Blackmailed For Her Baby (Bought For Her Baby Series Book 4)

by Elizabeth Power

  Longing for a bath that evening to ease away the tensions of the day, Libby recoiled on finding the luxurious tub already taken by a startlingly large eight-legged occupant.

  After she’d made several failed attempts at removing it herself and finally conceded that she would have to ring for assistance, her heart sank and then jerked into a violent rhythm when she answered the knock on her door and found Romano standing there.

  ‘Angelica had a call about a large spider needing evicting from these quarters.’ He was holding a wide-rimmed jar and appeared rather too smug for Libby’s liking. She couldn’t help noticing, though, that his hair was curling damply against his collar from where he had recently taken a shower, and that the fresh black and grey striped shirt he had teamed with dark, well-fitting trousers emphasised a masculinity that sent her traitorous hormones rocketing.

  ‘I can do it myself,’ she protested shakily when he strode casually in, uninvited. ‘I only rang down for something wide enough to cover it with so I wouldn’t risk damaging its legs.’

  He gave her a look that doubted her capacity for feeling for any creature but herself, unsettling her further with his swift but penetrating appraisal of her short cotton robe, all she had on over her briefs.

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ he drawled. ‘I was coming up here anyway. I thought that if you find yourself with nothing to do, you might like to look at these.’

  She glanced disparagingly at whatever it was he was dropping onto the dressing table.

  Video cassettes?

  Didn’t he think her bright enough for the shelves of assorted reading she’d already browsed through when she’d come up here last night? What did he imagine would amuse her shallow mind? she thought tartly, uncomfortably conscious of those dark eyes still regarding her. Soaps? Some grisly horror movies? Or did they include a Guide to Parenting he’d picked up somewhere?

  ‘Thanks,’ she uttered without looking at him, and heard him moving away into the bathroom.

  She looked flustered, Romano thought as he came back from consigning her other uninvited guest to the ivy outside the bathroom window. She was having trouble with the top drawer of the chest, which appeared to be stuck.

  ‘Here. Let me,’ he volunteered.

  ‘I’m quite capable of doing a simple thing like closing a drawer!’ she returned with an ungraciousness that instantly shamed her, but his nearness was causing a prickly sensation all over her skin and, besides, she had some very personal things in that drawer apart from her underwear!

  ‘You have something caught here…’ He pulled the drawer open wider, his investigative masculine fingers dark against the wisps of feminine-fine silks and lace. ‘I think we’ve got it…’

  He pulled it out carefully. It was a birthday card—obviously for Giorgio. An age card, fortunately undamaged.

  He frowned down at it, an emotion he couldn’t contain making him remark, ‘The boy’s six next birthday. Not five.’ Mamma mia! Surely she wasn’t so uncaring a mother that she had forgotten the age of her own child!

  ‘Give me that!’ Her reaction as she tried to snatch it from him surprised him. He pulled it out of her reach, the crease between his eyes deepening as he noticed that there were others stored to one side of the drawer.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Libby’s hand came up to try to stop him as he started rifling through them. ‘You’ve no right!’

  There was a card, he realised, for every year of his nephew’s life.

  He took out the one headed Baby’s First Christmas; badly buckled, he noticed, and knew instinctively that it had been in that state before it had ever reached the drawer.

  ‘Give that back to me!’

  Driven on by something stronger than curiosity, he ignored her protests, feeling like an eavesdropper when he scanned the few heartfelt words she had written inside.

  He dropped it back into the drawer, though not before noticing the photograph album with its gold lettering that spelt out Our Baby’s First Year; more photographs of her parents and Luca. Small mementoes, worth nothing in themselves, but probably priceless to their owner.

  Chillingly now he recalled his disparaging remarks about the contents of her case at the airport the previous day. Remembered what she had said in reply.

  ‘I’ve…brought a few things for Giorgio.’

