There was only one other avenue. Marco dialed the phone service operator and quickly identified his problem. The operator asked him to wait. He did. But it bugged the hell out of him. His fingers thrummed on the desk in an impatient drone and he fidgeted with the plans Carly had left behind. They were by far the best.
"Sorry sir, that number is confidential."
"What do you mean?” He had to have it. He couldn't wait.
"Sorry sir,” the operator replied, obviously trained in patience, something Marco was quickly running short of. “We can't give the number out."
"Can't or won't?” he accused.
"Can't sir and won't,” she reiterated but there was a firm tone to her voice and Marco ungraciously realized she had him beat. The woman wasn't about to budge one iota. Frustrated to hell, he slammed the phone down. Damn it. There had to be some way he could contact her. Family? Would they give out her number? Besides, he reasoned with renewed hope—how many Masons could there be in the phone book?
He found out.
One hundred and twenty eight to be exact.
One after another, after another.
Bleary eyed, Marco dialed number seventy-four. He wanted to be positive, but was fast losing any hope after the last guy accused him of having an affair with his wife. He'd begun to wonder if phoning all the Masons in the phone directory in the hope of hitting dirt and finding someone, anyone, who knew Carly, was worth it.
Unbidden, an image of her on the beach came to mind. Her aquamarine colored bikini, the firm swell of her breasts, the feel of her skin under his fingers as he'd covered her with sun cream.
He swallowed hard. Yes, she was worth it.
* * * *
"You've got to come Carly, little Damian is so looking forward to it,” her sister Margaret whined down the phone line.
"Okay,” she reluctantly agreed. Little Damian she knew wouldn't care less whether she was there or not. He was only one year old. Whereas little Damian's mother would and it wasn't particularly pleasing to realize her sister wanted her mainly for the present she would give Damian.
Carly sighed. Three sisters whose husbands or boyfriends came and went with regularity and an assortment of nieces and nephews who kept her poor, but then, she supposed she had more than they did.
You work harder.
Carly shrugged. It was true. Though now, with her own baby on the way, she wasn't quite sure what to expect. One thing was certain however; she wasn't prepared to let her business go. Somehow she would cope.
"Carly. Please come."
Carly really wanted to say no and to go home and sleep. The thought of having to deal with her boisterous family felt daunting, especially after the upsetting day she'd had.
But as always, family came first.
At least the presentation was behind her. For what that was worth, she thought with increasing despondency. She'd set her heart on the contract, but finding Marco at the helm had seriously undermined her confidence that the contract would be hers.
She couldn't disappoint Damian, however. The small boy held a special place in her heart; his father was as scarce as hers had been.
Instead of going back to the office, Carly spent the remainder of Friday afternoon toy shopping at a major children's store. As she browsed along each isle, she was struck dumb. What normally would be a chore, Carly suddenly found riveting beyond all reason. She fingered the tiny lemon colored booties, so small they'd only fit two fingers at most. Would her baby be so small? Just thinking about it caused a warm flush to invade her body.
Her baby. It sounded pretty darn good.
* * * *
"You came,” Margaret called as she stepped off the front porch, little Damian slung on one hip, his bib still grubby with the last meal.
Carly grimaced and stifled the urge to tell her sister to clean up her act. “I said I would."
Margaret snatched at the large gift. “What did you get him?"
"Some welcome,” Carly muttered as her sister left her standing alone.
Inside was bedlam. When the Mason clan gathered it usually meant chaos in the extreme and today was no different. Carly gave her mother a kiss, but was barely acknowledged as the older woman succumbed to the throng of grandchildren at her feet.
"Look after yourself Carly, I can't get up,” she prompted.
"What's new?” It was the story of her life. Everyone expected her to look after herself—and them. But for some reason she kept coming back. Family was family she supposed. Carly rested a hand on her stomach. Soon, she'd have her own family.
"You lookin’ a bit peaky, Carly,” Laura yelled from across the room.
