Claimed for the Italian's Revenge

‘I suppose it’s not so much of a coincidence really,’ Claudia was saying. ‘I guess Grandma and Gwen went shopping at the same local craft fairs.’

‘They’re interesting pieces,’ Marco said, forcing his raging libido under control. ‘I haven’t seen anything like them before. Do you think they were made locally?’

‘Probably,’ Claudia said, holding the figures in her cupped hands next to her breast, in a totally natural gesture of happy affection. ‘Oh, they remind me of my Grandma. And her decoration box.’

A strange feeling tightened inside Marco as he looked at her. He’d heard her talk about her grandmother before. But, now that he knew what kind of person Claudia was, it was strangely discomfiting to hear her talk with such animation about her past.

‘Tell me about the box,’ Marco said, interested in spite of the voice inside his head telling him he didn’t need to hear any more of her childhood tales.

‘There’s nothing much to tell,’ she said. ‘It contained the tree ornaments that Grandma had collected over the years. She had a different story to tell about each one.’ She smiled, momentarily lost in her thoughts. ‘I loved to imagine my own mother helping her to hang those decorations on the tree. And every year Grandma would buy just one more—usually from a local craft fair.’

‘Did you help your grandmother to decorate?’ Marco asked.

Claudia looked at him and hesitated, wondering whether she wanted to share any more personal memories with Marco. He seemed to have remembered every detail of every single thing she’d confided in him that summer four years ago.

She found her gaze fixed on his gorgeous face. He really was breathtakingly good-looking. And when he looked at her like that, giving her his undivided attention, it felt as if she was somehow more important than usual. He seemed genuinely engaged in what she had to say. And the very fact that he remembered what she’d told him so long ago was proof that he listened properly and was interested.

‘My father and I used to visit her every year before Christmas and help her decorate,’ she said, asking herself what harm could it do to tell him—he already knew so much about her.

‘Your stepmother didn’t join you?’

‘She always said that Wales was much too far away from civilisation. And she was allergic to Grandma’s dog,’ Claudia replied, suddenly feeling indescribably glad that Francesca had never made her presence felt in her grandmother’s home.

Up until that moment she’d always taken it for granted that her stepmother had wanted nothing to do with her real mother’s home or family. But the sudden unpleasant thought that Francesca might easily have insisted on coming to Wales shook her. Would those childhood memories hold the same treasured place in her heart if Francesca had stamped them with her indelible mark?

‘My stepmother didn’t approve of Grandma’s decorations or her taste in fairy lights,’ Claudia said, unable to resist a little dig at Francesca. ‘According to her rules, lights should be white. Or occasionally another single colour designed to blend in with her theme for Christmas.’

‘So now you hate white lights?’ Marco asked, his lips quirking with amusement.

‘No, of course not. I suppose it’s just that they remind me of the way my stepmother took over Christmas. Each year she’d have a new theme. Top designers would come in and decorate—I was never allowed to help. Everything was brand-new, and at the end of Christmas she’d just throw it all out.’

‘So now you don’t like new decorations either?’ Marco said with a glint in his eye.

‘I don’t have anything against new decorations,’ Claudia said, refusing to rise to his provocation. ‘It’s wonderful choosing a new tree ornament or garland for your home. But it’s lovely to keep the old ones too. And each one has a memory of the Christmas when you first had it.’

She looked up at Marco and was startled to see his gaze was still locked on her. There was a strange expression in his eyes that she couldn’t quite read, and suddenly she wished she hadn’t been quite so open with her memories after all.

‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ she asked, saying the first thing that

came into her mind.

Unfortunately, saying that suddenly reminded her that by Christmas she would be married to Vasile. A cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, but she turned to put the ornaments back in their place and tried to ignore it.

‘I’m having a quiet Christmas this year,’ Marco said shortly.

Something in his voice made Claudia think he found the question intrusive.

A flash of irritation sparked within her. How hypocritical of him to be happy prying into her life but resent it when she showed an interest in his. It was hardly a personal question.

‘Will you spending it with Bianca?’ she asked. ‘I hope she’s doing well for herself—you haven’t told me anything about what she’s up to these days.’

She felt a prickle of sadness over her lost friendship with Bianca—she was sure that Marco had something to do with his sister dropping her so completely. She wanted to say that she missed Bianca but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. It would sound too much like she had missed Marco.

‘She’s fine. She lives in America,’ Marco said abruptly, striding across the room to throw another couple of logs on to the fire. ‘That should do for a while,’ he added, picking up the poker.

He’d moved so quickly and unexpectedly that Claudia felt a sudden gust of air pass across her skin, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. For a moment she was reminded of the raw energy of the natural elements—a raging sea or a torrential storm.

The energy that crackled off Marco was physical and entirely masculine. It suddenly made her think of making love.