  He remembered his derogatory thoughts in response to that remark and was ashamed of himself now for thinking what he had. She wasn’t trying to buy herself into the boy’s affections at all. This was a collection a loving mother would have kept. Which didn’t quite match up with the mercenary creature he had always believed her to be.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ he demanded, with a toss of his chin towards the items she obviously hadn’t intended him to see.

  ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you!’

  He slammed the drawer closed as she pivoted away from him, but his other arm shot out, catching her in mid-flight.

  ‘I’m trying to understand!’

  Her head came up and he saw a small vein pulsing in the hollow of her pale throat. ‘Please! Don’t strain yourself!’

  ‘Libby!’

  Her eyes were bright pools, glittering with anger and something else. What was it? he reasoned, his dark gaze probing mercilessly into their crystalline depths. Pain? Fear? Or just a denial of this raging desire that made his head spin from just touching her—just from breathing in her perfume, which was working like an aphrodisiac on his senses and doing untold things to his anatomy—and that ravaged her as surely as it ravaged him?

  ‘You gave him up.’ He had her by both elbows, felt like shaking an explanation out of her. Or was it the frustrations of his own past that he wanted to punish her for? ‘You didn’t want to be in his life!’

  ‘So you keep reminding me!’

  ‘I don’t like having to spell this out, but it was your decision.’

  Was it?

  She didn’t say it aloud. Just stood there staring accusingly at him with her face contorted in anguish. Did he really not know? Hadn’t he been in on the conspiracy to hurt her in the most effective way possible if she’d refused to play ball and hand over her baby as his family had been demanding?

  ‘Is that the reason for all that?’ He jerked his head towards the chest and the sad little story of raw sentiment it contained. ‘Guilt? Self-reproach? Regret?’

  ‘If you’re so certain of that—why ask?’ she threw at him vehemently, because she had suffered all those things; because she should have found a way—been strong enough to fight them all. Her fears and insecurities. Luca’s parents. Him!

  Without her realising it her gaze had strayed to his mouth. That hard male mouth that had the power to slate her at every opportunity; that promised retribution, punishment, justice—and at the same time—heaven!

  ‘Si, Libby.’ His voice was a low, sensuous murmur. ‘I want to understand that too.’

  As he drew her closer, warning bells clamoured loudly across her instincts of survival, shrilling through a rising excitement that left her breathless and tense.

  ‘Why every time I come near you, you give off signals that any man would be hard-pushed not to recognise. You always did.’

  ‘You’re imagining things! I was happily married to Luca!’

  ‘Maybe. And maybe I was,’ he intoned, ‘but I’m certainly not imagining them now.’

  Breasts lifting sharply, she stood, stock-still, in the circle of his arms, unable to think—to breathe.

  ‘You want me, as much as I want you—except that I don’t deny it. Tell me that you don’t want me. Tell me that you haven’t thought about this since the moment I kissed you or at any other time before that.’

  She wanted to! But how could she, she despaired, when her body wanted to acknowledge it with an instinct as old as time? When she could feel the hardening peaks of her breasts pushing against the fine cotton of her robe, feel the heat building in that most feminine part of her that made her ache for him
as she had never ached for any man?

  ‘No.’

  He laughed very softly, and lightly parted the edges of her robe, slipping one off her shoulder before stooping to press his lips to the trembling flesh he had exposed.

  Libby sucked in her breath, groaning, her eyes closing in denial because he had lifted his head to look at her and she couldn’t bear to let him see the hunger that darkened her eyes, watch the slow curl of his devastating mouth as he acknowledged that he was right.

  ‘No?’ It was a low, teasing chuckle against her lips. She could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with hers, an erotic magnet willing her mouth to open and take the exquisite torture of his.

  She tilted her head back, silently begging for his kiss now with a desperation that left her weak. But fulfilment wasn’t on his agenda, she realised helplessly, when he brought his mouth to within a hair’s breadth of hers time and again, only to withdraw every time he looked like granting her the consummation she craved.

  Unreservedly, not caring any more what he thought, she reached up and dragged his head down to hers, her murmur a shameless plea against his lips.

