Marco's Stolen Wife (The Dante Inferno: The Dante Dynasty Series Book 2) Read online

  The Dante Inferno:

  Marco’s Stolen Wife

  The Dante Dynasty Series: Book #2

  by

  Day Leclaire

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Table of Contents

  Book Description

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Other Titles by Day Leclaire

  Excerpt: Nicolò’s Wedding Deception

  Meet Day Leclaire

  Dedication

  Book Description

  Marco’s Stolen Wife, Book #2

  A fierce contest between twins…

  One scorching touch between sexy international businessman Marco Dante and gorgeous Dantes CFO, Caitlyn Vaughn and The Inferno explodes. Until Marco’s twin brother, Lazz, parts them, planning to make Caitlyn his own. But he hasn’t counted on The Inferno or Marco’s determination to win his Inferno mate, no matter what.

  Posing as his brother, Marco switches identities and sweeps Caitlyn off for a romantic weekend, seducing her first into becoming his wife and then into his bed for a night of passion unlike any other. The weekend is perfect … until a fatal mistake on Marco’s part reveals the truth.

  She married the wrong man.

  Or did she? Marco claims it’s some bizarre family myth called The Inferno, where soul mates connect with a single touch. But she couldn’t possibly love a man she only met one time, for all of five minutes. How can the lust she feels for a relative stranger far outstrip the chaste relationship she had with his brother? And yet, that’s exactly what’s happened.

  Now Caitlyn finds herself married to Marco for better or worse. The better, she finds in his arms and bed. The worse occurs when their marital mix-up is leaked to the press.

  Can she find a way to prove both the existence of The Inferno … and that Marco is the only man for her? Or is their relationship doomed if The Inferno is demonstrated to be nothing more than a myth?

  Note to Readers: Marco’s Stolen Wife is Book #2 in The Dante Inferno: The Dante Dynasty Series, a contemporary romance series by USA Today bestselling author and eleven-time RITA© (Romance Writers of America) finalist, Day Leclaire. This story features passionate Italian-American heroes, the scorching connection of The Inferno, and a sizzling romance between soul mates.

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  Chapter One

  “I’m warning you, Marco. No more scandals. If your family continues to be featured in the gossip magazines, we will have no choice but to place our account elsewhere. The reports have carried all the way to Italy. I even caught Ariana reading them. My own daughter!”

  Marco Dante inclined his head. “I understand, Vittorio. We don’t know why The Snitch has embarked on this campaign against Dantes. But I promise you, I plan to put an end to it, no matter what it takes. You and my father were good friends. We appreciated your business when he ran our jewelry business, and now that we’re moving back into the European market, we hope to have your patronage once again.”

  Vittorio gave a shrug to accompany his expression of vague regret. “I’d enjoy seeing the names of Dante and Romano mated once more. But we’re extremely private people. We choose our associates with great care.” He deliberately switched to Italian to add weight to his words. “If you wish to have our support for your European expansion, you must take care of this problem.”

  Marco nodded. Unfortunately, they’d lost the Romanos’ backing years ago, shortly after his father’s death. At that time, Dantes teetered on the brink of ruin, and would have gone under if not for Marco’s brother, Severo, who’d assumed the reins of the family jewelry empire straight out of college. During his first year on the job, he’d been forced to scale back on the size of the business, stripping Dantes to the bone.

  Little by little over the past decade, under Sev’s brilliant direction, Dantes had made an impressive resurrection and now stood on the verge of regaining their place as the premier jewelers, worldwide. At least they would if they recovered the European trade they’d lost. And Marco planned to make certain that happened.

  It was imperative to their success that they return the Romanos to the fold, something he’d worked tirelessly on for the past year. And it was all due to a single ancient expression, one that had floated around the most elite circles for countless generations—Where the Romanos lead, Europe follows. The Romanos were considered Italian royalty and Marco intended to have Europe follow Vittorio and Ariana straight to Dantes’ front door. And now that possibility hovered within reach.

  The Romanos craved the glorious designs Dantes offered, designs that featured only the finest stones available, including the fire diamonds found nowhere else in the world other than in one of Dantes’ display cases. But the Romanos wanted them without any unsavory scandal attached. Thanks to the type of gossip The Snitch dished on a weekly basis—as well as their current focus on the four Dante brothers—Marco had reached an impasse with Vittorio Romano.

  It was an impasse Marco planned to overcome, no matter what it took. He clapped Vittorio on the shoulder. “Consider it done. We’ll deal with The Snitch, after which we look forward to providing for your every need.” He held out his hand. “Thank you for coming all the way to San Francisco. I’m sorry Ariana didn’t accompany you on this trip. My family would have enjoyed meeting her.”

  Vittorio grinned. “She is lovely, my Ariana, is she not?” He returned Marco’s handshake. “Next time I am in San Francisco I will insist she come with me.”

  “We’ll make it a family affair.”

  “Eccellente. I look forward to it. I understand Severo just became engaged to that new designer you recently acquired. Francesca Sommers? Please offer the couple my warmest congratulations.”

