LAIRE could feel the pain ripping through her, the stomping march of each contraction tearing apart her abdomen. She clutched at her stomach, her eyes springing open when she realised it was flat, not distended.

Sweat was pouring off her—tiny, fast-running rivulets coursing down between her heaving breasts—and the darkness of the strange bedroom only added to her sense of disorientation and deep-seated panic.

‘Claire?’ Antonio’s deep voice came out of the thick cloak of darkness, and she felt the mattress beside her shift as he reached for the bedside lamp.

The muted glow was of some comfort, but Claire could still feel her heart thumping so heavily she was sure it would burst out of her ribcage. She held her hands against her breasts, just to make sure, her breathing coming in choking gasps.

‘I…I had a bad dream…’ she said through still trembling lips. ‘A nightmare…’

Antonio frowned and, hauling himself into a sitting position, reached for her, gathering her close. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asked against the fragrant silk of her hair.

She shook her head against his chest.

He began stroking the back of her head, her unruly curls tickling his palm. ‘Dreams are not real, cara,’ he said. ‘It is just the brain processing a thousand images or more into some sense of order. Some of it makes sense; a lot of it does not. Dreams are not prophetic; they are just the workings of our deep unconscious at rest.’

She pulled back from him and looked into his eyes, hers wide with anguish. ‘It’s not the first time it’s happened,’ she said. ‘I feel like she’s crying out to me. I hear her, Antonio. I sometimes hear her crying for me, but I can’t get to her.’

Antonio felt his throat thicken. Five years on and he knew exactly what Claire meant. He could fill his days and even his nights with totally mind-consuming work, and yet in those eerie, unguarded moments, late at night or in the early hours of the morning, he could hear her too. A soft mewing cry that ripped at his guts and left them raw and bleeding.

‘I’m sorry…’ Claire’s soft voice penetrated the silence. ‘I’m keeping you awake, and you probably have another big theatre list tomorrow.’

He continued stroking her hair. ‘Try and go back to sleep, cara,’ he said. ‘I am used to sleepless nights. It is part of my job.’

After a while Antonio heard the deep and even sound of her breathing, but he didn’t move her out of his arms. She had her head nestled against his chest, and his left arm was almost completely numb from the press of her slim body, but he didn’t dislodge it or her. He lay staring blankly at the ceiling, his fingers still playing with her hair, his heart feeling as if a heavy weight was pressed down upon it.

It wouldn’t take her long to realise he had never had any intention of pressing charges against Isaac. Once Claire knew she no longer had a compelling reason to stay with him as his wife, he would have to think of some other way of keeping her chained to his side. Not because of his father’s will, not even because of the money she had taken from his mother, but because he wanted to wake up each morning just like this, with her warm and soft against him.

When Claire woke to find she was alone in Antonio’s bed she felt a wave of disappointment wash over her. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. Breakfast in bed with an avowal of love and red roses on the side was the stuff of dreams; it had no relevance to their current set-up.

She flung the covers back and got up, wincing as her inner muscles protested at the movement. It gave her a fluttery, excited sort of feeling inside to remember how passionately they had made love.

Had sex, she corrected herself. This was not about love—at least not from Antonio’s point of view. This was about a physical attraction that had suddenly resurfaced.

Claire turned on the shower, a frown pulling at her forehead as she waited for the temperature to adjust.

Yes, but why had his attraction for her suddenly resurfaced? He had not sought her out until she had tried to serve those divorce papers on him. And by returning to live with him she had postponed any prospect of a divorce being processed smoothly. This reconciliation was not about working through the issues of the past; this was about a very rich man who did not want his inheritance cut straight down the middle. He could very well string her along indefinitely; she had already demonstrated to him how easily she could be won over. She cringed at how she had responded so freely to him the night before. She hadn’t lasted twenty-four hours in his company without caving in to her need of him. How he must have gloated over her ready capitulation. She might even now be pregnant. She would have that whole heartache to go through again—tied to him for the sake of a child, never knowing if he wanted her for her, or for what she could give him.

When she had showered and dressed she found the note he had written next to the tea-making facilities in the suite, informing her he had an early list at one of the large teaching hospitals and would see her for a late dinner at around eight to eight-thirty that evening. There were no words of affection, no I love you and can’t wait to see you phrases—nothing for her to hang her hopes on. She crumpled the note and tossed it in the bin, annoyed with herself for wishing and hoping for what she couldn’t have.

Downstairs in the car park a few minutes later, Claire hoisted her handbag over her shoulder and narrowed her gaze at the parking attendant. ‘What do you mean, this is my car?’ she asked.

The parking valet smiled and handed her a silver embossed keyring. ‘It is, Mrs Marcolini,’ he said. ‘Your husband had it delivered late yesterday. If you would like me to go through all the features with you, I would be happy to explain them—’

Claire plucked the keys from his hand. ‘That will not be necessary,’ she said with a proud hitch of her chin. ‘A car is a car. I am sure I will be able to work out where the throttle and the brakes are.’

