The Trouble With Coco Monroe

by CC MacKenzie

  It was an Oscar winning performance.

  “You were in a meeting,” she responded, her voice throaty, smoky.

  Dark eyes stayed on his and she blinked slowly once, twice.

  Without taking his eyes from hers Nico spoke to Julie,

  “Julie, when you did the handover to Elena, did you make it clear that when my wife needs to speak to me I am to be disturbed.”

  “Yes.”

  “The meeting was important. I made an executive decision,” Elena interrupted in an irritated tone.

  She was going to argue.

  Excellent.

  Jacob crossed his legs, folded his arms.

  “You are not an executive,” Nico told her in a deadly voice. “You are an administrator in my hotel. This is my playground, my rules.”

  Now Elena turned to Jacob and gave him a, Can you believe this? look.

  Jacob opened his mouth and Nico simply gave him a pointed finger.

  “Ms. Rocas, when you were speaking to my wife, did you refer to me as Nicolo? Therefore implying a close personal relationship?”

  Now Jacob’s brows snapped together.

  A flush rose over Elena’s dusky cheekbones.

  Those dark eyes lost the slumberous sexy look and went sharp now.

  “It was a term of... I think the English call it... endearment. It meant nothing,” she said, her Spanish accent stronger.

  Oh, she was good Nico thought.

  Her English was excellent and everyone in the room knew it.

  Time to cut through the crap.

  “Have you any idea who my wife is?”

  A shrug, a little pout of the mouth and the puzzlement was back in her eyes.

  “She is a little English girl married to a very wealthy older man.”

  Julie’s eyes went like saucers.

  Nico sat forward his eyes dead on hers.

  “She was born and brought up in this house, Ludlow Hall. She is a lady. She is held in great affection by all who work here, by all who live in the surrounding area. And she married a man who as a boy lived on the streets of Rome, lived by his wits. She has a big heart. And she loves me with every single beat of that heart. And I love her. I made it crystal clear that I am not interested in you, Ms. Rocas. Not even for sex.”

  Now Jacob’s brows rose.

  Nico’s eyes met his.

  “Are you having intimate relations with your personal assistant Senor Del Garda?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever had intimate relations with your personal assistant?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” Now he looked at Elena. “Your position is a trusted one. You have shown disrespect to me, to my wife and to your position. I understand you refer to me as Nicolo to the staff and guests. Is that correct?”

  Now Elena went bone white.

  She was finished and she knew it.

  “I apologise if that upset you. I want the guests to feel that we are as a family, to feel comfortable and welcome at Ludlow Hall.”

  Bullshit.

  “Let me give you a word of advice. Wherever and whomever you work for in the future, always refer to your employer as Mr. or Ms. If you’d referred to me as Mr. Ferranti and done as you were told, you might still have a role here. As it is, I want you gone. You have half an hour to pack. A taxi will take you to the airport. It will be up to Jacob to find you a role within his company, but you are finished in mine.”

  She rose a little unsteady on her feet and Nico was glad to see it.

  Perhaps she’d learned a lesson.

  Looking absolutely furious with her, Jacob stood.

  After showing the woman out, Julie closed the door and returned to her seat.

  Nico turned to Jacob.

  “You can deal with her contract issues. I’m taking a few hours of personal time today,” he told him. “Julie has my contact details. Anything urgent will have to wait until I return.”

  “Si, no problem.” He stood. “Apologise to Bronte for me.”

  Nico nodded.

  His wife had been unwell this morning and they were attending a doctor’s appointment in an hour.

  As the door closed behind Jacob, Nico turned to Julie.

  “Okay?”

  She gave him wide eyes.

  “Remind me never to call you, Nicolo.”

  He couldn’t help but grin at her cheek.

  “Nip it in the bud if you hear it among the staff.”

  “Will do.”

  She stood, but he held up a finger.

  “Ahh, could you get me the owner of our plumbing contractor on the phone?”

  “Sure. Problems?”

  “One of his sons insisted on cash yesterday to come to The Dower House to fix an emergency.”

  She shook her head in disgust.

  “I’ll put him through.”

  By the time Nico was finished with the plumber, a bouquet of flowers was on its way to Bronte. One more cock-up like yesterday and they’d lose the contract for Ludlow Hall.

  Next on his hit list was his wife.

  And he couldn’t help the little tickle of anxiety in his gut.

  Something was wrong with Bronte.

  She’d been too pale, too fragile, this morning.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Later a stunned Nico and Bronte sat in front of their general practitioner.

  Nico held his wife’s hand tight in his.

  “But, how did this happen?” Bronte asked in a bemused voice.

  Dr. Jennifer Cameron simply beamed.

  “You’re not on birth control. Exactly the same way you got pregnant the first time. Isn’t Mother Nature a wonderful thing?”

  “But the endometriosis... and I’ve been bleeding a little. How is this possible?”

  “We’ll send you for a scan. But I guess from my examination you’re about ten weeks, which accounts for the emotional rollercoaster and the tiredness. Intermittent bleeding isn’t unusual. You suffered with spotting the first time. But we need to make sure everything’s as it should be. A scan will tell us more. And if there’s more than one. Having twins the first time ups the odds of twins again. Congratulations.”