  With that, Vittorio walked briskly toward the huge etched glass doors that graced the entryway of the Dantes San Francisco offices, and held one open for a woman entering the building. He offered her a courtly nod and a smile of pure masculine appreciation, before exiting. Not that Marco noticed Vittorio’s departure. The instant he set eyes on the woman, he paused, riveted. Every thought vanished from his head, replaced by a whispered demand unlike any he’d ever experienced before.

  Take this woman. Possess her. Make her yours.

  Without hesitation, he approached, compelled to obey. She stood in the three-story entryway, absorbing the elegant decor. Sunlight streamed through the tinted windows, capturing her within its golden embrace. It plunged into hair so deep an ebony it rivaled the nighttime sky, while turning her complexion to pure cream. She tipped her head back to look at the glass sculpture hanging above the receptionist’s desk, a sculpture that resembled leaping flames, and her hair sheeted down her back in heavy waves. It took every ounce of self-control Marco possessed to keep from sweeping her into his arms and carrying her off.

  She crossed to the receptionist and he caught the murmur of her voice asking for information. The man behind the desk glanced at Marco, frowned in momentary confusion—no doubt trying to decide which twin he was, something that amused Marco no end—then pointed in his direction. With a nod of thanks, the woman approached and Marco smiled in open delight. At his smile, the receptionist ma
de a frantic effort to catch the woman’s attention, before giving up with a shrug.

  Marco only had eyes for the woman. God help him, but he wanted her. It was as though someone had delved deep into his mind and plucked loose his personal image of perfection, then created this glorious example of femininity from that image. She stood at the exact right kissing height, not too short, nor too tall, with a full, smiling mouth he couldn’t wait to explore. Her features were delicate and ivory pale, with a straight, no-nonsense nose, determined jawline and high, arching cheekbones that lifted her from elegant beauty to sheer poetry.

  His gaze dipped lower and his forward momentum faltered. She was dressed for business, but no fabric existed capable of concealing a body created for the pleasures of the night. Full breasts strained against her crisp, tailored navy suit, and some kind soul had designed the jacket so that it nipped in at a waist he could have spanned with two hands before flirting with the curves below—tight round curves that were the devil’s own temptation.

  He must have made some sound—a groan, if he were a betting man—because she studied him curiously. Her eyes were a deep teal blue and made a striking contrast to her dark hair. Before he could introduce himself, she stuck out her hand.

  “Ah, Mr. Dante,” she said. “Just the man I was looking for. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Caitlyn Vaughn.”

  She said it as though he should recognize her name, but he couldn’t recall ever having heard of her before, maybe because in the last sixty seconds every single one of his brain cells had leaked out of his ears. Not that he’d admit his foolishness.

  “Of course,” he said with his most charming smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well.”

  He took the hand she offered, and that’s when it happened. A hard jolt of electricity zapped him, sinking deep into muscle and bone. He’d never felt anything like it. It didn’t hurt, precisely, just surprised and shocked. Based on Caitlyn’s startled expression and the way she jerked free of his hold, she must have felt it, as well . . . and didn’t like it.

  “Oh! What was that?” she asked.

  “I’m not certain.”

  But he suspected he knew. Based on his reaction toward Caitlyn, as well as what his eldest brother, Sev, had described, this must be The Inferno. Such an odd Dante blessing—or was it a curse?—that irrevocably bound the men in his family with their true soul mates, the one and only woman they would ever love.

  Marco and his brothers had believed the story to be a charming family fairy tale. But ever since Sev had encountered the unremitting burn of its existence, Marco wondered if he would experience it. Wondered if he were capable of experiencing it.

  He was a man who adored women. All women. He loved everything about them. The unending glorious shapes and sizes. The delightful palate of hues. The music of feminine voices. Their unique scent. As far as he was concerned, women were as beautiful as they were fascinating, and he delighted in each and every one. The idea of choosing one specific flower, instead of the bounty nature offered, struck him as unreasonable. And yet . . .

  When he looked at Caitlyn, he saw a woman who was a bounty in and of herself, a bouquet of such depth and beauty that it would take the rest of his life to fully explore each and every aspect. Where hardheaded Sev fought, where the accountant soul in his twin brother Lazzaro questioned and analyzed, where problem-solver Nicolò flat-out denied, the romantic in Marco accepted. He’d take this gift from the gods.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” he told her.

  He’d been waiting for her?

  Caitlyn stared at Lazzaro Dante as though hypnotized, struggling to get some part of her, any part of her, functioning again after that peculiar handshake and her even more peculiar reaction to it.

  During her job interview to be the new CFO for the national branch of Dantes, Lazz had been pointed out to her. He was in charge of the international end of the finance business, a far larger, more complicated department. And though she wouldn’t work directly with him, they would come into regular contact during the course of their workday. HR had informed her she’d be introduced to him directly after she arrived at Dantes. It never occurred to her he’d be waiting for her in the lobby, until the receptionist pointed him out.

