Read Innocent of His Claim Online

Authors: Janette Kenny

Innocent of His Claim (5 page)

Yes, of course. A maid must have overheard and told
someone. That’s how the information had trickled back to her father.

Delanie had gone to her room that night, refusing to sob. Tears solved nothing. She’d crawled into bed and curled into a ball, vowing never to fall victim to love and a man’s control again.

Yet, ten years later, here she was as the car stopped under the portico of the palatial villa, blinking eyes that burned with unshed tears. Heart aching in an all too familiar pain that she thought she had buried long ago.

A glance at the tall Italian who’d just pushed out of the auto gave her the answer.

Years ago Marco had simply stormed out of her life, turning her tenuous trust in him to dust as he walked over the shards of her broken heart. Now he was back, causing her to doubt her mother’s loyalty. Making her want to lean on him all over again. The odd pang in her chest confirmed the one thing she’d feared most. She was still vulnerable to Marco’s magnetic charm. Still not over him.

This time she would guard her heart.

Marco stood a moment stretching his long legs. His gaze climbed the gray walls of Cabriotini’s Italianate villa, the red tile roof gleaming in the late-afternoon sun and the well-tended lawn with artistically designed flower beds overflowing with bright yellow and orange blossoms.

His time living here was about over. Two weeks and he would move to his home. In two weeks he wouldn’t be haunted by the stigma of this villa. Or by Delanie Tate?

The hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he rounded the hood. He opened her door and extended a hand, challenging her to accept his manners or publicly snub him.

There was a long pause as she sat huddled on the plush seat, sunlight dancing down the length of her lovely legs encased in the sheerest hose, the skin pale. Were they still as smooth?

Sexy legs. That was the first thing he’d noticed about her before discovering how luscious the whole package was—full breasts, lush, inviting lips, soft, yielding body begging for sex.

“We manage a sparse staff,” he said, dragging his gaze back to hers. “But they’ll see that your reasonable needs are met.”

“I don’t need or wish to be waited on,” she said, slipping her small hand in his and exiting with the grace befitting quality.

“It’s breathtaking,” Delanie said, her silken wrap slipping down her arms as she extracted her hand from his.

He just caught himself from grabbing the shawl. From easing it around her narrow shoulders and stealing a caress.

“Yes, breathtaking,” he said, his gaze on her.

Her face was uplifted to the sun, one hand shielding her eyes, her golden hair fluttering in the warm breeze scented with ripe fruit. Both were slightly sweet. Intoxicating.

His stomach tightened another notch, but fighting it was as useless as trying to ignore it.

Delanie Tate was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Still stirred something in him that he hadn’t truly understood himself. That he couldn’t control.

Oh, there was attraction. Lust even. But the odd feelings churning deep inside him went beyond that.

She took him to a level he didn’t understand. Didn’t trust.

Hell, he couldn’t trust her to abide by her word. Which is why he had to keep her close. Had to make sure she planned his sister’s wedding right down to the last canapé and curled bit of ribbon, that she saw it through to the end.

She looked at him then, cheeks pink from the sun, lush lips holding a tentative smile.

He sucked in a breath, ignoring the urge to drag her into his arms. Hold her. Kiss her.

“You won’t miss living here, will you?” she asked.

“Not one bit. I look forward to moving into my home.” He motioned to the door. “After you.”

She studied him a moment longer before striding toward the door. He took a breath and followed, keeping his gaze trained on her glorious hair instead of her inviting backside.

“Will you continue to keep in close contact with your sister or are you ready to push her out of your life as well?” she asked.

“Why the concern?” he shot back.

She stopped at the door and faced him. “You’ve made it clear you have never been a family man and yet you’ve lived in a place you dislike for years. Now you’ve gone to the trouble to force me here to plan your sister’s wedding.” Her gaze locked with his. “Why do all that? And don’t spout duty!”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and heaved a sigh. She couldn’t know how much he wanted to rid himself of this place or why. How reluctant he was to open his heart to Bella—the sister who was a stranger in so many ways.

All his life he’d tried to be a good grandson. A good son. A good man to one good woman—Delanie.

But in the end he hadn’t been good enough for any of them. His aged grandmother had trusted a stranger over him. His mother had let him live a lie and his biological father had shunned him.

And Delanie …

Delanie had betrayed his trust. His love. And yet she still plagued his thoughts over the years.

The one who got away
, he thought with a mocking smile. Only that wasn’t the truth.

Sobering, looking at her now standing before him so proud and vexed, he could only admit the truth. She was the one he’d pushed away. Ruthlessly. Furiously.

Wisest thing he’d ever done or biggest mistake of his life? That question nagged at him at the oddest times, but he’d never been more determined to discern the truth until now.

To do that he needed to spend time alone with Delanie.

“It’s not Bella I wish to distance myself from,” he said at
last, his eyes never leaving hers. “It’s this place. It symbolizes a pattern of life that I fell into naturally, just like the man who sired me.”

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 confronted 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.”

Other books

These Damn Suspicions by Amy Valenti
Brave the Heat by Sara Humphreys
The Bear Pit by Jon Cleary
Cracked Up to Be by Courtney Summers
Crime by Ferdinand von Schirach
Elizabeth: The Golden Age by Tasha Alexander
Chaos Broken by Rebekah Turner