The Unclaimed Baby

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  Luca closed the door and turned to face Bronte. ‘Do you think she will come?’

  Bronte tucked a strand of loose hair back behind her ear. ‘I’ve talked to her about it. She has a passport but she’s never used it. She had planned to go on a trip to visit me in London but I came home before she could get there.’

  A frown pulled at his brow, making his features darken. ‘You can’t resist reminding me of how I let you down, can you?’ he asked.

  ‘I wasn’t doing any such thing,’ she said. ‘I simply told you—’

  ‘Papà!’ Ella toddled over, carrying the teddy bear Luca had given her, which was almost as tall as she was. ‘Papà!’

  Luca smiled and scooped her up into his arms. ‘Mio piccolo,’ he crooned. ‘How is my baby girl?’

  ‘She’s been saying Papà a lot,’ Bronte said. ‘Especially when she sees the toys you bought her.’

  He smiled and kissed Ella’s button nose. ‘I intend to give her everything money can buy,’ he said.

  Bronte unwound her twisted hands. ‘Luca…I don’t think it’s wise to spoil her with too much too soon. She’s very young. I don’t want her to feel entitled to everything she sees. She needs to learn to appreciate things by learning to wait for them.’

  He turned his black-brown gaze on her. It was hard, not soft and tender, and his smile had gone, leaving his mouth tight-lipped. ‘Do not tell me what I can and cannot do with my very own child,’ he said in a clipped tone.

  Bronte raised her chin. ‘She’s a baby, Luca. She’s not even two. She doesn’t need a lot of expensive clothes and toys. She needs love and attention and security.’

  ‘She will get that and more,’ he said, putting the wriggling child back down on the floor to play with her toys.

  ‘I am not sure how she is going to feel secure with us locked in a loveless, passionless marriage,’ Bronte said, folding her arms across her middle.

  Luca’s eyes met hers, their smoky black depths sending a tingling feeling down her spine. ‘You think our marriage will be without passion?’ he asked.

  Bronte felt her face crawl with colour. ‘I’m not sure what to think. You’ve organised everything at breakneck speed. You’ve demanded I pack up my life here but I don’t know what is expected of me on the other end.’

  After a long moment he released a long sigh. ‘I know this is hard for you, Bronte,’ he said. ‘It is hard for everyone. I feel for your mother, I really do. I feel for my mother and brothers and grandfather, who have missed out on all of Ella’s babyhood so far. But you are Ella’s mother and I am her father. There is no other way to do this.’

  Bronte felt the sting of tears but fought them back. ‘You want everything your way. You want control. I understand that, but it’s hard for me. I’ve worked so hard for my career. But now I am expected to give it all up for what? A marriage that is doomed to fail.’

  ‘It will not fail if we both work at it,’ he said. ‘I understand how important your career is to you. I am making arrangements for you to teach in Milan.’

  ‘I don’t speak the language,’ Bronte said glumly. ‘I’m not going to get very far without that.’

  ‘You can take lessons,’ he said. ‘I want Ella to speak my language. It is important that she learns both English and Italian while she is young. It will help her if you speak both to her. I can organise a private tutor for you.’

  ‘It seems to me you can organise just about anything,’ she said, scowling.

  ‘Not everything,’ he said, raking a hand through his hair. ‘There are some things money will never be able to buy.’

  Bronte watched him crouch down to help Ella with a toy. He ruffled Ella’s soft fluffy hair, his smile tender but touched with sadness at the same time. There were times when she thought he was locking her out. A mask would come down over his face, like a shutter on his emotions, leaving her wondering what it would take for him to trust her enough to tell her what he was really feeling.

  Luca rose from the floor with Ella in his arms. ‘I think she needs changing.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘I can manage,’ he said. ‘I got through it the last time. I need the practice, in any case.’

  Bronte led him through to the small bathroom and handed him the baby bath solution she used to protect Ella’s skin. ‘I’ll set out her night wear and a new nappy in the nursery for you,’ she said.

  When she came back Luca had Ella splashing in the bath. He was playing with a yellow duck, making quacking noises, to Ella’s delight. It was a typical bath time scene, a loving father and a happy, contented infant having fun together. But Bronte felt shunted aside. She could imagine over time how Ella would no longer look to her for anything. It would all be about Luca. She understood how he wanted to make up for the time he had lost, but still she couldn’t quell the feelings of insecurity that were plaguing her incessantly.

  After Ella was dried and changed Bronte left Luca to read a story to Ella before tucking her into bed. She noticed it was an Italian one, the melodic-sounding words reminding her of how soon she would be locked out by language as well as Ella’s burgeoning love for her father.

  After checking on the casserole she had in the slow cooker, she waited for him in the living room, blindly leafing through a magazine for the want of something to do other than chew her nails.

  Luca came out after a few minutes. ‘She went to sleep like an angel,’ he said.

  ‘She’s usually pretty good about going to sleep,’ Bronte said. ‘I guess I’ve been lucky that way. I’m not sure how I would have coped with a really difficult baby. It’s been hard enough with her being so spirited and energetic.’

