by Wendy Rosnau
Another minute lapsed before the white leather stool slowly rotated. Rhea’s heart skipped several beats, then several more when his dark eyes finally locked with hers.
Joey Masado was an awesome looking man. She had always thought so. Over six feet tall, he had brown bedroom eyes, jet black hair and a body that looked like it had been crafted out of iron.
His hair was shorter than she remembered—more businesslike, and a contradiction to the growth of whiskers that lined his jaw. It appeared he hadn’t shaved in three or four days. The stubble, however, didn’t detract from his handsome face, it simply added another measure of danger to an already dangerous man.
A minute dragged by before he spoke, but when he did, his deep voice sent raw chills racing the length of her spine.
“Rhea, in the flesh. After all this time, in a heartbeat she returns as quickly as she left. What brings you to town, darlin’?”
Rhea fought the constriction in her lungs, the sudden weakness in her knees. “You know what brought me, Joey.”
“I’m not sure that I do.”
He was going to make her say it. “Where’s Nicci? Where’s my son?”
“You mean ‘our son,’ don’t you, Rhea?” He came off the stool in one fluid motion, gestured to the stuffed animal in her hand. “Is that the bear he keeps asking for?”
“Yes. He sleeps with it.” She expected him to be wearing one of his expensive suits. Instead, he wore jeans and a black V-neck sweater that revealed a dusting of black hair on his chest.
Joey was known for his Sicilian charm and lazy smile, but both were absent as he held out his hand for the bear.
Rhea shook her head, pulled the bear close. “I want to see him. I want to see my son.”
“No.”
“I need to see him, Joey. I need to know that he’s all right.”
“He’s fine.”
“Prove it.”
“I don’t have to prove a damn thing to you, Rhea.”
“Let me give him the bear, and tell him…”
“Tell him what?”
“That I love him. That everything is going to be all right.”
“Is it?”
Rhea’s chin started to quiver despite her best attempts to remain strong.
Suddenly he swore. The vulgar words were followed by several more in Italian. Finally he shouted, “He’s my son, damn you! How dare you steal my flesh and blood?”
“Steal? I didn’t steal him, Joey.”
His nostrils flared as he regarded her with cold eyes. “When were you going to tell me about him, Rhea? When he was five? Ten? Twenty?”
Rhea refused to give in to the urge to scurry behind his desk. She’d been in similar situations before—a hundred times before. She knew better than to cower, or run. Standing her ground, she said, “He’s my son, too. I gave him life.”
He gave a rude snort. “That’s the controversy of the century, darlin’. I believe I gave him life.”
His words sent Rhea’s eyes down his hard body to that area that … yes, had been responsible for giving her son life. Feeling caught, she jerked her gaze back up. “Tell me when I can see my son?”
“When hell freezes. How does that sound?”
“It sounds like something Stud would say, not you.”
Another string of Italian obscenities scolded the air.
“You have so much, Joey. All I have is Nicci. A child needs his mother.”
“But not his father?”
“I never said that. Never wanted that.”
“What did you want, Rhea?”
She had wanted to share their son. To be a family. But that hadn’t been possible. “I wanted my baby born healthy.”
Her words gave him pause. “And is he healthy?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of mother denies a child his father, Rhea? A father who wants him and has the means to take care of him? If a child can’t trust his mother to have his best interests at heart then who the hell can he trust?”
Rhea’s own mother had walked out on her when she was seven. A few years later her father had died, and she’d been placed in an orphanage. From the minute Nicci was born, all her energy had centered around being a good mother to him. No, not just a good mother—the best mother ever.
“You can accuse me of many things, but not of being a bad mother. Nicci can trust me, Joey. I’ve kept him safe and warm and happy since the second I learned I was pregnant.”
“The way I see it, what you kept him was fatherless.”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
“You’re the one who left. He didn’t even know about me until last night.”
“You told him you’re his father?”
“I am his father. Yes, I told him.”
Rhea rarely swore, but she did now. “Dammit, Joey, you’re a stranger to him. Scaring him half to death in the middle of the night, then confusing him about who he is… You—”
“He’s not confused or scared.”
“How the hell would you know what he is? You’ve been a father less than twenty-four hours.”
“Not by choice.”
Rhea squeezed her eyes shut, her concern for Nicci escalating. She didn’t realize she’d forgotten to breathe until a wave of dizziness stole her balance. She swayed, but before she fell, a strong hand gripped her upper arm. Startled, she blinked her eyes open to find Joey directly in front of her. His fingers bit into her arm as he stared down at her. Unable to hold his gaze, she looked past him to their reflection in the large gilded mirror behind the bar.
Joey’s size dwarfed her, and again she realized that she was no match for him, and that maybe it would have been smarter to wait for Frank.
Suddenly he let go of her arm and walked around her. “One or two scars… Not bad. You didn’t lose your eye.”
From the mirror, she watched as he studied her as if she were on an auction block. He circled again, this time stopping behind her. Leaning in, his lips brushed her ear. “Were you able to nurse my son?”
