The Italians: Cristiano, Vittorio and Dario: Once a Ferrara Wife... / A Dark Sicilian Secret / Blackmailed Bride, Innocent Wife. Jane Porter
From the moment her success with one very overweight actress had been blazoned over the press, Laurel Hampton had become the personal trainer that everyone wanted. The fact that she’d agreed to advise the hotel had been a coup for both of them. He had her name on his brand and she had his. It had been a winning combination.
Hampton had become Ferrara.
And that was when the combination had exploded.
‘I watch sport. I don’t need a gym when I’m here.’ Cristiano felt a flicker of exasperation. Their marriage was writhing in its death throes and they were discussing gym equipment?
Something glinted around her neck and he frowned at the thin gold chain. The fact that she was wearing jewellery he didn’t recognise racked his tension levels up a few more notches and drove all thoughts from his brain. He hadn’t given her the chain, so where the hell had it come from?
He pictured a pair of male hands fastening the necklace around her slender throat. Someone else touching her. Someone else persuading her to part with her secrets—
It was something that hadn’t occurred to him before now.
Only when he heard the splintering sound of glass on ceramic tiles did he realise he’d dropped the glass he was holding.
Eyeing him as she would an escaped tiger, Laurel backed away. ‘I’ll get a brush—’ ‘Leave it.’ ‘But—’
‘I said, leave it. The staff will sort it out. We need to go.
I’m the host.’
‘Everyone will be speculating.’
‘They wouldn’t dare. At least, not publicly.’
She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Sorry. I forgot you even manage to control people’s thoughts.’
Suddenly Cristiano wished he hadn’t dropped the glass. God only knew he needed something to get him through the next few hours. The gold necklace glinted in the sunshine, taunting him. Following an impulse he didn’t want to examine too closely, he grabbed her left hand and lifted it. She made a sound in her throat and tugged but he simply tightened his grip, shocked by the emotion that tore through him when he saw her bare finger.
‘Where is your wedding ring?’
‘I don’t wear it. We’re no longer married.’
‘We’re married until we’re divorced and in Sicily that takes three years—’ Teeth gritted, tone thickened, he held tightly to her hand as she twisted her fingers and tried to free herself.
‘It’s a bit late to be possessive. Marriage is about more than a ring, Cristiano, and more than a piece of paper.’
‘You are telling me what constitutes marriage? You, who treated our marriage as something disposable?’ Outrage and fury mingled in a lethal cocktail. ‘Why remove your ring? Is there someone else?’
‘This weekend isn’t about us, it’s about your sister.’
He’d wanted a denial.
He’d wanted her to laugh and say, Of course there isn’t anyone else—how could there be?
He’d wanted her to admit that what they’d shared had been rare and special. Instead she was dismissing it. She’d consigned it to the dustbin of past mistakes.
Driven by an emotion he didn’t understand, he grabbed her shoulders and yanked her against him. If he’d been more controlled he might have asked himself why he was trying to goad her, but he didn’t feel controlled. The fact that she seemed indifferent simply intensified his urge to draw a response from her.
Caught off balance, she swayed against him. That brief whisper of contact was all it took. Thin blue silk proved an ineffectual barrier and the heat spread from him to her. He heard her breathing quicken and felt the powerful surge of desire as his body acknowledged her response. It confirmed what he already knew—that the chemistry between them was as powerful as ever. Not indifferent, he thought with grim satisfaction. It was the one emotion she couldn’t mask. In a moment he’d be kissing her and he knew from bitter experience that once they kissed that was it. There was no turning back from it and it seemed that even after her betrayal that hadn’t changed.
‘There is no one else.’ Her voice reflected all those painful emotions right back at him. ‘One lousy relationship in a lifetime is enough.’
The words acted like a bucket of cold water over the flickering flames.
Cristiano released her as suddenly as he’d grabbed her. If he’d felt like laughing he would have laughed at himself. All his life women had thrown themselves at him. He’d taken it as a right that he could win any woman he wanted. And then he’d met Laurel and been slapped in the face with his own arrogance.
He stepped back from her, needing the distance. ‘We’re expected to attend this dinner. Let’s get it over with.’
For once, the mask slipped. ‘I’m going to call Dani and explain that I’m tired. She’ll understand.’
It was true that her face was pale and her eyes huge but he knew that her reluctance to socialise had nothing to do with fatigue.
Cristiano wondered how far he could push her before she stopped guarding her every word. The ridiculous thing was, they had yet to talk about what had happened. She’d refused to have that conversation. ‘Why would your conscience bother you now when it didn’t bother you two years ago? Or is it just cowardice because you’re embarrassed to meet my family? You came because of your loyalty to my sister so let’s see that loyalty in action.’ He’d never seen anyone so pale but before he could say anything she turned and walked quickly past him up the narrow path that snaked through the pretty gardens and led to the main part of the hotel. Apparently accepting her fate, she kept walking, her high heels tapping on the stones, her hair twisted into a severe knot that exposed her slender neck.
His gaze slid lower, to the dip of her waist and the curve of her bottom.
Squats, he thought savagely. She’d sculpted that bottom from squats and squat thrusts. So what?
His mood turbulent, Cristiano strode after her, resisting the temptation to flatten her against the nearest tree and demand to know what had been going through her crazy, mixed up mind when she’d smashed everything they’d created together. He wanted to force the issue she was avoiding out into the open. But most of all he wanted to rip that delicate gold chain from her throat and replace it with one of the jewels he’d given her when they’d been together. Something that announced to the world that she was his.
Unsettled by the depths to which his thoughts had sunk, it took him a moment to register that Laurel had stopped dead in the entrance to the terrace.
‘Laurel.’ Santo stood there. Santiago, his younger brother, hot-headed and overprotective, who felt responsible for the current mess because he was the one who had appointed Laurel as his personal trainer when he’d committed to run the New York City Marathon. Without that introduction, Cristiano never would have met her.
Santo glowered at her, his expression uncensored.
Laurel met that threatening stare without flinching. Despite his heightened emotions, Cristiano felt a flicker of reluctant admiration. Here she was, surrounded by people who felt nothing but animosity for her and she faced them head on. She barely reached his shoulder and yet it didn’t occur to her to back down. Laurel was a fighter.
And that was part of the problem, he thought wearily. She was so used to defending herself that persuading her to lower her guard was virtually impossible.
Knowing that if they were to stand any chance of getting through the evening without an explosion he had to be the one to keep things calm, Cristiano stepped forward and took control. ‘Is Daniela here?’
‘She’s waiting to make an entrance.’ Santo’s icy gaze was fixed on Laurel, who stared right back, almost willing him to come at her.