The Italian's Demand

by Sara Wood

  Too late, she discovered it was a similar one of Linda’s: too late, too short and too tight, she thought moodily, diving for the buttons in order to take it off again. Just then, the gate buzzer rang shrill and loud, and she jumped, fearing that Lio would wake.

  ‘Damn whoever forgot to make you waterproof!’ she muttered, glaring at the ruined entry phone remote control which she’d flung on the bed. ‘Where were you when I needed you?’ she demanded.

  The wretched thing might have let Vittore in without any further risk of awakening the sleeping Lio. As it was, Vittore had apparently decided to lean on the buzzer till she answered and it was screaming through the silence of the house like a banshee.

  And so, barefoot and muttering all the rude words she knew, she hitched up the pelmet skirt to hip level and hurtled down the stairs to punch in the code that opened the gates. Remembering, of course, to snuggle the skirt back as far as it would go—which wasn’t far. Not that she cared.

  All she could think of was that Vittore could destroy her happiness and turn a bewildered, distressed child into a total wreck. Her heart leapt erratically, her mind focussed only on Lio. His interests came above everything else.

  Wiping her clammy hands on her hips, she opened the front door and drew in a horribly shaky breath as the scowling threat to Lio’s welfare came up the drive and strode grimly up the wide steps towards her, his intention crystal clear.

  He’d demand to see Lio. Order baby things to be packed.

  And there wouldn’t be a thing she could do to stop him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘COME IN,’ she whimpered in an appallingly silly, breathless voice.

  Vittore obviously thought she was ditzy because he frowned.

  ‘Lio,’ he stated starkly, not beating about the bush.

  ‘You mustn’t wake him!’ she declared tremulously.

  The rich chocolate eyes hardened. ‘Sweet Madonna—!’ He checked himself, his sultry mouth a thin, angry line. ‘Just point me in his direction. Upstairs, is he?’

  Seething with anger, Vittore started striding towards the opulently grand staircase and she had to scurry frantically to catch him up, the towel falling off her hair in the process.

  With water dropping onto her bare shoulders, she reached out and grabbed his arm. He stopped dead, gazing at her inscrutably.

  It was like gripping tensile steel. Alarmed by the illogical intimacy of what she was doing, Verity snatched her hand away. Tingles were whizzing up and down her arm. The man was electric, she thought in confusion. And, heaven help her, she’d just been switched on.

  ‘Yes?’ he growled, in a deeply husky voice that somehow made her knees turn to water.

  She swallowed, some crazily diverted part of her brain mulling over the fact that he seemed to extend words, savouring them in his mouth and letting them roll out in an unnervingly sexy way. That was Italians for you.

  ‘You’ve got to promise,’ she breathed, astonishingly still not in full control of her lungs. Or anything else for that matter. Fear did funny things to the body.

  ‘Promise what?’

  Valiantly she pulled the wandering strands of her brain together and licked her dry lips till she could speak again.

  ‘Promise not to wake him!’ she croaked.

  ‘So. You care about my son,’ he observed, scrutinising her anxious face as if interested in every detail.

  ‘Yes! I adore him, every little scrap of him!’ she cried, all the passion in her heart filling that declaration with a fierce intensity. ‘From his little toes to the top of his blond head!’

  For a moment his watchful eyes seemed to soften. She did, too. He was mesmeric. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his.

  ‘I won’t wake him,’ he promised, solemnly gazing deep into her eyes. ‘Just…’ It seemed that emotion had got the better of him. For a second or two she watched wide-eyed while he steadied himself again. ‘You will understand,’ he said softly, ‘that naturally I am anxious to see him after all this time.’

  ‘But not take him!’ she faltered.

  ‘That, Verity, is why I’m here,’ he pointed out drily.

  She felt faint. ‘You mean you’re just going to pick him up out of his bed and shove him in your car and drive away?’ she cried in horror.

  Vittore flinched. ‘Do I look like a barbarian?’ he asked coldly.

  ‘I don’t know what barbarians look like, do I? I have to protect him!’ she jerked in distress. ‘I am his guardian!’

  His brows dipped together alarmingly and she realised she’d insulted him unforgivably by suggesting he was an uncouth savage.

