The Italian's Pregnant Prisoner

by Maisey Yates

  But he also wanted her. That protection he had extended to her, the virginity he had preserved, simply so that she could throw it away to another man, so that she could marry another, galled him.

  It had been his by rights. And out of some misguided sense of chivalry that he no longer possessed he had not laid claim to it.

  “Is your husband here?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “No.”

  “I believe you and I have unfinished business.” He changed the way he held her, yet again moving his thumb up to her mouth, to trace her plush lips. “Do you not agree?”

  He heard a faint sniff, and he imagined her tossing her head back, her expression haughty. He had seen her do it many times before. Years ago. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Charming. But I think you do.” He moved his fingertips to the edge of her mouth, then back down the side of her neck, coming to rest on her pulse. “This feels just as I remember it. I make your blood run faster. This makes me wonder if I still make you wet.”

  She gasped, and he waited for a slap across the face that didn’t come.

  “I’m frightened,” she said, her voice breathy.

  “I don’t believe that. A woman who would dare set foot in London, into a place where you had to know I would be, so soon after her father’s death... Well, I don’t believe she’s afraid of anything. No. I do not believe this is fear, Charlotte.”

  “What you believe or don’t believe doesn’t automatically become truth.”

  He chuckled. “See, that simply isn’t true. I’m richer than your father ever was. People do my bidding, not because they fear me but because of what I can do for them. What I wish often becomes truth easily enough.”

  Five years. Five years since he had touched a woman. Longer since he’d had sex with one. There had been no one else from the moment he’d met her. And he’d held back out of deference to her innocence.

  Now it had been five years since he had touched her.

  “I can make you want me,” he said.

  And he hated that, for the first time in years, he doubted himself. Because as certain as he was of a great many things, he could not be certain that she would want a scarred, blind man in her bed.

  “What exactly are you proposing?” she asked, her words cool.

  “I’ll make it very clear. I don’t care what you’ve been doing for the past five years. I don’t care that you married Stefan. I don’t care what you do tomorrow, for that matter. I care about tonight. Tonight, I want to make sure we finish what is between us. Tonight. I want you in my bed.”

  He jerked back when trembling fingers touched his lower lip. The shock of it immobilized him. It had been so long since he had been touched. So he stood, absolutely still as she traced his lower lip, his upper lip, mimicking what he had just done for her. She traced his jaw, and then moved her fingers featherlight down the side of his neck, where they came to rest on his pulse.

  “Unless you’re afraid of me,” she said, “then it appears I still have the same effect on you that I once did.”

  He held her chin, keeping her still. “That may be. But one thing has changed. I do not love you, Charlotte. Quite the opposite. If I take you to my bed, you will be giving yourself to a man who hates you. Though, I wonder if that matters? Because it certainly doesn’t matter to me. I find that I want you regardless.”

  “One night?” And this time, a slight tremble worked its way into her words.

  “Just one,” he responded.

  She let out a long, slow breath that echoed in the corridor around them. “Okay. One night.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHARLOTTE WAS CRAZY. She supposed that was what years in isolation would do to a person. Not that she had ever been isolated truly. She had made friends wherever she had gone, but it was always on the internal understanding that she wouldn’t be in one place for long. And, of course, she had been unable to share the truth behind her circumstances, no matter how wonderful her new friends had seemed.

  It was too dangerous for them. Too dangerous for her.

  That always put distance between herself and her friends, no matter how much she wished it wasn’t there.

  But her old life—no matter how far she ran from it—always had claws in her. She had spent five years looking over her shoulder. Five years fearing that one day her father’s men, or Stefan’s, would show up at the door of her home, or one of the shops that she worked in. Five years living abroad, traveling from place to place. Hiding.

  But now her father was dead. And the last remaining claw stuck deep into her flesh was Rafe. Yes, she had come to London tonight to catch one last glimpse of him before moving on. But perhaps, this was better. Perhaps, this was what she needed.

  She had been prepared to give him her virginity five years ago. He was the man she had meant for it. Perhaps, it was fate. No matter what the ensuing years had brought.

  Yes, Rafe had hurt her. His abandonment had wounded her deeply. But, in the end, there would have been nothing he could have done for her. And she could not have gone back to him while her father lived.

  If her father had known where she was, he would have come for her. And he certainly would have killed Rafe.

  Her fantasies of him had been wound around anger, grief and sadness for the past five years. And, yes, she had blamed him for some things. In the dark of the night, when she lay there, feeling like there was a heavy weight resting on her chest, she had internally raged at him for not saving her. For not climbing the tower and carrying her away with him. Off to live in a forest somewhere. Where mice and birds would build them...a house or something.

  Not a care. No contact with the outside.

  But this was the real world. It wasn’t a fairy tale, and she knew that none of that was actually possible.

  It made for a lovely fantasy. But in the end, she’d had to escape the tower on her own. In the end, it had been up to her to save herself. Bringing anyone with her would have only put them in danger.

  So, it didn’t matter that Rafe had left. It was better. Better for him.

