Scandal: Unclaimed Love-Child

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  ‘If you have something to say, then come right out and say it,’ Luca said. ‘Don’t play word games with me.’

  Her eyes flashed blue flames of hatred at him. ‘I have carpet burn,’ she said on a pout.

  Luca felt his lips twitch. ‘Show me.’

  She backed away, her eyes widening. ‘Get away from me.’

  He cornered her against the work top, hip to hip, heat to heat. ‘Turn around,’ he commanded softly.

  Her chest rose and fell against his, her eyes slowly filling with moisture. She blinked rapidly but a couple of tears escaped.

  Luca blotted them with the pads of his thumbs, his heart feeling another tight pinch. ‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Is this about carpet burn or something else?’

  She shoved him away, catching him off guard. She stalked to the living room, her arms like a barricade over her middle. ‘Don’t you think it’s about time you left?’ she said, glancing pointedly at the clock. ‘I would hate for you to turn into a werewolf or something once it gets to midnight. Ten-thirty was always the cut-off point, I seem to remember.’

  Luca drew in a breath as he thought about the first time he had woken up to realise what he had done while asleep. His body had let him down in a way that shamed him even now. He refused to talk about it. He couldn’t stand the pity or the revulsion. It was all behind him now and he wanted to keep it that way. ‘I will leave when I am happy we are clear on a couple of things,’ he said. ‘Firstly, do you need some help with packing before we leave the day after tomorrow? I can’t help you myself as I have some last minute business ends to tie up, but I can organise for someone to help you.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘The second thing is the studio arrangements,’ Luca said. ‘I’ve spoken to Rachel. She’s happy to continue with the lease. It will take time for her to find another business partner. I’m not charging her rent for the first six months so she can get on her feet.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’ she asked with a guarded look.

  Luca shrugged. ‘It seemed the least I could do, under the circumstances.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem like a very sound business decision,’ she said, still with that same suspicious angling of her gaze.

  ‘Not all the decisions I make are motivated by making money,’ he said.

  He went over to where he had tossed his jacket earlier and took out a velvet ring box. He brought it back to where Bronte was standing and handed it to her. ‘You will need this,’ he said. ‘I hope it fits. I had to guess the size.’

  ‘You could have asked me,’ Bronte said, not caring that she sounded churlish and ungrateful.

  He set his mouth and turned away. ‘You can smash it with a hammer if it’s not to your taste.’

  Bronte felt ashamed of herself as she opened the lid of the box. The most beautiful diamond lay blinking there like a bright star in its night sky of dark blue velvet. Her throat closed over as she took it out and slipped it on her finger. It was a perfect fit. Not too small, not too big—just right. She looked up to where he was standing staring out of the window to the front garden. ‘Luca?’

  He turned and strode over to scoop up his jacket and keys. ‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘I will send a car for you and Ella on Friday at ten a.m. Don’t be late.’

  Bronte flinched as the front door snapped shut behind him. Her heart sank as she heard his car roar off down the street, and her tears fell freely as the low growling sound slowly faded into the distance.

  Chapter Ten

  WHEN Luca arrived in a chauffeur driven car on Friday morning there were too many people about for her to deliver the apology she had spent the last two days rehearsing. By the time she had said a tearful goodbye to her mother and Rachel, Ella needed her attention. When they got to the airport Luca was busy with officialdom so it wasn’t until they were on the private jet, secluded in their own quarters, that she finally found herself alone with him, apart from Ella sleeping in a cot nearby.

  ‘Luca…’ she began with a quick dart of her tongue over her lips. ‘I wanted to apologise to you about the way I spoke to you when you gave me the engagement ring.’

  He turned one more page of the document he was reading and she heard him release a slow breath before he lifted his head to look at her sitting opposite him. ‘Forget about it,’ he said and returned to his work.

  She twirled the ring on her finger, her teeth gnawing at her lip as she watched him leaf through the lengthy document. The silence hummed…Well, perhaps it was really the jet that was humming as it levelled out after take-off but, all the same, Bronte felt as if a chasm had opened up between them.

  ‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry,’ she said after a long moment. ‘It’s a beautiful ring. It must have cost a fortune.’

  He turned another page without looking up. ‘It did.’

  Bronte moistened her lips again and watched him for a little while. He was frowning with concentration, his mouth flat and serious and his clean-shaven jaw tight. There were lines of tiredness about his eyes, which made her wonder if he had slept at all over the last couple of nights.

  ‘What are you reading?’ she offered after another long silence.

  ‘Nothing important.’

  ‘Is it to do with the hotel developments in Australia?’

  He closed the folder and met her eyes across the wide space between them. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Now, why don’t you lie back and have a sleep while Ella’s down?’

  Bronte twirled her ring again. ‘You’re angry with me.’

  ‘Is that a statement or a question?’

  ‘It’s an observation,’ she said.

  He gave her a wry smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘And why would I be angry with you, do you think?’

  She let out a choppy sigh. ‘Because I’ve been an absolute cow about all this.’ She waved her hand to encompass their luxurious surroundings. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to arrange everything and I haven’t thanked you once.’

  ‘You don’t have to thank me,’ he said.

  ‘But you’ve spent heaps on me and Ella too,’ she said. ‘And buying Mum that ticket. She’s going to come to the wedding. I didn’t think she would but she told me just as I was leaving. I don’t know how to thank you for doing all that for me…for us…’

  Luca put the folder on the seat next to him and, unclipping his seatbelt, stood up and came over to sit beside her. He took her hand in his and began idly stroking it with his thumb. ‘The money is nothing to me, Bronte. It’s not what counts in life.’

  Bronte looked into his dark eyes and felt something shift in her chest. ‘You really love Ella, don’t you?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Now that is definitely an observation,’ he said with another wry smile. ‘There’s no question about it. I love her more than life itself.’

  Bronte felt an ache deep inside. If only he would say the same about her. How she had longed to hear those words. She looked down at their joined hands; hers looked so small inside the shelter and protection of his. His skin was so dark, so masculine with its sprinkling of black hair, while hers was so soft and smooth and creamy-white.

  She felt a little quiver of awareness when she met his eyes again. Their dark depths reflected everything that had occurred between them two days ago. She could feel the rush of her blood and imagined his body doing the same. Was he remembering how it felt to be joined in out of control passion? Was he remembering the electric shock of intimate contact, the roller coaster ride of release that was as mind blowing as any illicit drug could be?

  Luca took her chin between his finger and thumb, a soft tether that had an undercurrent of desire she could feel through his skin to hers. ‘I have my own apology to deliver,’ he said in a gravel-rough tone.

  Bronte felt her face heating. ‘You don’t have to apologise for anything.’

  ‘Oh, but I do,’ he said in the same deep husky voice as he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. ‘I was rough with y
ou. I could have hurt you.’

  Bronte longed to slip her tongue out to touch his thumb. ‘You didn’t,’ she said in a breathless whisper.

  His thumb stilled and his eyes centred on hers. ‘You mentioned something about carpet burn the other night.’

  She lowered her gaze, hot colour surging into her cheeks. ‘I just said that to annoy you.’

  He tipped her chin up again, holding her gaze with the dark intensity of his. ‘I really meant it when I said you should get some sleep,’ he said. ‘There’s a bed through there in the curtained section next to Ella.’

  ‘But I don’t feel tired,’ she said as her gaze slipped to his mouth.

  His mouth turned up at the corners in a sexy smile. ‘Then maybe I can think of something to occupy you until you do.’

  Bronte’s heart gave a little sideways movement as her eyes came back to his. ‘You mean…here? In the plane?’

  His eyes were glinting. ‘No one will disturb us. We have this entire section to ourselves.’

  She gave him a shy look. ‘You really think of everything, don’t you?’

