Was she really going to do this?
Of course! What was the alternative? Have his baby and never tell him? Just like her mother had done to her father?
No way would her baby know the pain of that. Amelia had grown up with no idea who her father was—half the time she wasn’t even sure her mother knew. She’d been a secret baby, a shameful love-child, unwanted, an accident, and there was no way her baby would ever grow up feeling like she had.
And didn’t Antonio deserve to know? Not just for the sake of their baby, but because this was his baby too?
Amelia might not have liked what had happened with her and Antonio; she certainly didn’t like the fact that he’d come to her cottage and seduced her without telling her they were part of an ancient blood feud, then expected her to hand over thirty per cent of a family business to him, but he was still a person. A person with inalienable rights. A man who would soon become a father and of course he deserved to know that.
Heaven help her if he decided he wanted to be a part of the child’s life on a regular basis, because that would mean she would also have to see him too, she supposed.
But Amelia doubted he’d want much to do with their child. It would be, after all, a diSalvo.
The thought had her tilting her chin, her eyes sparking defiantly with his. ‘This won’t take long,’ she assured him, thinking gratefully of the return flight she’d booked for later that same day.
‘Go on,’ he encouraged, perching his bottom on the edge of the desk, stretching his long legs in front of him, crossed at the ankles.
She ignored the throb low in her abdomen, the instant recognition of power and strength, the memory of how those legs had held her to the wall, pinning her with total ease, or straddled her body as he moved inside her. She looked away, her mouth dry. ‘Perhaps I will have some water,’ she said, stalking across the room to where the drinks were set up. She poured a small glass with hands that weren’t quite steady and sipped from it, then shut her eyes as her stomach instantly rejected the offering.
Damn it. She pressed her fingertips to the bench, blinking, willing her insides to calm down, not to be ill. Not here! Not now!
‘At the risk of appearing rude, I don’t have all day.’
It was exactly what she needed to bring herself back to the moment. She spun around, then wished she hadn’t when the room swayed a little. ‘You’re so far past appearing rude,’ she promised firmly. ‘And I won’t take much of your time.’
His eyes were studying her and she hated that. She hated that he could probably read every emotion that crossed her face, every feeling that was shredding her insides.
‘Go on,’ he prompted.
‘Don’t rush me.’
His laugh was sardonic. ‘You just told me this won’t take long.’
‘Yes, well, it doesn’t help when you’re staring at me as though you’d like to...’
* * *
She didn’t finish the sentence but that didn’t stop the immediate flash of desire in response to her suggestion. His expression softened as he allowed himself to do exactly what she’d said—to stare at her openly, to run his gaze over her body, remembering it precisely, and then lift to meet her eyes.
‘I’m staring at you,’ he corrected finally, ‘like a man wanting a woman to get to the point.’
* * *
That wasn’t completely true. Like Scheherazade’s King, he was willing her to spin out a story to elongate this encounter.
He was, frankly, still reeling from the fact she was here, in his office. In the weeks after that night, he’d thought about calling her. Hell, he’d contemplated flying back to England, driving to Bumblebee Cottage and demanding she listen to him—ideally in bed.
If she understood the nature of their families’ dispute, perhaps she’d look more sympathetically on his offer.
But he’d done neither in the end. Because he couldn’t think of seeing her again without seeing her as she’d been that night. The look of betrayal and hurt on her face had made him feel, almost for the first time in his life, ashamed.
And he’d hated that.
So he’d relegated her to the back of his mind, to his ‘past’, and told himself he’d forget about her.
Because she was a diSalvo, and what point was there in trying to get her to forgive him?
There were more issues between them than a simple one-night stand.
Wrong thought. Wrong thought. His mind threw up the memories and he sank into them, remembering her body, the sounds she’d made as pleasure had caressed her, the way she had kissed him as if her very life depended on it.
‘Have you reconsidered?’ he prompted, thinking of his more than generous deal to buy her shares in Prim’Aqua—and the way he was deliberately tanking diSalvo interests around the globe. Did she know?
‘No—’ she narrowed her eyes ‘—my shares aren’t for sale. And I don’t think you’ll be able to do anything to hurt Carlo either. He’s very shrewd, great at what he does. You’re no threat to him.’
Antonio almost smiled. She wasn’t the first person to underestimate him, but truly she couldn’t be more wrong.
‘We’ll see.’ He shrugged with the appearance of calm.
Her eyes narrowed and he had the sense that she was analysing him now, looking for hidden meanings. ‘You really hate my family, don’t you?’
He expelled a soft breath. ‘Is it any wonder?’
Her neck moved delicately as she swallowed, and he realised suddenly that she looked tired. Beneath the make-up she wore—another change since the night in Bumblebee Cottage—he detected the hint of darkening beneath her eyes and a pallor that hadn’t been there before.
‘So that night, when we slept together, you knew that we could never be more than that one experience?’
The question floored him. But only for a moment—he was Antonio Herrera and he recovered quickly. ‘Do you want it to be more?’