  And she still hurt when she thought of him.

  So maybe this was what she needed to do. Maybe this was the grand letting go that she required. Maybe. Just maybe.

  Whether this was the road to salvation or perdition, she imagined it remained to be seen. Either way, she was on it.

  In his limousine.

  It had been a great many years since she had traveled this way. Even tonight, dressed in a gown that had cost her entire savings, she had taken a cab.

  She hadn’t worried much about her savings, because she would come into her money in the next week or so. And tonight was supposed to be a strange fantasy. Or really, the last chapter on a life she had never chosen to live in the first place. That she wanted.

  She tightened her hold on her clutch purse, staring straight ahead, the city lights flashing in her face as they drove.

  Rafe pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Just checking to make sure you were still there.”

  “I don’t believe for a moment that you thought I had gone.” As if she was going to silently fling herself out onto the London streets and tuck and roll in her beautiful red gown.

  “No,” he said. “I can hear you breathing. I can almost hear your heart beating. Tell me, Charlotte. Are you nervous?”

  “I told you I was,” she said. “I told you I was frightened.”

  “You are not frightened. You know I won’t harm you. I had a great many chances to do that. A great many times when I was alone with you, and I still possessed my sight. When I could have done anything to you, and by the time you had screamed it would’ve been too late for your father’s guards to rescue you. I would say that with your father gone you have absolutely nothing to fear from me. Any leverage that you might have been has long since ceased to be.”

  What a strange thing. The introduction of the thought that he might have harmed her back then to escape working for her father. Or
that he might have threatened to harm her. It had never occurred to her then. Never occurred to her that he might be using her. Because she had been so young. Because she had trusted him implicitly.

  But he hadn’t harmed her or held her hostage then.

  And, in order for him to wish her harm now, it would have to be personal. He would have to want some kind of revenge against her. And for what? He was the one who had left her. And, if it had demonstrated anything it was that his feelings for her had never been all that strong.

  His refusal to take her virginity had been all about him hedging his bets and saving his own skin. It had nothing to do with honoring her. With protecting her, as he had pretended it did all those years ago.

  “I don’t think you’re going to hurt me,” she said, her throat tight, speaking nearly impossible. “What would the headline say, after all? It isn’t as though people didn’t see us leave together. Nobody knows who I am, but if they found my body in a hotel room, they would connect me to you soon enough.”

  She looked over at him, saw his lip curl upward. He was still touching her. Still maintaining contact. “Please. I’m not going to kill you. That is more your father’s style than mine. Such displays hold no interest for me. I have built my empire on the rock. Not the sand.”

  “Excellent. So when the rains come down your house will stand firm.”

  “That is the hope,” he said, his tone caustic.

  It all seemed so absurd suddenly. That she was in this dress, in this limo, with Rafe. She could hardly figure out how she’d gotten there. Just a few hours ago she’d slipped the dress on, ready so sneak quietly into the ball, see him just for a moment and then leave. But he’d...sensed her.

  She hadn’t counted on that.

  She should know that anticipating Rafe was impossible.

  “What is it you want with me?” she asked.

  “I should think it is quite obvious. I want no more than to claim what I want. What I have always wanted. I want your body, Charlotte. I want all that was kept from me five years ago. Weeks of foreplay only to have my prize stolen from me. I did not take kindly to it then. I don’t like it now.”

  She frowned. “How was I stolen from you? You left.”

  “I left? Is that the story then?” He chuckled, hard and dark. “I was certainly shown the way out.”

  “I was told one morning that you had gone, and that I would be sent to marry Stefan. That my father knew about our relationship and that he had offered you a bargain to leave. And that you chose the money he gave you over me. That you chose your freedom. I was hurt, Rafe, but I could understand. I know how my father is. I know what a wonderful thing it would be to be free of him. If I could’ve been free of him so easily, I would have done so. I’m not going to say I wasn’t angry. But I accepted it.”

  She looked over at him, his face illuminated as they passed a lit-up storefront. His expression was blank.

  “I did not leave you,” he said finally.

  “You didn’t?”

  “No. I was...told that you left. I was told you had gone to marry the man of your father’s choosing. The path of least resistance.”

  She laughed. But there was no humor in it. “I suppose the fact that either of us believed anything relayed to us by Josefina or my father makes us fools. They were master manipulators, always. And that wasn’t even a very master manipulation. It was just two vulnerable people ready to believe the worst, I suppose. Ready to believe the worst of the world and all of the people in it.”

  “Why would you ever believe anything else?”

  Silence stretched between them.

  “I do want this,” she said, curling her hands into fists. “Do you?”

  The streetlight caught his exquisite face, highlighting his razor-sharp cheekbones, the curve of his lips. Her heart stuttered.

  “I have wanted little else for the past five years. I have amassed a great fortune, Charlotte, and there are two things that I have never been able to obtain in spite of my newfound wealth and power. My sight, and you. You, I can have. You, I will have. Seeing as I cannot have the other.”

  The car pulled up to a beautiful building, all ornate stonework, well lit, exquisitely visible even in the dark.