  Two hours later they sat in their car in the car park of the private hospital and simply gazed at the amazing 3D scan photo of their baby.

  Bronte was eleven weeks pregnant and everything looked good. And there was only one, thank goodness.

  They’d never expected to have more children.

  Bronte sniffed, mopping her eyes she grinned into Nico’s happy face.

  “Who’s a clever daddy?”

  “Why did I not see it? The mood swings, the tiredness?”

  “Why didn’t I?”

  “You need to take it easy. I will cut back my hours at The Hall.”

  “Rosie will be back in a few weeks. Omigod, she’s going to go mental.”

  “So will your brother.”

  “So will yours.” Then her eyes went wide. “My father’s going to dance a jig.”

  “We will call them when we get home.”

  Now she frowned. “I had wine last night.”

  He blinked, shook his head.

  “You had half a glass and didn’t finish it. No more for you.”

  She placed the palm of her hand on his strong jaw, turned his face to her.

  His shocked delight was plain to see.

  God she loved him so much.

  “We’re going to have a baby,” she whispered.

  “Si, I am very potent,” he growled, wiggled his brows. “I am Italian.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  The next morning found Coco up before dawn.

  She’d had a hellish night with dreams of her father, of stomach churning remorse, bubbling and brewing with erotic dreams of Rafe. The lethal combination left her jittery and nervy. She needed space to think, to breathe, to be on her own and to find her balance again.

  No matter how hard she tried to be independent, to march to the beat of her o
wn drum, she was always dragged back to her family. Intellectually she knew what had happened to her father was not her fault. She wasn’t accountable for the actions of Sergei Kandinsky.

  However, she was responsible for bringing herself and her family to his attention. But how could she abandon Olivia and her baby to a monster?

  If only her father would give her a chance to show him what she could do. He called her his princess and she hated his term of endearment with a passion. Why didn’t he understand her? Why was he so over the top and too protective?

  Unplugging the satellite phone from its charger she placed it in her backpack. Adding water and apples, she stuffed in swimwear, a towel and unpacked a new bottle of suntan lotion.

  Dressing quickly in shorts, a T-shirt, Coco laced up her hiking boots.

  Then remembered to leave Rafe a note.

  With a quick hand she wrote:

  Rafe. Gone for a hike in the hills around Ludlow Hall to clear my head. Will see you later. Signed, Coco.

  She shrugged on her backpack, left the room and tiptoed downstairs.

  Stepping through the French windows of the kitchen, dawn’s early light rose on the horizon.

  With a steady rhythm she strode through the morning mists swirling around her ankles, heading towards the rising sun.

  For the first time in twenty-four hours she smiled and her heart lifted.

  Freedom.

  The curl of anxiety in her belly along with the ache in the region of her heart reminded her that running away from Rafe never worked.

  She could go to the moon and her complex feelings for him would still be right there with her. Perhaps the time had come for her to let go of childish things.

  God knew her dreams as an adolescent with Rafe playing the starring role had been idiotic at best. But they’d also been honest, sexually raw and too overwhelming for her to handle.

  The memories of the old Coco’s self-absorption, of how the whole universe had rotated around her wants and needs made her crimson with self-disgust today.

  She’s been a spoilt, demanding child who needed to grow up and get a life – that’s what Rafe had told her ten years ago and he’d been right.

  An hour later, thigh muscles burning from the steep climb, she reached her destination.

  Her medics had told her exercise was important as long as she didn’t exhaust herself. She knew the slight tightness in her chest would ease and took a deep cleansing breath.

  The high spot in the hills with its panoramic views of the surrounding dips and valleys had her take another inhale and simply enjoy the moment.

  A whipping wind rolled away low clouds, revealing a glorious sky of such a sparkling blue it hurt the eye.

  How could she take pleasure in the scene when her life was such a complete and utter disaster?

  She stopped to rest near a rock pool.

  The water, gin clear, was fed by a spring and exactly as she remembered it.

  With a grunt she dropped her pack, crouched, poking around for the fruit and water.

  Crunching on an apple Coco hauled out the satellite phone.

  Since a SAT phone didn’t work indoors and needs a clear sky, she made sure the antenna was firmly seated in its socket, rotated it to a 45-degree angle and heard the click. Then she pulled the end to fully extend the antenna and released the button. She powered on the phone and waited for the device to register with the satellite. When she read the signal, she keyed in the number for Louise.

  Toeing off her boots, socks, a deep sigh escaped from her lungs as she sat and waited for the connection, dipping hot feet in deliciously cool water.

  Her friend’s muffled curse made her smile.

  “Hi, Lou, it’s me.”

  “Hang on. Bloody hell, woman, what time is it?”

  “Too early?”

  “No, how are you?”

  “Fine. Tell me...”

  “Wait. Don’t speak.” The furious tone of her friend’s voice made her frown. “Are you sitting down?”

  “Yep.” Coco splashed her feet wondering what the hell could have gone wrong now.

