by Morey, Trish
No wonder he’d wanted a child, writing it into the contract as a last-minute amendment. It was the action of a loving son who’d chosen her to bear his children, to deliver this gift to them. She was the one he’d selected for the task.
Something inside her swelled and bloomed. It was a heady responsibility and now, with Rosa’s head resting on her shoulder, one she was so proud to bear.
She squeezed her eyes shut. How could you resent a man who would go to such lengths for his parents’ happiness? How could you not love him?
Her eyes blinked open. Wherever had that idea come from?
She didn’t love him!
Love didn’t come into it. It wasn’t part of the deal.
Sure, she’d been upset when he’d left her room last night but then she’d been emotional. She’d just learned she was pregnant after all. Maybe she’d been miffed when Domenic was more excited for his parents than for the two of them, but she didn’t know their story then. It wasn’t as if she was hoping for some fairy-tale ending to their own marriage.
Liar, her heart retorted, hammering its protest. Why else did Domenic seem less of an enemy and more of a friend these days? Why else did she yearn for his touch, his caress, his soft words crooning her to sleep in his arms?
Why else, if not for love?
She sucked in a breath. This wasn’t supposed to happen to her. She’d promised herself for her own defence, for her own sanity, that he would never have her love, that he would never have that part of her.
But it had happened.
Rosa shifted alongside, sensing something. ‘What is it, dear? Is something wrong?’
And Opal sat there trying to answer, testing the taste of new words and shapes in her mouth, words that she never thought she’d utter. ‘I love Domenic,’ she said softly. ‘I’m in love with your son.’
Rosa chuckled and rose to her feet, kissing her on the forehead before standing straight. ‘You don’t need to tell me that. It’s there in your eyes every time you look at him.’ She took Opal’s arm again and hugged her close.
‘Now, let us return to the party before they all start to think we’re lost.’
The next two weeks in Italy were wonderful. Opal was accepted into the family as readily as if she’d been born to it. Guglielmo appeared stronger every day, regaining the weight he’d lost and filling the space in his clothes. Rosa watched on appreciatively, smiling serenely, obviously enjoying the sense of family around her she’d always yearned for.
And Domenic couldn’t have been more attentive.
He’d arranged for Opal to see a specialist in the city, who confirmed what the local doctor had determined and assured her that all was well. On the way home in Guglielmo’s Ferrari he’d taken her to lunch in a trattoria that served them huge bowls of pasta and generous servings of crusty bread and where they’d talked about the news from the doctor and discussed names and even how many children they should have.
Domenic was already thinking ahead, planning a family with more than one child if at all possible. He wanted his child to have the companionship he didn’t during his own childhood. Opal had no problems agreeing. Life without siblings was unimaginable to her. Of course this child should not grow up alone.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. Here was a woman, not so long ago a confirmed spinster, chatting about family planning as if it had been the number-one thing on her mind for years.
Not that their conversations were limited to family considerations. Architecture, politics and fashion, the local hotels, restaurants and even the local markets they frequented, all of these featured as topics of their conversation. It was almost as if they were making up for the time they hadn’t had to discuss issues before their marriage. They were getting to know one another at last.
Only the topic of love seemed out of bounds. There was no way she could reveal her new-found knowledge to Domenic. As it was, it was hard enough for her to accept it, but he would never believe her. After all, she was the one who had sworn she would never fall in love with him. And according to what he’d told her when their deal was struck, that had been fine by him. He didn’t need her to love him. This deal was about constructing a family, providing him with an heir; there were no clauses in their pre-nuptial contract that went any further than that.
So she didn’t tell him. Even if she’d wanted to, she wasn’t sure she could find the words anyway. Learning about this newly discovered emotion was akin to the lesson Domenic had given her in Guglielmo’s Ferrari, when she was used to driving her more modest Honda coupé. Every control in the exclusive car was in a different position, every gear shift involved different moves. It was a completely different beast. And when it all came down to it, in the case of love, she couldn’t be sure she was in the driver’s seat at all.
Domenic himself never spoke of love. She could tell he was satisfied the way things were turning out. Already he’d achieved everything he’d wanted from this marriage and in the shortest possible time frame. Emotion never came into it.
Except when they were in bed. There, between the two of them, passion ruled supreme. Who needed to talk of love when you made it every night?
They spent a cheerful Christmas in Tuscany and Sapphy came down from Milan with Paolo joining her the next day. Domenic insisted that Ruby fly over for the holiday and she jumped at the chance to catch up with everyone again. And Rosa was beside herself with a festive season and a full house to celebrate.
Opal had never felt happier. Christmas had never been like this at home and so far marriage was nothing like she’d expected. Now her fears of Domenic reverting to his playboy ways seemed ludicrous. It seemed crazy, being here with his family, that she could ever have thought such a thing. Even if he didn’t love her, there was no way Domenic would risk his new family, risk all he had gained and the happiness of his parents, not when family was of such critical importance to him.
Even if he didn’t love her, she could at least take comfort from that.
