скачать книгу бесплатно
A FEW minutes later, once they were seated at a secluded table with drinks, crusty bread rolls and a tiny dish of freshly pressed olive oil placed in front of them, Claire began to feel the tension in her shoulders slowly dissipate. She could see Antonio was making every effort to put her at ease. His manner towards her had subtly changed ever since that tense moment outside the restaurant.
The earlier interaction with the press had upset him much more than she had thought it would. He was well used to handling the intrusive questions of the paparazzi, but this time she had felt the tensile strain in him as he had tried to protect her. It had touched her that he had done so, and made her wonder if his motives for their reconciliation were perhaps more noble than she had first thought.
The waiter took their orders, and once he had left them Antonio caught and held Claire’s gaze. ‘Did you blame yourself, Claire?’ he asked, looking at her with dark intensity.
Claire pressed her lips together, her eyes falling away from his to stare at the vertical necklaces of bubbles in her soda water. ‘I don’t suppose there is a mother anywhere in the world who doesn’t feel guilty about the death of her child,’ she said sadly.
He reached for her hand across the table, his long, strong fingers interlocking with hers. ‘I should have arranged some counselling for you,’ he said, in a tone deep with regret.
Claire brought her eyes back to his. ‘Would you have come to the sessions as well?’
His eyes shifted to look at the contents of his glass, just as hers had done a moment or so earlier. ‘I am used to dealing with life and death, Claire,’ he said, briefly returning his gaze to hers. ‘I lost my first patient, or at least the first one I was personally responsible for under my care, when I was a young registrar. It was unexpected and not my fault, but I blamed myself. I wanted to quit. I did not think I could carry on with my training. But my professor of surgery at the time took me to one side and reassured me that a surgeon is not God. We do what we can to save and preserve lives, but sometimes things go wrong. Things we have no control over.’
‘Is that why you chose plastic surgery rather than general surgery?’ Claire asked, wondering why she had never thought to ask him that before.
‘I was never really interested in plastics as such,’ he answered. ‘I understand how many people are unhappy with the features they are born with, and I fully support them seeking help if and where it is appropriate, but I never saw myself doing straight rhino-plasty or breast augmentations or liposuction. Reconstructive work has always appealed to me. Seeing someone disfigured by an accident or birth defect reclaiming their life and their place in the world is tremendously satisfying.’
‘I’ve seen some of the work you’ve done on your website,’ Claire said. ‘The before and after shots are truly amazing.’
He picked up his glass, his expression somewhere between quizzical and wry. ‘I am surprised you bothered looking at all. I thought you wanted me out of sight and out of mind.’
She twisted her mouth. ‘I guess intrigue got the better of me. From being an overworked registrar when we met to what you are now—a world leader in reconstructive surgery…Well, that’s a pretty big leap, and one I imagine you might not have achieved if I had stayed around.’
A frown tugged at his dark brows. ‘That seems a rather negative way of viewing yourself,’ he said. ‘The early years of surgery are punishing, Claire. You know that. It is like any other demanding profession. You have to put in the hard yards before you reap any of the rewards.’
‘I suppose some of the rewards, besides the financial ones, are the hordes of women who trail after you so devotedly,’ she put in resentfully.
He made an impatient sound at the back of his throat. ‘You really are determined to pick a fight every chance you get, are you not? Well, if it is a fight you want, you can have one—but not here and not now. I refuse to trade insults with you over a table in a public restaurant.’
Claire twisted her hands beneath the table, her stomach tightening into familiar knots. ‘I don’t see that it is necessary for me to move in with you,’ she said, nervously moistening her dry lips. ‘Surely we can just see how it goes from day to day? You know…go on the occasional date or something, to see if things work out.’
He looked at her with wry amusement. ‘Come now, Claire, surely we have moved well past the dating stage, hmm? You have shared my bed and my body in the past. I am quite sure you will not find it too difficult to do so again, especially since there is financial gain to be had.’
Claire had to look away from his taunting gaze. She felt shattered by his chilling assessment of her. He was treating her like a gold-digger, someone who would sleep with him for whatever she could get out of the arrangement. ‘I don’t want your money,’ she said stiffly. ‘I have never wanted it.’
He put his glass down so heavily the red wine splashed against the sides, almost spilling over the rim. ‘That is not quite true, though, is it, Claire?’
