He breathed deeply. That was still, what, seven, eight months away? ‘Live together until the baby’s born?’
‘Yes. We can look for an apartment for me and the baby in the new year and get it ready so I can move straight into it when the time’s right, but for now we’ll need to keep up a front that we’re happily married. The last thing I want is for my father to think there’s anything wrong with us until I’m ready to tell him. I’ve enough to deal with.’ Her gaze penetrated him, burned him. ‘But, Ciro...’ She faltered before continuing. ‘If at any time your heart tells you that you won’t be able to love our baby, you must tell me. Our child is innocent of everything and I won’t have it raised in hate. Better an absent father than a hateful one. If you tell me that I will leave and you will never have to see me or the baby again.’
CHAPTER SIX
THE RAIN STILL lashed Manhattan when the driver arrived at Ciro’s apartment. Mercifully, a doorman with a giant umbrella appeared and held it over Claudia’s head while she got out of the car. She could hardly see more than a foot in front of her but her other senses were working fine and when they hurried through the door she was ambushed by a really strong scent of perfume.
They strode through a small lobby to an elevator. Ciro placed his thumb on a wall scanner and the elevator doors opened. Not speaking or looking at each other, they stepped into it. Ciro pressed a button and they ascended, so smoothly Claudia hardly felt any motion. When it stopped and the doors slid open, she found herself stepping into another small lobby. Behind a horseshoe desk sat a wafer-thin middle-aged woman with a severe black bob and the most amazing, eccentric spectacles Claudia had ever seen, with rainbow stripes and small studded diamonds.
Ciro introduced them. ‘Marcy, this is Claudia. Claudia, this is Marcy, my PA.’ He made the introduction in English and then repeated it in Sicilian Italian.
He made his PA work in a lobby?
Marcy stood and shook Claudia’s hand.
‘I love your glasses,’ Claudia blurted out in English.
Marcy beamed. ‘So do I!’
Ciro put his thumb to another scanner beside a steel door then put his eye to a higher one. When both scans were complete, there was a noise like a puff and a green light appeared on the door itself. Ciro pushed the door open and held it so Claudia could enter.
It was like entering Wonderland.
‘I didn’t know you spoke English,’ he said when the door closed behind them.
‘Imma and I were raised by English nannies so we could be bilingual.’ The foyer they stepped into had shiny black granite flooring, a Roman statue on a plinth, and stairs that wound upwards. ‘You have two floors?’
‘Three.’
‘I thought apartments were one level?’
He grunted and led her through the open double doorway to the left that had the most magnificently decorated high plaster ceiling. ‘Living room.’ Back through the foyer and through the open door on the other side. ‘Dining room.’ He pointed to a door at the end. ‘Pantry, kitchen and staff room.’
There was no time for Claudia to marvel at the grandeur of what she was being shown for Ciro had set off up the stairs laid with a beautiful hardwood that continued on through the long hallway. He opened various doors and barked out their usage. ‘Gym. Library. Games room. Guest room. Your room.’
‘My room?’ She stepped into a beautifully appointed bedroom that was as high, bright and airy as the rest of the apartment. She’d expected Ciro’s apartment to be dark and no-nonsense masculine but, while hardly feminine, it was tasteful and elegant, blending contemporary styles with Italian renaissance, not a single detail missed, right down to the hand-carved doors and the beautifully crafted window frames.
So this was how a billionaire lived, she thought in wonder. Claudia had grown up in a magnificent villa with extensive grounds but this was something else. Ciro’s wealth made her father seem a pauper.
‘The luggage you had couriered has been placed in the dressing room for you,’ Ciro said. ‘I didn’t know what you wanted me to do with it. I’ll get one of the staff to unpack for you when they come in the morning.’
She opened the door he’d indicated and saw her suitcases laid neatly on the floor. They must have been there since the wedding, shipped over in anticipation of her moving continents for the love of her life. Her heart clenched to remember the excitement that had filled her when she’d been packing for her new life...and then her heart stopped to see her wedding dress hanging on the open rail. She hadn’t given the dress a second thought since leaving Sicily. Seeing it there, hidden away with the rest of her stuff, made her want to weep.
‘Do your staff know we’re married?’ she asked quietly.
‘I assume so. Enough pictures were leaked to the press of our wedding day.’ Ciro looked out of the south-facing window at the bleak grey view. It matched his mood perfectly.
‘Then we should share a bedroom.’
Every cell in his body stiffened.
She sighed. ‘Ciro, like it or not, I am your wife. Married couples share a bed. What does it tell your staff if you put your new wife straight into a guest room?’
‘Who cares what they think? They’ve all signed non-disclosure agreements.’
‘I care.’
‘We have enough issues without throwing sex into the mix.’
Her cheeks flared with colour but she held her ground. ‘I never said anything about us...’ she swallowed and managed to look both disgusted and dignified ‘...having sex. I don’t want us to share a bed for that, not ever again, but we’ve been married for five weeks and not spent a night together since the wedding. For me to move in now and go straight into a guest room will look strange. I know pride is a sin but I can’t help how I feel and I know that if I was to look your staff in the eye knowing that they know we’re in separate rooms, I’d feel humiliated.’
