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Marco's Pride
Jane Porter
When making love, Marco D'Angelo was sensual and passionate. But when it came to declaring his love, he was unable to open his heart. When their whirlwind marriage fell apart, Payton left him, taking their two young daughters with her.Two years later, Payton has returned to Italy–the time has come for the girls to get to know their father. At first Payton is determined to keep her distance from Marco. But on seeing him again her feelings for him can no longer be ignored…she's forced to admit that her body still yearns for her husband's touch…\
“You make me crazy.”
Marco’s head dipped and his mouth covered hers in a kiss so hot, so fierce that it stole her breath, emptied her lungs and left her head spinning.
Hot tears stung her eyes and, reaching up, Payton clasped his shirt, hanging on to him as her heart felt as if it were being wrenched in two.
No one, but no one kissed like this. No one but Marco made her feel like this, and she wasn’t over him yet. Not by a long shot. Maybe not ever.
A cry escaped her as his lips parted hers. She shouldn’t—couldn’t—let this happen, and yet it was heaven and hell and Payton knew this was how it had always been with Marco. Her response was pure instinct, impossible to control….
Marco’s Pride
Jane Porter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PROLOGUE
“I WON’T let her ruin the wedding.” Marco d’Angelo’s deep voice rang out in the high ceiling Milan salon. He rarely raised his voice and the seamstress and models at the far end of the elegant salon briefly glanced his way before resuming the fitting.
Princess Marilena placed a light hand on Marco’s arm. “She won’t ruin the wedding, darling. The ceremony isn’t for months.”
“Two and a half months.” They were getting married less than a week after the Spring show previewing the new collection, and the new collection so far hadn’t come together.
They were running out of time.
“I don’t think you should worry yourself yet. Things always have a way of working out,” the princess added evenly.
Marco wasn’t so sure. His angular jaw tightened, and his thick eyebrows lowered, becoming heavy black slashes above brooding eyes. His gaze narrowed, focused on Marilena’s pale hand where it rested on his coat sleeve, studying the opulent engagement ring he’d given her less than a month ago.
He’d hunted the ring down, a three carat emerald cut diamond surrounded by sapphires in an eighteenth century gold setting. The ring had belonged to the royal Borgiano family for three centuries until Marilena’s father, Prince Stefano Borgiano, had been forced to sell it twenty-five years ago.
The aristocratic Borgiano fortunes had fallen even as the d’Angelo’s had risen. But right now Marco didn’t feel very blessed. He was troubled, deeply troubled, aware that the new collection lacked imagination. Inspiration.
It was, he thought irritably, boring. And that, in the fashion world, was a fate worse than death.
Like his father before him, Marco had never needed an outsider to tell him when something worked or didn’t. He knew. He felt it in his gut. And his gut was telling him now that the Spring collection would be a disappointment if he didn’t find the spark soon. If he couldn’t make magic.
But what was the special something?
He didn’t know yet, and he certainly wouldn’t find the answers with his ex-wife here. “I don’t trust her,” he said after a moment, his voice low and rough. “Payton’s only ever been interested in herself.”
“She said her visit was just for holiday, didn’t she?”
Marco glanced up to meet Marilena’s steady gaze. She had remarkable eyes, the irises the color of caramels, the rich tawny color contrasting perfectly with her glossy black hair and lush black lashes.
As the head of d’Angelo, Milan’s top fashion design house, Marco worked with stunning models every day, and had dressed many of the world’s most beautiful women for nearly two decades, but Princess Marilena Borgiano was a class apart.
The hard press of his lips eased. “How can you be so understanding?” he asked, reaching into his coat pocket for a cigarette before remembering he’d promised her he’d quit smoking.
Her slim shoulders shrugged in an ultrafeminine, ultra-Italian gesture. “Because Payton’s not a threat.”
Marilena must have caught the arch of his eyebrows as she smiled, her full dark red mouth curving. “We’ve known each other a long time, Marco, you and me. We’ve been through a great deal together. We understand each other and we know what we want. It’s different from your first marriage, yes?”
Completely different, he thought, biting down on his back teeth, his temper nearly flaring again. If pressed, he wouldn’t even call the brief twenty-one month arrangement a marriage. It was more like a disaster.
No, a nightmare.
Marilena stood on tiptoe and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. “Don’t look so angry, darling. She won’t be here long, and she’ll have the girls with her. I know you’ve wanted a relationship with them—”
“That was a long time ago, before she held them hostage, before she used them against me. Maybe once they were my daughters, but they’re not mine anymore. Payton made sure of that.”
Marilena clucked softly. “That’s not true. They’re still your children. You adore the girls. I know you’ve missed them terribly.”
Marco swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. He had missed them. He’d missed them so much he almost felt sick inside. “Payton knows I’ll sue for custody,” he said after a long moment. “She knows if she comes back, she’ll find it next to impossible to take them out of the country again.”
