The Innocent's One_Night Surrender

by Kate Hewitt

  He thought of the photo of her with those patients. No, she wasn’t who he thought she was. At least, it seemed she was more than that. ‘Why were you with Bavasso tonight?’ he demanded. ‘Why were you acting like...like his trollop?’ The words burst out of him unfairly, but he was jealous. And angry.

  Hurt flashed across her face, then her expression shuttered and she looked away. ‘I don’t want to talk about that.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Too bad.’

  ‘Damn it, Laurel,’ he snapped, his temper starting to fray. ‘I deserve to know.’

  ‘Why? Just because you slept with me?’ She lifted her chin, eyes flashing. ‘I doubt you demand such rights of the legion of women you’ve slept with.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about me.’

  ‘And you don’t know anything about me,’ she answered, rising from the bed. She tugged the T-shirt down in a useless attempt to cover her bottom. ‘So we’re even. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to go.’

  ‘I do mind.’ He settled against the bed, arms folded. He still didn’t know exactly what he wanted from this situation, but it definitely wasn’t to be kicked to the kerb. He was the one who decided when things ended. If they ended.

  Laurel stared him down, her lower lip pushed out, her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want from me?’ she demanded in a low voice.

  Hell if he knew. ‘Why are you a virgin?’

  ‘Why?’ She stared at him incredulously. ‘Why do you care?’

  ‘Humour me.’

  She shook her head slowly. ‘There’s no pleasing you, is there? You branded me a whore and, now you know I’m a virgin, you so obviously aren’t happy with that either.’

  He didn’t need his unreasonableness pointed out to him. ‘Why?’ he gritted.

  ‘Why not? Is there a law that says twenty-four-year-olds can’t be virgins?’

  ‘Practically. Most women...’

  ‘I am not most women.’

  She was an utter enigma, and he didn’t like that. He needed things to be straightforward. Women to be what they seemed. He needed Laurel to be what she’d seemed, what he’d assumed, because the alternative made his stomach cramp with acidic regret for the way he’d behaved. The things he’d said—and done.

  She drew herself up, all haughty dignity, and then ruined the effect by tugging again on her T-shirt. Her legs looked endless and golden, and he couldn’t keep from remembering how silky her skin had felt.

  ‘So you’re just going to stay here?’ she asked in a chilly voice. ‘In my bed?’

  ‘My bed, actually.’

  She pressed her lips together, looking suddenly far more vulnerable than proud, and Cristiano wished he hadn’t tried to score such a petty point. He was above such tactics, surely? And yet... Laurel had unsettled him so much. He felt completely wrong-footed. Wrong everything.

  He glanced out at the sky, now the palest of blues. It was a little past seven in the morning after the longest night of his life. ‘Perhaps you should get some more sleep,’ he said, rising from the bed in one fluid movement, then reaching for his drawstring bottoms. ‘We can talk later.’

  Laurel folded her arms, a movement meant to make her look strong, but she looked as if she was holding herself together. Literally. ‘About what?’

  ‘Everything,’ Cristiano said, then he strode from the room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LAUREL LISTENED TO the door slam shut behind Cristiano and let out a weary breath. That had been exhausting. Her body was still tingling with the memory of his touch, her heart thudding from the sharp words they’d just exchanged. She’d acted far more assured and confident than she really felt. The truth was she felt like a quivering bowlful of jelly inside.

  She’d known sex with Cristiano would rock her world. Burn her up. And here she was, feeling utterly singed.

  With a shudder, Laurel sat on the bed, drawing her knees up to her chest. The last she’d wanted after her first experience of sex was an interrogation about what she’d been doing with Bavasso and why she’d been a virgin.

  Cristiano had almost seemed angry, and so unmoved by what they’d just done. Yet how could that surprise her? The legion of women he’d had...his face in the mirror. No, the only surprise was how stupid she was. Again. And yet even now she couldn’t regret it.

  The feel of his hands on her...his body inside her... Laurel shuddered again, this time with longing. She’d never felt anything so intimate or intense or...incredible before. It felt far more important than she’d expected. Of course, it wasn’t important to Cristiano. It definitely didn’t mean anything. She knew that, yet...she couldn’t keep from feeling changed, as if something inside her had shifted for ever. She would have a tie to Cristiano now, no matter what happened in the future. An unbreakable tie, at least for her, even if he forgot her name in a few weeks.