  ‘Is this a legal guardianship? An official arrangement with signed agreements, ratified by a solicitor?’ he shot at her unfairly.

  She shuffled her feet, unable to lie but wishing she could.

  ‘N-no—’

  ‘Then you have no right in law where he is concerned,’ he said, crushing any hopes she might have harboured.

  ‘Law! What does the law matter—?’ she began hotly.

  ‘Everything!’ he barked. ‘Now listen, Verity. I’ve had enough of your hostility and suspicion. I suppose you’ve had Linda’s version of events. Well, this is mine—’

  ‘I know all about you!’ she yelled.

  ‘No, you don’t! You’ve heard nothing but lies. You will listen if I have to tie you up and gag you first!’ he raged.

  She cringed back, frightened by his raw anger. She might have to call the police if he got violent. But her best bet would be to humour him, let him see Lio and then give him the facts.

  ‘I’m listening,’ she said coldly. ‘Go ahead.’

  He folded his arms, his eyes dark and brooding and she realised that the bleakness of his expression was actually nothing to do with her, but some pain he’d held within him for a long time. Something in her suddenly sympathetic expression must have soothed him, because he gave a helpless gesture with his hands and muttered a curt, ‘Thank you.’

  Then he fixed her with his penetrating eyes and began.

  ‘Fourteen months ago, Linda abducted Lio from my house,’ he said stiltedly. ‘I had no warning. When I left for work, he was there. When I came home, he and his mother had gone. Linda’s dressing room was empty and all of Lio’s clothes had been taken away. I heard nothing. Knew nothing. My son had vanished off the face of the earth. For all that time, I didn’t know if he was dead or alive. Until this morning—’

  Verity felt his pain, her stomach constricting with horror. ‘I can’t believe this!’ she gasped. ‘You thought he might be dead? That’s terrible! How could you bear it? If what you say is true—’

  ‘True? Of course it’s true!’ he exploded. ‘Why would I pretend otherwise?’ he fumed. ‘Do you think I enjoy tormenting myself with the memory of the suffering I endured at the hands of your adoptive sister?’

  She flushed. ‘I don’t know! I have two conflicting stories and I’m confused! It’s just that it was such an extraordinarily cruel thing to do, and…’

  ‘It was,’ he rasped. ‘How else could Linda deal me a mortal wound?’

  ‘Oh!’ Verity breathed, wide-eyed with shock. What had happened between him and Linda, she wondered? ‘She must have hated you very much!’

  Pain etched lines around his eyes and mouth. ‘I’m not discussing her any further,’ he said tightly.

  She knew when not to probe. There were terrible undercurrents here she knew nothing about. To do something so drastic, Linda must have been provoked beyond endurance!

  Verity’s eyes grew even larger with apprehension. She leaned against the banister, clutching at it for support, even more determined not to hand her precious, needy Lio over to this deeply flawed man.

  ‘I didn’t have the full story, obviously.’ Her chin lifted in a stubborn gesture, huge violet eyes flashing in warning. She vowed that she’d get to the bottom of this before she let Vittore touch a hair of Lio’s head! ‘I don’t think I have it now—’

  ‘Verity,’
he muttered tautly, barely controlling his temper, ‘I am trying to remember my manners, but I am becoming increasingly impatient. Control comes easily to me—except where my passions are fiercely engaged. As they are now. For the last time—are you going to show me where Lio is, or do I search for him myself?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll take him away!’ she jerked.

  ‘Of course I will!’ he flared. ‘He is my flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone! Sweet heaven, I have held him in my heart and ached for him every hour of every day since he was taken from me!’

  His words rang true and touched a chord in her. He wanted his son. Had a right to him. Her head bowed in defeat and drops of water fell from her swinging hair, staining the front of her dress. The painful thought of losing Lio felt like a dozen daggers in her breast. Imagining little Lio’s anguish only added to her pain.

  ‘Oh, no!’ she groaned. ‘No…’

  As her despairing body wilted and it seemed she’d fall, strong hands caught her arms, holding her up as if she were weightless. Dizziness claimed her but she knew she had to stay alert and desperately struggled to focus her mind.

