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He was wearing a tuxedo without a bow tie and his white shirt was open at the throat. His dark hair was rather long, he always wore it long, and brushed the collar of his starched shirt, fell rakishly across the brow.
As he turned his head to look at her, one dark eyebrow arched ever so slightly and there was a glint in his eye. He looked very sexy…and a bit wicked…and when his dark eyes met hers she felt as if she’d glimpsed life itself.
There was time, she thought, and then there was time in Marco d’Angelo’s eyes.
She remembered how the bell sounded in the opera house, signaling the end of intermission and he and his circle of beautiful people moved on. Payton stood transfixed, legs shaking, watching him walk away. But she knew in a strange sixth sense sort of way that they weren’t finished yet.
Marco took a tight corner, his black Ferrari hugging the turn and Payton gripped the door handle to keep from falling sideways in her seat. No, they hadn’t been finished that night at La Scala. They hadn’t even begun yet.
Marco pulled into his parking garage. “About earlier, at the photo shoot,” he said, breaking the silence. “Your suggestions were dead-on. I don’t know how you do it, but you were wonderful. I couldn’t have asked for better. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He hesitated for a moment and then turned off the ignition. “Marilena is good with children,” he said in a flat voice. “She thinks our daughters are precious, and as you might have guessed, we hope to have our own someday.”
Payton didn’t know why he had to do this now, tonight, after such a wonderful day. “I see.”
“Marilena will be a wonderful mother.”
“I’m sure she will,” Payton answered faintly.
“I know we’ll have at least one or two babies, but she assures me that the twins will never play second fiddle. They’ll always be important.”
If he’d hoped to reassure her, he was failing, Payton thought, glancing at her hands. “Where do you plan to live?”
“Here, of course.”
His house. Their house. Their former house. Pain suffused her chest, a rush of memory. “Great.” She looked up at him, eyes burning and praying he couldn’t see the sheen of tears. “Anything else?”
“No.”
The girls were still up and Payton read them a story before Marco appeared in the nursery to help tuck them in. Payton stepped back to give Marco room and she watched from the doorway as he said prayers with them and then blessed each and kissed Gia, and then Liv good-night.
Her heart ached as she saw Liv slip her arms around Marco’s neck and hold him close for an extra moment. “I love you, Papa,” Liv whispered shyly.
“I love you, too,” he answered, kissing her. He stood and looked down at his daughters and lightly touched each child’s head. “Buonanotte, bambini.”
It was time to tell him. It was time to tell him the truth. This wasn’t going to be easy, but then she didn’t think it would ever be.
Payton followed Marco from the girls bedroom. “Would you care for a drink?” he asked, as they reached the head of the stairs.
“Thank you.”
They entered his private sitting room, the creamy plaster walls lined in places with pale floor to ceiling bookshelves, although only half the shelves held books. The rest of the shelves were devoted to art—bronzes, miniatures, relics of past civilizations.
“Have you thought any more about coming to work for me? I’m serious, you know,” Marco said, calmly pouring her a generous glass of sweet after dinner wine.
“I’ll find you a place to live near the fashion district. In fact, I know of a great house coming on the market on Via della Spiga,” he said, naming a street just a few blocks from his headquarters. “It has a beautiful courtyard garden, the rooms are large and bright. The house gets excellent light.”
His words rushed over her in a river of sound and feeling. “I can’t,” she said at last. “At least not now.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated, but trust me when I say I can’t move here for a while. Six months…a year…at least.”
“You’re going to take the girls away for another year?”
“No. I won’t take them away. I—” She broke off, swallowed, and pressed on, “I thought I’d leave them here.”
“Leave them?”
Payton half-closed her eyes, unwilling to go where her emotions were leading her. The girls, she reminded herself, think of the girls. If nothing else, think of their innocence. They don’t know that bad things can happen to their mommy and daddy yet.
That bad things will happen.
Her eyes felt gritty. They burned and Payton turned as if to go but realized she had nowhere to go. There was no one she could turn to anymore.
There was just Marco.
The stark reality made her head swim. Her legs felt as if they’d give way any minute and she turned away, fighting the tears, fighting all that she was trying so hard to handle on her own.
“Payton, what is it?”
The intensity in his voice nearly undid her. Part of her longed to tell him everything and yet another part of her was still so afraid. It was that old fear of naming something…of giving something of substance…existence…power.
She couldn’t give the disease power. She knew the power it had. She knew what had happened to her mother and aunt.
“Payton, talk to me.”
“I don’t think I can.”
He swiftly moved toward her, his hands circling her upper arms. “Why not? You can talk to everyone else. Why can’t you talk to me?”
When she didn’t answer, he clasped her chin, lifted her face to his. “You know me, Payton. You know me better than anyone.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
His intense expression pierced her, driving holes of hurt into her heart.
“God forgive me, but you make me crazy.” He swore softly just before his head dipped and his mouth covered hers in a kiss so hot, so fierce that it stole her breath, emptied her lungs, 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 God in heaven, she wasn’t over him yet. Not by a long shot. Maybe not ever.
A cry escaped her as his lips parted hers. She felt wildly divergent emotions—pain, pleasure, denial. What on earth was she doing? The last time he’d kissed her like this it’d been in the gardens of the Trussardi family palazzo. They’d both lost control then and they both knew what had happened since.
There were consequences, her brain shouted, there are always consequences.
She shouldn’t—couldn’t—let this happen and yet it was heaven and hell and Payton knew this was how it’d always been with Marco. Her response was pure instinct and it was impossible to control.
Her whimper seemed to push him to the edge. Marco’s thumb stroked close to the corner of her mouth, lighting fire beneath her skin, making her crave more and she shifted beneath him, the pressure of his mouth parting hers and she felt open and naked as his tongue caressed the inside of her lower lip.
Her hands were knotted in his shirt, her breasts pressed to his hard chest, her body straining and it was still not enough, she thought dimly, body hot, tingling, feverish, this kiss and this limited touch wasn’t enough. She arched closer, felt his hand shift from her arm to her hip as he dragged her even closer, and battling a groan she felt him press against her, his body hard, tense, barely controlled.
He’ll hate himself later. She heard the warning, knew the warning as the voice of reality. Sanity and gasping for air, she broke free, using her palms to push him away.
His dark eyes glittered, his cheekbones glowed red. “You.”
His voice was deep, thick, accent pronounced. She’d wanted the kiss to continue, hadn’t wanted to end it but she knew Marco
, knew he’d resent the loss of control—no matter how brief.
There would be consequences—no, make that hell to pay.
She was right. He drew another shallow breath.
“Maledizione!” He swore bitterly, battling to control his breathing. “Why do I do this? What is the matter with me?”
“Marco—”
“No. Don’t say anything. You’ll only make it worse.”
Payton’s gaze searched the taut planes of his face, his features hard, his mouth pinched.
He took a menacing step toward her, his finger pointed. “I nearly broke her heart once. I nearly crushed her, and she’s fragile, Payton, she’s not like you. She can’t handle the rejection.”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t, because I want you to go. I want you to get your things, your luggage, your children and go. Now.”
Payton’s heart rose. “My children?”
“It’s what you wanted. It’s why you kept them from me.”
“Marco.” He was angry and he was lashing out at her, she understood that much, but to be cruel about the children? That just wasn’t fair.
