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by burying himself in his work. But he was too distracted to concentrate.
His thoughts turned to Claudia once again—this time to her assertion that Francesca and Vasile were blackmailing her into marriage. He realised that she was probably telling the truth. He believed that they’d lied to her about Hector’s illness, and blackmail was well within Vasile’s capabilities.
Another unwanted jolt of protectiveness towards Claudia made itself felt, but he ignored it. So what if Vasile was using her now? Four years ago she had been acting for Vasile when she’d set Bianca up.
He turned back and looked bitterly at Claudia—still lost in sleep. The only time in his adult life he’d ever slept soundly was during the few months he’d spent with her four years ago. He told himself that his relationship with her had made him soft, had made him let down his guard.
The possibility that he’d slept well because he was happy—because being with Claudia made him happy—drifted into his mind. He clenched his jaw shut and rammed the thought aside.
He wasn’t wrong about her. And she was going to pay for what she’d done.
Claudia stood staring out across the emerald lagoon, hardly able to believe she was actually in the Caribbean, but the tropical sun was shining brightly, heating her body through the thin sarong she had wrapped over her bikini and the warm water was lapping gently at her bare feet. She could see silvery fish flashing past her in the crystal clear water close to the shore, and further out she could see the spectacular breakers where they crashed over the coral reef that surrounded the island, partially protecting the beach from the power of the ocean waves.
Marco had brought her to an exclusive private island resort where they were staying in their own luxury villa in a grove of palm trees, on an idyllic bay reserved for their personal use. The island was close to St Lucia, which was where she had agreed to meet Vasile and Francesca, and Marco had said he would take her there at the right time, although he’d assured her again the wedding would not be going ahead.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
Marco’s voice beside her made her jump.
‘Do you have to sneak up on me like that?’ she said touchily, continuing to stare resolutely out across the lagoon.
‘I didn’t sneak,’ he said. ‘You were obviously lost in thought.’
‘I was wondering how to get off this island,’ she said. She still had to find a way to make him change his mind about letting her marry Primo—she couldn’t let him carry out his threat to take the incriminating evidence about her father to the police. ‘I don’t like being your prisoner here. Why couldn’t you have taken us to a normal hotel like normal people?’
‘You’re not my prisoner,’ he said. ‘You can leave any time you choose—just ask Pierre and he’ll take you over to St Lucia. But I’m surprised you don’t like it here. I thought you’d enjoy the isolation. Apart from reminding you of your grandmother, I thought that was the main attraction of the cottage in Wales.’
‘Don’t do that,’ Claudia snapped.
‘What?’ Marco asked.
‘Don’t keep acting like you know me, like we’re…friends or something.’
‘I do know you. I made it my business to know you,’ he said. ‘And we’ve never been just friends.’
Something in the tone of his voice made a spark of electricity prickle across her skin and she turned to look at him.
She drew in an inadvertent breath of appreciation as she laid eyes on him—he truly was a magnificent man. He was only wearing his swimming trunks, and nothing was left to her imagination—not the impressive width of his shoulders and powerful biceps, or the well-defined muscles of his chest and stomach. His bronzed skin glowed with vitality in the warm sunlight, making her want to reach out and touch him, to feel the potent masculine energy that was flowing through his body.
She lifted her gaze to his face, determined not to let him catch her ogling him, but she was too late. His eyes bored into her with an intensity that let her know that he was well aware of her train of thought.
‘Four years ago, before you left me, it felt like you were my friend,’ she said, ignoring the way her pulse-rate had accelerated, and turned to look back out to sea.
‘That was the whole point,’ Marco said.
‘The whole point?’ She frowned and spun back to stare up him. ‘I thought I was almost…incidental, part of your plan for revenge because I was involved with the people who hurt your family.’
‘You were never incidental,’ Marco said, lifting a hand to trace his fingertips lightly over her cheek.
‘Don’t.’ She shrugged his hand away and took a step backwards, despite the way her body suddenly longed to lean into his.
‘Do we have to go through this every time?’ Marco asked, closing the distance between them and sliding one hand round her waist to pull her closer still. The heat from his powerful body burned through the delicate fabric of her sarong and she felt butterflies of anticipation flutter in her stomach.
But it was wrong. After everything that had happened between them, it was wrong to fall into his arms again. She might have fallen in love with him, but if she had any self-respect she would push him away for good.
‘No. I mean there won’t be any more times,’ she said, ignoring the heavy feeling of loss that settled inside her at the thought of never lying in Marco’s arms again. ‘Not now I know you are just using me.’
‘We made love in Italy, after you knew the truth,’ he said, slipping his other hand under the sarong to cup the curve of her bottom.
