"They want me, they'll get me, morning sickness or not. So come on baby.” Carly patted her stomach. “Do this for your mama and hold back that sick stuff, eh? Let me get this done tomorrow, then you can make me chuck as much as you like."
"Baby? Did I hear the word baby?"
Carly sagged. Big mouth. She gave her assistant a faint fluttering smile and shrugged sheepishly.
Tansy rushed forward. “That's great! I thought it might be that! Wowee!” She gave her a hug and then just as suddenly stepped back. “You are all right aren't you?"
Unable to remain unaffected by Tansy's infectious spirit, Carly grinned. “Yes, I'm fine. The baby's fine too. In fact, as long as I can keep the nausea at bay, we'll be dandy."
"You don't sound too sure?"
"Let's put it this way. The baby thing was a big shock, but I guess it'll grow on me."
"Course it will. Babies are great fun."
"Fun,” Carly repeated. She wasn't so sure of that. Fun wasn't the word she would have used for that time of her life.
For the remainder of the day, Carly worked at half speed. Anything more and a rising tide of panic threatened to overwhelm her and she had to sit down. She only hoped baby would heed her plea and back off the sick bag routine tomorrow.
Finally, with everything complete she escaped home, grateful to ease her tired legs onto the sofa. Her apartment was her sanctuary, her hideaway from the world. The one place she felt at peace.
Too tired and shocked to contemplate fixing herself a meal, she reheated yesterday's risotto and numbly ate, staring out to the street below. The neighbors’ children played in their front yard tossing a brightly colored ball back and forth, their uncomplicated childish laughter echoing up the street. Carly edged forward and lifted her hand to the window. The glass was cold to the touch. Exactly how she felt inside.
She trailed her fingers over the pane as seven-year old Jimmy raced to retrieve the ball. He stopped and looked up. Bright lively eyes caught hers for a moment before a shout went up behind him and he glanced quickly over his shoulder. He gave her a cheery smile and wave before spinning in his battered sneakers to return to his mates.
They all looked happy.
Carly tried to remember a similar time in her own childhood, but came up blank. Surely she must have played.
Overwhelmed by a deep, heart-wrenching sadness, she dragged herself away from the window. She could barely ever remember playing. In her experience childhood and freedom didn't go hand in hand. Childhood had been a disappointment, having to play mother to everyone else.
Tossing out her half eaten meal she decided to shower, but as she toweled herself dry she caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. She didn't look any different. Her stomach was still flat, though her breasts felt swollen.
Carly smiled at her reflection, wondering about all the changes that would happen over the next few months. In part she was afraid, yet another part of her welcomed the excitement. Wrapped in her warmest nightdress, a neck to toe job that held not the remotest hint of sexiness, Carly crawled into bed, pulled the covers right up to her ears and snuggled down. She let out a deep sigh, wishing her body would relax. She wanted oblivion. Today's news was a shock of the deepest kind.
A baby.
Her baby.
Marco's baby.
Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed. A baby was good. It would be okay.
* * * *
"Are you sure you don't want me to come? Moral support and all that?” Tansy argued.
"No. It's fine. Stay and look after the shop."
"While you go and knock their socks off,” Tansy encouraged.
"Let's hope so.” Carly automatically crossed her fingers. “So far, so good.” She hadn't been sick this morning. She patted her stomach.
A worried Tansy edged forward, her face tense with concern. “You okay?"
Carly smiled and looked down at her hand, surprised at her own action. “Sure. Baby is behaving this morning and giving me a break from racing to the bathroom."
"Good. Keep telling that little bundle and it'll understand how important this is."
"You think so?"
"Sure. They play music to babies before they're born, don't they?"
Carly shook her head. The idea sounded both weird and wonderful at the same time. “Guess I'll have to get some ‘how-to’ baby and mother books."
But Tansy was busy sorting through the incoming mail and didn't hear her. Carly took several deep breaths and seated herself at her desk. She wanted to go over everything one more time, make sure she had all the plans and design layouts for her presentation.