  ‘Verity!’ he muttered urgently. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

  ‘Terror!’ she blurted out tearfully.

  ‘What?’ His perplexed face was close to hers, a blur of golden skin and strong, white teeth. ‘Explain!’ he demanded.

  Tipping up her plaintive face to his, she tried not to drown in the dark liquid eyes.

  ‘I’m t-terrified you’ll walk off with him now. He’s only a baby, Vittore and he’ll be so frightened if you do!’ she cried tremulously. ‘Don’t take him till I’ve talked to you!’ she begged in one last, desperate attempt. ‘Please, Vittore! For Lio’s sake, you need to know everything about him!’

  He looked wary, his eyes narrow and glinting with troubled lights as they searched hers.

  ‘What do you mean? Is he ill? Physically harmed?’ he fired harshly, startling her.

  ‘No! He’s physically perfect.’ She winced at the pressure of his hands. ‘Please! You’re hurting me!’

  ‘Forgive me!’ His body, his grip, relaxed. ‘I do apologise. I was upset. Worried. In my anxiety I didn’t realise what I was doing.’

  Gently he rubbed her arms where his fingers had clamped so tightly but she could see that his thoughts were elsewhere.

  And she was glad, because she had shuddered at his touch. The strain of the moment was making her super-sensitive—just when she wanted to be cool and composed.

  ‘You unnerved me,’ he said shortly. ‘For a moment, I feared the worst.’

  ‘Please don’t worry. He’s gorgeous,’ she assured him. ‘But… Look. Go and see him. Then let me talk to you!’ she begged.

  He frowned, then shrugged. ‘All right. Anything. We’ll talk. Briefly. I have a flight booked.’

  Verity suppressed a moan. A flight! Not with Lio in tow, she vowed. She’d make sure of that. But at least he’d agreed to listen to her. She had the chance to persuade him that whisking his son off to Italy would be a terrible mistake.

  ‘Thank you!’ she whispered.

  To her dismay she felt her legs buckle. Vittore drew her close again. For a moment she let her head rest against his solid chest, glorying in the protection of his embrace. Men had held her before, but only because they wanted to kiss her. No one had ever wrapped her in their arms and soothed her with stroking fingers, as Vittore was doing now.

  Not even her adoptive mother.

  Being cherished—however briefly—was a wonderful revelation. She could get addicted to it. But she knew she had to pull away.

  ‘I’m a fool. Sorry to be so feeble,’ she mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes. Embarrassed, she pushed back her hair and said jerkily, ‘And now I’ve made your shirt wet.’

  ‘It’ll dry.’

  ‘I’m usually strong and positive,’ she hastened to explain, absently taking his handkerchief from his top pocket and dabbing at the shirt aimlessly. Till she felt the warmth of his chest beneath, the strongly beating heart beneath her resting fingers. And stopped suddenly. Tucking the hanky back, her face scarlet with confusion, she added without thinking, ‘But…I’m so worried about Lio!’

  Vittore’s eyes narrowed in shock. ‘Why?’

  Oh, help! she thought, with a silent groan at her stupidity. She’d meant to tell him in a calm and rational way so that he realised she wasn’t making a drama out of nothing.

  ‘I don’t know where to start. It’s a long story—’ she began hesitantly.

  ‘Cielo! All these hints, these warnings… Where is he? Show me at once!’ he ordered grimly, on the edge of another explosion.

  Somehow she pulled herself together. Squeezed enough air into her lungs to whisper a ‘follow me’, and to get her up the stairs. Guided him to the open nursery door.

  ‘There,’ she said shakily.

  ‘Thank you,’ he grunted.

  He inclined his head with a sharp jerk to accompany his thanks but didn’t immediately go in. Wide-eyed and distressed, she stared while he stood as still as a statue, the slight shaking of his hand on the door jamb the only indication that he was under considerable strain. And then, squaring his shoulders, he walked into the half-darkened room.

  Shaking like a leaf, Verity watched from the doorway. And her entire body weakened as he slowly moved forwards, his eyes intent on the sleeping Lio, every line of Vittore’s body revealing how deeply he must have yearned for this very moment.