  Beyond all that, experiencing such pleasure made her want to know it again. To feel Cristiano’s hands on her, his body...

  Yet she knew she wouldn’t. For her own health and sanity. And in any case she doubted Cristiano would ask. He’d got what he wanted. She was undoubtedly out of his system now, and he would be on to the next woman, another conquest. She’d fallen so easily.

  With a sigh Laurel curled up on the bed, fatigue crashing over her. She’d barely slept all night, her one attempt tormented by nightmares. She’d sleep now, if she could, and then she’d deal with Cristiano. No matter what had happened between them, she needed to find a way forward. A way back home.

  When Laurel awoke bright, lemony sunlight was spilling through the windows and the room was warm. It was midday, and she’d been asleep for hours. Feeling muddle-headed, Laurel took another shower, and when she came out she saw Cristiano had moved all the clothes to this bedroom. They lay on the end of her freshly made bed in neat piles, making her feel vaguely uneasy. If he was sending a message, she didn’t know what it was.

  She dressed in a simple sheath dress of lavender linen, which felt too fancy, but there wasn’t anything more casual. Then she put her damp hair up in a twist, took a deep breath and headed out.

  Cristiano wasn’t in the living area as she expected, and she wandered through the sprawling space before she found him in a glassed-in alcove on the far side, clearly a study area. He was seated at a desk, his laptop open in front of him, wearing a black button-down shirt and charcoal-grey trousers. He turned as she approached, and Laurel had to suppress a stab of desire at the sight of him freshly showered and shaven, his hair still damp, his silvery eyes as piercing as twin blades.

  ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Good afternoon, actually,’ she returned with an attempt at a laugh. ‘I didn’t expect to sleep so long.’

  ‘I’m glad you did.’ He turned back to his laptop, pressed a few buttons and then shut it with a decisive snap. ‘So.’ He swivelled back to face her, his gaze coolly appraising.

  ‘So.’ Laurel took a deep breath and buoyed her courage. ‘I think I can brave Bavasso.’ She kept her voice light but firm. ‘I’ll risk it, anyway. I want—I need—to go home.’ Her voice wobbled a little at the last, but she kept her gaze steady on Cristiano’s inscrutable face. Why did he have to be so beautiful? He was all sharp angles and clear, hard lines, the purity of his silver eyes a perfect foil to his olive skin and inky dark hair. It made it hard to keep his gaze. Hard too to keep her nerve.

  ‘Where is home, incidentally?’ He’d reverted to that mild voice that hid so much. Made her wary.

  ‘I told you, a small town in Illinois.’

  ‘Canton Heights?’

  So he’d done an Internet search on her. ‘Yes.’

  Something flickered across his face like a ripple in water and then was gone. ‘You work as a nurse.’

  ‘You’ve done some homework.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Yes. Does it matter?’

  ‘Not particularly.’ Now she heard disinterest, and for some stupid reason it stung. ‘But you can’t go home just yet.’

  �
��I think you’re overreacting about Bavasso.’

  Cristiano arched an eyebrow. ‘And how could you possibly make such a judgement?’

  ‘It’s just...’ She couldn’t make such a judgement, but she had to try. Had to get out of here, for her own sake, and she didn’t have any other options besides the obvious one: leave. ‘He’ll get over it, surely? He barely knew me. And he cares about my mother...’ she trailed off, afraid that wasn’t true.

  ‘Cares about your mother? Where on earth did you get that idea?’

  Of course, Laurel would rather her mother broke things off with Bavasso, but she questioned whether she would, even now.

  ‘He attacked you last night, Laurel, and he would have done far worse if you hadn’t escaped. Surely you haven’t forgotten that already?’

  Anger leaped inside her at his admonishing tone. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Or the ensuing nightmare you had?’

  Memory shimmered in the air between them, memory of her nightmare and also how he had comforted her. Laurel looked away, hating herself for being so affected by him. ‘Of course I remember everything, Cristiano. It was only a couple of hours ago. But surely it’s my decision, not yours, about whether I risk Rico Bavasso’s fury?’ She hadn’t meant to make it a question.