  “We have arrived,” he said. He removed his hand from her shoulder, and the two of them sat in the car and waited. The driver opened the door, and Rafe got out, his hand resting on the car as he walked around to the curbside, his cane sweeping the ground.

  Her heart folded up like it was made of paper. Fragile and easily torn. Of all the misunderstandings between them, this was not one of them. Rafe had lost his sight, and though she had known it for a while now, it still hurt her. It wounded her that he was hurt. That he had lost something of himself.

  And the fact that her father and stepmother had lied to them both...

  Yes, she and Rafe did deserve this night. Whatever else lay ahead, they deserved this.

  Her door opened, and she looked out to see Rafe, extending his hand to her. She hesitated, but only for a moment. And then she curled her fingers around his, and he lifted her from the limousine. She landed against his chest, her palm spread over his muscles, her hand over his beating heart.

  It was raging. Just as hard as her own.

  “Rafe...”

  “We must go inside,” he said. “Now. Otherwise, I’m likely to take you up against the side of the building.”

  For a moment, Charlotte couldn’t quite work out why that would be a bad thing. “Okay,” she said, her voice thick.

  With a firm hand, Rafe led her into the building, and the two of them walked across the small gilded space to an elevator with golden doors. They swung open, and she followed him in, having to take two steps to his one.

  Clearly, this was his domain. There was no hesitation in any of his movements. The only indication that he wasn’t able to visualize his surroundings in the quick sweep of his cane across the floor.

  Suddenly, her breath was coming harder, faster. She hadn’t seen this man in five years. It had taken two weeks of physical intimacy to build up five years’ worth of fantasies. And now she was here. Now she was here, but he wasn’t her Rafe anymore. Wasn’t a man in indentured servitude to her father, but one of the most powerful businessmen in the world. A man with billions of dollars. A man newspapers wrote of in hyperbolic phrasing. A man that women spoke of with awed reverence.

  That thought sent a kick straight to her gut. She wondered how many women he’d been with since their time in her tower. How many women he’d touched. Kissed. Been inside.

  Of course, she had never truly had him. So it seemed silly to worry about who else might have.

  Well, you’ll have him tonight. And those other women won’t matter. This isn’t about them. This is about you. It’s for you. It’s not for anyone else.

  Yes, she had been stagnant for so long, and she was done with it.

  Tonight, she would have Rafe, and she wouldn’t concern herself with the consequences.

  Before she was prepared, the lift reached its destination and the doors slid open. They were here.

  They hadn’t even kissed. In five years, they hadn’t kissed. She had said yes to this because of a mere touch. Because of his firm, warm hold on her throat.

  She couldn’t go back now. She wasn’t even certain that she wanted to.

  He took her hand and led her inside, and she followed.

  The loft was Spartan. Wide swaths of floor left blank, furniture pushed more or less against the walls.

  He took his jacket off and hung it on a peg, and then placed his cane in a holder by the door. He straightened, his focus on the black space before them.

  “My circumstances have changed quite a bit,” he remarked, gesturing to the space around them.

  “Your circumstances never mattered to me.” She examined him, the hard set of his jaw, that cold, closed-off expression on his face. Tension radiated from that big, strong body in waves. She wanted to touch him. Wanted to move
away from him, as well. He was frightening. Compelling and magnetic. All at the same time.

  Finally, he spoke. “My circumstances mattered a great deal to me.”

  “Of course they did,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean...”

  “I do not want your apologies, Charlotte. This is not an evening for recrimination. Not now. You and I should’ve both forgotten about a youthful dalliance a long time ago. Clearly, we did not. So, there is business yet to be finished between us. And I, for one, need to see it done.”

  After that, there was no waiting. He reached out, and she went to him. Then, he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her up against his hard, muscular body.

  He took hold of her chin, as he had done back at the party. Only this time, he didn’t stop. This time, there was no slow, careful examination. There was no hesitation at all.

  His lips crashed down on hers, unerring, his tongue parting her, delving deep into her mouth, slick and hot, and somehow even more than she had remembered.

  He had been her first kiss. Her only kiss.

  She had never let a man get so close to her since then. She had known that that way contained only heartbreak, and she had no desire to experience heartbreak again. Not when everything in her life was still in such peril. When it was still dangerous to breathe in too deeply, much less forge any kind of true emotional bond with somebody.

  And it had never seemed...it had never seemed right to pursue a purely physical relationship. Perhaps because of the intensity of what she had felt for Rafe. She wasn’t sure. Either way, the idea had never really appealed to her.

  Except, that was what she was doing now. With him. There had been no promises made, and she wouldn’t ask him for any.

  This was about creating a new life. The life that she wanted, on her own terms, and free of her father’s influence. She supposed that meant being free of Rafe’s influence, as well.

  And after tonight, she would be. At least, that was the hope.

  But this kiss didn’t taste like freedom. It tasted like deep, crushing need. Like willing bondage. Like she was committing herself to him again with each pass of her tongue against his.