  He gave a low groan like a man unable to resist defeat, and Libby gasped sharply as he pulled her hard into him.

  His arousal was obvious—as obvious as hers was secretive: just a slick trickle of heat she could feel moistening her panties, a silent preparation for a penetration that made her lower body contract hotly against the fine silk.

  His hand was inside her robe, his warm palm such an erotic sensation against her breast that it made her cry out, giving her no room to think, to breathe.

  He wanted her! She didn’t know why it made her feel so powerful to know that—only that it did.

  Feverishly she tugged at his shirt, catching his moan of pleasure as her hands ran over the fevered heat of his body, felt the flexing muscles of steel beneath velvet flesh.

  She wanted him! And she didn’t care how much he despised her. How sick was that? She didn’t want to think about it as their tongues blended, mouths devouring in a mutually ungovernable act of savage need.

  She was driving him crazy, Romano thought, unable to believe things had come this far since he had entered the room.

  Drugged by her perfume, he let his mouth and hands burn across her eager body, her murmurs of wanting like sensuous nymphs dragging him down into a fire of need he wanted to be consumed by. The truth was he had never met such wild wanting in any woman—or known it in himself—until now.

  Had she been the same with Luca? Shown him the heaven she was promising him now? Was he privileged to have produced such an uncontrolled response in her? Or was she just so deprived of sexual adventure at the moment that any man would have done?

  He couldn’t believe that, and yet the sudden memories of his brother chilled his ardour. For all her apparent concern for Giorgio, it still didn’t alter the way she had treated Luca, marrying him for money then exchanging his child for a pay-off, no matter how much she denied it—or might have regretted it since.

  ‘What is it?’ she breathed, puzzled as he drew away.

  ‘I came up here to rescue a spider. Now I’m rescuing myself,’ he said coldly—much too coldly, he realised, but he couldn’t help himself.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ She was pulling her robe around her, breathing heavily, her expression a blend of wounded bewilderment and frustration. ‘Was your only intention to see if you could get me into bed? Was that why you came up here instead of sending one of the maids up? To try and make a fool of me…?’ Her voice tailed off on a sob. Under the magnanimous pretext of bringing up some videos!

  ‘Libby…’ He made a move towards her, but was stalled by Sophia Vincenzo’s voice along the galleried landing.

  They had both forgotten in their hunger, Libby realised, mortified, that the bedroom door was open!

  She saw Romano stiffen, sensed the irritation in him at the untimely intervention.

  ‘Oh, there you are, Romano!’ Her elegant figure framed by the doorway, Sophia raked her golden eyes over Libby’s dishevelled state before they took in Romano, who was casually retrieving an empty jar from the top of the chest.

  Libby felt herself blushing hotly, guessing what the woman must think, although Romano, his shirt already tucked back into his waistband, seemed totally unperturbed by the situation.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ he urged.

  A subtle feminine glance strayed to Libby again. ‘You’re wanted on the phone.’

  ‘All right! I’ll be there now,’ he told his mother with dismissive impatience, so that the woman retreated with a cool ‘goodnight’ to Libby.

  Libby felt Romano’s hand on her arm as she made to brush past him, her features flushed from the shame of what she had nearly let him do and then the embarrassment of virtually being discovered.

  ‘For what it’s worth, I didn’t intend this to happen—not like this.’

  He was massaging the back of his neck, and there were weary lines around his eyes, Libby noticed now, but couldn’t help retaliating with, ‘Really? How did you intend it to happen?’

  With music and champagne after a romantic dinner, he surprised himself by thinking, but couldn’t say it, knowing how cynical it would sound. He wasn’t even sure he wasn’t just being cynical himself. He knew what she was like. Hadn’t he been born to be the victim of heartless women?

  ‘It’s been a traumatic couple of days. For all of us,’ he added, releasing her. ‘I’ll leave you with those.’ He indicated the cassettes he’d brought up as he turned to go. ‘In the meantime, get a good night’s rest.’

