Marco's Stolen Wife (The Dante Inferno: The Dante Dynasty Series Book 2) Page 5

  Draping an arm across her shoulder, he helped her without making it too obvious. And all the while he wondered how they’d get through the wedding ceremony. He had a sneaking suspicion that when she was asked if she took Marco Dante for her husband, she might take serious exception to marrying the wrong name, even if he were the right man.

  Returning to the hotel, Marco found his requests had not just been met but exceeded. The small chapel overflowed with flowers of every shape, color and variety, while pure white candles gave the room a soft glow. A string quartet played in the background, filling the room with soft, romantic music. He’d asked for a priest to officiate, preferably in the Latin he’d grown up with, and discovered that even that had been arranged. And the “attendants” he’d hired to help with any special touches Caitlyn wished to make to her gown, hair, or makeup were waiting to usher her to a small anteroom, while he paced nervously in front of the altar.

  The minute the priest arrived, he explained the changes he wished to make to the ceremony. Come tomorrow there’d be hell to pay for this night. He’d have to deal with his wife’s shock and anger when she discovered his duplicity. With his brother’s fury. With his family’s disapproval at the method he’d chosen to circumvent Lazz. None of that mattered. All he cared about was Caitlyn’s instinctive reaction whenever he took her in his arms. Her head might not know him but every other part of her did, and responded with loving abandon. The rest would come in time.

  Assuming he could convince her to give him that time.

  She appeared in the doorway of the chapel just then, and he could have sworn his heart froze in his chest. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. With a shy smile she came to him, floating down the short aisle, her gown drifting around her as though spun from cobwebs. A wispy lace veil framed the elegant contours of her face, and she clutched a bouquet of simple white roses.

  The ceremony proceeded as though part of a dream. The one time the priest used Marco’s name, he leaned forward an instant beforehand and whispered a teasing comment in her ear so that the discrepancy went unnoticed. Toward the end of the ceremony, he put his ring on her finger, pleased at the sharp little gasp she uttered when she saw it.

  He’d chosen an exquisite fire diamond solitaire in an antique platinum setting from a selection of rings Nonna had obtained, along with matching wedding bands. “You planned this from the start, didn’t you?” she asked in a shaken undertone.

  “Let’s just say I’d hoped that when I asked, you’d agree.”

  Color blossomed in her cheeks. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

  He shot her a smoldering look. “Give it time. I intend to make you a lot happier in a little while.”

  Her color deepened, but she didn’t look away. If anything, her eyes held a promise he hoped would last the rest of their lives. On the dot of midnight, they were pronounced husband and wife, and Marco swept Caitlyn into his arms and kissed his wife for the first time.

  Afterward they returned to their suite. “Would you like another glass of wine?” he asked, stripping off his suit jacket.

  She gently set her bouquet on a side table and ran her fingertip across the velvety blossoms. “I don’t want the wine blurring my memory.” She lifted her gaze to his. “You do want me to remember everything, don’t you?”

  He could feel his body clench in anticipation. “Every minute,” he confirmed.

  Heat fired in her eyes. “Then I’ll pass on the champagne.”

  For his own peace of mind, he had to be certain. “Does it bother you that we’ve rushed things? That we didn’t have our family here?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. Gran is gone now, and I haven’t a clue where my mother is these days.”

  “Why not?” he asked without thinking.

  She stilled, staring at him strangely. “You know why, Lazz.”

  “Right. Sorry.” He snagged his jacket from where he’d discarded it, and crossed to the far side of the suite to hang it in the closet, using that as an excuse to conceal his expression. “I’m afraid there’s going to be hell to pay from my side of the family,” he offered from the depths of the closet.

  To his relief the dangerous moment passed and she focused on this latest concern. “They’ll be upset they weren’t invited, won’t they?”

  “We’re not the first in the family to elope. But they won’t be pleased, no.”

  “Especially since it wasn’t necessary.”

  He took instant exception. “On the contrary. I think it was very necessary. I think we needed to get away from work and family and just trust what we feel for each other.” He cocked his head to one side. “Don’t you?”

  She gave it a moment’s serious consideration before nodding. “I’m beginning to suspect it wouldn’t have worked out between us otherwise.” A swift smile came and went. “Too much brick and not enough mortar.”

  “The mortar being the romance?”

  She nodded and satisfaction filled Marco. His brother had been so wrong about her, as were Britt and Angie. Caitlyn and Lazz were nothing alike. Granted, they both shared an accountant mentality. But that was about as far as it went. Inside, where it counted, she epitomized all that was most female. The monumental spirit, the softness covering indomitable strength, the brilliance tempered by compassion and creativity. They were qualities that had gotten lost at Dantes. Qualities his brother had neither noticed nor understood.

  But Marco understood them. Savored them. Intended to revel in them from this moment forward. He took his time, determined to make this night the most special possible. He slowly approached, ripping free his tie and unbuttoning his shirt as he came.

  “Tell me what you’re feeling, Caitlyn.”

  “Happy. Nervous.” Her gaze dropped to his bared chest. “Hungry.”