  ‘As I have said before, it is not. Not when you have no idea what you’re asking.’

  ‘Stop treating me like a child,’ Laurel snapped, and Cristiano’s eyes flashed like a glint of light on metal.

  ‘I am not treating you like a child,’ he said in a low, lethal voice that slid inside her like a cold blade. ‘I am treating you as someone who is out of her depth and experience, which you cannot deny. I don’t know how or why you got involved with someone like Bavasso, Laurel, but trust me, you are in over your head.’

  More than he knew. She was in over her head not just with Rico Bavasso but with the man in front of her. Cristiano Ferrero felt far more dangerous to her now than the sleek silver fox staying several floors below. She could hardly say that now, however.

  ‘So what are you suggesting? That you keep me captive in your penthouse until Bavasso moves on?’

  ‘That would hardly accomplish our purpose.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘To show Bavasso that you are mine.’ Cristiano spoke coolly but heat flared in his eyes, turning them nearly to gold. His. She’d been his only hours ago, marked for ever by every touch of his hand, every brush of his lips. Laurel fought not to blush.

  ‘And how are you going to show that?’

  ‘By appearing with you tonight, as I mentioned before. Perhaps you have forgotten?’

  Last night was a blur of panic and disbelief. She recalled him saying something along those lines, but she hadn’t taken him seriously. Had she? Now she did. Now, judging by the feeling of icy dread seeping into her stomach, she took him very seriously indeed.

  ‘Tonight? That’s it?’

  ‘We’ll see how it unfolds.’

  ‘So tomorrow I could go home?’ she pressed, eager for a deadline. A finish line.

  ‘Not quite.’ He paused, his mouth compressing, his silvery gaze flicking over her in cool assessment. ‘I believe your stay here will be for two weeks, perhaps a little longer. That should be sufficient.’

  ‘Two weeks?’ Laurel goggled at him. ‘But you said Bavasso would be satisfied in a day or two.’

  ‘It’s not Bavasso I’m thinking of.’ Cristiano dismissed the man who had loomed like such a threat with the snap of his fingers. ‘After our appearance tonight, he will no longer be welcome in any of my establishments. I do not harbour criminals.’

  Laurel gulped. ‘Okay. Then why two weeks?’ She’d only taken a week off work. Laurel swallowed. ‘I can’t hang around here for two weeks. I have work...’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll understand.’

  ‘They’re depending on me.’

  ‘Even so.’ Cristiano’s tone and expression were both implacable. Laurel knew nothing she said would have any effect at all. He was utterly immoveable, untouchable, yet mere hours ago she’d been writhing underneath him, arms and legs wrapped around him, as close to him as she’d been to anyone, ever. She had to stop thinking about that.

  ‘I still don’t understand why you want me to stay here for so long.’ For his own pleasure? The possibility brought a swift intake of breath, a stupid rush of pleasure, a flash of alarm. Surely not...?

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Stop playing games, Cristiano.’ Laurel started to get annoyed. ‘You can’t keep me a prisoner for your own—your own pleasure.’

  ‘That’s not why I want you here.’

  Ouch. Laurel willed herself not to flush with the humiliation of that flatly spoken assurance. ‘You still haven’t told me why.’

  ‘I want you here because in approximately fourteen days I’ll know whether or not you are carrying my child.’

  * * *

  Cristiano watched with dispassion as shock drained the colour from Laurel’s face, turning her eyes into huge, aquamarine pools. Innocent as she was—or rather, had been—she hadn’t thought about birth control.

  ‘Judging from your expression,’ he said dryly, ‘I can assume you are not on the pill?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or have taken any other precautionary measures in terms of birth control?’

  ‘No,’ Laurel snapped. ‘Why should I? I was a virgin, in case you’ve forgotten.’

  ‘I assure you, I have not.’

  She took a quick, sharp breath. ‘It is very unlikely I’m pregnant.’

  ‘Is it?’ Cristiano’s calm tone belied the churn of anger, regret and anxiety he felt inside. ‘Do you have information of which I am not aware?’

