by CC MacKenzie
Chapter Seventeen
The buzz of her alarm had Bronte reaching out in the dark, groping for her Smart phone as she switched on a low lamplight.
"Oof," she gasped, struggling to free herself from the heavy weight of Nico's arm.
"Dio, cara. What time is it?" His deep voice growled in her ear making her quiver in response even as he ran a hand over her hip and down her thigh.
Squinting bleary eyed at her phone she groaned. "Five-thirty."
"It is the middle of the night. Go back to sleep."
She rubbed her body against his, skin to warm skin and stretched like a cat, arching her back.
"It might be for you. But some of us start early. I like to get a jump on the day."
Nico rolled on top of her, burying his face against her neck.
She smelled so good, all warm and sweet and tempting.
"Good idea."
The only thing he was going to jump this morning was her. Slim arms circled his neck. Her body pressed tightly against his, soft and pliant as she willingly offered herself to him. He took a long, slow taste of her soft, moist mouth. His tongue was stroking hers as he fit his body into the perfect cradle of her hips. With a sigh he slid into her, one slow inch at a time. She was so hot and so wet and so tight. Fevered pleasure had him shudder. Then he caught her hips and pulled her to him to surge deeper as far as he could go. And he was home. He'd never felt anything like the way her body gripped his, joining them in a way that felt so right. He ached for her, for them and what they'd found together.
But it terrified him too. Bronte had a gentle soul and he wasn't an easy man to live with. He didn't do love. He didn't do commitment. Did he?
He tried to take a deep calming breath as his heart thundered in his ears and Bronte's high gasps of boundless pleasure fed his desire, his hunger for her. The wild side of him, the hard side of him wanted to pound into her but despite his starving need, he forced himself to kiss her with exquisite care, almost with reverence. He took her slowly up and over the edge and they fell together. As if he'd waited his whole life for this one moment, everything inside him shifted, settled and calmed.
He was home.
Bronte gave him kiss for kiss.
She adored the feeling of his thick body buried deep within her.
"Nico, I've never felt like this in my life, never."
He nuzzled his favourite spot under her ear as his body shuddered again.
"I think we have found something very special, cara mio."
Through half-closed eyes, she watched him as his tongue took long slow licks of her nipple. His mouth closed around the hard bud. His tongue tip flicking, danced and then he was sucking the nipple until she cried out. Still inside her, his low growl vibrated through her body as he used the flat of his tongue to take big long licks like a big lazy cat over her throbbing nipple and her womb clenched tight. Unbelievably he hardened again, grinding his hips in a circular movement against hers.
Then his mouth was hot, hard and demanding. He took her by surprise and she gasped meeting his hard thrusting tongue and sucked it into her mouth as he groaned as if in agony.
Fire blazed over his skin and his control snapped.
Nico couldn't breathe as he pounded into her and God help him she was with him every step of the way. The walls of her sheath pulsed hot and wet and so tight. He was losing it. He knew it and couldn't help it. Her high cries, almost sobs, only added fuel to his already roaring fire.
The smell of her, the feel of her and the sound of her had him piston harder. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as her body arched, her scream of his name. Then her body clamped down hard on his, milking, dragging hot life giving fluid out of him as she pulsed around him.
Utterly spent Bronte dropped her arms and legs on the bed as he flopped on top of her. Her heart and his were thundering as one.
"Nico." Her voice was high and breathy.
Immediately he rose on his elbow.
Shame burned Nico's cheeks as he ran an unsteady hand over her skin. What was he doing rutting her like an animal? Where had the legendary Ferranti control and finesse gone?
"Did I hurt you?"
Bronte stared up into his face.
His hard features were so masculine and too serious.
She gave him big eyes.
"Is that how all Italian men make love? Because if it is, I must find one for Rosie."
She caught the flash of relief before he buried his head in her neck.
"I can never get enough of you, Bronte." He raised his head and stared deep into her eyes. "Are you sure you are all right?"
She gazed at his mouth before running gentle fingers through his hair. All right? Her body felt truly alive and was vibrating like a tuning fork. She'd made Nico tremble with desire, for her. How totally unbelievable was that? Her eyes sparkled into his.
"Now that's what I call a jump start to the day."
Things had moved fast, Bronte realised as she dressed carefully for her appointment. But then Nico was that kind of man. The most important thing was not to kid herself. Her heart and his were safe and sound. Remarks, little things, may ring a bell or two of alarm. But she told herself she'd imagined the glimpse of vulnerability when he'd held her tight. It was so typical of her to worry over nothing these days. A habit that she fully intended to break.