  He pressed a kiss to the tips of her fingers. ‘Go and get ready,’ he said. ‘I will be with you in a minute.’

  Bronte yawned and stretched a few hours later. Her body was still tingling from Luca’s passionate but exquisitely tender lovemaking. She turned her head to look at him. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling as he slept.

  She smiled and softly traced a fingertip down his sternum, all the way down to his belly button. This was the longest time she had ever spent in bed with him. Seven hours, almost a complete night.

  She trailed her fingers over his flat dark nipples and, as she went a little lower, she felt him flinch but his eyes remained closed. She circled his navel a couple of times, lightly, teasingly. Then she went even lower, millimetre by millimetre, watching as his abdominal muscles tightened as her caresses approached his growing erection. She took him in her hand, squeezing ever so gently, her fingers sliding down the shaft, her belly turning to liquid as he swelled even further.

  He suddenly moved, rolling her on to her back in a quick movement, his body surging into hers in one slick hard thrust that sent the air right out of her lungs. She gasped in delight as he set a steady pace, her already damp body making it easy for him to gain momentum. She scored her nails down his back as the sensations rippled through her. She was climbing to the summit so quickly, all her senses spinning in the wake of his touch. His mouth captured hers, subjecting it to a sensual assault that made the hair on her head lift in pleasure.

  Her body split into a thousand pieces as she came. Her mind blacked out in that moment of sheer ecstasy, every muscle, nerve and sinew twitching in the aftermath. Luca followed with his own release, a deep pumping of his body within hers, his agonised groan of pleasure sending a shiver of reaction straight down Bronte’s spine.

  Long minutes passed.

  Bronte was content to lie in the circle of his arms, playing mind games with herself about him loving her and wanting her back in his life for good, even if Ella wasn’t an issue. Her love for him had never really gone away. She had blocked it out in order to protect herself. She still had nightmares about him leaving her again. Any rejection was hard to take, but one that she had been more or less waiting for right from the start for some reason had been so much worse. It had destroyed her trust and her self-confidence had never really recovered. Telling him how she felt was out of the question. She had told him too much too soon in the past and look where that had taken her. No, this time she would play it cool. No hearts worn on the sleeve, no confessions of eternal love. No long-term promises. She would be cool and clinical about their arrangement. A marriage that would give her the security she had longed for, financial if not emotional. She had watched her mother struggle all of her life to put food on the table. At least Bronte would not have those sorts of worries to deal with. It was a compensation of sorts, but not exactly as reassuring as she would have liked.

  Luca lifted his head and pressed a kiss to the end of Bronte’s nose. ‘Hey,’ he said.

  ‘Hey yourself,’ she said back.

  His eyes held hers for several beats before he spoke. ‘Are you currently on the Pill?’

  Bronte felt a little flutter of unease. ‘Yes, but only a low dose one to control period pain.’

  ‘If you were to fall pregnant you wouldn’t get period pain, though, would you?’ he said.

  A small frown began to pull at her brow. ‘What exactly are you saying, Luca?’ she asked.

  He brushed some tousled strands of her hair back from her face. It was a stalling tactic, Bronte suspected, which made her angry. Why couldn’t he just touch her because he couldn’t help it?

  ‘I am saying we should maybe think about trying for another child,’ he said, this time lazily curling a strand of her hair around one of his fingers. ‘I missed out on the first year and two months of Ella’s life. If we were to have a brother or sister for Ella it would make me feel less of that loss, I am sure. The gap between them would be ideal. If you were to fall pregnant more or less straight away, she would be out of nappies and a little more independent when the baby arrives.’

  Bronte put her hands on his chest to try and push him off her. ‘Let me up.’

  He refused to budge, pinning her with his body, his eyes locked on hers. ‘What’s the problem, cara?’ he asked.

  She gave him a fulminating look. ‘You’ve got it all planned, haven’t you?’