  He continued to close the distance between them. “The first I intend to feed. The second I can appease. And the third I plan to fully satisfy. On every level.”

  He reached her side and cradled her against him, kissing away any lingering doubts until she shuddered helplessly, the want in her so huge, it couldn’t be contained. “Wait,” he murmured. “First things first.” He removed the veil, using more than his usual care, and draped it across the back of a nearby chair.

  Caitlyn stood silently, waiting for him. And then she wasn’t waiting. She slid into his embrace and slanted her mouth over his in a hot, greedy kiss, one that told him in no uncertain terms how much she wanted him. He found the fastening for her gown at the nape of her neck and flicked it open. The edges of the halter top fluttered to her waist, baring her to his gaze. Without a word, she reached behind her and unzipped the gown, allowing it to drift to the floor before she stepped clear of it.

  She wore nothing but a minuscule triangle of lace that barely concealed the heart of her femininity. She should have appeared provocative. Instead she struck him as proud and elegant, and more desirable than any woman he’d ever known. He took his time, looking his fill until he realized that beneath her calm facade, his lovely wife trembled with nerves. Maybe he’d have caught on sooner if he’d known her a little longer, if they’d shared some of those bricks she’d referred to. The reminder had a frown cutting across his face.

  “I can fix that for you,” he offered.

  Bewilderment momentarily eclipsed her apprehension. “Fix what?”

  He captured her hand in his and opened her bunched fingers one by one. “This.”

  She shut her eyes in chagrin and blew out a sigh. “Gave myself away, didn’t I?”

  “Just a bit.” He drew her against him, allowing the heat from his body to sooth the tautness from hers. Slow and easy, he reminded himself. “Tell me what you’re worried about.”

  “It’s a long list,” she confessed.

  He shrugged. “We have all night.” He sent his fingers on a dance of exploration, one along the smooth length of her spine, the other across the fragile bones of her shoulder blades. “First problem?
”

  She shuddered beneath his touch, and to his amusement it took her a moment to gather her thoughts. If he didn’t miss his guess, that was a novel experience for his new bride. “I . . . It’s just the speed of all this, I suppose,” she explained with a shrug. “Just a couple hours ago we were in San Francisco on the balcony—”

  “And I promised you a moonlit drink that we never quite got around to.” He skated his mouth along the path his hand had taken, kissing his way from the curve of her shoulder to the base of her throat. There he paused.

  “Well, that’s not quite true. We did have a drink on the plane. And there was a moon peering in on us. Did you notice?”

  “The moonlight was perfect and I had my drink,” she managed to reply. As though unable to help herself, her head dipped to one side to offer him better access. “But how did we end up here? We were just supposed to share a romantic interlude before the anniversary party.”

  “Which is what we’re doing right now. Unless you want to stop interluding?” He nuzzled her ear, catching the lobe between his teeth. Slowly he tugged. “Yes? No?”

  The breath hissed from her lungs in reaction. “No, don’t stop. Just explain to me how we went from there to here.”

  “Ah. You want logic.” He smiled against her heated skin at her attempt to bring order to disorder. Since when was romance and passion logical? “Let me guess . . . . You want a map of points and coordinates so you can trace your path from point A to point Z.”

  His teasing eased something within her. He sensed the slight loosening as humor defeated tension. “Something like that.”

  He slanted his mouth over hers until nothing existed for either of them but the play of their lips and tongue. “I can do that for you.” He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss in its center. “For your information, this is point A, the place we first touched.”

  She gasped for air. “Oh, right. I remember now. That’s where this all started.”

  He didn’t give her time to recover her breath. He swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed. “And right here is point Z.” He followed her down onto the mattress. “There are a few other miscellaneous points in between.” He dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “But you get the general idea.”

  “Lazz—”

  He nearly swore out loud at her use of his brother’s name, knowing full well he had no one to blame for that but himself. Aware of her watchful gaze, he managed a teasing smile. “Would you like to go back to point A, or is Z good enough for you.”

  She pretended to consider. “Z, please. With a few Gs, Rs and Ws thrown in for good measure.”

  “Excellent suggestion, cara. I’m particularly good at W.”

  “I know I had a long list of other worries, but right now I can’t think of a single one.” Her hand feathered across the planes of his face. “All I want is for you to prove how well you do W.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She lay beneath him, a veritable palette of subtle colors. The flush of palest rose against a sweeping canvas of ivory curves. Lips a shade just shy of coral. The tips of her breasts a shade deeper than her lips. Against all that flowed the black of darkest night, the rippling waves of her hair striking a sharp contrast to the expanse of pastel. And finally there shone the brilliant teal blue of her eyes, staring at him as though the sun rose and set at his command.

  Would she still feel that way about him tomorrow? If not, that only gave him tonight, a night he intended to make as perfect as possible. He gathered her hands in his and guided them to his chest, and where she explored his body, so he explored hers, mirroring each and every move.

  A smile of delight appeared the instant she caught on to his game. She deliberately ran her fingers along the sculpted muscles of his chest, circling the flat discs of his nipples. Her eyes widened when he did the same to her, eliciting a choked gasp.

