Untamed Italian, Blackmailed Innocent

by Jacqueline Baird

  She grasped the doorjamb, her legs suddenly weak and her heartbeat thundering in her breast, and she could not stop the heated rush of awareness flooding through her body as she looked up into his darkly handsome face. She had convinced herself she was over the hateful man, and she had certainly never loved him. That had been a momentary aberration brought about by sex, nothing more. She was content with her new life—and yet just the sight of him made a mockery of her hard-won serenity.

  No, she would not allow herself to think that way. She straightened up, squaring her slender shoulders; it was probably her hormones running riot—something her doctor had warned her about—nothing more…

  ‘Hello, Sally.’ Zac could barely speak as he drank in the sight of Sally with hungry eyes. She stood in the doorway, her glorious red curls falling around her shoulders, her surprise evident in the shocked expression on her face, and emotion clogged his throat.

  He looked and looked again. He would not have thought it possible, but she was even more beautiful than he remembered. The almost constant hint of sadness in her brilliant eyes and the faint shadows underneath them had faded away. Her beautiful face was free of make-up and her silken skin glowed with health.

  She was wearing a fine blue sweater that clung lovingly to her full breasts, and a hip-hugging, gently flaring skirt that stopped just below her knees, showing a tempting glimpse of her fabulous legs. Her bare feet with pink-tipped toes were almost his undoing, and he had to battle to control his surging flesh. Sally was the most overtly feminine woman he had ever known. He had never seen her wear a pair of jeans or trousers, like the majority of women her age. A part from the pink velvet lounging suit…No. He didn’t dare go there. The memory of her removing it and what had followed was too vivid, and he would not be able to stop himself reaching for her.

  ‘Zac—what are you doing here?’

  Her voice was just the same: slightly husky, with a low timbre, her pronunciation precise—probably a result of losing her stutter, he realised. And it was corny, but true; it was music to his ears.

  ‘A concerned friend of yours, Jemma, asked me to look you up.’

  ‘Jemma?’ Sally had phoned Jemma twice since she had left London, the last time just after she had booked into a hotel outside Littlehampton, but not since—mainly because she had only replaced her lost phone today.

  ‘But she can’t have known my new address, so how did you find me?’ Wondering what evil trick of fate had brought him here, she was trying valiantly to remain calm while her heart was still pounding like a drum in her chest.

  ‘It is cold out here. Ask me in—I need a drink,’ Zac commanded, ignoring her question. Surprisingly, he was more afraid than he had ever been in his life. He could hardly blurt out that he had tracked her down because he loved her and wanted her back—not after the way he had treated her before…She would never believe him. He had made enough mistakes with Sally, and this time he was determined to do it right. Romance her, date her, grovel if he had to. And sex could wait until she came to him of her own free will.

  Sally swallowed hard. Slowly recovering from the shock of seeing Zac, and her own instant reaction to him, she began to note the change in him. His face was thinner, the grooves from nose to mouth more deeply etched, and the lines of strain around his eyes were plainly discernible. The cashmere overcoat he wore appeared to hang loosely on his broad frame. Realising she was staring, she stepped nervously back and indicated with her hand that he should enter, taking care that he did not touch her as he moved into the hall.

  ‘The kitchen is this way…’ she began, but she was too late. He had already walked into the living room.

  Swiftly she followed him as she realised what he might see. She reached for the baby clothes she had left on the table, but again she was too late. He had picked up the tiny yellow jacket…

  ‘Give that to me.’ She held out her hand, her face burning. ‘I’ll put this stuff away and make you a cup of coffee. You said you were cold. October can be chilly…’ She was babbling, she knew, but she didn’t seem able to stop.

  ‘Enough, Sally,’ he snapped, catching her hand. ‘Baby clothes? Who for? You?’ he queried, his eyes narrowed on her scarlet face.

  ‘So what if they are?’ she snapped back. She would not lie and deny her baby. Pulling her hand free, she gathered the garments up and shoved them back in the bag. ‘It is none of your business.’