  ‘Lio!’ he whispered on a zephyr breath. His lips parted, his rapt face showing the bitter-sweetness of anguish and joy. ‘Piccolino,’ he murmured tenderly. ‘My little one. Ecco Papa! Daverro…you are so beautiful!’

  Tentatively he reached out and touched the side of the cot as if it were made of beaten gold. She could see that he was studying Lio with the kind of detailed attention that only a doting relative would display.

  Her heartbeats thundered in her ears. She knew what he was doing. Many a night she’d done the same—and for him, this was the first time he’d seen his son since…her forehead wrinkled in deep thought. Since Lio was about three months old, she estimated. How awful! What a nightmare he’d suffered.

  Yes. She’d been right. Every hair of Lio’s gorgeous white-blond head was being meticulously recorded and mentally stored as if Vittore feared his son might be snatched from his grasp again and he’d have to rely on memory alone.

  Now the bold sweep of the baby’s brow and the honey-gold skin which was so flawless and kissable. The heavily lashed eyes—black lashes, extraordinarily, probably inherited from Vittore. That dear little mouth, button nose and stubborn chin—oh, so horribly stubborn!

  One dimpled hand had flung itself on the wafer-thin pillow in abandon, the fingers curled loosely. She saw Vittore eyeing it fondly, longingly, swallowing as he pushed back his emotions.

  Her eyes filled with tears and hot prickles of heat came with them. He would love Lio. How could he do otherwise? It was a wonderful moment, she told herself. A father bonding with his son.

  But a nasty little voice inside her scuttled around, wishing that Vittore hadn’t given a damn, had never come, never been enchanted by the most beautiful baby in the whole wide world.

  Because Lio mustn’t be parted from her. Not for a long time. His emotions were too fragile. He needed stability and reassurance, not strangers, strange surroundings, the confusion of the incomprehensible words of another language.

  So…what was she to do?

  Quietly Vittore sank to his knees and reached out, very delicately, to the half-curled fist. Lio’s fingers instinctively closed around Vittore’s hand and he let out a jerk of breath as if that small and relatively insignificant action had seared his heart and branded him forever as a worshipper at Lio’s feet.

  It all but broke her heart, too. Watching Vittore so openly adoring his son was one of the most touching and painful things she’d ever witnessed. And she couldn’t bear to stay any longer.

  Out on the la
nding, she mopped at her tears and tried to organise her wayward lungs again so that she wasn’t having to deal with the huge, irregular sobs that hurtled up into her throat and leapt out, taking her unawares.

  ‘He’s…more beautiful…than I remember. Has grown…so much…’

  Vittore’s strangled sentence and mangled words suggested that he, too, had almost lost the power of speech. Knowing she’d crack up if she looked at him, she nodded and gave a quick jerk of her head to invite him downstairs.

  They went down very slowly, in total silence. But she felt overpowered by his tension. It clawed at the air, suffocating her with its electrical charge, crushing what little energy she had left. She wanted to howl.

  ‘Drink?’ she croaked, when they had fetched up in the drawing room.

  ‘Whisky,’ he husked back. And then barely recognisable came, ‘Thanks.’

  Hardly able to stand, she poured two stiff measures, spilling some on the tray. And felt she could down both drinks. Without a word, without meeting his eyes, she handed him the glass. Her hand was shaking. To her amazement, so was his.

  Startled, she looked up and felt every part of her body go into meltdown. She’d never seen a man looking radiant before. It was…utterly irresistible, his smile just heart-wrenchingly blissful. Her head seemed to spin.

  He loved Lio desperately. Wanted him more than ever. She felt terrible. This would be so painful.

  ‘Please. Sit down,’ she whispered.

  And took a huge gulp of her drink. At the moment he was in Paradise. She’d ruin that for him. He wasn’t going to like this. Her legs shook. He was powerful. Dominant. A man of power. He wouldn’t take kindly to being thwarted. And he might ride rough-shod over her argument, dismissing her pleas and going his own sweet way.

  Liquid slopped over her fingers. She dumped her glass on a small table before it slipped from her boneless fingers.