Focusing on what she wanted to achieve, she whispered a silent prayer all would go her way. She'd worked long and hard on this.
One way to forget him.
Carly blinked. Not now. She wasn't about to sabotage her composure by dragging up memories of Marco. But who was she kidding? Since when had she stopped thinking of him?
* * * *
"Take a seat Ms. Mason,” the receptionist motioned the moment Carly entered the plush waiting area. Battling to extinguish the butterfly dance going on in her insides, Carly concentrated on the clip clop of the shoes of the woman in front.
Remember—breathe—in and out, slowly does it. But damn it, why wouldn't her lungs work?
Carly took a moment to glance around. Understated and elegant she mused as her eye for design kicked in. No money had been spared here. Her feet slid over the thick, velvety pile of the dark blue carpet and she wondered what it would be like lying on it, in front of a fireplace.
With the man you love.
Stop it! She groaned and the receptionist darted a look in her direction.
"Ms. Mason?” a smooth voice interrupted. “Chad Burns."
Carly rose, sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. This was her show now. She held out a hand. “How do you do?” She shook his hand. Chad Burns was a smooth operator she realized quickly and when he held her hand slightly longer than necessary, she remained smiling.
He motioned for her to follow him. “The boss will be here in a few minutes."
"I thought my meeting was with you."
"It is, but the boss wants to oversee everything on this project. It's his baby so to speak."
Mention of the word baby and Carly faltered. But she quickly gathered her wits and followed Chad Burns into the boardroom, drawn immediately to the floor to ceiling windows.
"Spectacular view isn't it?"
She nodded, but when he stepped up behind her, the hairs on her neck prickled with a chilling slash of tension. She swallowed hard. She wasn't sure she liked this man. But then, she wasn't here to like him, she was here to make a deal. “My compliments to the designer,” she said swiveling around to face the executive.
"That was the boss."
"He designed it?"
Burns nodded.
Carly couldn't help but be surprised. “Then why hire a designer for the hotels? Surely he'd oversee this too?"
"Because he's too busy,” came the sharp retort from behind her.
Carly froze. That voice. She knew it. Oh, God how she knew it—every nuance, every delicious timbre of it.
Fear raced up and down her spine, and as if in slow motion, she turned.
Marco. Here. Her mind wouldn't work. Damn brain cells—activate. Her gaze swallowed him whole. He looked the same—but different. Tired. The small creases at the corners of his eyes more pronounced, his pallor gray.
"Marco?"
"So it would seem.” Ice tinged his voice, mirroring the reflection in his eyes. He stepped into the room. “What are you doing here?"
"I...” Carly stuttered and her cheeks burned.
Chad Burns butted in. “Mr. Valente, this is Carly Mason of Mason Designs."
"Designs?” Marco's brows rose a fraction while Carly struggled to pull herself together. She placed her design folder on the table. “CV Hotels requested my presentation."
"My company."
"CV Hotels is yours?” So that's where his wealth had come from Carly realized quickly.
"Si. Named after my father."
Oh no, don't say that. Don't speak Italian, she pleaded silently. Just the sound of his voice sent shivers down her spine, doing wholly wanton things to her body. Not a good look when she was trying to be professional and get that darn contract.
"Shall we begin?"
"Begin?” Carly parroted, annoyed she was behaving like an idiot. But then, Marco Valente did that to her.
"It's what you're here for I presume. Nothing else?"
Carly shot a look at the other man, but he didn't seem to understand or have heard. She, however, knew exactly what Marco hinted at.
The tip of her fingers brushed the side of her portfolio containing all her hard work, her hopes and dreams. She looked directly at Marco, proud eyes meeting his cold hard glaring gaze and pushed her shoulders back. She wouldn't collapse in the heat of fire, and definitely not in front of the man who broke her heart without knowing it. “Right. If you would please be seated, gentlemen."