  “Is this how you want to play?” she demanded when she’d recovered sufficiently to speak.

  “We’ll see who caves first.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “So, the loser is the one who cries uncle first?”

  “Trust me. There are no losers in this game.” He flashed her a swift grin. “Unless you count losing out on bragging rights.”

  But he could tell he’d intrigued her and he could see the determination build in her, the desire to have him be the first to put an end to this novel form of foreplay. “We’ll see who’s bragging come morning,” she muttered.

  He didn’t want to think about tomorrow. Only tonight mattered. He lowered his head to her breast and captured her nipple between his teeth, tugging gently. Her soft cry was all he could have asked for and more. When she didn’t immediately reciprocate, he asked, “Giving up, already?”

  Then it was his turn to shudder, his turn to struggle to master his self-control. She played the game better than he’d anticipated, proving more creative than logical, which only confirmed his suspicions about her. Even so, he didn’t think what was happening between them had to do with creativity, alone. He’d never been touched with such attentiveness or such open curiosity before. And he suddenly realized she was having fun, almost as though such playfulness were a rare treat for her. Almost as though her life had been all work, with far too little play.

  “You’re laughing,” he accused at one point.

  She struggled to control herself, failing miserably.

  “Do you mind? I swear it’s not at you. I’ve just never tried this game before.”

  “And you’re enjoying it.”

  “I really am.”

  The bed became their playground. At some point, his trousers and boxers vanished. He used the opportunity to switch off all but one of the lights, a lamp that bathed the room in soft shadows. He returned to the bed and rolled with her to the darkest section of the bed, where the light couldn’t betray that he lacked the scar his brother carried. And then the game turned serious.

  He started the chase again, intent on pushing her over the edge. As though picking up on the change, her laughter faded, replaced by an escalating passion. Where before his hands tripped across her skin, now they sought out the areas he’d discovered to be the most sensitive. The back of her knees. The inside of her thigh just below the panty line. The silken slope of her belly. The dimpled hollow above her backside. And along her side where taut skin became soft breast. He gave each and every section of her body his full attention. Gave to her, pleasure after pleasure.

  “You win.” The breath sobbed from her lungs. “Please, make love to me. I can’t wait any longer. Make love to me now.”

  “I only win if you win.”

  She fisted her hands in his hair and drew him down to her, in a long open-mouthed kiss. He’d removed her panties at some point during their game and she opened herself for his possession, encouraging him without words to give completion to the escalating passion that had been building between them.

  He threaded his fingers with hers, locking them together palm to palm. This is where The Inferno had first burned, and he could feel it there still, uniting them just as he planned to unite their bodies. He whispered her name as he slid inward. Taking, giving, melding.

  Gently, he possessed her. Then not so gently. She reared up to meet him, incandescent in her passion. The urgency grew, bit hard. She called to him, urging him on. Pleading. Demanding. Laughing and crying. He’d never experienced with another woman anything close to what he did in that moment with Caitlyn. Not like this. Never like this.

  He could feel the building. Feel the ending approach. He wanted to snatch it back. To live in this moment forever, until the pleasure ripped them both apart. And then it did. She fisted around him, her climax careening through her, surging in wild, crashing waves. Unable to help himself, he crashed with her.

  Together they tumbled into an aftermath of weak, tangled limbs and quiet bits of love speak that made no sense but somehow maintained the emotional connection. Marco wound his arms around his bride, his wife, this soul mate The
Inferno had given him, and rolled them into a warm ball that wedded soft with hard in a timeless blending of opposites.

  He couldn’t remember how long they slept. He woke once more during the night and they made love again, this time long and languid. The game they’d played gave them a greater awareness of each other’s wants and needs and added a depth and power to their lovemaking.

  The second time he woke, he felt the advent of morning. Slipping from the bed, he crossed first to the coffeemaker and turned it on and then to the bathroom where he opened the faucet full force. He picked up a jar of bath salts and removed the lid, sniffed, then upended a goodly portion into the water. Foam erupted. Satisfied, he padded to the sitting area to pour the coffee and transport the two steaming mugs to the tiled platform around the tub. Then he went in search of his wife, finding her, much to his pleasure, right where he’d left her.

  Not a morning person, he realized the instant he lifted her from her warm cocoon. “I’m shocked you even know that word, let alone would use it to describe your husband,” he said with a husky laugh.

  “I know a lot more swear words and I’m going to use them if you don’t take me straight back to bed.”

  “I have something better in mind.” He maneuvered down the three short steps into the sunken tub and eased her into the water. Her shriek of surprise turned to a groan of pleasure. He chuckled. “Ah, there’s the woman I married. You had me worried for a moment there.”

  “This feels amazing.” She leaned against the sloping edge opposite him and rubbed her foot along the length of his leg. “What do you say we start every morning this way.”

  “I’ll see what I can arrange.” He handed her one of the mugs. “I wonder if we can order breakfast in here. They’ve been so accommodating about everything else.”

  “There’s a phone on the wall by the tub,” she said, burying her nose in the mug. “See if you can reach it.”