A sharp ache pierced his chest at the confirmation he’d killed any feelings she’d had for him. He didn’t want her to have feelings for him and wished he could kill the tumultuous emotions she evoked in him as easily.
‘We don’t have to share for long,’ she added into the silence. ‘A few weeks. Just for appearances’ sake.’
‘I didn’t realise appearances meant that much to you,’ he said stiffly, furious that she was neatly backing him into yet another corner.
‘No one likes to be humiliated and I’ve been humiliated enough.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘How were you going to play things if I hadn’t overheard you? Where would I have slept? How would you have handled things?’
Knowing she would see straight through any lie, he shrugged sardonically and plumped for honesty. ‘I was going to install you in my bedroom then spend our marriage travelling without you until you gave me the house and Vicenzu got the business—’
‘Install me?’ she interrupted. ‘What, like I was a bathtub or something? Isn’t that the kind of thing that’s usually installed?’
How could he answer that without sounding even more like a douchebag?
She folded her arms and pursed her lips. ‘You don’t even think of me as human, do you?’
‘Of course I do,’ he answered shortly. If he didn’t have such a deeply human response to her they wouldn’t be in this mess. If he didn’t have such vivid memories of their one night of lovemaking he wouldn’t be so reluctant to share a bed with her again, even if only for a few weeks. He was a man, not a machine, and Claudia was as hot a feminine temptation as he could bear.
Claudia stared out of the bedroom window, one of four in the master suite. The apartment’s insulation and glazing were of such good quality she could hear nothing of the raging storm outside. With the dark night sky enveloping them, she could see hardly anything of it either.
Rubbing her arms for warmth against the sudden shiver that snaked through her, she drew the curtains. The silence was stark.<
br />
Ciro had gone out. Immediately after they’d shared a takeaway dinner he’d announced he had business to attend to.
Business at nine o’clock in the evening?
She hadn’t bothered disputing this obvious lie. In truth, she was glad of some space away from him. She’d got her way about the sleeping arrangements. Ciro had carried her cases to the master suite himself. Her wedding dress remained in the guest room. She’d had a strong feeling he didn’t want to touch it any more than she did.
His bedroom was surprisingly beautiful. The walls were painted a soft grey, the ceiling the same white decorative plaster as she’d seen in the living room, the curtains and thick carpet a soft shade of cream. The maroon duvet on the emperor-sized bed brought colour to the room, as did the tasteful colourful paintings of semi-nude women, which had not an ounce of sleaze in them. The overall feeling was one of peace. And she’d just bulldozed her way into Ciro’s tranquillity.
Despite everything, she was proud of herself for holding her ground and not caving in.
The Claudia she’d been before the wedding would have rolled over and let him have his way.
Did he really think she wanted to be here? That she got any pleasure from forcing him to take her in? That she got pleasure from insisting they share a bed when the thought of sleeping beside him made her all twisted up inside?
She despised him for what he’d done to her but he was the father of her child. She could only pray that Ciro could bring himself to love it. She didn’t expect him to forgive her father: forgiveness was something she was struggling to find herself. But she did expect him to forgive their innocent child for the accident of its birth. If he couldn’t do that then he was not worth the effort of her trying and she’d leave without a second of remorse. If she could put aside her hurt and humiliation over what Ciro had done to her, then he could try too.
Too restless to sleep, she decided to explore the apartment properly. She remembered Ciro telling her during their courtship that he’d had his New York apartment remodelled a year ago to his specific tastes. What, she wondered, did his specific tastes say about him? She wasn’t educated enough to say with any certainty but her exploration gave the impression of a man comfortable in his masculinity and his sexuality—there were lots of tasteful paintings and statues of nudes of both sexes—and a man who was tactile. All his furniture, hard and soft, had a touchable quality to it, materials chosen that were both aesthetically pleasing and pleasurable to the touch. It was an apartment that was a feast for the senses.
Back on the second floor and about to climb the stairs to the top, she felt drawn back to the library. Libraries were not Claudia’s natural home and she tended to avoid them, but this one had the same feel to it as Ciro’s bedroom. It surprised her that a man of Ciro’s drive and restlessness had the patience to read.
She turned the soft lighting on and ran her fingers along the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Had Ciro read all these books? There must be thousands of them. She wondered if he had any Austen or Brontë on these shelves and figured it unlikely. She would give the clothes on her back to read their magical words with her own eyes rather than have to listen to them.
She pulled one of the books out and peered closely at the cover, trying hard to decipher its title. The effort made her brain hurt.
‘That’s a good book. You should read it.’
So shocked was she to hear Ciro’s voice that the book slipped from her fingers. She hadn’t heard him return.
Flustered, she quickly picked it up and slid it back where she’d got it from.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered, then felt her face flame again when she looked at him. He was propped against the doorway. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, the top three buttons undone. The butterflies that had unleashed in her stomach on their wedding night awoke and Claudia became suddenly aware that she was dressed in her pyjamas. That they covered her from neck to foot didn’t matter. Beneath them she was naked.