‘Yes, but—’

She gave the young man a quelling look over her shoulder as she got behind the wheel. She took a moment to orientate herself. The new-car smell was a little off-putting—not to mention the butter-soft leather of the seats. Then there was the dashboard, with all its lights and gadgets, which looked as if it had been modelled on the latest space shuttle from NASA. Maybe she had been a little hasty in sending the helpful assistant on his way, she thought ruefully. After her old and battered jalopy, this car looked as if it needed a rocket scientist to set it in gear, let alone start it.

She took a deep breath and inserted the key that didn’t even look like a key into the ignition. The car started with a gentle purr of the engine, its side mirrors opening outwards as if by magic, and the seatbelt light flashing to remind her to belt up.

‘All right, already,’ Claire muttered, and strapped herself in with a click.

OK, so where was the handbrake? It wasn’t in between the driver and passenger seats, so where the hell was it?

The parking valet tapped on the window. Claire pursed her lips and hunted for the mechanism to lower the window, locking all the doors and popping the boot open before she finally located the button with the little window symbol on it.

‘There’s a foot brake on the left,’ the man said with a deadpan expression. ‘And the release is that button on the right, marked brake release.’

Claire mentally rolled her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she said, stiff with embarrassment. ‘Have a nice day.’

The valet smiled and stepped well back. ‘Have a nice drive.’

‘Oh, my God.’ Rebecca’s eyes ran over the showroom-perfect gunmetal-grey of the vehicle Claire had parked outside the salon. ‘You’re driving a sports car?’

Claire dumped her handbag on the counter and sent her hand through her disordered curls. ‘Yes, well, you could call it driving, I suppose,’ she said wryly. ‘Not that I had to do too much. The slightest spot of drizzle has the windscreen wipers coming on without me having to leaf through the manual to locate the appropriate switch. Apparently there’s some sort of sensor that detects moisture. Going through the city tunnel, the headlights came on automatically—and turned off again once I was back out in daylight. And just now, parking between that florist’s van and that utility, all I had to do was listen to the beeps and watch the flashing red lights as the parking assist device told me when I was getting too close.’

Rebecca let out a whistling stream of air through her teeth. ‘Gosh, I wish my estranged husband would buy me a sports car. All he has given me so far is a lawyer’s bill for the division of assets, most of which I own, since I was the only one with a full-time job the whole time we were together.’

Claire hid her scowl as she shrugged herself out of her coat and hung it on a hook in the back room. Rebecca was right. She shouldn’t really be complaining about such a generous gift. Most women would be falling over themselves to have been given such a luxurious vehicle. Besides, Antonio had openly expressed his concern over her driving a less than roadworthy car. She didn’t fool herself his concerns were for her safety, it was his reputation he was most concerned about—he had said as much at the time. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if he had done it out of love for her? Money was no object for him, it never had been, so how could he know what such a gift would mean to her if the right motives had been behind it?

‘You have a full list of clients today,’ Rebecca said, when Claire came out of the back room into the salon. ‘It seems everyone wants to be styled by the woman who has stolen the heart of Antonio Marcolini, celebrity surgeon extraordinaire.’

Claire organised her cutting and styling trolley with meticulous care. ‘He’s just a normal man, Bex,’ she said, keeping her gaze averted. ‘He brushes his teeth and shaves every morning, just like most other men.’

‘So what’s it like being back with him?’ Rebecca asked. ‘I read in the paper you’ve moved into his hotel suite with him.’

Claire lined up her radial brushes with studious precision. ‘That’s because my flat is too small. He is used to living in the lap of luxury. A one-bedroom flat in a tawdry inner-city suburb is hardly his scene. Moving in with him seemed the best option—for the time being, at least.’

‘Have you done the deed with him yet?’

Claire couldn’t control the hot flush of colour in her cheeks. In fact she could feel her whole body heating up at the memory of what she had done to him and what he had done to her.

‘Bex, don’t ask me questions like that,’ she said, frowning heavily. ‘There are some things even best mates have to keep private.’

Rebecca perched on the nearest stool and crossed her booted ankles. ‘So that’s a yes,’ she said musingly. ‘I thought as much. As soon as he came in here I knew you were a goner. He’s hardly the sort of man you could say no to, is he?’

Claire put on her most severe schoolmistress sort of frown. ‘This is just a trial reconciliation between us,’ she said. ‘Nothing has been decided in the long term. Just because he bought me a car it doesn’t mean he wants me back for ever. For all I know it could be a consolation prize for when he hotfoots it back to Italy without me.’