She twisted her hands even more tightly together, forcing herself to hold his accusatory gaze. ‘I wanted your time,’ she said. ‘But you were always too busy to give it to me.’
‘I gave you what I could, Claire,’ he said, frowning at her darkly. ‘I know it was not enough. You did not always get the best of me; my patients back then and now still have that privilege. Most truly dedicated specialists feel the same way. We have lives in our hands. It is a huge responsibility, for they are all someone’s son or daughter, husband or wife, brother or sister.’
‘What about your own daughter, Antonio?’ she asked, tears filling her eyes. ‘The specialist you recommended I see failed to get there on time, and so did you. I felt let down. You both let our baby down.’
Antonio hated going over this. They had done it so many times in the past and it had achieved nothing. All it did was stir up a hornets’ nest of guilt in his gut. ‘Leave it, Claire,’ he said. ‘We have to let the past go and move forward. It is the only hope we have to get things right this time around.’
Claire pushed her barely touched food away. ‘We wouldn’t even be sitting here now if I hadn’t asked you for a divorce. You couldn’t stand the fact that I’d got in first—just like you couldn’t stand the fact that I was the one who left you, not the other way round. And now you have the audacity to use my brother to blackmail me into being with you. I can’t believe how ruthless you have become.’
‘Your brother has nothing to do with this,’ he said, releasing a tight breath. ‘I was going to contact you in any case and suggest a trial reconciliation. He just gave me the means to make sure you agreed to it.’
Claire sat in stony silence, wondering whether to believe him or not. He had certainly taken his time about contacting her; she had heard nothing from him for years. But then she began to wonder if it had something to do with the death of his father. Could Antonio have an ulterior motive for chaining her to his side? Suspicion began to make her scalp prickle. No wonder he had looked at her with such fury in his gaze while she had been talking to Isaac, and when she had questioned him about whether his father’s estate had been divided between his brother and himself. She was starting to think Antonio would do anything rather than divide up his assets—even if it meant reconciling with his runaway wife.
‘You have been on my mind a lot over the years, Claire,’ he said into the silence. ‘When this offer to come to Australia came up I decided it was a perfect opportunity to see if anything could be salvaged from what was left of our relationship. You had not pressed for a divorce, so I felt there was a chance you might still have feelings for me.’
‘Well, you were wrong,’ Claire said, tossing her napkin to one side and glaring at him as her anger towards him raced with red-hot speed through her veins. ‘I feel nothing for you.’
He held her caustic look without flinching. ‘That is not true, cara. You feel a lot of things for me. Anger and hate to name just two of them.’
‘And that’s not enough to send you and your blackmailed bride scheme packing?’ she asked, with vitriol sharpening her voice to dagger points.
‘Not until I know for sure there is no hope,’ he said, with an intransigent set to his features. ‘And the only way to find out is to start straight away—from tonight.’
Claire felt her eyes flare in panic. ‘You can’t mean for me to spend the night with you? Not yet. I’m not ready. It’s too soon.’
He gave her an imperious smile, like someone who knew the hand they were about to spread out on the table was going to be a royal flush. ‘You want to pull out of our deal?’ he asked, reaching for his mobile. ‘I can call Frank and tell him the police will be there in half an hour to pick up your brother and press charges on him.’
Claire clenched her hands beneath the table again. ‘No, please,’ she choked. ‘Don’t do that…I…I’ll stay with you…’
His dark eyes travelled over her face for a pulsing moment. ‘I will not force myself on you, Claire,’ he said. ‘You surely do not expect me to act so boorishly towards you, do you?’
She compressed her lips, waiting a beat or two before she released them. ‘I’m not sure what to think…’ she confessed. ‘We’re practically strangers now…’
‘Even strangers can become friends,’ he said. ‘If nothing else, would that not be a good outcome of this three-month arrangement?’
Her eyes were wary as they met his. ‘I can’t imagine us exchanging Christmas cards and newsy e-mails, Antonio. Besides, we come from completely different worlds. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking, getting involved with you in the first place.’
‘Then why not tell me about your world?’ he said. ‘You hardly ever mentioned your family when we were together. You did not even want them to come to our wedding, though I offered to pay for their flights. I have never even seen a photograph of any one of them.’
