by Abby Green
‘I don’t want to see that ring off your finger again, Cara.’
She bit her lip and refrained from telling him that she’d taken it off to cook as much as anything else. So she just said, ‘Yes, sir.’
Vicenzo tugged her hand closer. She still avoided his penetrating gaze. His knee-jerk response to needing to see that ring back on her finger had him reacting from a deeply visceral and private place. A rejection of that need.
‘By all means, Cara, play with me. It’ll help to spice things up. And when I’m good and ready to let you go, when you’ve delivered my heir, then you can take this ring off and throw it in the sea for all I care.’
‘That won’t happen. Because I’m not going to leave my baby,’ she said shakily, finally looking at him. His eyes were so cold she felt a shiver run through her.
He arched a disbelieving brow. ‘No? I’ve seen first-hand just how easy it is for a woman to walk away from her family, so I don’t believe in the illusion of the maternal bond. You’ll walk away with enough of an enticement in your pocket.’
His brutal words reached down inside her, stunning her with their stark cofirmation of his monumental lack of trust, with the questions they raised. Who was he talking about? His mother? Her heart skittered away from wanting to know anything…anything that might make her feel something.
‘Believe what you will, Vicenzo. You’ll see when the time comes.’
She finally jerked her hand out of his and forced herself to walk and not run to the door, throwing the cloth she still held into the sink as she passed. She turned as if she could somehow warn him off, and backed away from his all too triumphantly mocking expression.
She managed to get out, ‘I’m going to go to bed. On my own.’
She heard his softly spoken words, saw the look in his eye. ‘You know where I am when you wake aching in the middle of the night, Cara.’ They resonated deep within her, and then the stark realisation of something rendered her dumb, especially when her wedding ring lay on her finger like a brand: despite his cruel words, and what had just happened, she still yearned not just for the intimacy of his kisses but also for the right to know what had made him so mistrustful.
With a strangled cry that she couldn’t hold in any more, as the true extent of her own weakness hit home, she turned and fled to her room, any previous appetite for dinner long gone.
Vicenzo braced his hands on the counter where only a short time before he’d been extracting glass from Cara’s foot. Where they’d gone up in flames because of a kiss. He cursed himself for letting her goad him into saying what he had. He’d given away too much. But, he comforted himself, she would be under no illusion now about the future he envisaged.
Vicenzo looked up but saw nothing. His taunt to her about waking up aching in the night was laughable—because he was already aching to have her beneath him again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CARA had watched the shadow of the small plane dancing over the sparkling Mediterranean below them as they’d approached and then landed on the island of Sardinia, in the north-west airport of Alghero.
Vicenzo’s words the previous evening, the stark reality of his cold ambivalence to this baby and her own vulnerability to him, had made her close in on herself in protection. He had given her the bare details, telling her that his family villa was located near the ancient ruins of Tharros, on the western coast.
A Jeep and driver was waiting for them at the airport, and the afternoon sun beat down on Cara’s head.
After driving for about forty minutes, the driver, who had been introduced as Tommaso, turned onto a narrow road with tall trees swaying on either side, making it shady and mysterious. They turned right, towards the coast. A huge set of iron gates appeared and opened smoothly as if by magic, almost hidden by the dense foliage and colourful bougainvillaea. They emerged through low-hanging branches into a massive forecourt complete with a fountain, its clear water jumping high and falling burbling into a low pool. Lotus flowers drifted on calmer water.
The house appeared then, surprising Cara with its discreet elegance. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Her experience of millionaires was confined to those who competed to live as flashily as possible. They stopped, and she got out before Vicenzo could stride around and open her door. She’d been skittish around him all day, jumping if he came too near. Her belly seemed to be in a constant knot of anxiety now, and she’d ignored his dark looks.