  His mouth tightened. ‘There you go again, playing the blame game. Painting yourself as the victim. We were both victims, Bronte. When are you going to see that?’

  Bronte shot to her feet. ‘When are you going to see that you can’t just pick up where you left off? You broke my heart, Luca. You shattered my self-confidence. I don’t want to get hurt again. I won’t get hurt by you again.’

  ‘Do you hate me that much?’

  Bronte opened her mouth but then shut it, turning away so he couldn’t see the glisten of tears in her eyes.

  A taut silence beat for a moment or two.

  ‘Bronte?’

  ‘I think you already know the answer to that,’ she said, still with her back to him.

  The hairs on the back of her neck lifted long before his hands settled on her shoulders. How had her body known he was so close? A shiver went down her spine as she felt his strong tall body just behind her. If she leant backwards she would touch him, she would feel his heat and potency.

  And she would be lost.

  His warm breath skated over the sensitive skin of her neck as he spoke low and huskily near her ear. ‘You don’t really hate me, cara. You hate that you still want me.’

  Bronte spoke through stiff lips. ‘I don’t want you. I loathe you.’

  He gave a soft chuckle and slid his hands down the length of her arms, his fingers making a bracelet of steel around her wrists. ‘Why don’t you show me how much you loathe me?’ he said, brushing up against her from behind.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to resist the temptation. She could feel his body responding to her closeness, his arrant maleness and the musky scent of his arousal. Her body crawled with desire, every nerve ending dancing with the need for more of his touch. Her breasts felt tight and achy, looking for the caress of his mouth and hands. Her inner core pulsed with need, a liquid hot need that had never really died down. It had smouldered like coals damped down in a fire, just waiting for the moment to spring back into leaping life.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, nibbling on her earlobe with the soft playful bite of his strong white teeth. ‘Show me. I dare you.’

  Bronte shivered again and her head fell to one side as his mouth moved over her neck before going to the top of her shoulder. She felt every movement of his lips, the soft brushes, the little nips, the
slow drag and the sexy slide of his tongue. She was crumbling with need. She could feel her legs giving way…

  He turned her in his arms and locked his eyes on hers. ‘Double dare you,’ he said softly, tauntingly, irresistibly.

  Bronte felt her lashes go down as his head came down. She felt the breeze of his breath but he went no further. He hovered above her mouth, waiting for her to come to him. She held off for as long as she could but it was a battle she was never going to win. She wondered if that was why he had kept his hands off her for the last three weeks, to prove how little she could resist him when he turned on the charm.

  Well, he was right. She couldn’t resist him. She couldn’t fight it any longer. With a soft sigh of surrender she reached up and pressed her lips against his.

  It was a slow kiss at first, soft and sensual but leisurely. Bronte wasn’t sure when it changed or who had changed it. But suddenly there was nothing soft about it any more. There was hard urgency and heat and fiery purpose as his mouth commandeered hers. His tongue stroked for entry and slipped in when she gave it, teasing hers into an erotic mimic of what was to come.

  Her body went wild with want. She snaked her arms around his neck, holding him closer, her pelvis rubbing up against the rock-hardness of his. Her breasts flattened against his chest, the tight nipples driving into him as he kissed her hotly and deeply.

  She kissed him back with just as much urgency. She used her teeth to bite and nip, teasing him, leading him on until her body was screaming for release. She heard him groan deep in the back of his throat as her tongue darted and dived out of reach of his, only to come back to tease and taunt him with hot moist licks.

  He swung her around, away from the wall and pressed her to the floor at their feet. Clothes were discarded piece by piece but there was no order to it. Bronte heard something rip but disregarded it. All she could think about was being pinned by his strong powerful body and being taken to paradise.

  His hands were everywhere. One minute he was cupping her face, the next her breasts, his thumbs rolling over the pert nipples until she was gasping with soft little breaths of pleasure. His mouth took over from his hands, the hot moist caresses curling her toes and melting her spine.

  She could feel the rough carpet on the tender skin of her back but she was beyond caring. She reached for him once he had shucked himself out of his trousers and underwear.

  ‘If you are about to do what I think you are, I should warn you that you might get more than you bargained for,’ he said in a voice that signalled how close he was to going over the edge.

  Bronte sent him a sultry look from beneath her lashes. ‘I’m sure you will recover quickly from the experience.’

  ‘Don’t do it, Bronte,’ he bit out, his muscles clenching harder. ‘Don’t do it…ahhh…’

  Bronte smiled to herself as he shuddered through his release. He might have kept his distance for the last three weeks but he was no less immune to her than she was to him.

  He pushed her back down to the floor, leaning over her with his weight, his mouth starting to work its way down her body. ‘My turn, I think,’ he growled playfully.

  Bronte felt a shiver rush down her body as his mouth closed over her breast. He sucked on her tantalisingly, drawing from her a whimpering cry. He went lower, down over her sternum, dipping his tongue into the tiny cave of her belly button before going deliciously, dangerously lower.