Chapter 11
Sydney felt hot and oppressive after the green Tuscan countryside, the late-December sunlight baking walls and pavements until they steamed, and reflecting in blinding flashes off the harbour.
Opal threw herself back into work at Clemengers, more satisfied and happy than she’d been for years. All three hotels were doing well, the staff happy and vacancy levels at an all time low. And the merger had done well by Silvers too. There was a synergy emerging from the deal and already they were seeing the benefits of the cross-fertilisation of ideas between the two hotel groups.
Pearl’s Place was her only real concern. Only a handful of residents remained over the Christmas period, many trying to make a go of it back at home or staying with other family. Jenny Scott and her daughter had moved back in after their block of flats had been gutted by fire. No cause had been found—it could have been as simple as one set of Christmas-tree lights too many—but the police had their suspicions. Now she was home she could keep a closer eye on Pearl’s Place. Maybe even see about finding that new place, somewhere with some space, as she’d been planning.
She was still reading over Deirdre Hancock’s latest report when, on a brief knock, Domenic unexpectedly entered her office, locking the door behind him. She hadn’t expected to see him today and hurriedly flipped over the report as he swooped down and took her chin in his hand, holding her captive as his mouth dipped closer.
‘Hi,’ she whispered breathlessly in the second before his lips pressed against hers, his hand moving to her neck to pull her in close. His mouth moved against hers, a sensual dance of lips and tongue that had her pulse racing and her libido climbing with it.
She would never get used to the effect of him. Every time could be the first. Only now it was better. Now she knew how good it could be between them and it made her want him more.
His hand trailed back along the line of her jaw, his kiss turning into tiny nips as he toyed with her bottom lip. ‘Hi, yourself,’ he said, his voice low and heavy wit
h want. ‘Are you busy?’ he asked, without moving his lips more than a millimetre from hers, so she sensed rather than heard every word as a vibration in the air between them.
The corners of her lips crooked up as a now familiar excitement crackled into life inside. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Perhaps just a little office romance?’ He nuzzled into her neck.
A sizzle of pleasure zipped through her. They’d made love that morning, before breakfast, and yet already he wanted her again. Was there an end to his desire? She hoped not.
She felt herself being tugged to her feet, his hands at her waist. In a second he’d freed her silk shell from her skirt waistband and then he turned her so she was facing the desk, panting in surprise and arousal as his hands raked upwards, snaring her breasts and kneading them, slowly and rhythmically as his hot mouth sought the skin of her neck. Almost impatiently his fingers sought their way under the bra, lifting it high so that her breasts fell free into his hands, her nipples exquisitely sensitive with her early pregnancy, her breasts so full and tight. He pressed up tight behind her, and she braced her hands on the desk and wiggled against his hardness, empowered by the sensations, feeling wanton and deliciously carnal.
He’d made her like this, turned her from an inexperienced virgin into his woman, his mate, and it was pure animal mating he wanted now, the fire of his passion burning bright and dangerous and exciting her beyond belief.
He rucked up her skirt, murmuring appreciatively as his fingers found her stocking tops and the garter he’d given her for Christmas, and then his hand slipped between her legs. She shifted, giving him better access, and he growled, a low rumble that fed into her need, before dispensing with the scrap that was her thong.
His urgency charged her own, she wanted him—inside—possessing her completely. He took his hands away for a moment, she heard a zip, a swish, and he was there, butting hard against her. One hand flat on her back, forcing her down, the other between her thighs, spreading her wide and building her fever, her expectations, her desires, until with one thrust he entered her on a cry, savage and primal and oh, so satisfying.
His arms wrapped around her, taking her with him as he lunged, time and again, white-hot heat binding them together, passion escalating until the volcano inside them erupted in a shattering, all-consuming crescendo.
He collapsed over her on the desk, both of them gasping, replacing the oxygen consumed in the fire of their passion, their bodies slick and spent.
And she wanted to tell him then, tell him just how much he meant to her and how she felt about him. This man was so much a part of her now. He had forced his way into her life and then shown her how rich life could be, taught her how to make love, had even given her the promise of a child.
And yet the greatest gift, he had taught her to feel. She needed him as she needed air.
She loved him.
He eased her up, adjusting her clothing before pulling her into his arms. She looked up at him, wanting to see his eyes when she told him. I love you. It wouldn’t be that hard to say. Her mouth framed the words but she hesitated, suddenly afraid.
What if he still didn’t want her love? What if he didn’t care? He already possessed her in body. Did he need to know he had her heart?
In that moment his lips took hers, sweetly and gently, and she closed her eyes and fell into his kiss, a willing casualty of her own desire.
He pulled back, smiling at her. ‘So what is your opinion of office romance?’
She raised an eyebrow speculatively. ‘I think there should be more of it.’
He chuckled softly, kissing the tip of her nose. ‘I think I can arrange that. But it will have to wait until I return. I leave tonight.’
‘You’re going away? So soon?’ She pulled back from his embrace. He’d said nothing about any upcoming travel and New Year’s Eve was the night after tomorrow. She’d secretly planned a special dinner and a bird’s-eye view of the fireworks on Sydney Harbour from the penthouse apartment. A new start for a new year. A new start for them both. ‘But why?’
