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Her heart turned over as he lowered his head and kissed her gently. “Marry me, Payton.”
“Marco—”
“I don’t want to hear no. I don’t want a maybe. Say yes, Marco, I’ll marry you. Say yes, Marco, I’ll marry you this weekend.”
And God help her, the word no wasn’t in her vocabulary, at least when it came to Marco d’Angelo. Wrapping her arms around his neck Payton’s lips softened beneath his, and she gave him her heart as she kissed him. “Yes, Marco. I’ll marry you this weekend.”
They couldn’t do another big wedding, nor did they want another big wedding. Marco suggested they have a very small private ceremony in the chapel of the beautiful Santa Maria del Carmine, a seven-hundred-year-old church not far from Marco’s showroom. The ceremony was so private, in fact, that Marco invited no one outside the immediate family. Gia and Livia would be the only witnesses and Payton was pleased. She wanted the emphasis on the vows, not on frills and fuss.
The morning of the ceremony Marco knocked on Payton’s bedroom door—he’d insisted on keeping her own room at the villa until they were legally married—and Payton answered dressed in only a white silk robe.
“I have something for you,” Marco said, leaning against the door.
Payton looked at his black tuxedo and white tie. “You’re wearing black tie! I thought we were going informal.”
“No.”
“But it’s just a private ceremony. I thought it was just us.”
“Yes, but it’s still special.” His dark eyes met hers. “Especially for me. I’m so glad we have a chance to do this over again. I’m so glad we have a chance to get this right.”
A lump filled her throat. “Me, too.” She blinked, refusing to get weepy today, even if it was her wedding day. “I just wish I had something more appropriate to wear. You look gorgeous, Marco. You look like a model.”
“I’m sure you have something elegant in your closet. You’re a fashion maven, Payton.” He leaned forward, kissed her, caressing the length of her neck. “Remember, you’re Calvanti’s future.”
He was teasing her and she laughed. The warmth in his voice more than made up for her disappointment in not having anything spectacular to wear to the church today. “You said you had something for me?”
“How does a prenuptial sound?”
Her heart did a nosedive and she stared at him. “Horrible,” she said flatly. “Especially last minute.”
He laughed at her irate expression. “Good, because I don’t have one. But there is something in your closet, at the back. In the zipper hanging bag.”
Payton rummaged through the closed and found the large garment bag. It was the kind of bag which designers used for couture gowns. “What is this?”
“What do you think?
“A dress.”
“Good girl. You’ve always been very clever.”
Her eyes burned and she furiously blinked, wondering how on earth he could make her cry by giving her a dress. She made dresses for a living. It’s what she did full-time. Yet to have a dress from Marco felt intimate—special. He’d never designed anything for her before.
She lay the garment bag on her bed and with shaking hands undid the zipper.
The gown’s bodice was a snug white boned corset beaded with countless pearls. The skirt was white and full, a frothy silk organza and as she slid the dress from the bag, the white frothy silk gave way to a pumpkin and flame underskirt.
“You look beautiful in white, but fire suits you.”
Marco’s quiet voice was too much on top of everything and hugging the dress, Payton started to cry. “No one’s made me a dress since I was a little girl.” She couldn’t stop the tears and she couldn’t let them fall on the dress. “This is exquisite. This is absolutely lovely.”
He approached her, wiped the tears from beneath her eyes. “I designed it in Capri. I’ve had seamstresses working on it night and day for nearly a week.”
“But I only said yes yesterday!”
“I wasn’t going to give up,” he answered. “I was going to keep asking until you said yes.”
In the soft glow of candlelight Marco and Payton said their vows and exchanged rings in Santa Maria’s domed chapel with the soft wash of color from the old frescoes overhead. Late-afternoon sunlight spilled through the stained-glass windows, painting the walls like living jewels and illuminating the girls white pinafores and ruby colored sashes.
The girls were beautiful but no one glowed brighter than Payton, Marco thought, as the late-afternoon sun haloed her head, and shimmered off her gown. The snug boned corset revealed her elegant shoulders and creamy skin and her long red hair was softly looped back in loose ringlets. The white organza over flame silk was the perfect foil for Payton’s personality. Sweetness and spice. Delicate and fierce.
His chest ached and he felt a rush of emotion so strong that it took him by surprise. To think he’d allowed his pride to keep them apart! It was unfathomable.
The brief ceremony over, they headed out for a private party, one nearly as intimate as the wedding. Marco had reserved a table at an exclusive restaurant in the city center and by the time they arrived, their dozen guests were waiting.
