Nico that it hurt.

  The twins, Alicia and Alessandro, were building sandcastles nearby under an umbrella, their hair almost blonde from the sun, freckles dusting their cheeks. They both had the green eyes of their mother, while Sofia and Luca had dark brown eyes.

  Happy sounds and splashing water filled the air. She nodded against Nico’s chest, feeling emotional. ‘This doesn’t even come close...it’s so much better.’

  Nico laced his hands with hers and squeezed tight. ‘I didn’t even have this dream—you gave it to me.’

  Chiara tipped her head back and Nico pressed a kiss to her mouth. It held the promise of passion to come and endless love.

  And just then came an excited squeal from Alicia, ‘Papa! You’re home!’

  Chiara felt Nico smile against her mouth as the moment turned into happy chaos and four children aged from six to one, descended upon their parents and buried them under a sea of legs, arms and kisses.

  As the sun set on the small beach Nico and Chiara gathered up their family and made their way home to the castello. The stone above the main entrance now read Castello Santo Domenico Caruso, reflecting what was on the deeds.

  They passed by the two graveyards, old and new. They were one graveyard now—two families united by love in the end.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed Claiming His Wedding Night Consequence you’re sure to enjoy these other stories by Abby Green!

  The Virgin’s Debt to Pay

  A Christmas Bride for the King

  A Diamond for the Sheikh’s Mistress

  Claimed for the De Carrillo Twins

  Available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Bound by Their Scandalous Baby by Heidi Rice.

  Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPB
PA201602010003

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Presents title.

  You want alpha males, decadent glamour and jet-set lifestyles. Step into the sensational, sophisticated world of Harlequin Presents, where sinfully tempting heroes ignite a fierce and wickedly irresistible passion!

  Enjoy eight new stories from Harlequin Presents every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  Join Harlequin My Rewards and reward the book lover in you!

  Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever and whenever you shop.

  Turn your points into FREE BOOKS of your choice

  OR

  EXCLUSIVE GIFTS from your favorite authors or series.

  Click here to join for FREE

  Or visit us online to register at

  www.HarlequinMyRewards.com

  Harlequin My Rewards is a free program (no fees) without any commitments or obligations.

  Bound by Their Scandalous Baby

  by Heidi Rice

  CHAPTER ONE

  LUKAS BLACKSTONE HATED CROWDS. But he hated dark rooms a whole lot more. Tonight, he would have to endure both at the same time. A humiliating trickle of sweat eased down his temple. He brushed it away impatiently with the cuff of his tuxedo jacket. The tailored designer suit felt like a straitjacket, squeezing the air out of his lungs. The irrational fear made his stomach knot.

  He cast a jaundiced eye over the array of VIP guests below him—crammed into the Art Deco ballroom of Blackstone’s Manhattan, his company’s flagstone hotel on the corner of Central Park West.

  Hollywood A-listers bumped shoulders with masters of industry, legendary rock stars mingled with media moguls, priceless jewellery sparkled and glowed, and vintage champagne flowed alongside a lavish buffet of delicacies produced by an award-winning chef. A thirty-piece orchestra brought the closing strains of a Viennese waltz to an end. Blackstone’s Full Moon Ball was the classiest event of the season. There was more money on display tonight than the GDP of most European countries, but to Lukas, unlike his twin brother Alexei, it had always looked like a seething mass of humanity ready to swallow him whole.

  ‘Don’t sweat it, bro. You don’t want to dance in the dark with one of these babes, I’ve got this. But don’t come crying to me when I score and you don’t.’

  His brother’s voice, smug and irreverent and full of the reckless charm that had made Alexei irresistible to women the world over, whispered across Lukas’s consciousness. A leaden weight joined the tangle of nerves in his belly.

  He sunk his fists into the pockets of his suit pants and let the moment of loss wash over him as he stared down at the ballroom floor. The cloying cloud of expensive perfumes and colognes rose to the mezzanine level where he stood, concealed from prying eyes.

  ‘Mr Blackstone, sir. Mr Garvey wants to know if you’ve picked your partner for the Dark Waltz?’

  Lukas swung round to see one of his publicity chief Dex Garvey’s minions. He glanced at his watch. Ten to twelve. Damn.

  He pushed the shadow of reminiscence to one side. He had to make an appearance on the ballroom floor at midnight—when the lights would be dimmed—and claim a woman to dance alone with her, creating a spectacle for the press which had been a highlight of the Ball since the Roaring Twenties.

  It was a tradition started by his great-grandfather—a murderous Russian bootlegger—who had used the first Blackstone Full Moon Ball as a uniquely barbaric way to claim his unsuspecting bride from the debutantes of New York high society.

  Unfortunately, Dex Garvey had decided Lukas could do the same.

  ‘Tell Garvey it’s none of his business,’ he barked. The minion took the hint and scurried off.

  Irritated by the need to make a public spectacle of himself, and the tight knots still competing with the hollow ache in his stomach, he scanned the dance floor for a suitable candidate as the Dark Waltz was announced and the eligible women gathered in the centre of the room.