Bronte parked her mini in the car park of the Gherkin building in the middle of the financial district of the City.
?She wore a black business suit by Armani, teamed with four inch heels in ivory patent with a black patent toe by Chanel. She carried a matching clutch bag. Simple diamond studs glittered in her ears. And she wore a single diamond on a chain at her throat.
What did a woman wear when she was meeting her father for the first time?
?Jerky nerves caught in her throat as she was taken through various offices and gatekeepers who eyed her with polite interest.
?Carl Terlezki's office was a low-key lesson in exquisite good taste.
Long couches in soft suede the colour of bitter chocolate hugged a long narrow glass coffee table. A glass wall framed the city. His PA, Tamara, was an immaculate middle-aged women dressed in black with a helmet of blonde hair. Her blue eyes scanned Bronte from head to toe, not in an aggressive way but she was obviously intrigued.
"Mr Terlezki is on a call. I'll take you in as soon as he's finished. Can I get you a coffee?" Her tone was friendly but polite.
A coffee was the last thing she needed and Bronte wondered what the hell she was doing? And desperately wished Alexander was with her because she felt physically ill with stress and nerves. She was going to change a complete stranger's life for ever. Perhaps this was a huge mistake?
She stood to leave.
A door opened.
A gravelly voice spoke, "Tamara, when Bronte comes show her ..."
He was taller than she'd expected and leaner. And terribly good looking with his clear tanned skin, sharp intelligent eyes and thick grey hair.
Their eyes met and the way he caught his breath stopped her heart.
Carl Terlezki walked forward.
His eyes were the colour of the sea, the blue hazed by dark grey.
And his hand reached for hers.
"My God, you are the living image of your mother."
Emotions long held in check threatened to spill over and Bronte waged a bitter war of attrition to remain calm.
"How do you do?" she whispered.
He grasped her hand like a man handed a lifeline, emotions whirled in his eyes and she realised he was as thrown as she was.
Neither of them noticed his PA leave the room or heard her quietly close the door.
He blinked. "I am so sorry for your loss." He cleared his throat and looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. "I'm sorry. My PA seems to have disappeared. Would you like a coffee or tea?"
He appeared to have forgotten he still held her hand.
Bronte felt him tremble, saw the distress in his eyes and
realised this was a man who had loved deeply and suffered for it. Strangely enough, it gave her strength.
With a breath she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.
"I don't know how to tell you this and I've worried about it for months, Mr Terlezki. But you're my father."
Carl Terlezki read the letter again and again.
He stared at the fabulous creature who sat before him. Her nerves and stress were self evident. He couldn't believe it. Cynthia Ludlow was dead. Intellectually he knew it was true and he'd grieved for her and for what might have been when he'd heard of the accident. But this, this brought it home to him in a way that shook him to his very core. Emotions whirled now in his mind. Anger, regret, hurt and outrage that the woman he loved never told him he was a father.
They'd kept her from him for over twenty-six years.
His hand, he saw with dismay, shook as he returned the letter to Bronte.
"Can I take a copy of it?"
What a stupid question to ask of his only child.
But he had absolutely no idea what to say to her.
Bronte stood.
The poor man looked as if he'd been hit by a train. She knew precisely how he felt. He needed time to come to terms with the shock and betrayal. Well, she knew what that felt like too.
"I understand the shock of this news. Believe me I've had no idea what to do or how to react in this situation."
He rose and shook his head, his eyes swimming with emotion.
"No, please, Bronte. Please stay."
Carl took her hand and led her to a leather couch the colour of clear honey.
"Did you have a happy childhood?"
She squeezed his hand, amazed that his first thought was for her.
"Absolutely I did. They ... my parents ... loved my brother and I very much."
"Alexander, yes, he was a handful as I remember. How is he?"
Shocked, she could only stare at him.
"You knew my brother?"
He smiled in a way that broke her heart.
"Ah, yes. He was an energetic six year old who loved the steam engines at the British Engineering Museum. They kept him occupied for hours."
She looked at him feeling totally helpless and spoke from the heart.
"He's taken the truth very hard. What are we going to do? How do we deal with this?"
Her father took a breath, squared his shoulders and patted her hand.
"How about we take it one step at a time? We get to know one another?" He gave her a heartbreakingly brave smile. "You can ask me anything and I promise to tell you the truth. And you must tell me everything about your life."
She blinked frantically as his face swam before her.
"I don't know if I can ever forgive her for this."
He didn't attempt not to understand her.