Claire felt a tide of colour creep into her cheeks. ‘They are my family, and I love them,’ she said, knowing she sounded far too defensive. ‘They’re not perfect—far from it—but things have not been easy for any of them. My mother in particular.’
‘What is she like?’ he asked. ‘You told me so little about her in the past.’
She tucked a corkscrew of curls behind her left ear, wondering where to begin. ‘She’s had a hard life. She lost her mother when she was in her early teens, and I guess because she felt so rudderless got pregnant at sixteen. Like a lot of other girls left holding the baby, she looked for love in all the wrong places, with each subsequent relationship producing a child but no reliable father. As the eldest and the only girl I kind of slipped into a pseudo-parenting role from an early age. My brother Callum is doing OK now, after a bit of a wild time in his teens, but it’s Isaac I worry about. He’s a little impulsive at times. He acts before he thinks.’
‘He is young, and will eventually grow out of it if he is pointed in the right direction,’ Antonio said. ‘Frank Guthrie will be a good mentor for him. It sounds like your brother needs a strong male influence.’
Claire lifted her eyes back to his. ‘Where did you meet this Frank guy?’ she asked. ‘I don’t recall you mentioning him in the past.’
‘I operated on his brother Jack about eighteen months ago,’ he said. ‘He was involved in a head-on collision just outside of Rome. There was a lot of facial damage. We had to put plates and screws in his forehead and cheeks, and rebuild both of his eye sockets. He was lucky to survive. No one thought he would come through, and certainly not without heavy scarring or disfigurement. I got to know Frank, who had flown over to be with him. He spent a lot of time at the hospital, so we often had a coffee and a chat after my ward rounds.’
‘It must be very rewarding, seeing people recover from something like that,’ she said. ‘Your parents…I mean your mother…must be very proud of you.’
He gave her a wry half-smile. ‘My father made it very clear when I first announced I was going to study medicine that he would have preferred me to take up the reins of his business. And my mother complained for years about the long hours I work. But I have always wanted to be a surgeon for as long as I can remember.’
Claire picked up her soda water again. ‘How is your mother coping after your father’s death?’ she asked.
A shadow passed through his gaze as it met hers. ‘She is doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances,’ he said.
Claire was even more certain now that his father’s death had everything to do with Antonio contacting her about this trial reconciliation. There would be certain expectations of him as the firstborn son of a wealthy businessman. An heir would be required. But he could hardly provide one whilst still legally married to his estranged wife.
A divorce between them had the potential to be messy, and no doubt very public. In their haste to marry close to six years ago, when Claire had announced her pregnancy, there had been no time for drawing up a prenuptial agreement. Antonio could not be unaware of how the family laws in Australia worked. She would be entitled to a considerable share of his wealth, including that which he had just inherited upon the death of his father, even though they had been living apart for so long.
She toyed with the edge of the tablecloth, struggling to keep her expression shuttered in case he saw how confused she was. It would be different if she still loved him. She would take him back without hesitation. But her love for him had died the day she had seen him in Daniela Garza’s arms.
Or had it?
Claire looked at his face, her heart giving an uncoordinated skip as her gaze came into contact with his coal-black eyes. She had been aware of a disturbing undercurrent the whole time they had been together this evening. Every time her eyes met his she felt the zap of attraction—unwilling, almost resentful, but no less unmistakable, and it definitely wasn’t one-way. Her body recognised him as her pleasure-giver. She had not known such pleasure before or since, and while she imagined in her most tortured moments he had experienced physical ecstasy with many other women, she was more than aware of his ongoing desire for her. She could see it in his eyes, in the way they locked on hers for a second or two longer than necessary. She had felt it in the way his fingers had wrapped around hers in that possessive way of his, their warmth seeping into the coldness of hers. She could only imagine what would happen if he should kiss her at some point. Her lips could almost sense the gentle but firm pressure of his, and her tongue snaked out to try and remove the sensation. She didn’t want to remind herself of all she had felt in his arms. She had locked away those memories. They were too painful to recollect.
They were far too dangerous to revisit.
‘Have you finished playing with your meal?’ Antonio asked.
Claire put down the fork she had been using to move around the seafood risotto she had been vainly trying to push past her lips. ‘I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was,’ she said, her shoulders going down on a sigh.