Carly's hand dropped from her stomach. “I'm fine,” she lied. “Just working too hard, that's all."
"Hey, Auntie Carly, you wanna sausage roll?” Bryce shoved a loaded plate under her nose.
Carly balked at the greasy offerings, averted her face and slapped a hand over her mouth. She wanted to be sick, her stomach roiling at the merest whiff of the pasty and fatty sausage concoction.
Her sister's eyes narrowed, a tell tale hint of recognition fluttering across her face. “You never were a good liar, Carly. What's up?"
"Nothing."
"You're pregnant."
The room went quiet. “Don't be silly,” she denied hotly. She should never have come. Should have known she couldn't hide anything from her family.
"Silly, my foot. Come on, you can tell us. Heck, we've all been there, done that."
Carly's gaze traveled around the room. Laura's boyfriend now resided in prison and Margaret's husband wasn't much better. He came and went, each time leaving Margaret pregnant. Her sisters stared back, interest blatantly piqued.
"You're just like the rest of us single mothers,” Laura chuckled, slapping her fat thigh. “Hey Mum, Carly's pregnant."
"Is she now, well who would have guessed."
Under this scrutiny there was no way out. Her family would hound her until they unearthed the facts. “I've only just found out,” she finally admitted.
"Hey get a look at that car,” one of her nephews called out. He yanked down one of the slats of the Venetian blinds and pressed his face to the window. “Cool as. Bet it's fast."
Carly didn't really care what they were talking about and turned away as the boys raced outside. All she wanted to do was to control the urge to scream while her sisters interrogated her.
* * * *
With everyone gone from the office, Marco had spent hours phoning virtually every Mason in the book. He didn't succumb to defeat easily and now as he parked his car, his heart raced with expectation. This was it. He'd spoken briefly to someone and they'd confirmed that Carly was a family member and expected later that evening.
From the safety of his car he stared at the house in the gloom of the evening. It didn't look much; in fact it was pretty dilapidated. He checked the number on the piece of paper lying on the car seat beside him, against the letterbox. They were one and the same. Just then, two scruffy boys raced out the front door. Marco sat up. One boy's hair was an exact replica of Carly's burnished copper. Hope soared in his chest. Perhaps he had found her.
Taking a deep breath he pushed the car door open and exited the Jaguar, automatically locking it. This wasn't a neighborhood to leave anything unattended or unlocked for too long. He glanced up and down the dimly lit street. It was a sad place. Upturned rubbish bins, houses needing a coat of paint and dilapidated cars lined both sides of the street. Although most houses had small front lawns, there were no gardens to speak of.
"Hey mister, this your car?"
Marco stared down at the boy. The child had the same intense forest green eyes as Carly.
He smiled. “Sure is. Maybe one day, I'll give you a ride."
"Really?” The boy's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Sure thing.” Marco sidestepped and pushed the gate open, grimacing as it lurched back on one hinge and threatened to fall off any second. He strode to the door, knocked once,
aware the little boys were right behind him.
"Who you want to see mister?"
"Well, that depends. I'm hoping I've got the right place.” Hoping like hell he thought.
The door was opened by a large woman, a child resting on her hip. Her coloring was so very much like Carly's. One of the little boys pushed past him. “Ma, he said he'd take me for a ride."
"Hush Bryce. Go inside right now. Tell Auntie Carly to cut you some cake."
Carly? Marco's smile broadened.
Bingo!
"Is Carly here?"
"Who wants to know?” The woman's assessment was blatant, but he refused to acknowledge it and kept his expression carefully masked.
"A friend,” he offered as a reply.
"Really?” Interest washed across the woman's eyes. She turned and yelled into the house. “Carly. Someone to see ya. A friend."
In the background the raucous cackle of children shouting and arguing increased by the second. It made Marco smile. How different from his childhood.
"He's gorgeous, definitely hunk material. Sounds foreign,” he heard Carly's sister inform the others. But he wasn't interested in her thoughts, only Carly's.