The question might have seemed strange, even crude, to anyone else, but Rhea knew why Joey had asked it. Her dance with death had kept her in chest bandages for weeks. She had still been in them when she’d left town. Nonetheless, the intimacy of the question brought a hot flush to her cheeks. She had slept with this man, had come apart in his arms, yet their affair hadn’t really gotten under way until after Stud had put her through her bedroom window and in danger of losing her eye and her right breast.
He came around and faced her. “Well?”
The heat from her cheeks spread over her face and down her neck. She’d agreed to some reconstructive surgery to repair the damage, but then she’d learned she was pregnant and had decided against it. “Yes, I nursed Nicci.” Not waiting for him to delve into her answer and embarrass her further, she stated, “Are you telling me you’re not going to let me see my son, Joey?”
“He’s not here. He’s spending the morning with a friend.”
Rhea tensed. “He’s with a stranger. Can you trust this person?”
“I wouldn’t have left him with her, otherwise.”
Her. Sophia D’Lano… He’d left their son with his wife. “Is she competent?”
“Of course she’s competent.”
“How can you be sure? Nicci’s a very active child. If you’re not used to dealing with children, then—”
“Lavina Ward is used to children. And she would never let anything happen to my son.”
That was not the answer Rhea had been expecting. Not at all. “Are you saying Jackson‘s mother is watching over Nicci right now?”
“That’s right.”
Jackson Ward wasn’t only Joey’s friend, he was her friend, too. At least, he had been three years ago. He had worked with her ex-husband at the police department. He was, however, nothing like Stud. Jackson was good and honest, and his mother was the reason he had grown up that way. She was a hard-working woman who supported her family as the owner of Capone
lli’s Restaurant in Little Italy.
“She’s agreed to help me out until I can hire a nanny.”
Rhea’s maternal instinct flared. “Nicci doesn’t need a nanny, Joey. He needs his mother.”
“But not his father?”
“All right, yes, we made a baby. And, yes, I didn’t tell you. But you weren’t honest with me, either. You never told me you were engaged to Sophia D’Lano.” She spun away from him and walked deeper into his spacious office. Turning, she said, “I’m telling you right now, the only way your wife will raise my son is over my dead body, Joey. Do you hear me? I won’t abandon him out of fear of what you’ll do to me.”
“Wife? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t bother denying it, Joey. Your father told me about her.”
“The engagement, Rhea, was called off. I never married Sophia.”
His words hit her like a straight-line wind off the Gulf.
“You left Chicago because Frank told you I was getting married? Is that the story you’re selling?”
It was more complicated than that. Far more complicated. Rhea heard herself say, “Our baby’s health was the most important thing. If you remember, I had my hands full trying to keep my ex-husband from killing me. Sooner or later, Stud would have shown up again. In bandages and pregnant, what chance did I stand against him?”
“So good old Frank offered you money and a free ride out of town, and you jumped on.”
“It wasn’t exactly like that.”
“How exactly was it?”
“I hadn’t been able to work. Money was an issue, but that’s not what he offered. What he offered was something better than cash. He offered me a new life without pain, and a promise that Nicci would be safe.”
“At Santa Palazzo?”
“Yes. He guaranteed me that our child would be born in a safe environment. And he promised I would be able to raise him. You got Sophia, and … I got our baby. It seemed fair.”
Unexpectedly he moved, closing the distance between them so quickly that Rhea thought he was going to strike her. But instead, he curled his arm around her waist and jerked her up against his hard thighs. “Has Frank touched you?” he demanded. “Have you been in my father’s bed?”
“No.”
“The truth, Rhea!”
The question was absurd. Yes, she was close to Frank. He had become like a father to her.
“I’ll have the truth, damn you!”
“Frank hasn’t touched me, not in the way you mean. But he has been good to us. When he finds out what you’ve done, he’s not going to like it. He’ll come, and—”
“Rescue you again?” He shook his head, laughed bitterly. “No, darlin’, not this time. He’ll have to go through me first. And trust me, Frank’s not that stupid. He’ll come, that’s a given, but my son won’t be going back to Santa Palazzo. And if you want to see him anytime soon, you won’t be leaving, either.”
Chin high, Rhea promised, “I won’t abandon my son, Joey.”
“Then you’ve just limited your options, darlin’.” What did he mean by that? The moment Rhea asked herself the question, he slid his hands down her back and curved them around her small backside. He had money to burn, as the saying goes. If he wanted it, or thought he needed it, he likely already had it. She had nothing of value to offer him. Nothing but…
He pressed himself against her, kept his eyes locked with hers. “Maybe some kind of an agreement can be made that will satisfy both parties.”
She knew what he was suggesting, and the idea of sleeping with Joey made Rhea’s knees weak. Three years ago the sex between them had been incredible. What would it be like now, bandage-free?
Bandage-free, but not scar-free.
Her voice half strength, shaky, Rhea said, “I’ll do anything, Joey. Anything but that. I won’t sleep with you.”
* * *
The idea of having her naked beneath him took Joey’s aroused state and pushed him over the edge. Stone hard and angry as hell, he shoved Rhea away from him, then turned his back on her.
He had every right to take his child, dammit. Every right to want to hurt her. He was justified, dammit!
Then, why did he feel so damn guilty?