  Her reply ignited a furious anger in Zac as it hit him that she must be pregnant—and the child could not be his; he had always used protection. No wonder he had thought she looked glowing. While he had spent months aching for her, Sally must have gone straight from his bed into the arms of another man.

  The thought of Sally with another man cut him to the bone. She had responded to him in spite of the disgust she felt at his tactics, in spite of her declared hatred of him. In his arrogant conceit he had thought her responsive body was enough for him, and too late he had realised differently.

  He had taken her innocence, made her aware of the pleasures of the flesh and left. In fact, he scathingly reminded himself, he had let guilt get the better of him and decided it was the right thing to do—for her sake. What an idiot…He should have taken his fill of her and to hell with his conscience…

  He let his gaze sweep contemptuously over her and noted the subtle changes to her body. Her waist was not so clearly defined, and her high, firm breasts appeared fuller. His attention returned to her face. She was watching him with wide, wary eyes, and she had a right to be afraid at this moment. He felt like wringing her slender neck.

  ‘So who is the father?’ he sneered. ‘Or don’t you know? As I recall you were a very eager pupil, but I thought I had taught you better. You should have remembered protection. I always did—even when you were gagging for it.’

  Sally saw red. Her hand flew out and connected with his face, knocking his head sideways. ‘You sanctimonious bastard! Mister bloody perfect,’ she swore—something she never did. ‘Well, you are not that clever. My baby was conceived on the nineteenth of June, so work it out for yourself and get out.’

  His cheek stinging, Zac raised his hand to catch hers—and dropped it as the import of her words sank into his head. That was the date of the first night he had made love to her. He knew because it was burnt like a brand into his mind for all time. Recalling that night now, he remembered that the second time he had made love to her had initially been in an anger-driven passion because of that word.

  ‘Fine…’ he murmured, and all the colour drained from his face. She was right—he had forgotten to use protection. Sally was pregnant with his child. He was going to be a father and it was one hell of a shock. But Zac, being the man he was, although reeling from the knowledge, did not stop considering all the options, and swiftly he realised Sally’s pregnancy solved all his problems. He could not have planned it better if he had tried.

  He wanted Sally any way he could get her, and this would cut out any need to grovel—not something he had ever done before. Now he would not have to. In fact, she would probably be delighted and grateful when he told her he was prepared to marry her, and the idea of having a baby was growing on him by the minute…A son and heir…

  ‘Good. I’m glad we agree. So go.’ She was walking back into the hall, but he reached out and caught her shoulder, spinning her around to face him.

  ‘You misunderstood, Sally. I am not going anywhere, cara.’ He smiled. ‘Obviously you and I need to talk. Discovering you are pregnant with my baby has come as quite a shock. My first reaction was less than gallant, I admit, but the thought of you with another man did nothing for my temper. I want you to know I accept totally the child you are carrying is mine, and naturally I will marry you as quickly as it can be arranged.’

  If Zac had expected her grateful acceptance, that was not what he got.

  Stunned, Sally looked at him. He was smiling. Zac was actually smiling, and confidently expecting her to accept his magnanimous offer. With a terrific effo
rt of self-control she resisted the temptation to slap the grin off his face.

  ‘I think I may have told you this once before,’ she said, with no trace of the anger and the turmoil he had caused visible in the cool blue eyes she lifted to his. ‘But I’ll say it again so there can be no doubt in your mind. I wouldn’t marry you in a million years,’ she drawled sarcastically.

  Zac had gone pale when she’d said the baby was his, but now his face flushed dark with anger. True to form, then…They always ended up fighting, and she didn’t need the hassle in her present state. Shrugging his hands from her shoulders, she took a few steps back.

  ‘If I had not turned up today were you ever going to tell me you were pregnant?’ he demanded harshly.

  ‘I hadn’t given it much thought.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. Any woman who discovers she is pregnant is naturally going to think of the father and what genes her child might inherit.’

  He was right—but then Zac always thought he was right. It infuriated Sally, and she told him the truth.