Carly stepped up to the door. “Marco!” Her shock was obvious and she gave him a darkly angry and unwelcoming glare. “What are you doing here?"
Marco's practiced speech suddenly disappeared. “I..."
"How did you find me?"
"I phoned your office, you were gone, and your mobile was switched off,” he responded flatly. “Carly...” But one look at her cold expression and he froze.
"Go away, Marco."
"I can't. This isn't how I wanted it to be."
"So what did you expect? That'd I'd jump into your arms?"
He offered a sheepish grin. “That would be nice."
But Carly gave him a withering scowl, which he chose to ignore and continued. “Why did you leave?"
"I wasn't feeling well."
"That much I know, cara mia. I was there, remember?"
"Don't say that.” Her lips pursed into a thin white reproving line. “How did you find me? Why Marco?"
"I was concerned, cara.” He saw her tense again at his endearment and cursed himself. He needed to go slower. He needed control.
"There's no need to be. I'm fine."
"Really? You look pale. Perhaps you need a holiday."
Carly's head shot up. “I'm fine,” she reiterated. “No holiday is required. I've had enough holidays to last a lifetime."
An older woman's head popped around the corner, just then. “Carly, don't be rude, invite your man in."
"He's not my man.” And she shuffled on the balls of her feet, folding her arms across her chest.
Marco took his opportunity. “Hello, Marco Valente.” He held his hand out.
The older woman was clearly impressed, which was just the way he wanted it. He wanted to get Carly's family on his side. She took his hand as if she was inspecting it for dirt and grime.
"I'm Carly's mother, but you call me Mabel. So, you're the one,” she accused.
"I beg your pardon."
"So you should young man."
Carly's horrified gaze swiveled from her mother to him and back to her mother. “Mum, don't,” she pleaded. She had gone deathly white and leaned against the doorway for support.
"Don't what?"
"You mean you haven't told him yet?"
"Haven't told me what?"
"Baby. That's what. You got my daughter pregnant."
Marco gasped audibly.
A baby. Him.
He was going to be a daddy.
Carly seemed even paler than before and her gaze was directed anywhere but at him. “Is this true? Are you pregnant with our child?” he demanded.
"My child. I'm pregnant."
"Yes, but it is mine?"
"You think that little of me, Marco, that I sleep around?"
"Dio,” Marco slapped his forehead with the flat of his palm as an icy cold chill took hold of him. “I apologize. I ... we may know very little about each other, but I do know that you would not act this way. Tell me, when exactly where you going to inform me?"
"I've only just found out."
"So you knew when you were at the office?"
Carly nodded again.
Marco felt himself pale. He looked directly at Carly's mother. The woman would have once been beautiful he acknowledged, but now her gray hair hung in scraggy, uncut tendrils around her lined face; a face that had seen too many late nights, too many bars and more than likely, he reasoned, too many men. Then there was the acrid stench that clung to only those who were heavy smokers and the red-rimmed eyes, dulled from years of sitting amidst the pall of cigarette smoke.
"Excuse me Mrs. Mason, but your daughter and I need to talk."
"Go right ahead,” she answered, but remained where she was.
"Alone,” he instructed. Wrapping his fingers firmly around Carly's arm he pulled her away from the door.
"Stop, you can't do this. Where are you taking me?” Carly struggled against him, but Marco's determination was stronger. “The car,” he said curtly. “We're going to talk in the car, Carly."
Snapping the button on his key ring, the vehicle unlocked with a sharp beep. He opened the passenger door and she got in without further protest. That surprised him. He expected a fight.
* * * *
Never before had a car space seemed so claustrophobic. Carly hugged her body to the door, wishing she could put more space between her and Marco. Preferably a hundred kilometers.