  She drew in a sharp breath as his fingers gently opened her. She gripped his shoulders as his tongue brushed against her most sensitive point. A shudder went through her and then another as he repeated the caress again and again, picking up her internal rhythm, leading her step by inexorable step into the whirlpool of release. Her whole body shook with the explosion of pleasure that rippled through her. It was shameless, it was erotic, and it was primitive and unstoppable.

  Bronte fell back but he wasn’t finished with her. He moved back up her body, leaving her in no doubt of his rapid recovery. He was rock-hard and ready to go all over again. She gasped as he thrust into her deeply, the tight clutch of her inner muscles urging him on and on. She dug her fingers into his buttocks, holding him tight as he went harder. She felt every movement of his body in hers. Delight coursed through her, lifting her skin in delicate goosebumps of pleasure. It had always been this way between them: a roller coaster ride of passion and pleasure that knew no bounds.

  ‘Tell me to slow down,’ he said against her neck.

  ‘Go faster,’ she whispered back shamelessly.

  He brought his mouth down hard on hers, kissing her as his body continued its passionate pounding within hers. She lifted her hips for each downward thrust, urging him on as her need for him climbed higher and higher.

  The final lift-off was cataclysmic. It shook her from head to foot, every convulsion of her body sending shockwaves through his. Bursts of colour exploded in her head like a crazy kaleidoscope. Pleasure shot through her like a powerful drug, leaving her limbless and useless in his arms.

  She felt him plunge into oblivion moments later, the quick, hard final thrusts pumping the life force from him until he collapsed against her.

  As soon as it was over Bronte felt ashamed. Their coupling was about lust, not love. It was the same as in the past. She was a convenience, a plaything to entertain him. He didn’t want anything else from her. He didn’t love her. He was incapable of loving her. He was only marrying her to get his child.

  ‘You are very quiet,’ Luca said, raising himself up on his elbows to look down at her.

  ‘Please get off me,’ she said, pushing against him with her arms.

  He controlled her flailing hands in one of his. ‘Stop, damn it. What’s the matter with you?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘How can you ask that?’

  ‘Bronte, we had consensual sex,’ he said. ‘You’re surely not suggesting anything else?’

  She glowered at him. ‘This is all a game to you. You don’t really want me as your wife. I’m just a means to an end. You get Ella with me thrown in for free. How convenient, a willing bed partner to entertain you whenever you feel like it.’

  Luca studied her face for a moment. ‘This is about the last three weeks, isn’t it?’

  She turned her head away so she couldn’t look at him. He turned her head back, anchoring her chin so she wouldn’t pull away. ‘Look at me, Bronte,’ he said. ‘I’ve kept my distance to give you some space to think about the future. I had a lot on my mind, in any case. I had to cram six weeks of business into three. This is not all about you.’

  ‘It’s never been about me, has it?’ she tossed back bitterly. ‘Right from the start, our relationship has always been about you. What you want, what you were prepared to give or not give, to do or not do. It was never about what I wanted.’

  This time when she pushed at him he let her go. She snatched up her clothes and disappeared into her room, shutting the door behind her.

  Luca rolled onto his back and rubbed his hand down over his face. She was right, of course. He had never allowed her to dictate the terms of their previous relationship. He had always been the one to state the way things were going to be. He couldn’t have handled her turning up unannounced at his London home. He couldn’t have handled spending the night with her, or with anyone. He had never spent the night with anyone. It wasn’t something he could have trusted himself to do until recently.

  He got to his feet and pulled on his clothes. He used the bathroom and then checked on Ella. He stood, looking down at her sleeping angelic face, his heart feeling as if two large fingers had it in a hard pinch.

  He heard a sound at the door and turned to see Bronte standing there. ‘Is she all right?’ she asked in a whisper.

  ‘She’s fine,’ he said. ‘I was just checking on her.’

  She turned and went back to the kitchen. Luca heard her opening a cupboard and turning on a tap and then the hiss of the kettle as it came to a boil. He pressed a kiss to his fingertips and laid it gently on Ella’s cheek
before he left the room.

  When he came into the kitchen Bronte’s face was still looking stormy. She banged a cup down on the bench and then a tin of instant coffee, sending him a fiery look. ‘Dinner’s not quite ready but if you want a cup of coffee while you wait then this is all I’ve got. I don’t have any wine.’

  ‘Bronte, let’s get something straight right from the start,’ he said. ‘I am not for a moment suggesting you haven’t done a brilliant job of bringing up Ella to this point.’

  She stood in a huffy silence, her slate-blue eyes wary as they held his.

  ‘Ella is a contented and happy toddler,’ he continued. ‘She’s a credit to you. I realise it must have been hard for you, alone and unsupported. If I could change that, I would do so. We have to move forward with what we’ve got. And what we’ve got is a lot compared to most. What happened on that floor half an hour ago is proof of that.’

  ‘What happened on that floor was exactly the sort of thing I expect from you,’ she spat at him. She stirred her coffee until it splashed over the sides. The ping of her teaspoon when she set it down seemed to underline the silence.

  ‘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.’