Because if she was telling him the truth, it changed everything. She was right about Stud Williams. If he had learned she was pregnant, he would have been just that much more determined. And she was right about Sophia, too. He had planned to marry her—in the beginning.
Joey studied Rhea holding onto Niccolo’s bear. Her high-necked blue sweater matched her sapphire eyes. Her jacket was short and it sent his gaze down her long legs, then slowly back up. It was impossible to look at her lovely legs without remembering how damn good they had felt wrapped around his waist.
Lucky was right. Three years ago there was an unexplained beauty about Rhea. But today she wasn’t just beautiful, she was sexy as hell. And that, coupled with the fact that she was the mother of his child and the woman he had never been able to forget, was keeping his chest tight, and the constriction inside his jeans at a choke-hold level. He’d hoped that after their meeting he would be able to set her aside and concentrate solely on his son. But the fact remained that he still wanted her. More than ever.
“Where are your bags?” he demanded.
His question must have surprised her, because she floundered for an answer. “Uh … I have a room at the Fairmont.”
Joey strolled to his desk and pressed a button on his phone panel. “Gates, get someone over to the Fairmont to pick up her bags. Capiche?”
“Right away, Mr. Masado.”
From behind his desk, he went back to studying her heart-shaped face. She had always been too pale, but now her skin was a honey brown and the contrast with her white-blond hair was magnificent.
Her right eye had been patched shortly after he’d met her. The doctors had given her less than a fifty-fifty chance of saving it. Now, the only evidence that she’d experienced hell were two white lines that disappeared into the corner of her eye, and a thin scar on her lower lip.
He moved on to her lush mouth, remembering how the slowly healing cut had prevented him from kissing her with any amount of passion. But there was nothing stopping him from kissing her now.
Angry that she still owned a significant part of his body and his mind, that she likely always would, Joey said, “You’ll stay here at the Towers. But for now, you won’t go near Niccolo.”
He heard her suck in her breath, watched her lean over as if she was going to be sick. Her blue eyes were instantly liquid with tears.
“Joey, please. Let me have five minutes with him. Please.”
He turned his back on her, walked to the window and pulled open the blinds to let in the morning sun. Minutes passed before he turned to address her once more. “Stud was arrested four days ago. It seems he’s not only a wife beater but a murderer.”
She gasped. “He murdered someone?”
“Actually, three people. Remember when Tom Mallory was killed just before you left town? Stud was the one who shot him. Several weeks ago, he killed Milo Tandi and a dancer at the Shedd. I won’t bore you with the details. I just thought you’d feel better knowing that he’s locked up.”
“He killed Tom? Why?”
“Because he thought you were sleeping with him. He also tried to kill Jacky and me for the same reason.”
“Oh God.”
She was shaking. In spite of his attempt to remain indifferent, Joey said, “He’s crazy, Rhea. The best place for Stud Williams is six feet under, but instead he’s going to Joliet Prison. I guess that’s the second best place for him.”
She brushed at a tear clinging to her scarred eye. “Joey, let me see Nicci. Just for a minute. Let me explain why I won’t be seeing him for a while, so he doesn’t think I’ve abandoned him.” More tears. “Please.”
Joey stepped forward and pressed another button on his phone panel. The action brought the door swinging open and Gates into his
office.
“Yes, Mr. Masado.”
“Find a suite for Ms. Williams. Something with a view. She’ll be spending a lot of time staring out the window.”
* * *
Chapter 3
« ^ »
As Joey had so cynically implied she would do, Rhea spent much of the day in front of the living room window, watching the clouds go by.
At times she had gotten so restless that she had paced her plush prison on the forty-sixth floor, wringing her hands and asking herself the same question that plagued her since she faced her son’s father. If she had agreed to sleep with Joey, would he have given in and allowed her to see Nicci?
Rhea touched her eye. She didn’t have a model’s looks, but she was no longer wearing an eye patch and sporting bruises. She’d never been comfortable wearing a lot of makeup, but she’d practiced enough so that the scars on her face were nearly invisible. She’d even taken a hairdresser’s advice and had her hair cut to hide the scar at her temple.
She wasn’t flawless, but… Flawless or not, Rhea admitted, if she got the opportunity to strike a deal with Joey a second time, she would do whatever he asked. If it guaranteed her time with her son, she had no choice.
A knock sounded at the front door sometime after seven. Rhea quickly turned from the window and hurried to answer. Her hand on the doorknob, she peeked out the peephole. When she saw who stood outside, her heart sank.
She hesitated just for a second, and in that second, she saw Joey’s younger brother pull a key from his pocket. Lucky was ten times more frightening than Joey, but Rhea refused to be intimidated. If she didn’t stand up for Nicci, who would?
She opened the door. “What do you want?”
“You. Upstairs.”
Not opening the door any wider than the width of her body, Rhea asked, “Why?”
“Because there’s a problem.”
“A problem? With Nicci?”
Without answering the question, he knocked the door open and grabbed her arm. “We’re wasting time. Move it.”
She shook off his hand and bolted for the elevator. In minutes they were on the top floor of the tower, passing Gates—who looked anxious and very glad to see her.