  During that first glimpse, he’d appeared attractive enough, though she’d gotten the impression of tight control and a cold, dark demeanor. Somehow that had changed, possibly because they stood so close. The impression of rigidness gave way to someone filled with lightness and warmth, his control more of a natural part of him rather than an unyielding suit of power.

  Not that he lacked power. It came off him as innately as his breath. But it didn’t stifle her. It simply . . . infected her the same way as everything else about him. He towered over her, his broad shoulders narrowing the scope of her view to him and little else. Dark brown hair fell in unruly waves across his forehead, escaping the ruthless discipline she’d thought more natural to him. He was sinfully attractive, with high, sweeping cheekbones, a straight masculine nose, squared jaw, and a mouth made for kissing.

  Even more appealing, he exuded an irresistible charm that urged her to close the few feet—inches really—separating them and settle into his arms. To lift her mouth for his taking. To allow him to possess her and brand her with his kiss, his touch, with his very essence.

  He gazed down at her with a slow, sensuous smile, as though sensing her need. His gaze held hers, his eyes a brilliant hazel, glittering with shards of gold and brown and green, and filling with a shocking desire.

  “Cara . . .”

  The word whispered between them, echoing his desire and causing the feminine core of her to fill with need. And it was that hint of desperate need that brought her tumbling back to reality.

  What the hell had she been thinking? How could she forget every lesson learned at her grandmother’s knee? She fought for some sense of normalcy and found it only when she took a swift step back and dragged air into her lungs. Air that didn’t contain Essence of Lazz. Air that helped clear the fog of lust that held her enthralled.

  She attempted a cool, polite, professional smile. And failed miserably. “It really is kind of you to meet me here on my first day, Mr. Dante, but—” The shock she experienced when they first shook hands continued to tickle her palm and she rubbed her thumb across it. To her totally inappropriate amusement he copied the gesture, distracting her. “Okay, I have to know. What was that?”

  He eyed her sympathetically. “Did I hurt you, cara? I am sorry.”

  “Hurt me? Oh, no. Not really.” That surprised her, given the intensity of the shock. “It was just . . .”

  “Unexpected?”

  “Exactly,” she said with smile, relieved he understood. “Very unexpected.”

  Worse, though it seemed a ridiculous concept, the shock seemed to have intensified her awareness of him. When she’d first seen him last week after her final interview, she’d have described Lazz as incredibly attractive, almost too good-looking for a woman’s peace of mind. But now . . . A slight panic stole over her. Somehow, with that single touch, she became keenly aware of him and the startling allure that formed between them. It felt as though a light switch had been flipped, igniting thoughts and emotions she’d never experienced before. She didn’t understand it, didn’t want to understand it.

  In all her twenty-eight years, she’d never done anything to jeopardize her professional career. How many times had Gran warned her about that? How many times had her grandmother used her own life as a hard-won lesson? Caitlyn understood the cardinal rules, had learned them well.

  One. Don’t let a man charm you into ruining your career for a brief ride over the rainbow. Because all that waited on the other side was fool’s gold. Two. Build a strong foundation with a serious-minded man capable of staying power. Someone who believed in the same things as you. And three. Charm and beauty are only skin deep and both are shallow as hell. Neither are capable of lasting past the first pothole in life’s
road.

  Well, she’d listened and learned. She wouldn’t allow any man to take her for a ride. And yet . . .

  She shot Lazz a glance from beneath her lashes. Their surroundings seemed to melt away, and the noises faded to a soft murmur. The light appeared to dim until only the two of them were caught within the sun’s halo. Every beat of her heart sent desire coursing deeper and more powerfully through her veins until the sheer want of him overrode every other thought and emotion.

  “Caitlyn,” he murmured.

  Her name on his tongue made her think of wine and poetry, and though he didn’t have an accent, his voice contained a noticeable Mediterranean lilt, deep and ripe and musical. He held out his hand and almost—almost—she took it, willing to follow along whatever path he led her down and tumble into bliss with him wherever and whenever he suggested, even right here and now.

  Instead she utilized every scrap of common sense she still possessed and made a production of checking her watch. “I’m due in personnel in five minutes.” Instinctively she moved to extend her hand again in a businesslike parting, but withdrew it quickly, and took several steps toward the elevator. Some irresistible compulsion had her turn and offer a final nod of farewell. “I’ll see you soon, Mr. Dante. I believe we have an appointment scheduled for ten.”

  At that, a blinding smile lit his face. “I didn’t realize. My assistant neglected to mention it.” He advanced in her direction. “But, why wait? Why not move our appointment forward?”

  The elevator doors opened just then and she didn’t dare linger or she’d cave to his request. Heaven only knew what would happen between them if she did. Good Lord! On her first day of work, no less. “Ten o’clock,” she repeated. “I look forward to seeing you.”

  She darted inside the car, fighting to maintain a calm expression while the doors whisked silently closed. To her relief Lazz didn’t give chase but stood perfectly still, his features carved into lines of determination while he watched her retreat. Because that’s what it was, a full-scale, tail-turning, white-flag-flying, unabashed retreat.