‘I have business in London. I must go.’
‘Oh.’ She spun away, using the excuse of fixing her appearance in the small mirror behind her door. Of course, he was the head of a huge hotel empire. Travel was part of the job. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Nothing that need concern you. I’ll deal with it and then I’ll be back.’
‘But…it has to be now?’
‘It has to be now.’
He moved to where she was standing and held her shoulders, kissing her forehead. ‘I leave in two hours. I just stopped by to say goodbye.’
‘Hey, you didn’t need to go to so much trouble,’ she said, trying to sound untouched by his imminent departure but inwardly already feeling a huge sense of loss. ‘You could have just sent me an email.’
His head tilted as his eyebrows rose.
‘You do that, don’t you?’
‘Do what?’ she asked brightly. Falsely.
‘Make out something doesn’t matter, when it does.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s clear you are not happy with me leaving. Why do you make out that it doesn’t matter?’
‘Who said I’m not happy about you leaving? Oh, of course,’ she said, laughing, ‘I’ll miss the sex. But then, that’s all there really is between us. Sex, and—’ her hand swept down her abdomen ‘—this baby.’
‘You say “this baby” as if it is some kind of curse. Some kind of obligation.’
She looked up at him, incredulous.
‘Well, isn’t that what it is? I certainly had no choice. You gave me no choice. A marriage I didn’t want. A baby that you wanted. I’ve satisfied both conditions and now that I’ve fulfilled the terms of your contract—I owe you nothing more. Certainly not explanations as to how I feel.’
‘Why must you bring up the contract? However it happened, we are married and you are having my child.’
‘Because this marriage would never have happened without that contract. The contract, I might add, you had prepared. And this baby,’ her hand rested on her lower abdomen, ‘represents the fruition of just another clause in that contract. This whole arrangement is so artificial it isn’t funny. There’s nothing more to it than that.’
‘I see,’ he said, controlled and clipped and completely at odds with the heated rise and fall of his chest. ‘You’re right. There’s nothing more to it than that.’ He moved past her, unlocked the door and threw it open. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ll be back. Maybe this time I’ll just send you that email.’
Then he was gone.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
She slumped, shaking and weak, into a chair wondering just what the hell was wrong with her. One minute she was going to tell him she loved him and the next she was attacking him and throwing their entire marriage back in his face.
Yet he’d agreed. There was nothing more to their marriage than a contract. His ice-cold words, ‘There’s nothing more to it than that,’ played over in her mind. He’d had an opportunity right then to tell her if she meant anything more than just another acquisition. He’d had plenty of opportunity and he hadn’t taken it. He’d told her exactly what she meant to him without having to utter a word.
Ready sex and a baby machine.
That was all she was to him. And she’d just proved how ready on her very own desk. So how could she expect him to think anything else? To think she’d almost told him she loved him! What a mistake that would have been.
She sniffed, swiping at her nose and sucking in a breath. Why was she tormenting herself? She’d known how things were going to be from day one. Pregnancy hormones were making her think things—hope for things—that just weren’t going to happen.
Domenic had left and she had work to do. She crossed back to her desk, picked up Deirdre Hancock’s report and sat down, attempting to focus once again on the words in front of her.
Chapter 12
Domeni
c poured a Scotch from the decanter, one eye on the clock, waiting. Nine pm. She should be here soon. From outside came the sound of party-goers and revellers getting in the mood, some already more than halfway there by the sounds, for the big New Year’s Eve celebrations in Covent Garden.
He moved over to the balcony windows of Silvers London hotel, looking down into the coloured-light festooned street below. It would already be morning in Sydney. Did Opal suspect anything? He doubted it. He’d said and done nothing over the last few weeks to give anything away. In fact he thought he’d been the perfect husband. He raised his eyebrows to the window and threw down the rest of the contents of the glass, the double malt smooth on his throat, warm in his belly. Not that Opal saw it that way.
There was a buzz at the door and he put down the glass. Good, he liked a woman to be punctual, especially one he’d been so looking forward to seeing. He crossed to the door and pulled it open wide.
‘Darling Dommy,’ she said, throwing her arms out to him, one hand clutching a bottle of Moet, already making her way inside the room. She wrapped her arms around his neck, embedding a lipstick-clad kiss on his cheek as the bottle collided with his shoulder blade. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘Emma,’ he said, his hands on her arms, sensing she’d already had a decent quota of champagne, if her bright cheeks and slurring speech were any indication. Her lips were aiming for his again, seeking the target he’d so deftly steered clear of her reach at her last attempt. He slipped her hands from his neck and found a handkerchief, wiping off the lipstick residue from his cheek. ‘So how did you find me this time?’
She laughed, a false, high trill that made his teeth grate, and stepped around him into his room, fiddling with the foil on the bottle. ‘I have spies everywhere. Someone spotted you at Heathrow. I knew I’d find you here. Isn’t it wonderful we’re both in London together and for New Year’s Eve? Aren’t you happy to see me?’
