Claimed For The Italian's Revenge. Natalie RiversЧитать онлайн книгу.
was good to be back in Wales. It was the one place in the world where she felt a strong connection with her mother. Maybe here, far away from all her troubles, she might find some much needed peace of mind—if only for a day or two before she gave herself over to Francesca and Vasile’s unthinkable scheme.
It was at this cottage that Marco had left her four years ago, and she’d briefly wondered whether it was wise to come here and risk stirring up memories. But it was already too late—meeting Marco yesterday had seen to that. Besides, she’d been to the cottage lots of times since he’d left, and right now the blustery conditions couldn’t have been more different from the glorious summer weather they had enjoyed when she’d brought Marco to her mother’s home village.
The water foamed around the slick black boulders as she carefully picked her way out across the rocky beach towards the incoming tide. The water was already filling the deeper recesses between the rocks and she had to tread carefully so as not to slip. She knew there was still plenty of time to make it out to her favourite vantage point—a particularly giant rocky mound that stood higher than the surrounding beach.
It felt good to be working. For a few minutes she could put all her troubles out of her mind and concentrate on taking photos. Photography had always been her passion. She felt so fortunate that her job included taking photos to assess how each camera performed in different conditions.
The sky was low with dark clouds and the churning sea was a deep slate grey with an ever-moving pattern of white water as the waves broke across the rocks. A strong wind whipped her hair about and roared in her ears, combining with the sound of the crashing waves to create a wild, atmospheric soundtrack. It was a dramatic scene—and it suited her mood.
But, despite her efforts to clear her mind, Claudia’s thoughts turned to Marco. She bit her lip and stared out across the bay, but she wasn’t seeing the view. She was remembering how devastated she’d been when Marco had left her.
She’d woken up early in the morning, the thin dawn light filtering through the curtains in the cottage bedroom, to find him gone. At first she’d been frantic with worry, imagining something terrible had happened to him. But then she’d realised that his sports car was gone and he’d packed and taken all his things with him.
Then she’d remembered he’d received a phone call late in the evening. At the time she hadn’t thought anything of it. He had always worked, day and night, and phone calls had been an inevitable part of that. But, when she’d thought about it, she didn’t remember him coming back to bed afterwards—she must have fallen into a deep sleep after hours of lovemaking that evening, and had been oblivious to him packing and leaving.
She’d started to worry that he’d received terrible news, that maybe his sister had been in an accident or perhaps there’d been an incident at one of the businesses he owned.
But she’d never found out what had happened.
His mobile phone had been switched off, then later on the number had been discontinued. His PA had changed immediately to someone she didn’t know—a brisk Italian woman who’d stonewalled all her attempts to contact him by any method.
She tried to get in touch with Bianca, but her number had been changed too. Eventually, the only information she ever received to explain what happened, was a brief text message from Bianca, saying that Marco was taking her to America, to set her up with contacts in the fashion industry.
And that was it.
After a while Claudia had been too upset to try any more. It was clear that she hadn’t been anything more to Marco than a summer fling. He had broken her heart and it had taken a long time to heal. Maybe it had never healed.
But Bianca had hurt her too. She’d thought they were friends, but the nineteen-year-old girl had been quick enough to drop her when exciting new opportunities arose.
Claudia shook her head decisively. She wouldn’t dwell on the past. She took a deep breath of the fresh sea air, lifted the camera and concentrated on the task in hand. She was here to work.
She told herself firmly that the tumultuous conditions were perfect for some excellent shots, with huge waves rolling in and crashing spectacularly over the jagged rocks. Although the afternoon light slanting down in erratic bursts through the gaps in the clouds would be challenging.
Marco De Luca strode purposefully across the meadow that led down to the beach. He frowned as he glanced around, disconcerted by how familiar everything looked—the rocky beach, the spectacularly eroded dark grey limestone outcrops that flanked the bay and even the rickety wooden stile that led to the cliff path.
It was more than four years since Claudia had brought him here, and it was winter now rather than summer, yet for some reason he seemed to recall everything with absolute clarity.
He’d been surprised by how easily he’d found the old fisherman’s cottage but, as he’d wound his sports car through the maze of narrow farm lanes, he’d remembered exactly which turnings to take.
Claudia had not been at the cottage, so he’d come to the beach to look for her. He reached the edge of the shingle and paused to scan the small bay. It was cold and damp and, as the light was starting to fade, he guessed Claudia couldn’t be far away. Despite her love of the outdoors, she wouldn’t want to get caught on the beach or cliff path after dark. There were no street-lights here and, with the amount of cloud cover, it seemed unlikely there’d be much moonlight either.
It only took him a couple of moments to spot her, perched on top of a rocky mound that appeared to be surrounded by the sea. He realised she was taking photographs and started walking towards her.
Suddenly he was taken aback by the familiarity of her body language. Although she was quite a distance from him, and was crouched down looking out to sea, he knew with complete certainty what expression would be on her face. He could tell she was lost in her craft, only aware of the dramatic seascape in front of her and how it appeared through the lens of her camera.
That meant there would be a faraway look on her beautiful face. Her brow would be smooth and relaxed and she’d hardly notice as her hair blew in her almond shaped eyes, catching in her exquisitely long eyelashes.
He stopped abruptly and his dark eyes narrowed dangerously as he stared at her. What was he doing, letting his thoughts run away like that? He started striding purposefully towards her once more. Then, for the second time in as many minutes, he was suddenly brought up short again. It didn’t just look as if Claudia was surrounded by the sea—she really was cut off.
A bolt of alarm shot through him. The incoming tide had got the better of her while she had been distracted by her photography. And so far she still seemed completely oblivious to her perilous situation.
Foolish girl! He cursed her angrily and broke into a run, quickly assessing the terrain between them for the highest, safest route out to her. The black rocks were slick with sea water washing over them and were interspersed with deep, ankle-turning crevices that he had to avoid.
‘Claudia!’ He shouted her name, but the wind swept his voice away and she did not turn towards him.
Running as fast as he safely could, it didn’t take long to reach her. Then, as he splashed through knee-deep water foaming on the platform of rock that surrounded her vantage point, he knew he’d only just been in time. The water was continuing to rise with each new wave that crashed towards the beach.
He called her name again and this time she heard it. He saw her jolt back to her senses and she whipped round to look at him.
‘Marco!’ She stared at him in shock, then almost at once an expression of anger descended over her face. ‘What are you doing here? Did you follow me?’
‘Come on!’ Marco shouted above the sound of the crashing waves and held out his hand to her.
‘I’m not going anywhere with you!’ she exclaimed furiously. ‘How dare you follow me here—you had no right!’
‘There’s no time to mess about—look around you!’ Marco