She pulled a face and her answer dripped with sarcasm. ‘Yeah, right.’
He smirked to cover his irritation. He didn’t like the ease with which she rejected that suggestion. Hell, at that moment he could barely remember that she was a diSalvo, let alone muster enough enthusiasm for their rivalry to care. She was simply Amelia and he was hungry—starving—for her.
‘So you are not here to sell me your stake in Prim’Aqua,’ he said, straightening, pushing off the desk and taking a stride towards her. ‘And you say you are not here to rekindle what we shared that night.’ Another stride, bringing him level with her, and the sweetness of her scent almost had him reaching for her and kissing her. How he wanted to relive that experience!
But every line of her body was a warning and a rejection. She was mentally distancing herself from him and he hated that.
‘So why have you come?’
* * *
Amelia clamped her lips together and dug her fingernails into her palms and she stared at him and reminded herself that he was just a man! There was no need to feel so anxious! Besides, she was absolutely certain he wouldn’t want to be a part of her life—or her child’s.
‘You look pale,’ he added with a frown, and inwardly she groaned. She’d done her best to hide the evidence of the past few weeks, but apparently hadn’t succeeded.
Some women glowed when they were pregnant and it seemed Amelia wasn’t going to be one of them. This very recent bout of nausea combined with a sudden insomnia—no doubt brought on by the realisation she had to tell the father of her baby that she was pregnant—had left her looking drained.
‘How I look is hardly relevant,’ she murmured.
His frown was infinitesimal. ‘Are you sick?’
‘Yes, in a sense,’ she said, and an urge to laugh, maniacally, overcame her. She ignored it with effort and reached for her water glass once more.
It wasn’t that she was a
fraid of him, but she knew that once she spoke these words aloud, her world would change for ever. Up to this point, she hadn’t mentioned her state to a soul, and she’d been allowing herself time to absorb the news and make her own plans.
She had decided she would need to have her own wishes firmly in place before meeting Antonio. This was her baby, her body, her life and, while she knew she had a moral obligation to inform him of her pregnancy, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him think he had any right to weigh in on the situation.
‘I don’t like you,’ she said, her eyes locking to his with a defiance that underscored her feelings. ‘I think you’re cold-hearted, ruthless and manipulative.’
He didn’t visibly react, save for a slight tightening around his jaw.
‘Go on.’
‘You’re a Herrera and I’m part of the diSalvo family, but this is hardly some real-life Romeo and Juliet situation. I have no interest in being dragged into a crazy feud that should have ended two generations ago.’
‘It is your brother who sought to ruin—’
She lifted a hand to silence him and though he obliged, closing his mouth, his eyes sparked with hers, his impatience obvious.
‘He did something. You did something back. What a waste of energy—for both of you!’ she denounced scathingly. ‘You could have stopped at shoring up your own business interests. But you didn’t. Instead of taking the high road, you’ve sought to ruin him right back. And there’s no way I will ever be a party to that.’
Antonio’s expression tightened further. There was a look of such ruthless determination in his features that many people might have been afraid. Not Amelia. She’d come up against arrogance and cold-hearted ruthlessness before. No, now, she was angry!
‘You made this position clear already,’ he said finally, the words cold and more heavily accented than usual.
‘True. But I feel the need to underscore it.’
‘For what purpose?’ he demanded. ‘Our business together was concluded six weeks ago. There is nothing to be gained from you being here now.’
Her eyes narrowed and for the briefest of moments she thought about leaving. How much easier it would all be if she were to turn on her heel and stalk out of his office, insisting that he never contact her again!
But how could she live with herself? A baby wasn’t something you could hide—she was living proof. To know that she’d spent twelve years being raised with her parentage a mystery, that her father had had no idea of her existence. What had they both been denied? Would she have had an actual family if her mother had made a different decision?
Memories and past hurts had her straightening her spine, staring at him with renewed intent.
‘I’ll go soon,’ she promised. ‘In fact, I’m booked on a flight in a few hours,’ she added for good measure, liking the safety and security that fact offered.
His frown was one of non-comprehension. ‘You’re flying commercial?’
At this, Amelia rolled her eyes. ‘As opposed to?’
‘DiSalvo Industries has many planes...’
She angled her face away from his. He was right. She could have flown in a private jet, but that wasn’t—and never had been—Amelia’s style. ‘What an environmental nightmare,’ she stated disapprovingly. ‘Any billionaire gets a whim to go here or there and they power up their own plane, when there are dozens of flights scheduled to that same destination every day.’
‘But then you have to fit in with someone else’s schedule,’ he pointed out with infuriating logic—and despicable arrogance.
‘Oh, heaven forbid a little inconvenience.’ They were getting off-topic and she didn’t particularly want to stand in Antonio’s office, arguing the merits of flight timetables with him.
‘My schedule allows very little room for flexibility,’ he said with an arrogant shrug of his shoulders.
And now Amelia did laugh, just a soft, panicked noise of utter disbelief. ‘You’re going to hate this, then.’ Babies were the very definition of inconvenience, and this one particularly so, given how little either of them could have expected her pregnancy.