  “Ethan’s arrived,” Louise growled.

  Coco winced.

  Why was it the men they adored seemed to give them nothing but heartache?

  “Lou?” she prompted when she heard nothing but silence.

  “Sergei Kandinsky is hunting for his family and he’s a vicious bastard, that’s all true. But you’re not going to believe this. I can hardly believe it myself and Ethan’s absolutely furious. He can’t believe they could do such a thing to you, to us.” Her friend took a deep breath then blurted, “Your father wasn’t shot. It was a trick. The whole thing was set-up by Rafe to get you out of harm’s way. But why the hell couldn’t he have talked to us like adults?”

  “What?”

  With legs not quite steady, Coco stood.

  Unable to keep physically still, her wet feet slapped on sun-warmed stone as she paced back and forth. And all the while her brain raced.

  Heady relief that her father was fine roiled with nausea in her throat as she battled with the memories of shock and guilt that he’d been shot.

  Shot?

  She’d do more than bloody shoot him when she got her hands on him.

  How could her own father talk to her on the phone like that, and lie?

  Then the way Rafe had ordered her to pack, marching her out of her house.

  Like a puppet jerking on strings she’d done exactly as they’d asked.

  Strings they’d pulled.

  They’d made sure she couldn’t think, didn’t have time to find her composure.

  The controlling sons-of-bitches had made sure she jumped when they said jump.

  And not only that they’d dragged Nico and Bronte into the mix.

  How dare Rafe cause chaos like this?

  The memory of being held heart broken in his arms poured molten rage through her system. Then the way he’d caused her savage arousal, hurt and confused her, as he told her he didn’t want her.

  He’d wound her up, keeping her off balance, needy and hurt.

  The bastard had played her like a pro.

  His cruelty knew no bounds.

  How could he do such a thing to her?

  Her mind raced through possibilities.

  He wanted to talk did he?

  Christ, he probably wanted to confess all to pave the way into her panties!

  And it would all be her fault, as per bloody usual.

  To think, she fumed, she’d been worried about Rafe, thinking he’d been under too much stress.

  She’d give him stress all right.

  Keep calm, keep calm, she chanted.

  Don’t get angry.

  Get fucking even.

  Everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours raced through her mind as Louise continued, “Rafe’s orders are that we mustn’t know where you are. Sounds totally over the top to me.” She heaved a sigh. “Ethan will be so relieved you’ve got in touch. And he’s had a major argument on the phone with your father. I never thought I’d live to see that day.”

  Fury raged through Coco’s system as she stopped dead.

  Her mind whirled.

  So what if her brother was standing up to their father on her behalf?

  Who the hell cared?

  It was too little too late.

  When would the men in her life ever learn?

  A plan whispered in her ear.

  “No, Louise. Don’t tell him.”

  “But why? He’s worried sick about you.”

  Coco picked up an unusual tone in her friend’s voice and shrugged it off.

  Screwing up her eyes she frantically tried to remember the sequence of events in her bedroom yesterday. “Rafe has no idea I have this phone, does he?”

  “No, he didn’t look in the backpack.”

  Music to her ears, Coco thought with an evil little smile. “You’ve not spoken to me. Promise me.”

  Her friend hea
ved a deep sigh. “What’s going on?”

  Even as righteous rage pulsed in her heart, a bubbling anger scabbed a crust over a disillusionment with Rafe that shook her to the core.

  Coco ground out the words, “Let’s just say Rafael Cavendish is about to have a come to Jesus moment.”

  Louise groaned. “Be careful, look what happened last time.”

  Hurt was struggling to slice through sheer temper now and Coco simply could not permit it.

  So she took a very deep breath. “I’ll be careful.”

  They discussed a couple of business issues, which had her clench her fist at the number of plans they’d need to change and meetings re-scheduled. Ooh, she could kill him, she really could.

  What about the vulnerable people who needed her?

  He hadn’t even thought about them, had he?

  Coco forced herself to remain calm and promised faithfully to contact Louise soon before she hung up.

  Tapping the cell phone to her chin, she paced.

  There was always the possibility that Rafe would find the satellite phone once she’d begun to punish him.

  She wouldn’t put it past him to search her stuff.

  He was crafty like that.

  Crouching, she placed the phone in a plastic bag and sealed it tight.

  And decided to hide it under a couple of rocks at the back of the cabin.

  Taking a shaky breath she rose and took stock of her situation.

  Her father was well and unharmed.

  Tears of relief flooded her cheeks as the heavy burden of guilt lifted.

  Quickly followed by the thought that he wouldn’t be unharmed by the time she’d finished with him.

  Everyone had their tipping point and Coco knew she’d reached hers.

  She sniffed and swiped at her eyes.

  Take one step at a time, she told herself.

  With the need for vengeance burning like acid in her heart, her belly, she tugged on her socks and boots.

  Lifting her face to the sky she let out a heartfelt scream of pure and utter fury.

  Thrusting her shoulders into her rucksack, she started down the dusty track and took a few deep steady breaths.

  They’d taken her from her home, her life and the people who relied on her, who needed her.