"One thing I've learned in life is that sometimes love is not easy. People are not perfect, Bronte. They make mistakes, especially when they try to protect the ones they love."
He held out his hand to her, his eyes brimming with emotion.
"Shall we make today the start of a new beginning?"
Nico leaned back in Alexander's chair and stared unseeing into the log fire that shed a warm glow over the room.
The meeting with senior staff had gone well and the assistant manager was a smart cookie, which, he acknowledged, made his life a hell of a lot easier. He checked his Blackberry and found no message from Bronte. He knew she'd gone into the City for an appointment. Probably something to do with a wedding he supposed.
What did he want from her? His libido spiked and he shook his head. Apart from amazing sex she was a hell of a package. She was so much more than just a fabulous body or a heart-stopping face framed by a silver waterfall of hair. He adored her style. She was beautiful, loving, funny and sexy as hell. He really got her in a way that he'd never done with any other woman.
So what did she want from him? He frowned now, remembering her words that she'd never marry. The little witch had told him he wasn't husband or even boyfriend material. He smiled now thinking that was his line was it not? And he had no idea how he was going to take back the stupid words he had spoken.
A couple of quick knocks on the door brought him back to earth.
"Come in."
Rosie popped her head around the door to give him a cheeky grin.
"Are you busy?"
"Not at the moment," he told her and eyed the box she held with interest. "What can I do for you?"
She plonked herself in one of the leather bucket chairs in front of his desk.
"You can give me a coffee and I'll let you have a taste of one of Bronte's new mini triple chocolate muffins with a toffee cheesecake centre."
He found himself grinning, picked up the phone and placed the order for coffee.
"Has Bronte returned from her meeting?"
Rosie blinked, a wary look entering her eye and he wondered what it meant as she nodded.
"She's on her way."
A knock at the door and Julie, Alexander's PA, entered with a tray of coffee and a hello for Rosie. After she'd left and Nico had poured, he bit into a tiny muffin and a little bit of heaven melted on his tongue.
"How does she come up with these ideas?"
"It's part of her creative make-up."
"Si. It certainly is."
Rosie watched him over the rim of her cup with a speculative gleam in her brown eyes and he wondered what was coming.
"Are your intentions towards my best friend honourable?"
He gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She held his stare with a little nudge of her chin and Nico decided he liked Rosemary Gordon very much indeed.
"My relationship with Bronte is between her and me."
"Okay," she said in a cheery voice. Then her eyes went hard. "But if you hurt her you'll answer to me."
He nodded. "You are a very good friend. Since you are such a good friend tell me about her ex-fianc?."
Rosie wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"Jonathan? He's a poor excuse for a human being."
"Grazie, Rosie, but that tells me nothing." He could see she was debating with herself. "I know he hurt her and from what I can gather I believe he was cruel to her."
?What he had no intention of telling her was that it had been Jonathan who told Anthony that Bronte secretly liked him. And Bronte herself had told him how her ex had spread rumours about her in their close-knit community. Along with the phone calls she was receiving, Nico believed that someone was making mischief. But he couldn't do anything without facts.
Rosie took a breath and met his eye.
"If he was a woman I'd call him an evil bitch of the worst kind. He's charming and a liar with an eye constantly on the main chance. When she sold his ring Bronte became his sworn enemy and that's something I don't believe she realises. He was a controlling bully and did everything he could do to destroy her self-esteem not that she had much of one to begin with. The way I see Bronte and the way I know you see Bronte is not how she sees herself.
"You're going to need to be careful, Nico, she's vulnerable."
He frowned, picking his way gingerly.
"Si, she is still missing her parents. To find them like that, Madonna mia!"
"It's not just that..." She bit her lip and shook her head.
Loyalty was a trait Nico admired, but not at the moment.
"I only want to help, Rosie."
"What's going on in Bronte's life is her business, Nico, not mine and not yours."
He had to admire her. Another thought entered his head.
"Have you had a number of calls received at The Dower House where they hung-up?"
By the look on her face he could see she had.
"Yes, there were two on the answering machine and a couple picked up by the girls. We assumed they were wrong numbers." Her eyes met his and she frowned. "Has Bronte been receiving crank calls?"
He nodded. "Any other unpleasantness
?"
She snapped her fingers and pointed to him.
"Yes. On our website we had a visit from a particularly nasty troll who made sexist remarks about Bronte and called her a bitch. I've moderated the comments." Anxiety entered her dark eyes. "What's going on, Nico?"
He had no idea, but he was going to find out.