It was a classic Mediterranean terracotta flat-roofed villa. But, with a tantalising hint of another style, it had huge floor-to-ceiling windows, with white curtains billowing gently in the warm breeze. A delicate latticed veranda hugged the exterior and snaked around both sides of the villa, and Cara caught a glimpse of lush lawns falling away and down either side, to where she imagined the sea lay. She could hear waves breaking gently nearby, and a well of emotion rose up at the sound.
It was one of the things she’d missed most about living in London. Their family home in Dublin had been to the south of the city, on the coast, but Cormac had lost no time in selling it off as soon as their parents had died. Cara had grown up with the sound of the sea on her doorstep, and it had been so long since she’d heard it like this that bittersweet nostalgia gripped her.
Vicenzo looked at her taking it all in, the lingering traces of the passion that had seemed to explode out of nowhere yesterday evening making him slightly wary. His eyes dropped to her mouth. She was avoiding his gaze, but he knew she was aware of him. It was stamped all over her, and she was behaving like a nervous filly. She’d been avoiding looking at him all day, and it made irritation prickle under his skin. He wasn’t used to women ignoring him. The banal grey of her top and her black shorts also annoyed him intensely, demonstrating as they did that she was utterly determined to act out this charade.
He could see where she’d clenched her jaw, the delicate line becoming more pronounced. Saw how her hand gripped the door of the Jeep. No doubt she was finally realising how remote she was going to be from civilisation. Satisfaction coursed through him—but then suddenly their attention was taken by a huge white sheepdog racing around the corner of the house.
Cara saw the dog come to a panting standstill a few feet away. Acting on pure delighted instinct, she dropped to one knee, patting the ground with her hand. The dog bounded over to her and she petted him luxuriously, revelling in his shaggy thick coat, unable to keep the smile off her face.
‘Who are you? Aren’t you beautiful?’
‘His name is Doppo. He was Allegra’s dog. He doesn’t normally take to strangers.’
She looked up reluctantly to see Vicenzo towering over her with a harsh expression on his face. His mention of Allegra caused a sharp pain in her chest. She’d obviously displeased him by bonding with the dog immediately—perhaps he’d have preferred it if Doppo had taken one look at her and ripped her limb from limb? Silently she thanked the dog for accepting her.
She ignored Vicenzo and ruffled the dog’s hair, saying sotto voce, ‘Ciao, Doppo. I think you and I are going to be friends.’
Vicenzo watched as Cara stood, obviously waiting for him to show her into the house. He had to quell a surge of something dark and constrictive. Cara Brosnan was throwing up a few too many contradictions for his liking, and the sooner he could put her back in a place where he knew what to expect, the better. Before they went anywhere he’d taken her arm. Immediately she tensed, and her eyes grew round and wary. He fought against that vulnerable image she projected so well.
‘You’ll meet my father at dinner. I’ve told him that we met through Allegra in London.’ His mouth twisted briefly. ‘Which in a way is true. I’ve also told him that this was a very…impetuous affair and that we hadn’t planned on you getting pregnant so soon. He won’t be expecting us to act like besotted newlyweds around him, but still, a certain amount of acting will be required. He doesn’t know of your brother’s connection to Allegra. I don’t want him to be upset in any way. He’s had enough to dea
l with since the funeral and his stroke.’
All the weight of her own conscience struck Cara—but not for the reasons he would believe. ‘That’s the last thing I want.’
Vicenzo’s gaze dropped to her bare arms. Cara’s breath hitched in her throat. He ran a finger down one arm and a tide of longing ripped through her. She swallowed desperately to wet her suddenly dry throat.
He frowned lightly. ‘Your skin is so pale I’d almost believe you’ve never been in this kind of sun before.’
She hadn’t! Which Cara knew wouldn’t fit with his picture of her as the sister of a corrupt, hedonistic millionaire. She found the strength to pull away. He was just toying with her. ‘Spare me the fake concern,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m sure you’d be only too happy to see me burn to a second-degree crisp.’
Vicenzo’s eyes flashed for a moment, but then he merely stepped back and gestured for her to precede him into the villa. Cara stalked ahead and wondered how she would last here with his mocking mistrust every day. Something would have to happen, but the idea of trying to appeal to a more understanding side of this man was about as attractive as the thought of facing his father that evening.