He took out his wallet and, signalling the waiter, placed his credit card on the table in anticipation of the bill. ‘I will give you a night of reprieve, Claire,’ he said. ‘Go home and get a good night’s sleep. If you give me a spare key to your flat I will send someone over tomorrow to shift your things to my suite at the hotel. Do not worry about your lease or the rent for the next three months. I will see to that. All you need concern yourself with is stepping back into your role as my wife.’
He made it sound so simple, Claire thought as she drove back to her flat a short time later. All she had to do was pack a bag or two and slip back into his life as if she had never been away.
Even more worrying—how many nights would pass before he expected her to slip between the sheets of his bed?
CHAPTER SIX
THE salon was fully booked the following day, and it seemed as if every single client of Claire’s had seen the press item documenting her reunion with Antonio Marcolini. All were intent on expressing their congratulations and best wishes. She smiled her way through each and every effusive comment, hoping no one would see through the fragile façade she’d put up.
Claire had refrained from telling Rebecca, her friend and employer, the finer details of her reconciliation with Antonio. How could she tell her closest friend that her estranged husband had more or less blackmailed her back into his life for the next three months?
But Rebecca must have sensed something in Claire’s demeanour, and, cocking her head on one side, gave her a penetrating look. ‘Claire, are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’ she asked. ‘I mean, according to the papers he’s only here for a limited time. What happens when he leaves at the end of August? Is he expecting you to go back to Italy with him?’
Claire bit her lip as she turned to fill the kettle in the small kitchen at the back of the salon. ‘We haven’t got around to discussing those sorts of details,’ she said. ‘We’re taking it one day at a time, to see how things work out between us.’
Rebecca folded her arms, giving Claire a cynical look. ‘So at any point he could just say Forget it, it’s over, I want a divorce. Aren’t any alarms bells ringing in your head?’
Claire puffed out a sigh. ‘Look, I know it sounds a bit shaky, but he…we both feel it’s worth a try. As he said, we were on his territory last time, and emotions were running high when we parted—or at least mine were. This way we can see if there is anything left to rebuild what we had before…before…things went wrong…’
Rebecca gave Claire’s nearest arm a squeeze. ‘If you need some time off to sort things out, just tell me,’ she said. ‘I can get Kathleen to come and fill in for you. She’s been asking for the occasional day now her son’s at preschool. You wouldn’t be putting me out—not at all.’
‘Thanks, Bex,’ Claire said, with an attempt at a convincing smile. ‘I’ll see how it goes for now.’
Not long after her last client had left the salon door opened, and Claire looked up to see Antonio come in. She felt the ricochet of her reaction ripple its way through her as her eyes met his. Her stomach felt light and fluttery, her heart began to race, and her breathing intervals shortened.
Conscious of Rebecca’s speculative look from the behind the reception desk, Claire was uncertain whether to greet him with a kiss or not. For five years she had thought of his kisses—those barely-there nibbles that had made her spine loosen, or the slow, drugging movement of his lips on hers that was a prelude to a drawn-out sensual feast, or the sexy sweep and thrust of his tongue, or the fast-paced pressure of his mouth grinding against hers as desire raced out of control.
No one had kissed her since him, Claire realised with a little jolt. She couldn’t even bear the thought of anyone else claiming her lips. It didn’t seem right, somehow, and not just because technically she was still married to him.
She looked up into his face, her heart giving a little kick against her breastbone when his gaze dropped to her mouth.
He slowly bent down and brushed his lips against hers, a light touchdown that made her lips instantly hungry for more. She opened her eyes to find his were half closed in a broodingly sexy manner, his focus still trained on her mouth. She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, her heart going like a piston in her chest as his mouth came back down.
It was a firmer kiss this time, purposeful, and with just the right amount of passion to awaken every nerve of awareness in Claire’s body. Lightning bolts of feeling shot through her, tightly curled ribbons of need unfurling deep inside her, making her realise how desperately she still wanted him.
‘Ahem…’ Rebecca’s discreet but diplomatic reminder that they were not alone came just as Claire had started to wind her arms around Antonio’s neck.
She stepped out of his hold with a rush of colour. ‘Sorry, Bex, I forgot to introduce you,’ she said. ‘Antonio, this is Rebecca Collins. Bex, this is Antonio Marcolini…my…er…husband.’