‘Hate what?’ He was wary.
When it came to it, there was no need for any preamble. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, she was simply going to tell him—to get it over with and then go home. With a deep breath and a voice that shook ever so slightly, she said into the silence: ‘I’m pregnant, Antonio. And you’re the father.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE.’ His arrogant assertion was the last thing she expected and in other circumstances she might have found that amusing.
‘Oh, okay,’ she murmured sarcastically. ‘Have it your way, then. I’m not pregnant.’
She glared at him, her arms crossed over her body, her expression one of disdain.
‘You can’t be,’ he corrected, and Amelia almost felt sorry for him, because Antonio Herrera didn’t strike her as a man who was used to having things happen beyond his control. ‘We used protection.’
‘Well, you’re the only man I’ve ever slept with and I am most definitely pregnant.’ She pinpointed him with an icy glare. ‘So I guess it didn’t work.’
He was uncharacteristically lost for words.
‘Anyway,’ she said after a moment’s silence, ‘I thought you should at least know.’ He remained silent. ‘But you should also know that I don’t need anything from you. I have the financial means to raise this child without worry, and I will be a good mum, all on my own.’ She stiffened then, her spine straightening as she forced herself to finish the offer she came willing to extend. ‘You may, of course, choose to be involved, if you’d like.’ She let that sentiment hit its mark before barrelling forward. ‘But I understand why that would be difficult for you and I’m okay—more than okay—with that. This is my baby. You don’t have to worry about it.’
‘I see.’ He seemed to have relocated his voice. He spoke crisply and, though it was a genial enough agreement, it filled Amelia with a sense of wariness because she could feel a ‘but’ coming. ‘And do you think I will let you return to England to have my child? And what, confer upon it your surname? Raise my son or daughter as a diSalvo?’
At that, a surge of anger beat inside her and she pushed at his chest, surprising them both with the violent outburst. ‘Don’t you dare draft my baby into this damned feud!’ she exploded. ‘Yes, this child will be a diSalvo because it’s my child! But I won’t be raising it to hate the Herrera name, so you can relax.’
His expression was one of barely concealed fury.
‘And as for you “letting” me do anything, I have a newsflash for you, Antonio. I don’t answer to you. I’ll leave when I want to leave, and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.’
* * *
Her threat was a gauntlet that she really shouldn’t have issued. Because he wasn’t afraid to run it. Hell, he was relishing the prospect of running it, in fact, and unsettling her attitude of unconcern. As though she could tell him she was pregnant and then waltz out of his life once more! Pregnant, and with his baby.
‘You know, there’s not even a legal requirement for me to tell you about this,’ she continued, apparently oblivious to how close his patience was to fraying.
‘And yet you’re here,’ he snapped.
She opened her mouth and then clamped it shut, before nodding. ‘I thought you should know.’
‘Thank heavens for small mercies,’ he murmured, stalking away from her towards his desk, where he pressed a red button on his phone. ‘Cancel my afternoon schedule,’ he clipped and then disconnected the call before his assistant could respond.
‘You don’t need to do that,’ Amelia muttered, a hint of panic flaring in her expression now. ‘As I said, I’m flying home soon.’
‘We have to discuss this,’ he murmured, bracing his palms on his desk and dipping his head fo
rward. The reality of this hit him in the solar plexus and a strange metallic taste filled his mouth. Adrenalin. Fight or flight.
He’d tasted it before: when his father had been staring down the barrel of bankruptcy and Antonio had known it was all down to him. That he alone could save his father’s legacy: that he alone could salvage the ruins of the once-great Herrera Incorporated.
And he felt that again now. Fight or flight responsibility.
This was his baby, but she was offering him an out. She didn’t want him to be involved. She didn’t need him.
And God knew he didn’t want to have a child. Not now, probably not ever, and sure as hell not with a diSalvo.
But when he lifted his gaze to Amelia, the door to escape swung closed.
Wanted or not, this baby was reality and there was no way he was going to ignore that.
‘I intend to raise my child, querida,’ he said, the words forged from iron.
It was obvious that she had not been expecting that. She took a small step backwards and made a sound of confusion, then shook her head from side to side. ‘But...you... Didn’t you hear me? You don’t have to be involved. You don’t need to have anything to do with him.’
‘Do you truly believe that? This is my child and, while it is far from ideal that you are to be the mother, it does not change the fact that my flesh and blood is growing in your belly.’
‘Gee, thanks. I’m so warm and fuzzy right now,’ she clipped.
He ignored her ironic assertion. ‘Obviously there is only one solution to this situation.’
‘I swear, if you’d said “problem” I would have walked straight out of here.’ And then her eyes flew wide and a slim hand lifted to her mouth, covering a gasp. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Completely.’
Her face paled—if that was possible, and she staggered back once more. Then a hand came to curve protectively over her still-flat stomach. ‘You can’t actually expect me to terminate my pregnancy just because you don’t want to have a child with a diSalvo?’
Spaniard's Baby of Revenge Page 6