She stole a glance at him. His expression was grim and determined and only exacerbated her weakened defenses. Then she began to shake and clasped her hands tightly across her chest. She needed to stand up to Marco, yet with him so close, her body remembered too much. The aroma of his aftershave filled every nook of the car, setting her on a precipice. Valiantly she battled to stifle the urge to bolt, swallowing back a sob as she roughly brushed at the single tear that trailed down her cheek. She knew she had to face him, but couldn't bear to look him in the eye.
"When exactly were you going to tell me?"
"I don't know. Sometime, I suppose."
"You suppose?” Marco shouted.
Carly flinched and edged closer to the car door as if the metallic hardness offered reassurance. “You're being unreasonable, Marco. I had no idea where you lived or how to find you prior to this morning, remember? And besides, what did you expect me to do, slip it in during the middle of the presentation with Mr. Burns sitting there? Or tell you afterwards when you were so angry, so hostile to me? Or maybe in between throwing up and trying not to...” She inhaled deeply. “No, I couldn't tell you in the office, it wasn't the right time, or place. And it would have been completely unprofessional."
"Unprofessional?” Marco's fist hit the steering wheel. “This is my baby we're talking about."
"So?"
"So!” He muttered a few oaths in Italian, words she was quite certain his mother wouldn't want to hear.
"Look Marco, we met, we had sex, and we parted."
"Sex. Is that it?"
"Yes,” she lied and looked away for a moment. “Marco, it was a shock. I hadn't gotten as far as figuring out how to try to find you, I was still trying to get used to the idea, trying to figure out what to do..."
"Okay, I see,” Marco agreed quietly. “So what now?"
"I'm not sure. I don't know how I'm going to care for a baby and run my business..."
Misunderstanding her meaning, he turned to her abruptly. “You're not getting rid of my child, Carly!"
"No I'm..."
"I'm telling you here and now, Carly. No way. Never. That's my child you're carrying.” His lips twisted with vehemence and there was an expression of desperation and fierce anger reflected in the depths of his darkened eyes. Suddenly, he started the engine and a stark unbridled fear sprinted down Carly's spine.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Home.
"
"Home? You don't know where I live."
"Not your home. Mine. Ours. We're having this baby ... and we're getting married."
"Married?” Carly's heart raced and the roar in her ears escalated to super-sonic proportions drowning out every other sound around them. “Married? We're not getting married. No way. Absolutely not."
But Marco wasn't listening and with a squeal of tires, he steered the car away at break-neck speed forcing Carly to clutch the armrest, nails digging into the luxuriously soft leather.
She tried again. “I won't marry you, Marco Valente. This is a joke isn't it?"
But Marco's dour expression remained unchanged as he relentlessly drove them toward his home, wherever that was. Which precisely reiterated the fact that she knew very little about him whatsoever—still.
"This baby is mine. It needs a father."
"You can be its father. But marriage? Forget it. I'm not the marrying kind. Neither are you if I remember correctly."
"I remember what I said. I remember everything,” Marco responded when they'd stopped at a traffic light. He turned to her and his slow lingering gaze slid over her face, down her breasts, and came to rest on her stomach. The look of heated desire reflected in his eyes told her he remembered just as much as she did.
"A baby changes everything. Irretrievably,” he said, lowering his tone.
"It doesn't have to."
"You telling me you're one of these modern women who go around having baby after baby, not caring whether the father is around or not?"
Carly blanched. “You make me sound cheap.” Though what he had done was make her sound exactly like her sisters. She loved her family, but it didn't mean she had to like their way of life. Wasn't that why she had chosen a different life? Chosen work over babies. Work over love.
"Not cheap, cara,” Marco intoned, his voice softening. “Perhaps misguided."
"Misguided hell. I choose my life, Marco Valente. Not you, not my family. You can't make me marry you."
"Perhaps not. But think of our child. Isn't it better to have two parents than one?"
He may not have realized, but what he said was a cruel blow. Carly sank back on the seat. She felt as if she'd been hit square on the jaw, his comment forcing her to think of her own childhood and drained her of any energy to fight.
Hiring Cupid Page 12