Claire watched as Antonio took Rebecca’s hand with a smile that would have melted stone. It clearly went a long way to melting any cynical animosity Rebecca had felt previously, for she smiled back widely, congratulating him on coming to claim Claire.
‘I’m so happy for you both,’ she said, just short of gushing. ‘I hope it all works out brilliantly for you. I’ve told Claire if she needs time off to spend with you, then that’s fine. I have back-up. She needs a holiday in any case. She works far too hard as it is.’
Antonio drew Claire closer with one of his arms about her waist. ‘I am looking forward to spending some downtime with her once the first rush of my lecture tour is over,’ he said. ‘I thought we might go on a second honeymoon in a few weeks’ time, to somewhere warm and tropical and totally private.’
Claire fixed a smile on her face, her body already on fire at the thought of spending tonight with him in his hotel suite, let alone days and nights at a time in a tropical paradise.
There hadn’t been time for a proper honeymoon the first time around. Claire had been suffering with not just morning sickness but all-day sickness, and Antonio had been sitting his final exams. Looking back, she wondered how they had lasted the year even without the tragedy of losing their baby girl. It seemed from the start everything had been pitted against them. Although in time Antonio had seemed to look forward to having their child, Claire had still felt his gradual pulling away from her. His increasing aloofness had made her overly demanding and clingy, which had achieved nothing but to drive him even further away. When she’d failed to produce a live heir he had let her go with barely a protest. That was what hurt the most. He hadn’t fought for her. She had secretly hoped he would follow her back to Australia, demanding she come back to him, somehow circumventing the obstacles she had put in his way, but he had not.
Until now.
Antonio led Claire outside a few minutes later, to where she had parked her car. ‘This is your car?’ he asked, frowning at her.
Claire lifted her chin. ‘It gets me from A to B,’ she said, adding silently, Mostly.
She could tell he was angry, but he seemed to be working hard to control it. ‘Claire, if you have been having trouble making ends meet why did you not contact me?’ he asked with a brooding frown.
She shifted her eyes from his. ‘I didn’t want your money,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to get on with my life.’
No, Antonio thought with a bitter twist of his insides. She hadn’t wanted his money, but she had thought nothing of taking his mother’s. If it took him every day of the three months he was here he would find out what she had done with it.
He gave her car—and that was using the word loosely—another scathing look. She clearly hadn’t been spending up big in that department. In fact, there was no indication from what he had seen so far that she lived anything but a low-key life. She owned no real estate, either private or commercial, and her work at the salon was permanent, not casual. She dressed well, but if there was anything new and crafted by a high street designer in her wardrobe he had yet to see it. The black dress she had worn the evening before he had recognised as one he had bought for her in Paris. But then someone as naturally beautiful as Claire did not need the trappings of haute couture to showcase her assets. He had seen her in nothing but her creamy skin and he could hardly wait to do so again.
‘I forbid you to drive this heap of rust,’ he said, taking her keys from her hand before she could stop him.
She glared at him. ‘Give me my keys!’
He pocketed them and, capturing her outstretched hand, led her back down the street. ‘I will have someone move it later,’ he said. ‘And I will have a new car delivered to the hotel for you tomorrow.’
She trotted alongside him, tugging at his hold, but his fingers tightened. ‘I don’t want a new car,’ she said. ‘I don’t want anything from you.’
He shot her a trenchant look as he turned her round to face him. ‘If I want to buy my wife a new car, I will. For God’s sake, Claire, you are driving around in a death trap. Does it even have airbags?’
She pulled her mouth tight. ‘No, but—’
He swore viciously and continued striding towards his own car, parked in a side street. ‘I suppose you have done it deliberately?’ he said, using his remote to unlock the upmarket vehicle.
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ she asked.
His eyes lasered hers. ‘Do you have any idea of what the press would make of you driving around in that coffin on wheels? For God’s sake, Claire, I am here to teach other surgeons how to repair the sort of damage people get from being drivers and passengers in unworthy road vehicles such as yours.’
‘It’s not an unworthy vehicle,’ she said. ‘It passed its registration inspection last year.’
He clicked the remote control device once they got to his car. ‘How?’ he asked with an indolent curl of his lip. ‘Did you bribe the mechanic by offering him a service?’