  ‘I wanted to enjoy my pregnancy, relaxed and free of stress, and as you are the least restful person I know I decided on balance it was better to put off telling you straight away. But I would have told you eventually. I was thinking probably after my baby is born.’

  ‘After?’ His rapier-like glance raked her from head to toe, as though he had never seen her before, and in one stride he was towering over her. ‘You were thinking about telling me after my child was born?’ he prompted incredulously. ‘How long after? One year? Two? Ten?’ he drawled, and, reaching for her, he hauled her hard against him.

  Her eyes widened at the icy anger in his tone. His dark gaze caught and held hers and she was powerless to break the contact.

  ‘Well, listen to me now, Sally Paxton. I am doing the thinking for both of us from now on. No child of mine will be born out of wedlock. You will marry me, and our child will have two parents.’

  ‘No,’ she bit out between clenched teeth. ‘I won’t marry you. But I will allow you visiting rights,’ she conceded determined to hang onto her temper and stay calm and reasonable. But she was equally determined not to allow Zac to walk all over her.

  ‘If anyone gets visiting rights it will be you, because I fully intend for my child to live with me. I will file for custody the second it leaves your womb.’

  ‘You won’t get it,’ she shot back. ‘This is England—the mother almost always gets custody.’

  ‘Not quite right. Britain is part of the European community, and I will tie you up in the courts here and in Europe for years. Is that what you want for our child?’

  ‘You would do that?’ Sally asked, and saw the implacable determination in his dark eyes. Suddenly she was more afraid than angry.

  ‘Yes.’ His hands slipped from her shoulders, but before she could move his arms wrapped around her, one hand splayed across the base of her spine, bringing her into close contact with his large body. ‘But it does not have to be that way, Sally.’

  Her breasts tightened against the soft wool of her sweater in agitation—or so she told herself. But to her shame the pressure of his strong thighs against her was arousing other more basic emotions. She curled her hands on his forearms in an attempt to keep some space between them, but it didn’t help…

  ‘Be reasonable, Sally.’ He glanced down to where her swollen nipples were clearly outlined by the fine wool of her jumper, then back to her face. ‘Sexually we are more than compatible—we are totally combustible,’ he said wryly. ‘And all marriages are a money-based transaction and I have a limitless amount. Whether I spend a fortune fighting you in court, or you marry me and gain the benefit of unlimited wealth for yourself and our child, it is up to you to decide, but either way I will win in the end. I always do.’

  Sally looked searchingly at him. The tension in the room was palpable. Her decision, he had said…She either married him or consigned her as yet unborn child to growing up in the midst of a battle between two warring parents. A far from ideal scenario, she knew, but the idea of marriage terrified her. She was only four months pregnant, and no matter what Zac threatened she had plenty of time to make a decision.

  ‘Then I will see you in court,’ she answered spitefully.

  She saw the surprise and anger in his eyes, and his arms fell to his sides and she was free.

  ‘Now I want you to leave.’

  ‘Not before you give me the coffee you promised…I am frozen in shock, and it is the least you can do seeing as I have given you a child,’ he drawled mockingly.

  Torn between good manners and a desire to be rid of him, she hesitated. Good manners won as he added, ‘Please…’

  ‘Have a seat.’ She indicated the sofa. ‘I’ll make you a coffee and then you can leave.’ And, turning, she entered the kitchen.

  Sally switched on the kettle and put her hands flat on the worktop, her head bent. She had managed to hold her own with Zac, but only just…Being in his company, talking to him—mostly arguing, she amended—had brought a host of painfully suppressed emotions bubbling to the surface, and being held in his arms had almost been her undoing.

  She lifted her head and stared out of the window at the garden and the rolling fields beyond. She took a few deep, steadying breaths, striving to calm her fast-beating heart and slowly rising temper. That he had the gall to turn up out of the blue and then demand she marry him was unbelievable.

  But stress was not good for the baby, and she continued to breathe deeply.