  He ignored the cluster of girls from some of Europe and America’s best families. He knew Garvey had invited them in the hope he would choose one to create a buzz around the planted story about his supposed search for a wife—as Blackstone’s prepared to open its first luxury family resort on a private atoll in the Maldives.

  The move into the family market was a sound business decision, nothing more—a chance to consolidate Blackstone’s as the leading luxury brand in all sectors of the global hospitality industry—but Lukas had absolutely no intention of becoming a family man himself just to promote it.

  The knots in his stomach tightened as he left his sanctuary and descended the staircase. A sea of eager female faces watched him. The opening bars of the Dark Waltz drowned out the hum of anticipation from the crowd—and the rush of blood in his ears—when his gaze landed on a young woman standing alone.

  Unlike the others, who waited with barely concealed anticipation at the thought that he might pick them, she stood apart, her stance brittle and guarded.

  The jolt of awareness hit him. Her slender body was temptingly displayed in a green satin gown, its classic style a lot simpler than the expensive designer gowns of the other women. Pale alabaster skin was offset by a mass of wild red curls swept up in a haphazard style that made him itch to tug away the pins keeping it aloft.

  As the lights dimmed, the girl’s skin took on an ethereal glow in the moonlight and he got close enough to make out her features. The visceral blast of heat was followed by the shock of recognition.

  Darcy O’Hara. The girl who had attempted to blackmail Alexei four years ago—just before his death. What the hell was she doing in New York?

  He recoiled, fury and loss strangling him. But he couldn’t halt his steps or change direction as he strode across the floor towards her. A barrage of camera flashes went off around him like fireworks and the other women faded into the background—because the only woman he could focus on was her.

  The knots of tension released in a rush, setting off a chain reaction throughout his body, the predatory instinct like a drug.

  She tensed, her gaze fixed on his, and her body trembled as if she were poised to run—like a gazelle scenting a panther stalking her in the long grass.

  But she stood her ground.

  He would have given her points for that, except he didn’t buy the shocked and fragile act for a second. The sharp sweet taste of revenge overrode the familiar childhood fear that had dogged him for years as the darkness descended. The full moon’s beams through the ballroom’s glass ceiling provided the only illumination. The anxiety burned away on the focused wave of fury and the inexplicable flare of desire.

  You should have run, Darcy, because you’re not going to like what happens next.

  Reaching her at last, he grasped one narrow wrist in an iron grip and wrapped his other arm around her slender waist to yank her towards him.

  Without asking permission, he swung her into a turn as the music began, trapping her against his body. She arched back against his restraining arm, the cello strings marking the beat. He could hear the gasp of distress, feel the shudder of her rapid breathing, the softness of her skin as his palm strayed down to where the gown’s back plunged low.

  Holding her insultingly close, he forced her to follow his lead.

  He didn’t care if he was treating her like a whore. Because that was exactly what she was.

  Darcy O’Hara was going to pay for the lies she’d told Alexei, not to mention her decision to gatecrash this event. By the end of this dance, every single member of the paparazzi in Manhattan woul
d know what a manipulative little gold-digger she was—because he planned to give the world’s press and every person here a graphic demonstration.

  ‘Mr Blackstone...’ she stuttered, the crisp English accent smokier than he remembered from their one brief meeting, as she struggled against his hold. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she said breathlessly.

  He loosened his grip, but only enough to ensure he didn’t bruise her. He wasn’t the monster here—she was.

  ‘Call me Lukas,’ he snarled, thinking of Alexei—irresponsible, impulsive and far too easily fooled by a pretty face—and all he’d lost the day this woman had worked her way into his brother’s bed and messed with his head. ‘And stop wriggling.’

  * * *

  Bronte O’Hara’s head spun, her confusion almost as huge as her panic, as Lukas Blackstone’s arms closed around her like steel bands.

  But as her brain knotted, trying to make sense of what had just happened, her body burned—so powerfully aware of this man she had never met before, further protests got lodged in her throat.

  He whisked her around the floor, the kaleidoscope of flashing lights and sound whirling past her in giddying circles. Her skin stretched tight over her bones, and her breasts swelled in the too-tight bodice of the gown she’d found in a thrift store in the East Village the day before—so she could gatecrash this event and meet this man who might well be her nephew’s only hope. She’d already known Lukas Blackstone was a bastard, after the way he’d treated Darcy four years ago. Even so, she’d been prepared to beg him for his help, for his attention—but she hadn’t expected this.

  The possessive press of one large hand scalded the base of her spine, her senses overwhelmed by the irresistible fragrance of juniper and pine from his cologne and his own musky scent.

  She felt trapped, controlled, completely at his mercy. She’d never danced a waltz before in her life, but his confident, fluid steps made it impossible for her to stumble, her feet barely touching the ground.

  The music built to a crescendo, her breathing becoming ragged, and her exhausted mind seemed no longer capable of engaging with anything but the sight and sound of him. The moonlight made it feel as if she were being propelled in a dream—a terrifyingly erotic dream—her body becoming one throbbing, pulsating bundle of nerve-endings. Through the maelstrom of conflicting emotions, her mind clung desperately to one coherent thought.