Hiring Cupid (10 page)

"Fanciful.
Si
. Very much so. I fancy you very much."

"You do?” her voice came out as a squeak. Why was it that around Marco she couldn't think or speak or, anything?

"You seem surprised?"

Her eyes widened even further, but she had no time to answer. No time to think. Besides she wasn't sure she wanted to think. Marco lowered his head to hers, blocking out the sun, shadowing her as he pulled her against the hardness of his body. Strong arms held her tight. She felt her body melt into his as his heat threaded a path through her. But when his lips sought hers in an oh so very tantalizing kiss, all air was sucked from her lungs, casting her senses into a world she had never known until now ... but wanted to very much.

She clung to him for dear life, not trusting her limbs to support her if she let go. She wanted his kisses to go on and on. Forever, she prayed as his lips slaked over hers. He slipped a hand beneath her bikini top and began to pay undivided attention to her breasts. Carly reveled in the feeling of pure pleasure his touch elicited. If she had thought she had died and gone to heaven, then surely this was paradise.

Over and over his fingers brushed across one hardened peak till she wanted to scream, his touch sending sparks of liquid fire racing through her, drugging her brain. She could only feel, thought totally impossible. She swayed toward him, aching for more and when his arousal pulsed and pressed against her stomach, she let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

Marco stilled and pulled back a fraction, his dark, shrouded eyes gazing down at her nakedness firing a sudden shyness in her. Nervously she bit at her lower lip. She could still taste him.

"Beautiful,” he whispered. A look of adoration glittered in his blue eyes. Carly stepped out his arms, surprised at the intense need that had seemingly taken over her every action, and reaction. She had let her guard down, the sentry to her heart unchallenging everything that was Marco. She shook her head at the irony. How she had fought this—her need for Marco's touch.

Not now though. Now she wanted it.

She smiled a sweet, tentative sort of smile. Never before had she felt so beautiful to a man. Never had she been so reassured, so wanted.

Be careful, cupid may pierce your heart
.

But Carly refused to listen to the inner warnings.

Just then a flock of birds flew overhead, their cawing startling her and she slipped, tumbling off balance, her feet sliding out from beneath her. Marco made a grab at her, but she slipped beneath the surface, swallowing a mouthful as she went, her head and arms scraping painfully across the muddy bottom.

In one swift movement he pulled her, choking and spluttering to the surface. Mud and silt rained down her face, stinging her eyes. Brushing her hair aside, something warm oozed across her hand and trickled between her fingers.

"
Dio mio
.” Marco scooped her up without another word and carried her to the side of the rock pool. Gently he sat her down on the edge. He held her arm out to inspect it. “Hold still,” he instructed, frowning deeply as he examined the damage through the rivulets of blood trailing down her arm.

Carly frowned at his closeness. “Don't fuss Marco, it's just a scratch."

"Hardly. There's a jagged cut."

She stared down at her arm. A long, purplish graze littered with shards of ground rock mixed with blood covered the entire length of her arm. A surge of shock and delayed pain ripped through her at that very moment and she squeezed her eyes shut trying to block it out.

"It hurts?"

"Course it damn well hurts,” she snapped and blinked back unshed tears.

Marco's lips pursed with concern. “This needs attention."

"Just get me back to the cabin, it'll be all right."

"It needs cleaning."

"Yes, yes. Marco, take me back to the cabin. Please.” Carly wasn't sure she could keep her emotions buckled much longer. Her arm hurt—a lot. Actually, more than a lot. For a second, she concentrated on her breathing—slow and deep, garnering the strength to subdue the still threatening tears. Marco swept her back into his arms

"What the heck are you doing?"

"Taking you home,
cara mia
."

"I can walk,” she protested.

"Not if I can carry you."

"But..."

Marco interrupted. “Woman, are you going to argue till you bleed to death?"

"It's not that bad,” she whimpered, knowing her protests were feeble. But goodness, how could she cope with this? The man was naked as the day he was born.

"It's not good either,” Marco reiterated. “You have a large graze and you're bleeding."

"At least it's red and not blue blood like royals,” she tried to joke.