He stepped into the room. His thick dark hair was damp from the rain. ‘Don’t be. Books deserve to be read. I thought you’d be asleep by now.’
‘Don’t you mean you hoped I’d be asleep by now?’
She caught a faint glimpse of his dimples. ‘That too.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you.’
Being greeted by Claudia in a pair of silk pyjamas, her hair tied in two long plaits, could in no way be described as disappointing, Ciro thought.
Hoping to find some oblivion in the trusted method of alcohol, he’d met up with an old friend at a favourite bar two blocks away. He’d intended to get as rip-roaring drunk as he’d done in his university days and return home only when he was guaranteed to pass out. Four strong drinks in and the alcohol hadn’t made a dent in his system. Six drinks in and he’d noticed a woman alone at the bar making eyes at him. She’d been extremely attractive with an abundance of cleavage on show. Three months ago he would have had no hesitation in introducing himself, buying her a drink and seeing where the evening led.
But that had been then. When he’d looked at the woman, all he could see was Claudia and suddenly it had hit him—in his desperation for oblivion and space from her, he’d left her alone in his apartment on her first night in Manhattan. Alone and newly pregnant.
Something sharp had speared his guts, bitterness had filled his taste buds and before he knew what he was doing he was throwing cash on the table for his share of the bill and bidding his friend goodnight.
What kind of a cold, selfish, heartless bastard was he turning into? That was the question he’d asked himself as he’d hurried through the storm back to his apartment. Part of him had hoped she’d be asleep, but as he’d climbed the stairs the sensation building in his loins and the fizzing in his veins told a different story. And that was the entire crux of his problem, he acknowledged grimly. His attraction for Claudia was at war with his loathing of who she was.
He shook his head. ‘I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have left you, not on your first night.’
‘You probably did us both a favour,’ she murmured. ‘I think we both needed some space to breathe.’
He gazed at her, taking in afresh her slender beauty. Was he imagining that her breasts, jutting beneath the silken pyjama top, had grown since their night together? Did pregnancy work that fast?
Aware that his loins had tightened, he wrenched his gaze from her. ‘How are you feeling in yourself? Healthwise?’
‘I’m well. A little sleepier than normal.’
‘Have you seen a doctor yet?’
‘No.’ She pulled a rueful face. ‘My doctor back home is friends with my father. I didn’t want to risk him telling Papà about the baby until I was ready.’
His stomach cramped at the mention of her father and it took all his effort to keep his voice even. ‘When do you think that will be?’
‘I told him this morning before I got my flight here.’
The cramping tightened. ‘You told him before you told me?’
‘I told Imma too, the day I took the test,’ she said without an ounce of contrition. ‘With my father... I needed to get it done.’ Claudia squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I didn’t tell him I knew about the sabotage of your father’s company or the other things I’ve learned about him since our wedding. Not explicitly. Imma can deal with that when she’s ready. But I needed to prove to myself that I could face him down.’
‘What do you mean?’
Her throat moved before she answered. ‘I knew that when I told Papà about the baby he would want me—you and me—to raise it in Sicily. I needed to look him in the eye and hold my ground and tell him our child would be raised in New York.’
‘How did he take it?’
Her nose wrinkled. ‘I don’t know. I think I shocked him. I’ve never said no to him before. I laid it out to him then left before he could argue about it.’
About to delve into this further, it suddenly came to him what she’d said about her sister. ‘What else have you told your sister? I was under the impression you hadn’t discussed what you overheard me say to Vicenzu with anyone.’
Now something sparkled in her eyes and she covered her mouth briefly before saying, ‘Ciro, I told Imma that morning after you’d crept back into our bed. I only waited all those hours to confront you so she had time to counteract whatever plot your brother had dreamed up.’
‘But they’re married now,’ he pointed out. Immacolata was considered to be the clever Buscetta sister. If people underestimated Claudia’s intelligence so greatly then how much were they underestimating Immacolata’s? A woman like that wouldn’t tie herself to a man she knew hated her.
‘Their marriage...’ She shook her head. ‘All I will say is whatever you think about it is probably wrong.’
‘Immacolata married him even though she knew the truth?’
‘Yes.’
Ciro thought about all the vague messages exchanged between him and his brother since his wedding night. Ciro had deliberately kept his non-committal, his pride not wanting his brother to know that while he had succeeded in getting the family home back, on every other level he’d failed spectacularly. ‘Does Vicenzu know that she knows?’
She sucked her cheeks in and covered her mouth again. Was she smothering a laugh...? ‘You and your brother really need to start working on your communication skills.’
He couldn’t argue with that.
Whatever she’d been smothering turned into a wide yawn. Her eyes widened. ‘Excuse me.’
‘Tired?’
She yawned again, even more widely.
‘Not surprising.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s five in the morning in Sicily. You should get some sleep.’
A Baby To Bind His Innocent (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Sicilian Marriage Pact, Book 1) Page 7