Cara was shown into a sumptuous bedroom by the smiling housekeeper Vicenzo had introduced as Tommaso’s wife, Lucia. With the language barrier Cara just smiled her thanks and gestured that she would unpack herself.
The house inside was white and bright, with lots of open spaces—a contrast to the very traditional exterior. It was also surprisingly homely. She’d glimpsed a large comfortable-looking sitting room, with a big plasma screen TV and shelves loaded with books. Cara had always had a secret belief that she could get on well with someone who had a lot of books, as she’d always been a voracious reader, but this just proved how wrong you could be. She’d also seen a formal dining room with a huge white damasked table, complete with about twenty matching chairs and a vase of exotic dark red blooms in its centre.
Her own room was also white, and she’d been inordinately relieved to see that it didn’t appear to be Vicenzo’s room. It was too feminine. To be forced to share a bed with him would be just too much, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it together for long. Her belly cramped and she brought a hand to it abstractedly. The patio doors opened out onto a large grass-covered inner courtyard, with stone columns supporting a walkway that led all the way around the interior section of this part of the villa. Pots of blooming flowers lay here and there, creating a charming ambience. There was a hushed peace and stillness that soothed Cara’s soul a little.
A knock came at her door and she opened it warily, to see Vicenzo standing on the other side, changed and looking gorgeous in chinos and a plain white shirt. Damn the man and his effortless ability to make her feel so aware when she hated him so much.
‘I’ll come for you at eight for dinner.’
Cara spoke quickly, trying to negate this effect he had. ‘I saw where the dining room was. I can find it—’
‘We will go together—as will be expected. My father uses another part of the villa, but he will undoubtedly expect us to be sharing the marital bed.’ He stepped closer then, and Cara moved back automatically, her heart skittering, that cramping feeling stronger. Vicenzo just smiled. ‘And while we will be sleeping together, Cara, I’m sure you can appreciate that I’ve no desire to share a bed with you for any longer than is necessary.’
Cara swallowed back the feeling of panic that never seemed to be far from the surface, the hurt at his words once again. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, you’re blocking my door.’
With a last mocking smile that she itched to slap off his face he stepped back, and Cara just about managed to restrain herself from slamming the door.
At eight that evening Cara and Vicenzo approached the dining room door. Her belly clenched, and the cramping feeling was strong enough now to make her forehead bead with sweat. She put it down to her nerves, and smoothed damp palms on the dress she’d changed into. It was plain and black, high-necked and falling to her knees—as inoffensive as she could find for meeting Vicenzo’s father. She was very aware of the pain this man must have gone through, and felt huge guilt on behalf of her brother for the wake of destruction he’d left behind him.
Blissfully unaware of her turmoil, Vicenzo took her elbow, led her into the room and introduced her to his father. She immediately saw an old lined face, darkened from the sun, silver hair, and surprisingly bright eyes. Cara had the immediate impression that he was kind. Kind, but sad, and her heart flopped over. Oh, God. No doubt Vicenzo was going to enjoy every minute of this. No doubt this was part of his plan to bring her here, face to face with the devastation caused by her brother’s actions.
As she walked hesitantly towards him at the head of the table, she also became aware that he sat in a wheelchair. She stopped beside him and did something completely instinctive. She came down on one knee so that they were on the same level. An unbidden emotion rose up within her. She couldn’t help it, even though she could feel Vicenzo’s eyes bore into her back, his tension spike.
She said huskily, ‘Signore Valentini, I’m so sorry for your loss, and I—’
He surprised her by reaching for her hand and saying with a heavy accent, ‘Hush, child. It was an awful accident. We lost our beautiful vibrant Allegra.’
