THE salon was fully booked the following day, and it seemed as if every single client of Claire’s had seen the press item documenting her reunion with Antonio Marcolini. All were intent on expressing their congratulations and best wishes. She smiled her way through each and every effusive comment, hoping no one would see through the fragile façade she’d put up.
Claire had refrained from telling Rebecca, her friend and employer, the finer details of her reconciliation with Antonio. How could she tell her closest friend that her estranged husband had more or less blackmailed her back into his life for the next three months?
But Rebecca must have sensed something in Claire’s demeanour, and, cocking her head on one side, gave her a penetrating look. ‘Claire, are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’ she asked. ‘I mean, according to the papers he’s only here for a limited time. What happens when he leaves at the end of August? Is he expecting you to go back to Italy with him?’
Claire bit her lip as she turned to fill the kettle in the small kitchen at the back of the salon. ‘We haven’t got around to discussing those sorts of details,’ she said. ‘We’re taking it one day at a time, to see how things work out between us.’
Rebecca folded her arms, giving Claire a cynical look. ‘So at any point he could just say Forget it, it’s over, I want a divorce. Aren’t any alarms bells ringing in your head?’
Claire puffed out a sigh. ‘Look, I know it sounds a bit shaky, but he…we both feel it’s worth a try. As he said, we were on his territory last time, and emotions were running high when we parted—or at least mine were. This way we can see if there is anything left to rebuild what we had before…before…things went wrong…’
Rebecca gave Claire’s nearest arm a squeeze. ‘If you need some time off to sort things out, just tell me,’ she said. ‘I can get Kathleen to come and fill in for you. She’s been asking for the occasional day now her son’s at preschool. You wouldn’t be putting me out—not at all.’
‘Thanks, Bex,’ Claire said, with an attempt at a convincing smile. ‘I’ll see how it goes for now.’
Not long after her last client had left the salon door opened, and Claire looked up to see Antonio come in. She felt the ricochet of her reaction ripple its way through her as her eyes met his. Her stomach felt light and fluttery, her heart began to race, and her breathing intervals shortened.
Conscious of Rebecca’s speculative look from the behind the reception desk, Claire was uncertain whether to greet him with a kiss or not. For five years she had thought of his kisses—those barely-there nibbles that had made her spine loosen, or the slow, drugging movement of his lips on hers that was a prelude to a drawn-out sensual feast, or the sexy sweep and thrust of his tongue, or the fast-paced pressure of his mouth grinding against hers as desire raced out of control.
No one had kissed her since him, Claire realised with a little jolt. She couldn’t even bear the thought of anyone else claiming her lips. It didn’t seem right, somehow, and not just because technically she was still married to him.
She looked up into his face, her heart giving a little kick against her breastbone when his gaze dropped to her mouth.
He slowly bent down and brushed his lips against hers, a light touchdown that made her lips instantly hungry for more. She opened her eyes to find his were half closed in a broodingly sexy manner, his focus still trained on her mouth. She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, her heart going like a piston in her chest as his mouth came back down.
It was a firmer kiss this time, purposeful, and with just the right amount of passion to awaken every nerve of awareness in Claire’s body. Lightning bolts of feeling shot through her, tightly curled ribbons of need unfurling deep inside her, making her realise how desperately she still wanted him.
‘Ahem…’ Rebecca’s discreet but diplomatic reminder that they were not alone came just as Claire had started to wind her arms around Antonio’s neck.
She stepped out of his hold with a rush of colour. ‘Sorry, Bex, I forgot to introduce you,’ she said. ‘Antonio, this is Rebecca Collins. Bex, this is Antonio Marcolini…my…er…husband.’
Claire watched as Antonio took Rebecca’s hand with a smile that would have melted stone. It clearly went a long way to melting any cynical animosity Rebecca had felt previously, for she smiled back widely, congratulating him on coming to claim Claire.
‘I’m so happy for you both,’ she said, just short of gushing. ‘I hope it all works out brilliantly for you. I’ve told Claire if she needs time off to spend with you, then that’s fine. I have back-up. She needs a holiday in any case. She works far too hard as it is.’
Antonio drew Claire closer with one of his arms about her waist. ‘I am looking forward to spending some downtime with her once the first rush of my lecture tour is over,’ he said. ‘I thought we might go on a second honeymoon in a few weeks’ time, to somewhere warm and tropical and totally private.’
Claire fixed a smile on her face, her body already on fire at the thought of spending tonight with him in his hotel suite, let alone days and nights at a time in a tropical paradise.
There hadn’t been time for a proper honeymoon the first time around. Claire had been suffering with not just morning sickness but all-day sickness, and Antonio had been sitting his final exams. Looking back, she wondered how they had lasted the year even without the tragedy of losing their baby girl. It seemed from the start everything had been pitted against them. Although in time Antonio had seemed to look forward to having their child, Claire had still felt his gradual pulling away from her. His increasing aloofness had made her overly demanding and clingy, which had achieved nothing but to drive him even further away. When she’d failed to produce a live heir he had let her go with barely a protest. That was what hurt the most. He hadn’t fought for her. She had secretly hoped he would follow her back to Australia, demanding she come back to him, somehow circumventing the obstacles she had put in his way, but he had not.
Until now.
Antonio led Claire outside a few minutes later, to where she had parked her car. ‘This is your car?’ he asked, frowning at her.
Claire lifted her chin. ‘It gets me from A to B,’ she said, adding silently, Mostly.
She could tell he was angry, but he seemed to be working hard to control it. ‘Claire, if you have been having trouble making ends meet why did you not contact me?’ he asked with a brooding frown.
She shifted her eyes from his. ‘I didn’t want your money,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to get on with my life.’
No, Antonio thought with a bitter twist of his insides. She hadn’t wanted his money, but she had thought nothing of taking his mother’s. If it took him every day of the three months he was here he would find out what she had done with it.
He gave her car—and that was using the word loosely—another scathing look. She clearly hadn’t been spending up big in that department. In fact, there was no indication from what he had seen so far that she lived anything but a low-key life. She owned no real estate, either private or commercial, and her work at the salon was permanent, not casual. She dressed well, but if there was anything new and crafted by a high street designer in her wardrobe he had yet to see it. The black dress she had worn the evening before he had recognised as one he had bought for her in Paris. But then someone as naturally beautiful as Claire did not need the trappings of haute