  ‘Thanks!’ Libby breathed after he had closed the door behind him, still shamed by what had happened and by the way he had brought those kisses to an abrupt halt. ‘I’m sure they’ll keep me suitably amused if I can’t sleep!’

  It was some time later, after she had taken her bath, that she went over to brush her hair and took a grudging look at the cassettes he had condescended to leave her.

  Reading the label on the sleeve of the first one, she snatched it up, her fingers tensing as she reached for the second, then the third. These weren’t cinema films or television documentaries!

  Racing over to the television set, she switched it on, her hands trembling as she thrust the first cassette into the video recorder. They were simply home movies, all clearly marked with exactly what they contained.

  In her simple cotton nightdress, with her damp hair curling wildly around her shoulders, she sat, devouring every image, sobbing and laughing in turn as precious moments of Giorgio’s infancy unwound themselves before her eyes.

  Giorgio tugging paper off his first Christmas presents. Giorgio taking his first steps. Now here he was riding his first pony with Romano instructing him on how to sit. In yet another clip he was sitting at the wheel of his uncle’s red sports car, pretending to steer it, his young face alive with laughter and delight and such obvious awe of the man who was filming him that Libby felt a swift hard kick of painful envy.

  He loved Romano! And why shouldn’t he? she reasoned in an attempt to ease her blistering pain because the Vincenzos had had the boy’s love and trust all the time he had been growing up, while she hadn’t experienced a gram of it. After all, Romano had always been there for Giorgio—from the very beginning.

  The night she had given birth to him had been a long and arduous one and she had had to bear it alone. Waiting. Hoping. Longing. Praying for Luca.

  Unable to reach him on his cellphone, she had eventually been forced to telephone his mother, but when the pain of her long labour was over he still hadn’t come or even called.

  She remembered the moment of sheer joy and relief when a nurse had popped her head around the door and announced brightly, ‘All’s well, Mrs Vincenzo. Your husband’s here.’

  Disappointment and a sudden kicking-in of adrenalin caused her already plummeting hormones to plunge her into emotional chaos when it was Romano who strode in instead of Luca.

&
nbsp; ‘Wh-What are you doing here?’ Her voice faltered under the weight of her unease and that inexplicable tension that made her pulses throb at her temples.

  ‘You’ve just brought the next generation of Vincenzos into the world,’ he said, looking particularly virile in a black leather jacket thrown loosely over a white shirt and black trousers. ‘I thought that at least one member of this family should acknowledge that.’

  Shocked and unsettled by his arrival, and too disappointed to thank him for taking the trouble, she croaked weakly, ‘Where’s Luca?’

  Looking up at him from her mountain of pillows she’d thought how weary he looked. There were creases around his eyes and a darker than usual shading around his mouth and jaw that somehow only added to the impression of hard masculinity. But it was as though he had flown there straight from one of his long European trips and hadn’t yet had time to freshen up, she thought. Or as though he’d been scouring the Amazon for something! But then he answered. ‘Luca…couldn’t get away.’ There was something uncharacteristically hesitant in the way he said it.

  Disbelief seemed to contort not just her face so much as her whole body.

  ‘Why not?’ she wailed, ready to accuse him of the first thought that had leaped into her head. That he—and possibly the whole family—had physically prevented him from coming! Because what work was important enough, she wondered miserably, that a first-time father couldn’t take some time out to see his newborn son?

  ‘Luca’s been…out of range.’

  ‘Out of range? Out of range of what?’ she flung at him bitterly. ‘The planet! The universe! Where have you sent him? Outer Mongolia?’

  ‘I haven’t sent him anywhere,’ he emphasised with unruffled calm.

  So it was his father’s doing!

  ‘How convenient!’ She exhaled, biting back tears, convinced then that keeping Luca from her was his family’s sole intention.

  ‘I would be more inclined to call it…unfortunate,’ he returned, appearing to pick his words carefully. Probably so as not to incriminate himself! Libby wasn’t able to help thinking, yet knew a well of immeasurable relief as he told her, ‘But we have managed to reach him. He’ll be here as soon as he can.’