Carly waited for the men to sit while Marco in true dictatorial style sat at the head of the board table, hands resting in front of him. His long, tapered fingers caught Carly's attention. She remembered their touch, the tantalizing and tortuous passion they roused in her.
Choking for air, she drew on every ounce of professionalism she could muster. Crisply, without seeming to be in hurry although she wanted out as fast as her Chanel-shod feet would carry her, she lay out her presentation.
Marco, much to her chagrin, said nothing and his expression remained immobile throughout.
Finally she finished and leaving the plans on the desk in front of him she folded her own shaking hands in front of her.
Dour faced, Marco turned to Chad. “Leave us.” It wasn't a request, but an order.
Burns looked to her and back to Marco. Clearly he could see something else simmered in this room. Carly gave him a slight smile and nodded encouragingly as he left.
"What's going on between you two?” Marco demanded the minute the door shut. His chair scraped back and he stood, towering over her. Carly reeled backwards. She'd forgotten how tall he was.
No she hadn't. She hadn't forgotten one single thing.
"What on earth are you getting at, Marco?"
"Smiling sweetly at Burns. The man's a sucker for long legs and a skirt."
"Don't be so disgusting.” She snatched up her bag and turned to go.
"This interview isn't over."
Carly halted, her fingers digging into her bag, jaw clenched so tightly she thought her teeth would break. She battled for a semblance of calm, aware her breathing staggered in her chest. She lifted her gaze to Marco. God, how could she have gotten it so wrong? “The hell it isn't! Look Marco, the fact that you are you and I'm here is merely a coincidence."
"Really?"
"I had no idea you were the owner of CV Hotels."
But she should have. She should have checked out who headed the company. Bad move. Damn it. But her head had been so involved in the design and getting it perfect, she'd forgotten that one little bit of research. Double damn!
"I've worked long and hard on this project. You could at least give my work the time of day."
"I thought I had."
Carly sniffed. “You must be joking. All you did was stare at me.” She wasn't about to add that it made her decidedly uncomfortable.
"You're a pretty sight."
"Oh shut up. Just shut up.” She had to escape. She snatched up her bag, but a sudden swell of unwavering queasiness forced her to halt in her tracks and she doubled up, gagging.
"Carly?” Concern tinged Marco's voice and he closed the gap between them. But his overwhelming masculinity and the familiar scent of him was more than Carly could handle. When his hand touched hers it was as if her heart turned to stone.
"Don't touch me.” Oh, dear God, she wanted to be sick. She slammed her lips closed, fighting to overcome the pressing urge that threatened to overtake her any second.
"Carly?” Marco wasn't giving up. His soft and caring voice caressed her over taut senses. It was the nail in the coffin. She could cope with harsh, cold, even indifferent, but not a caring Marco. Spinning on her heels, mindless that she had left everything behind, she raced out of the boardroom. In the hallway she came to an abrupt halt and looked left and right. She spied a sign. The ladies’ room. Carly shoved the door open and raced for the closest cubicle, dismayed when she heard Marco enter right behind her.
"Go away.” She tried to shut the door behind her, but his towering frame stood in the doorway. “Leave me alone."
"You're sick?"
"What does it look like?"
A flicker of emotion crossed his face before the mask slid back. Carly sighed. He had a right to know, but not now, not in a toilet while she vomited her heart out.
Later.
Maybe.
When she was done emptying her stomach, she heard the tap running and Marco passed her a damp towel catching her wrist at the same time. Gently he pulled her out of the cubicle and backed her into the chair in the corner. She tried to smile, but couldn't. “Even in the ladies’ bathroom there's luxury."
"CV Hotels is renowned for its excellence and quality."
"That's why my designs suit your hotels."
Marco laughed. “Even while you're sick, you're working,” he countered. “Why does this remind me of somewhere else?"
"Don't."
"Cara ... “ he began, but she couldn't and wouldn't listen. She flung the hand towel away.
"Don't you dare start that cara mia stuff on me. Once was enough Marco Valente. I'm not going down that track again."