Cara gave him her hand and willed down the intense emotion being here, facing him. His grip was surprisingly strong. Vicenzo’s father lifted her hand high, gesturing for her to stand, and she did. Vicenzo had come to the other side of his father’s chair, and now his father reached out to take his hand too. The old man looked from one to the other. Cara avoided catching Vicenzo’s eyes, sure that they would hold a mocking expression, and she couldn’t bear to see that right now.
His father spoke quietly. ‘You two have come together to make something beautiful—a marriage and a baby. That gives me joy.’ With a squeeze he let go of their hands, and then said with overbright joviality, ‘Now, let’s eat!’
The housekeeper came in and served food, and as Cara sat down his words rocked through her, affecting her more than she cared to admit. She’d expected him to be like his son—cold and cynical and mistrustful. But he wasn’t. And with a little ache in her heart she had to concede that she already liked him and would hate for him to be hurt in any way.
As they were finishing coffee at the end of dinner Signore Valentini said emphatically, following something Cara had said, ‘Enough of this formality. You must call me Silvio.’ He suddenly looked drawn and tired. ‘And you must also excuse me. I’m afraid since my stroke I tire easily.’
Cara went to stand, but he automatically waved her down. Vicenzo stood to help with his father’s chair, and a male nurse appeared in the doorway, nodding deferentially to Vicenzo as he took Silvio away.
When they were gone Vicenzo sat back in his chair and drawled, ‘Well, you’ve made quite the impression. It’s amazing to see you in action. But then I’ve had first-hand experience of it, haven’t I?’
Cara bristled. ‘Unlike yourself, your father is a gentleman. He’s easy to like.’
The barb merely bounced off him. He leant forward, and Cara tried not to be aware of him in the snowy white shirt that hugged his broad chest.
‘You’ve seen what he’s like. Despite his experiences he’s an old, sentimental romantic—but I’ve always made it very clear to him not to expect that from me. Allegra was going to fulfil that role in our family—marry and have babies. If your brother had had his way she would have returned home here with shattered dreams and a messy divorce, fleeced of her inheritance. If you try to take advantage of his soft heart, I will take you down.’
‘Down where?’ Cara cried a little wildly. ‘As far as I can see I’m already in the gutter.’
He gestured around them. ‘In the lap of luxury like this? I think not. Your pregnancy is the only reason you’re here, enjoying this.’
Cara felt a vice-like feeling around her heart as the words trembled on her lips to
defend herself. She knew it was futile, and that she was opening herself up for certain pain, but couldn’t stop them coming out. ‘I told you once before—I played no part in Cormac’s life.’
‘You said yourself that you knew what his plans were regarding Allegra. You seriously expect me to believe that he didn’t use you to act as her confidante? To ease her doubts and fears? Encourage her to trust in him?’
Cara shook her head and placed her hand unconsciously over her belly, to soothe the dull throb of pain that had faint alarm bells ringing. She told herself it was just the turmoil this man was creating.
‘I swear to you, I hardly knew your sister.’ A vivid memory rushed back. The first few times Cara had met Allegra, Cormac had pretended that she was the live-in maid. It was something that had amused him. Crippled by her own lack of finances and her efforts to study to achieve a degree and be free of Cormac, Cara had learnt to let his cruel jibes and tricks go over her head.
Vicenzo snorted disbelievingly. ‘My reports showed that she spent time at Cormac’s apartment. She went to that club practically every night—the same club you said yourself was a second home. So please don’t pretend that you didn’t know her intimately. Can’t you even admit to that?’
Anger bounced off Vicenzo in waves, and suddenly Cara felt very tired and not very well at all. A cold sweat was breaking out all over her body. This conversation was proving to her that Vicenzo was impossible to remonstrate with. She stood up and placed her napkin on the table.
‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am about your sister.’ She had to muster every atom of courage within her to say the next words. ‘Contrary to what you might think, your precious report showed you only the most superficial aspects of my life. I can’t speak for Cormac and Allegra, because unfortunately from what I knew everything you saw was real. But their social life did not include me. My reality was very different to theirs.’ She was shaking inwardly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.’