Marco didn't laugh and as another bout of pain ripped through her, she squeezed her eyes closed.

"You have to do something first, Mr. Genie,” Carly whispered, wishing she were anywhere but in his arms right now.

"Your wish is my command,” he affirmed.

Carly battled to douse the flush of heat that stained her cheeks. Okay, she could do this. “Well, do you think you could actually put some clothes on?"

"Oh ... is that all?"

That all? Wasn't it enough he stood there butt naked, holding her?

But without saying a word, Marco propped her against a rocky outcrop. Her eyes fluttered open, but she refused to let her gaze drop. Oh, no siree. She wouldn't look.

Much as you'd like to Carly Mason
!

She squeezed them shut again.

They say hearing is the last thing to go, and boy oh boy, she could hear. She heard Marco slide his jeans on, heard his grunt as he pulled the taut fabric up over obviously still damp skin, and heard the zip slide up.

Then he was at her side again, lifting her into his arms. “Now do me a favor,
cara mia.
Be quiet, lie still. We'll be home in no time."

Suitably chastised, Carly did as she was told and lay still in his arms, her head resting against his chest. She said nothing, but neither did Marco, though nothing could drown out the roaring thump of his heart as it beat in rapid unison with hers.

Never had she been so glad to be back at their cabin. It had taken a lot longer than she expected, but Marco never complained, and carried her the entire way.

"Stay there,” he instructed, depositing her on her bed and retreating to the bathroom. She heard him opening the cupboards and a few minutes later returned carrying antiseptic cream, a bandage, and a bowl of warm water.

"What are you going to do?"

"Play doctor."

Carly's eyes widened. “Now wait a minute, what do you know about first aid?

"Enough. You want your arm to get infected?"

"Of course not, but...” Carly's words trailed off as she looked down at the vicious laceration. It wasn't that she didn't want him treating her, but even now uncertainty ran deep. Only a short time ago she had been in his arms, kissing him, drugged by his touch.

She should have known better, should have resisted temptation. Never before had she thought being wounded would be her savior.

"It's stopped bleeding, but won't take much to set it off. It looks like something out of a horror movie."

Carly grimaced. “Thanks a bunch. So what am I, Lilly Munster?"

"I don't think it's very deep. Lots of bleeding, like a head wound."

As a grim faced Marco cleaned away the embedded blood and grime she bit down on her tongue, holding back tears as waves of pain washed over her.

But like a knight in shining armor, Marco treated her like his queen, bandaging her wound, then carrying her to the bathroom so she could clean herself up.

Now, as he put away the last of the evening meal, Carly watched him work in silence.

"You're some guy, Marco Valente,” she admitted out loud.

He cocked an eyebrow, smiling slightly, but said nothing and continued cleaning the kitchen.

"Cook, nursemaid, doctoring, Tarzan. Although your tree climbing skills need a bit of a shake-up,” she teased.

"Thanks very much. Next time we need a bunch of bananas from the tallest tree this side of the island, I'll let you climb."

"Not a problem. I was a regular tomboy as a child. The first to climb to the top of the jungle gym."

"I'll bet."

"You don't believe me?"

"Oh
si,
I believe you to be the best of all challengers."

Challenge.

Carly's mind filled with memories of his kisses, his touch, and her throat dried up. Deciding it best to divert her attention, and hopefully Marco's, she gazed out the French doors. Night had arrived. Day two was almost over. Suddenly, Carly was hit by an overwhelming wave of tiredness. It inched through her, limb by limb, encasing her in a desperate need to sleep. Her eyes fluttered closed and her head lolled to one side and within minutes her breathing was regular.

Glued to the chair, Marco was unable to drag his eyes away from a sleeping Carly. Guilt, oppressive and weighty, coiled in impenetrable knots in his gut. He'd made another quick call to the office. All was well, but it hadn't lightened his mood which was deathly black.

Okay, so things were going smoothly on the mainland. He should be ecstatic. The deal was sealed and going ahead as scheduled. In several months CV Hotels would be starting the next phase of their expansion to include the boutique hotel market. Why the hell then did he not feel content?