  She had half expected Zac to follow her to the kitchen—she wasn’t blind; he was as mad as hell beneath that mocking exterior—but surprisingly he didn’t. The kettle boiled, and she made a mug of instant coffee for him, and a cup of tea for herself. She placed a few biscuits on a plate and put the lot on a tray. But she was reluctant to face Zac again.

  A deep, shuddering sigh escaped her. She couldn’t hide in the kitchen much longer, and Zac was right in a way: they would have to talk eventually. Her baby deserved to know its father. But then, thinking of her own father, she was not absolutely convinced that was true, and on that thought she walked back into the living room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  SALLY walked straight past Zac to place the tray on the opposite side table. She picked up the coffee mug and turned to look at him, and her hand froze in mid-air.

  He had removed his overcoat and was wearing a black sweater and matching pants. Sitting on the sofa with his shoulders hunched, his elbows resting on his knees and holding his head in his hands, the arrogant Zac Delucca looked utterly exhausted. As she stared he lifted his head and ran his hands distractedly through his now over-long hair.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, concerned though she did not want to be. She had never seen him look anything other than vibrant and totally in control until now. At her query he raised his eyes, and she saw uncertainty and pain mingled in the black depths as they met hers.

  ‘No, not really, Sally,’ he admitted surprisingly. ‘I have been sitting here thinking of our past relationship and the mess I made of it while you were in the kitchen.’

  ‘Your coffee,’ she said swiftly, and handed him the china mug. She didn’t want to talk about their brief affair; it hurt too much…

  ‘Thank you.’ His long fingers brushed hers as he took the mug, setting off an unwanted frisson of awareness through her body, and swiftly she stepped back.

  ‘Instant, I’m afraid,’ she told him, and sat on the sofa opposite. ‘I ran out of the real stuff some time ago, and as I don’t drink coffee any more…’ she trailed off.

  ‘It will do.’ She watched as he lifted the mug to his lips and took a swallow. ‘Maybe not.’ He grimaced, replacing the mug on the table. Glancing across at her, he added, ‘Have you anything stronger? Whisky? Wine, perhaps?’

  ‘No. I don’t drink because of the baby.’

  ‘Ah, yes…our baby,’ he remarked softly.

  Sally recognised his anger had abated, but she had a snea
king suspicion a low-voiced Zac was a lot more dangerous.

  ‘You must really hate me, Sally, if you are prepared to fight me in court for our child. I would never have done it, but my temper got the better of me. The perceived wisdom is that two parents are the ideal, but, being brought up in an orphanage, I would have thanked my lucky stars to have even one loving parent.’

  Zac could say that now, and perhaps he meant it, but she didn’t trust him and she didn’t bother responding. Instead she picked up her cup of tea to take a drink. Actually, she had no intention of fighting him over the baby; she just needed breathing space to think of an acceptable alternative—preferably another five months…But she saw no reason to tell Zac. Let him suffer…After all, she had suffered enough at his hands…Liar, a tiny devil in her head whispered. You loved his hands all over you.

  Abruptly she replaced the cup on the saucer and smoothed the fabric of her skirt down her thighs in a nervous gesture. As the silence stretched between them the room suddenly seemed very small, the air heavy with tension. Sally was still shocked Zac had actually turned up here, and then she realised he had never answered her question as to how he knew where she lived.

  ‘How did you find me? You never said,’ she prompted.

  ‘I was in London and I called at your apartment, thinking to offer you my condolences on the death of your mother. Belatedly, I know, but Raffe had only just informed me of the fact. I know more than most how much you did for your mother,’ he said with a self-deprecating grimace. ‘I know how much you loved her, and I am truly sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sally responded. ‘But you still have not answered my question. How did you get my address?’

  ‘When I called at your apartment building I was surprised to discover you had sold the place, and your father had no idea where you had gone. I called at the museum to see if your boss knew, and your friend Jemma accosted me as I left, and told me she was worried about you. Apparently, on your return from Peru you had stayed with her just long enough to buy a new car and take off on your travels around Britain. You had said you would call her every week, but apart from a couple of calls, the last from a hotel near here, she had heard nothing more and she had been unable to contact you for over a month.’