The guests were all friends and colleagues of Marco’s—mainly designers, photographers, artists—and they welcomed Marco and Payton’s appearance with shouts of approval.
The twins were only scheduled to stay for the first hour of dinner before Pietra would take them back to the villa. In the meantime they enjoyed the attention as Marco carried them and everyone offered congratulations and kisses for Payton and the girls.
The celebratory toasts started almost right away, with glasses of champagne lifted not just once, but dozens of times, and each toast became a little longer, a little more ebullient.
Marco caught her eyes as another toast ended and he smiled at her. His high Latin cheekbones glowed in the golden candlelight and Payton thought he looked supremely satisfied. It didn’t hurt that his tuxedo—which was also his design—fit him like a glove. Some men wore tuxedos as if they were uncomfortable suits of armor, but Marco’s black jacket clung to his broad shoulders and outlined the hard planes of his chest.
As the evening grew late, Marco returned yet again to Payton’s side. His dark gaze studied her intently. “Regrets?”
She laughed and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “Not one.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
WITH Pietra staying at the villa with the girls, Marco and Payton spent their wedding night at the Four Seasons, Milan’s most exclusive hotel. A former monastery before being transformed into a hotel, the luxurious Four Seasons was situated in the heart of the fashion district just a stone’s throw from Marco’s headquarters.
Marco could hardly wait to get Payton inside their room before stripping off her gown and carrying her to bed in nothing but her lace garter belt and silk stockings.
Their lovemaking was hot and torrid and they’d barely caught their breath when a knock sounded at their door. “Housekeeping,” a voice called through the door.
Still floating in that lovely afterglow, Payton turned to look at Marco. “I thought you put a do not disturb sign on the door.”
“I did.” He sat up, leaning on one elbow. “We’re fine,” he shouted toward the door. “We don’t need anything.”
There was a moment of silence and then paper rustled. A large manila envelope appeared beneath the door. Marco swore, exasperated. “Incredible! Does no one listen around here?”
“Don’t worry. Stay there. I’ll get it.” Wearing nothing but the white lace garter belt Payton left the bed.
“It’s for you,” she said, returning to the middle of the rumpled bed.
She handed Marco the envelope and sat down next to him, her dark red hair tumbling across her pale, damp skin.
But Marco wasn’t interested in mail. A naked Payton with flushed cheeks, swollen lips and a white lace garter belt were too tempting to ignore.
Dropping the enve
lope on the ground, he wrapped an arm around Payton, his fingers sliding beneath the lace garter belt to play her skin. She gasped as he bent his head and covered one rosy-tipped nipple with his warm wet mouth.
She gasped again at the flick of his tongue. He sucked her nipple, rubbing the tight bud between his teeth. Payton felt a surge of hunger and her hips rocked, helplessly rotating.
Whimpering, she clasped his head with her hands and held him firmly to her breast. Her body felt so hot she thought she’d pop out of her skin.
He was turning her on again, making her want more, and she shifted, wiggling closer to him needing to feel the hard contours of his body against her.
They made love yet again, even more slowly than before, prolonging the pleasure of release until neither could stand it a moment longer.
Afterwards they slept, and Payton stirred, dreamily wakened by a hand—and mouth—doing the most amazing things to her. When she realized that the pleasure was no dream, rather it was Marco and he was already quite hungry for so early in the morning she tried to slip away.
“You can’t do that,” she protested, a little shocked even as she was very aroused.
“Watch me,” he answered as he pulled the covers back over his head and proceeded to ravish her with very expert hands and a talented tongue.
It seemed like hours later when Payton stepped into the shower and let the hot water stream down. Before reaching for a bottle of shampoo, she tipped her head back, feeling the water pulse on her scalp, drenching her hair.
Her body hummed and throbbed.
Marco had loved her quite thoroughly. She still felt his size and length, felt the imprint of his hands everywhere. After hours of uninhibited lovemaking, she was definitely satiated, and a little bit sore.
She’d never imagined enjoying doing the things she did with Marco, and yet with him, everything felt right. Everything felt natural.
Payton was just stepping from the glass shower, securing an enormous towel around her middle, when Marco called her name. It was hard to hear him over the fan in the bathroom and she wrapped her wet hair in a second towel before opening the door. “Yes?”
She’d thought perhaps room service had arrived with coffee and hot rolls but there was no tray, or trolley. Instead Marco stood there staring at the sheet of paper in his hand.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.