A whispered snuffle escaped Carly's lips and she stirred, drawing Marco out of his self-censure. She turned onto her side and the quilt he'd draped over her fell to the ground.

Pushing himself out of his chair, he stooped and picked it up. About to put it back over her, he hesitated and brought it to his face. He inhaled. He could smell her fragrance, heady and pungent.

Lavender.

A perfume tangled with memories of his childhood, of Italy, of his mother, his stepfathers...

His eyes shuttered and an overwhelming sense of loss ripped through him, a pain so physical, yet it was merely his mind reeling with past hurts. He dropped back into the chair and his shoulders sagged. He cradled his head in his hands and took a deep, steadying breath

He used to hate the smell of lavender.

Used to
.

But now ... His gaze dropped to the woman in front of him, so at peace in her sleepy world. Now, the scent meant only one thing.

Carly.

He watched her, ensconced in her tranquil sleep-filled oblivion. He had promised her four days. He would keep his promise.

Outside, in the distance, the clash of a summer storm rumbled ever closer. Lightening streaked across the horizon and lit up the sky, quickly followed by several boisterous claps of thunder

Carly bolted upright. “What?"

Stark terror spread across her face and fear-filled eyes darted around the dimly lit room.

Marco was at her side instantly and crouched beside the sofa. “It's a storm over the ocean. Not too close,” he tried for reassurance.

But her face paled as a second and then a third jagged bolt of lightening cracked overhead. Rolls of thunder reverberated around them with an increasing viciousness and made their small cabin shake with each fresh burst.

"Not close?” Carly whimpered. Her disbelief was real. “Could have fooled me. It's loud enough."

"
Si
.” But it wasn't as loud as his heartbeat. To his ears, that thundered a thousand times louder. Marco swallowed hard as her now familiar fragrance mingled with the tangled web of his thoughts. “You are afraid?"

"Don't laugh."

"You see me laughing?” he replied somberly. “It's time for bed.” Bracing himself against the sofa, he bent and picked her up.

"What are you doing?"

"Carrying you to bed."

"Bed.” It was a croak and her eyes widened.

"Perhaps you would prefer to sleep on the sofa?"

He held her tightly. So tight he could feel the erratic throb of her heartbeat against his. Her fear of storms was obvious with each burst of thunder, but it was the subtle looks that passed from her to him, the way her heated gaze focused on him, his throat, rising to rest on his mouth, that told Marco Carly Mason was as excited and aroused as he was.

"I hate storms,” she reiterated as her gaze swiveled to the window.

"Nature's revenge on us mere mortals,” he agreed.

"It's as if the whole world is angry."

"Only fleeting though. The sun will shine another day. I think you need to get some rest. It's been an eventful day."

He carried her over the threshold to her room and laid her gently on the bed at the precise moment lightening flashed, haloing the room in an eerie electric blue glow.

Carly squeezed her eyes shut again, counting aloud. “It's a game, you see,” she said, still counting. “You count from the lightening to the thunder, then you're meant to know how far away it is. Or close."

"A children's game?"

Carly simply nodded, because right at that moment nature didn't disappoint, as one thunderous roll after another clapped overhead until the cabin seemingly would rock off its foundations.

Marco watched her with increasing concern. “You'll be okay?” he questioned.

She squeezed her eyes tighter, nodding, her lips moving as she silently continued to count.

"Good night, sweet dreams."

Her eyes burst open. “You're going?"

"I must go,
cara
. Otherwise..."

"Otherwise what?"

"Otherwise I might want to stay."

"You don't want to?"

"No,
cara
, I want to, and that is the problem."

"Please stay, Marco. Just for a while."

A while? A smile tugged the corners of his mouth, and he sat down beside her.

Fear-filled eyes looked up at him. “Thank you. I know it's irrational, but I hate to be alone in a storm."

"I will stay.” And with that, Marco stretched out beside her, his length shadowing hers. He pulled her to him, cradling her from her fears and felt her exhale, long and slow. Her heartbeat that had moments ago echoed the deafening heavens above when he'd carried her in his arms, slowed too.

"When I was a child there was a storm,” she began.