"But..."
"Not buts,” she snapped. “President of CV Hotels. That's some step up from the drifter you lead me to believe you were."
"I never said what I did."
"No you didn't and even when you had the chance, when we arrived back at the mainland you kept the lie alive. As I said then and I'll say now, you deceived me. I don't like liars, Marco.” Wrenching the door open she raced back to the boardroom and grabbed her portfolio and bag, ready to leave.
"I've left copies of the design on the table. I'll wait to hear from your company,” she said. She couldn't say ‘hear from you'. That would be too much.
Marco's blue eyes darkened to deepest sapphire as he watched her. But he didn't try to stop her.
The lift doors closed with a soft hiss, shutting Marco from sight and as it lowered to the ground floor, Carly shoved a clenched fist in her mouth to stifle the harsh wracking noises that choked her.
"Oh baby, what are we going to do?"
Finally outside and free of the constraints of the building, she looked back up.
Carry on. Keep going. No looking back, the soft voice in her head instructed.
Chapter 9
"What the hell's the matter with you?” Chad Burns railed at him as he marched into his office. He didn't bother to close the door.
Marco let out a heavy sigh and dropped the papers he'd been trying to read—without much success. He looked up at his off-sider. Chad Burns was good. They'd worked side by side for years, but that was as far as it went. Marco wasn't about to parade his private life to anyone.
"Let's just say Ms. Mason and I are acquainted."
"Acquainted hell. You just about ate the woman alive in there."
Marco snorted. “You exaggerate."
Chad was probably right. Unfortunately. From the moment he'd walked in the room, he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off Carly. How the hell had he stopped himself from pulling her into his arms and kissing her till she melted, which if recollection served him, would be no more than a second. Oh, yeah, he remembered every single moment of it.
"So I take it she is why you've been like the proverbial bear with a sore tooth these last few months?"
Marco refused to answer.
"No. Don't both
er. I can read you a mile away mate. You've got it bad."
"Don't be melodramatic. You make it sound like a disease."
"It is. Remember Gloria, my ex-wife, and Lara, my other ex-wife? Drain you dry, Marco. Take my advice and keep well away. Besides, I thought you learned your lessons with Rosaria."
"Never fear, I'll be a good boy and do as I'm told,” Marco uttered with good humor; all the while his insides ground as if under attack from a bulldozer. He was distinctly aware of tightness in his groin. It hadn't stopped throbbing from the moment he'd seen Carly. But the mention of Rosaria only added to his woes. The woman was one she-devil he had no intention of igniting with ever again. He was over her teasing, enticing, lying ways.
"Right, I'm off for the weekend. Mary is taking me home to meet her parents."
Despite himself, Marco chuckled. “And you think I don't learn. Have you looked at yourself lately?"
"So, I made a mistake,” Chad shrugged sheepishly.
"Twice."
"Test runs before the real thing. See ya.” As the door slammed shut Marco was left alone with the haunting memory of auburn hair and teasing green eyes.
"Sh..."
Three months he cursed silently. Three months of hell, loneliness—and remorse.
He swiveled in his chair and looked down at the world. It was home time, everyone rushing for Friday night and freedom. But he felt trapped. Ten floors up in his office, it was like being confined to a gilded cage, entangled by emotions he didn't know how to deal with and wasn't sure he wanted to.
What was he going to do about it?
He eyed the clock on the central shelf of his mahogany bookcase.
Time was passing.
Snatching up the phone, he punched in some numbers. The phone rang and his breathing halted as he waited with anticipation.
It kept ringing and his gut churned.
Marco realized he was very, very nervous. A new experience.
Suddenly, an answer phone clicked in. It was Carly at her crispest and most professional. The office was shut. He tried her mobile and got another answer phone, the same voice, the same tone. It was driving him nuts. He didn't want to speak to a machine; he wanted the real live thing. He wanted Carly in person.
Hiring Cupid Page 11