  ‘I don’t think I was in that part of my monthly cycle.’ Her eyebrows rose in challenge. ‘You are knowledgeable of such basic biology?’

  ‘I believe I am.’

  ‘Then you know that the only way I could be pregnant now is if I was ovulating in the last twenty-four hours.’

  ‘And that is a possibility, is it not? You are fertile, I assume? No problems there?’

  Her cheeks went pink. ‘Not that I know of.’

  He spread his hands. ‘So we wait.’

  She stared at him. ‘Two whole weeks?’

  ‘You’re the nurse, Laurel. Isn’t that how long it takes to get a positive result?’

  ‘Around that, yes, from ovulation.’ She spoke reluctantly. ‘But I really don’t think this is an issue, Cristiano.’

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?’

  ‘You speak so knowledgeably about all of this.’ Laurel’s lip curled. ‘You have some experience in these matters, I suppose?’

  ‘Actually, no. None of the women I have ever been with has become pregnant.’ He’d always taken precautions. Laurel was the only woman with whom he’d lost control—and he had no intention of telling her that. He had no intention of it happening again, either.

  ‘Never?’ She looked sceptical and for some reason it annoyed him.

  ‘No, never.’ One woman had faked a pregnancy, and Cristiano had insisted she perform a test in his presence. Unpleasant but necessary, and the matter had been resolved quickly. He was not a man to be duped. Not the way his father had been.

  ‘So we wait two weeks. And then what?’

  ‘What happens next depends on whether you are carrying my child.’

  The words fell into the stillness, rippled like stones cast in a pool. Laurel stared at him, her eyes hard and shiny, like glass. ‘I’m not pregnant.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘But if I am,’ she continued swiftly, ‘I will decide what to do about my baby.’

  Anger fired through him, a clean, burning sweep. He rose from his chair, the movement controlled and precise. ‘This child, should it exist, belongs to me as much as it does to you. We will decide, bella, make no mistake.’

  Her jaw tightened, her eyes sparking at him. Cristiano’s fists clenched
. It was entirely inappropriate that he was turned on at this moment, yet he felt it all the same. Desire, hot and strong, coursed through him, making him want, even now, to take her in his arms and kiss her useless protests away. He took a quick, controlled breath. Now was not the time to indulge in such feelings. He’d already decided he wouldn’t touch Laurel Forrester again. She was too tempting. Too dangerous...to his shame.

  ‘You really are a control freak, aren’t you?’ she said in a low voice that vibrated with fury. ‘A heartless one. You’d insist on making the decision about whether I could keep my own child.’

  ‘What?’ He stared at her in disbelief. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  Confusion flashed and she bit her lip. ‘I assumed you’d want me to have an abortion.’

  He felt a deep surge of an emotion he couldn’t identify—and then he realised it was hurt, and he hated that he felt it. That he’d let a woman, a woman he barely knew, make him feel it. ‘I would never do that,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Never. If I really wanted you to get an abortion, I would procure a morning after pill right now.’ He’d thought of it, but with the amount of time it would take to get one it seemed risky, and the idea of it repelled him. ‘If you are pregnant, I would want you to keep the child. My child.’ His throat worked and his chest felt tight. ‘Our child.’

  ‘Okay.’ She looked surprised, even a little winded, by his vehemence. And he was surprised too. He’d never wanted children. Had never anticipated getting married or having a family. Having those ties that bound and choked. And yet...if, by the hand of Providence, Laurel was pregnant with his baby, there was no question what he would do. He would marry her.

  Not that he intended to tell her that now. She looked shell-shocked as it was.

  ‘So...’ Laurel licked her lips. ‘What would happen, then? If...?’

  ‘We’ll discuss that if and when it occurs,’ Cristiano answered swiftly. Laurel was still looking flummoxed.

  ‘And for the next two weeks...?’

  ‘You stay with me.’

  She cocked her head, a question in her eyes that he knew she didn’t dare ask. And he decided to leave the question as to what the nature of their relationship would be unspoken and unanswered. He’d made a decision not to sleep with her, yes, but he wasn’t about to reveal that information. He wasn’t at all sure if he’d stick to that decision.