Marilena cocked her head. “So, why is she bringing them here now?”
Good question, Marco thought. A very good question indeed.
CHAPTER ONE
DEATH and taxes. The only two certainties in life. Death and taxes…
The words went around and around Payton’s head like the unclaimed luggage on the airport baggage carousel.
With a tired hand, she pushed the tangle of dark red curls from her forehead. She’d boarded the plane with her hair pinned up, but after fifteen hours traveling the curls had burst free from the French twist.
A black suitcase came sliding out the luggage chute and Payton carefully stooped to check the tag without disturbing the toddler slumped against her shoulder.
Wrong name. Not hers.
As Payton straightened she cradled the back of Gia’s head and glanced down into her sleeping daughter’s face. Wet tears still streaked Gia’s swollen cheeks, a testament to the hours Gia had wailed inconsolably for the small fuzzy blankie lost somewhere between boarding in San Francisco and changing planes in New York’s La Guardia airport.
It had not been an easy flight.
It had not been an easy month.
It had not been an easy life.
Payton’s lips twisted as she suppressed the rise of emotion. She couldn’t start thinking now. Thinking would only make everything worse.
She shot Livia a quick glance. “Are you okay, Liv?” she whispered, mustering a smile for Gia’s twin.
The three-year-old sat perched on top of an up-ended car seat, her thumb popped in her mouth, her arm clutching her own fuzzy blankie.
Livia nodded solemnly, her dark blue eyes the same shade as Payton’s. The girls had inherited Payton’s heart-shaped face, small straight nose, and dark blue eyes, but their gorgeous coloring came from their father. Onyx curls, light olive skin, the longest, thickest black fringe of eyelash imaginable.
Just thinking of Marco made Payton’s chest squeeze tight. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. When she’d left Milan two years ago she’d rashly vowed that nothing short of death would bring her back.
And it had.
Blinking, Payton concentrated on the moving carousel to keep the tears from forming. She wasn’t much of a crier anymore but she was exhausted and when she was overly tired tears welled more easily.
The last year had been hard, but nothing like the last month. That had been hell. Four weeks endless fear. Endless worry. Endless soul-searching.
And finally at last the truth came: if she were sick, the girls would need their father.
Gia stirred in her arms, black lashes fluttering open. “I want my blankie,” she croaked, voice raspy from hours of crying.
Payton cupped the back of her daughter’s head. “I know you do.”
Brilliant tears welled in Gia’s eyes. “I want it now!”
Gia’s forlorn cry knotted Payton’s heart. She felt like she’d failed Gia. The girls never went anywhere without their blankets. How could Payton lose track of Gia’s? It’d never happened before. It was unthinkable. “I know, I know, but we can’t get it right now—”
“Noooo!”
The wail filled the baggage claim area. Payton kissed Gia’s flushed cheek and rocked her. “We’ll get it back soon, I promise.”
But Gia wasn’t comforted and Liv, hearing Gia’s distress, began to whimper, too.
Suddenly the baggage carousel shut off.
Payton stared at the now flat belt with a smattering of suitcases still on it. An airline employee began retrieving the remaining luggage, locking them together on a cart.
Her suitcase hadn’t made it. The girls’ bag had arrived. The two car seats had made it. But not Payton’s own bag.
No clean underwear, no nightgown, no comfortable shoes, nothing at all.
A five-month audit from the Internal Revenue Service.
A horrible biopsy.
And now no clean underwear. Unbelievable.
“Moommmmmy!” Gia wailed louder.
Livia’s eyes filled with tears and she began to cry for Gia. “Get Gia’s blankie, Mommy! She needs her blankie.”
“I know.” Payton crouched down, scooped up both girls in her arms and held them on her lap. “And I’ll try. I promise.”
“Now!” Gia sobbed, pummeling her fist against Payton’s shoulder. “Get it now. Now. Now!”
“She needs blankie,” Liv echoed, lower lip trembling.
Gia’s wet gaze met her sister’s “Blankie misses me!”
Now both girls were sobbing uncontrollably. Payton jiggled both in her arms, hushing them, even as she wondered how in God’s name she’d made it this far as a single mom.
It hadn’t been easy.
“I miss blankie, too,” Payton whispered. “Maybe we can find you a new one. I bet there are some beautiful blankets here and you can pick out the one you like best—”
“Noooooo.” Gia sounded stricken and her cries grew louder, rose higher, nearing a feverish pitch.
Suddenly a deep voice boomed, “Gianina Elettra Maria d’Angelo!” The reprimand immediately silenced Gia.
The reprimand chilled Payton, too.
Payton knew that voice. An icy shiver raced down her back. Marco.
O God, she didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to be here. But she had no choice…
Payton battled her own hysteria and slowly dragged her gaze up the imposing length of her ex-husband, a man she hadn’t seen in nearly a year.