  He let her hair fall from his fingers. ‘I haven’t planned anything, Bronte. I am merely suggesting—’

  Without the tether of her hair, this time she managed to wriggle out from under him. She scrambled to her feet and grabbed a bathrobe with his family’s insignia on it, tying it about her waist with angry, jerky movements. ‘I am not some stupid breeding machine,’ she said through tight lips.

  He reached for the matching bathrobe and slipped it on with much less haste than Bronte had. ‘You have an amazing ability to twist my words,’ he said with a thread of anger stitched in his voice. ‘You will be my wife in a matter of days. It is not unreasonable for me to suggest we think about having another baby some time in the future. It doesn’t have to be straight away. I just think it is something we should seriously think about, especially since I missed out on all this before.’

  Bronte’s eyes flashed. ‘It’s totally unreasonable! I’m not ready to have another baby.’

  He placed his hands on his hips, his legs splayed in a let’s-talk-about-this pose. ‘What are your main objections?’ he asked.

  She stared at him for a tense moment before she blew out a breath. ‘How can you ask that?’

  ‘Bronte, I want more children,’ he said with an intractable set to his mouth. ‘I would like to have a son.’

  Bronte sent him a death glare. ‘So your daughter isn’t good enough? Is that it?’

  His eyes rolled upwards in an impatient manner. ‘There you go again, twisting my words. I love Ella. She’s my whole world. I’m just saying I would like to have a son if fate or destiny or God or whatever allows it.’

  ‘We might have several daughters,’ she said with a hitch of her chin.

  ‘Then I will love each one with all my heart.’

  But what about me? Bronte silently asked. Will you ever love me with all your heart? ‘I can see why your sister-in-law left your brother,’ she said with a cynical twist to her mouth. ‘Is it a Sabbatini condition upon marriage to produce an heir and a spare as soon as possible?’

  He pushed his thick black hair back off his face. ‘Maybe we should discuss this some other time,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ Bronte said. ‘Let’s discuss it now. I am not going to be an incubator. I am not going to agree to bring another child into this relationship unless I am convinced it is stable and secure.’

  ‘Our marriage will be more secure than most,’ he pointed out. ‘You will want for nothing. Most women would g
ive anything to be in your position.’

  Bronte folded her arms. ‘Money means nothing to me, Luca. You should know that by now. It doesn’t impress me.’

  ‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I admire that about you. I’ve always admired that about you. It’s the one thing that has always set you apart from all the other women I have been involved with before you came along.’

  She felt the wind drop right out of her self-righteous sails. ‘You say that as if there has been no one since me,’ she said, looking down at the floor.

  There was a short but telling silence.

  Bronte slowly brought her gaze back to his. He was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. ‘Luca?’

  His slowly spreading smile was self-deprecating. ‘Not quite the bed-hopping girl-in-every-port playboy profile you were expecting, is it, Bronte?’

  She looked at him in confusion. ‘But you were in America…Your housekeeper told me about your…your mistress…’

  ‘There wasn’t a mistress.’

  Bronte wanted to believe him. Everything in her wanted to believe him but her mind just couldn’t get around it, couldn’t accept it. ‘Then why…?’ She left the question hanging in the air between them.

  He rubbed a hand over his in-need-of-a-shave face, an abrasive sound that seemed louder than it should have in the silence. ‘I was in America for something else. Something personal.’

  Bronte continued to look at him with wide uncertain eyes. ‘You didn’t think you could tell me at the time?’ she asked.

  He gave his head a little shake. ‘I told no one, not even my family.’

  She drew in an uneven breath. ‘I don’t understand, Luca. Why did you push me away? You were so callous about it. You hurt me more than anyone, more than I thought it was possible to be hurt by another person.’

  His expression became shadowed with regret. ‘I realise that. I wish I could change what happened but I can’t. I did what I thought was best under the circumstances.’

  Bronte turned away, her arms still wrapped around her middle as if to hold her hurt and anger close. She wasn’t quite ready to let it go. ‘Are you going to tell me what you were doing in the US?’