Rebecca’s forehead creased. ‘But I thought you were still in love with him,’ she said. ‘You are, aren’t you? Don’t shatter all my romantic delusions, Claire. I’m counting on you to get me back into the dating pool with hope not despair as my personal floating device.’

Claire decided to come clean. ‘It’s a farce, Bex,’ she said on an expelled breath. ‘I’m not really back with Antonio. Not in the real sense.’

Rebecca narrowed her gaze. ‘But you’ve all but admitted you slept with him,’ she said. ‘If that isn’t being back together, what is? And what about that kiss in here yesterday, huh? That looked pretty full-on and genuine to me.’

‘He’s only here for three months,’ Claire said flatly. ‘There’s no way I would go back to Italy with him unless I was absolutely sure he cared something for me, and quite frankly I can’t see that happening. He’s not the “I love you” type. I had his baby, for God’s sake, and he never once said how he felt about me. Doesn’t that tell you something?’

Rebecca grimaced. ‘I guess when you put it like that…’

Claire blew out a breath. ‘His father is dead. He died just a couple of months ago. I have reason to believe that is why Antonio is here now—not just to do the lecture tour, but to see what gives where I am concerned.’

‘So what does give?’ Rebecca asked with a pointed look.

Claire looked away and started realigning her brushes again, even though they were all neatly spaced on the trolley. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, fiddling with a teasing comb, running her fingers across its pointed teeth, the movement making a slight humming noise. ‘A divorce has always been on the cards. For all this time I have been waiting for him to make the first move, but he didn’t. I decided to take matters into my own hands once I heard he was coming here, but now I wish I had let sleeping dogs lie.’

‘Have you ever asked yourself why he never asked you for a divorce?’ Rebecca asked after a small pause.

Claire continued to turn the comb over in her hands. ‘What happened back then was…’ She stopped for a moment, thinking about why Antonio had not sought his freedom as soon as he could. If he had been involved with Daniela Garza, why wouldn’t he have activated a divorce as soon as possible, so he could be with the woman he wanted to be with? Everything pointed to Claire having got it horribly wrong about him. It didn’t sit well with her to be in the guilty seat—that was the position she had always assigned him.

‘Or, more to the point, have you ever asked yourself why you didn’t divorce him?’ Rebecca added.

Claire let out her breath on a sigh. ‘I think you have probably guessed why.’

Rebecca gave her a look. ‘So you do still love him? I sort of guessed you did. It’s the way you say his name and the look you get in your eyes.’

Claire dropped the comb back on the trolley. ‘All this time I’ve been fooling myself I hate him, but I don’t. I love him. I have always loved him. I was so convinced he’d been having an affair, but he’s always denied it.’

‘Yeah, well, men do that, you know.’

Claire chewed at her lip. ‘I don’t know…Antonio is a good man, Bex. He does a lot of charitable work all over the globe. The more I think about it the more I start to doubt myself. What if I made a terrible mistake? What if he wasn’t having an affair? What if he’s been telling the truth the whole time? What have I done?’

‘Claire, lots of marriages survive an affair, or even the suspicion of one,’ Rebecca said. ‘If he had one it must be well and truly over now—otherwise he wouldn’t be with you, trying to sort things out. Give him a chance. You love him. Isn’t that all that matters?’

‘I’m not sure if he will ever feel anything for me,’ Claire said. ‘You can’t exactly force someone to fall in love with you. If it happens, it happens.’

Rebecca raised her brows and flicked her gaze to the shiny new car outside. ‘Listen, honey, any man who buys a woman a car like that must feel something for her. Just go with the flow for a while. Stop agonising over what you haven’t got and enjoy what you have got. Some men are just not able to put their feelings into words; it’s their actions you have to listen to.’

Claire glanced back at the car outside and sighed. How she wished Rebecca was right—that Antonio was showing her, not telling her how he felt. But then she remembered how much was at stake for him if they were to divorce. Was the car part of the buttering-up process, to keep her sweet when it came to finally putting an end to their relationship?

‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ Rebecca said. ‘Your mother called. She said she’d left a couple of messages on your mobile but you hadn’t got back to her. I think she’s a bit hurt you didn’t call her about getting back with Antonio. Like everyone else, she read about it in the paper.’

Claire grimaced. ‘I turned my phone to silent. I forgot to change it back. Oh, God, what am I going to say to her?’

‘Tell her the truth,’ Rebecca said. ‘Tell her you love Antonio and are working at rebuilding your marriage. She’s your mum, Claire. All she wants is for you to be happy.’

Claire wanted it too—so much that it hurt. But her happiness was dependent on securing Antonio’s love, and unfortunately that was not in her hands.

Maybe Rebecca was right; she needed to learn to go with the flow, to enjoy what she had for as long as it was there to be had. Antonio might have had less than noble motives for bringing about their reconciliation, but perhaps this window of time was her chance to show him how much she loved him—in spite of how he felt about her…