Claiming His One-Night Child

by Jackie Ashenden

  ‘There’s no one in my family I want to remember. In fact, I would rather our child not have a name associated with that kind of history.’ Gently but firmly he loosened her hold and rose to his feet because he wasn’t going to have this discussion, not now. ‘Get dressed. Time we went back to the hotel. I have a few properties I want to show you.’ Then, without waiting for a response, he strode to the door and went through it.

  * * *

  Stella got out of the bath that Dante had run for her, drying herself off before pulling on the soft, blue silk robe he’d bought for her a couple of days ago and belting it tightly at the waist. Then she moved over to the doorway and went out into the living area of the suite.

  Dante was sitting at the stone table on the terrace, concentrating fiercely on whatever was on the screen of his laptop. He’d been like that all afternoon since they’d returned from the doctor’s office—working, apparently.

  She’d found it all a bit overwhelming, the reality of seeing their baby’s heartbeat on the ultrasound screen still resonating inside her, along with all the emotions that brought with it. Emotions she’d been trying very hard to deny since she’d first discovered her pregnancy, using her mission as an excuse not to think about it.

  But, as she’d well and truly let go of that mission, she had no excuses now.

  This was happening. She would be a mother.

  It terrified her. She had no idea how she was going to do this, none at all, especially when her own parents hadn’t exactly set her a good example. How did a woman who’d been determined to kill a man transform into a good mother? How could she do the right thing for a child when she’d been so set on doing the wrong thing for so long?

  All she knew was that the moment Dante’s dark eyes had found hers in the doctor’s office she hadn’t felt alone. She’d tried to hide how uncertain and scared she was, tried to hold onto the vestiges of her hard armour, but he’d seemed to see her fears anyway. Then he’d taken her hand, wrapping hers in his big, warm palm, and she’d felt that strength of his flow into her and all her fear and uncertainty had simply melted away. Almost as if nothing bad would happen now that he was here.

  Stella leaned against the doorframe, studying the man on the terrace. He was in a plain white business shirt and dark-blue suit trousers, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to expose the strong bones of his wrists and the long line of his muscled forearms. He had his elbows on the table, a line between his straight dark brows as he concentrated.

  She was going to have to contemplate all the other bits and pieces of reality that she’d been avoiding, such as the fact that he intended to marry her and buy a house for them to live in together as a family.

  An ache collected in her chest.

  The past few days he’d been full of plans, showing her potential houses and talking about the kind of life they would build for their child together. She hadn’t argued with any of it. Mainly because she had nowhere else to go.

  She couldn’t go back to Monte Santa Maria, not when her father was still expecting her to return triumphantly, the honour of the Montefiores safely intact.

  He’d texted her requesting an update and she’d told him everything was going according to plan. She couldn’t tell him the truth, not when she knew he’d only send someone else after Dante to do what she wasn’t able to.

  He’d discover that she had no intention of following through with his revenge plans eventually, of course, but she wanted to put that discovery off for as long as possible. To give her time to think about how to handle it.

  Her only alternative to Dante’s plan would be to insist on going her own way, find her own apartment and get a job, a task made even more difficult by the fact that her only work experience to date was waitressing. And then what would she do when her father found out she hadn’t completed the task he’d set for her? And, worse, that she’d had Dante’s child? He wouldn’t welcome his grandchild with open arms, that was for sure.

  No, marrying the billionaire and living in the house he’d bought for them, while he ensured their child got the very best of everything and kept them safe, was obviously going to be the best route forward.

  The ache in her chest intensified, though she didn’t really understand why, not when this outcome was the best for all of them.

  You know why. He’ll take care of you, but nothing more.

  But she didn’t want anything more, did she? Yet she could feel the pieces of that jagged flaw shifting around in her chest, the need for someone to put their arms around her, tell her that she was loved, still raw inside her.

  Ah, but it didn’t matter what she wanted. She was done with being selfish. The only thing that mattered was that their child would have the best start in life and right now that start was with Dante.

  She him watched as he worked for a second longer, wondering at the journey he’d made in her head from being a target, to a media caricature, to a man. A warm, protective man. And yet somehow he’d still remained a mystery.

  A mystery she wanted to know more about.

  Did he really have no one from his family he wanted to remember? She hadn’t asked him about his mother’s name for their child, because he’d sounded so angry every time he’d talked about her. But there had to be someone else, surely?

  His past was clearly a painful story, but he knew her guilty secret. About her brother’s death and her role in it. So shouldn’t she know at least a little about his? He would be her husband. They would be living together and bringing up their child. Shouldn’t she know something of his family history?

  Stella stepped out onto the terrace.

  ‘How was your bath?’ Dante asked, not looking up.

  ‘Very nice. Thank you for running it for me.’

  ‘No problem. By the way, I’ve organised a viewing of the palazzo in Milan for tomorrow. I’ll get one of the helicopters to take us.’

  ‘Okay.’ She came over and leaned against the edge of the table and looked down. His face was set as he stared at the screen, the neck of his shirt open, and he wore no tie.

  He was so incredibly attractive, so overwhelmingly beautiful.

  Her mouth watered and she very much wanted to bend and kiss his throat, taste his skin.

  How are you going to cope with this sexless marriage he’s insisting on?

  The thought arrowed through her, unexpectedly painful. Another thing she hadn’t thought about because she’d assumed it wasn’t going to happen. But it was going to happen. Regardless of how many nights she’d spent in his bed, he’d continue to insist that once they were married it would stop. That he wouldn’t demand anything further from her physically and that he would find his satisfaction elsewhere.

  She did not like that one bit.

  But that was a discussion that would lead to uncomfortable places and she didn’t want to have that conversation with him. Not now. First she was here to learn more about his family.

  Her heartbeat sped up, her palms sweaty. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said in the doctor’s office,’ she said hesitantly. ‘About not wanting to name our child after anyone in your family.’

  His gaze remained on the screen. ‘I haven’t changed my mind, if that’s what you’re expecting.’

  ‘I’m not. I just... What happened? With your family, I mean?’

  ‘I told you. I was taken away by my alcoholic mother to live in Naples. She died years ago there.’

  ‘How?’

  Dante finally looked up at her, his expression guarded. ‘Why do you want to know? It’s not a very pleasant story.’

  Very clearly, it was not, considering how obvious it was that he didn’t want to tell her.

  ‘My brother’s story isn’t very pleasant either,’ she said. ‘But I still told you.’

  His gaze darkened. ‘What is this? A quid pro quo? You tell me a secret and now I have to tell y
ou one of mine?’

  Stella didn’t flinch. ‘I’m going to marry you, Dante. Is it wrong to want to know something about the man who’s going to be my husband?’

  ‘It won’t be a typical marriage, need I remind you?’

  She ignored the slight, fleeting pain that pulled inside her at the words. ‘I realise that. But I want to know more about you and your past. About what kind of father you’re likely to be.’

  A fierce, hot spark leapt to life in Dante’s eyes. ‘You think I would do anything to hurt our baby?’ The question was soft but there was a whole world of threat in his deep, rich voice.

  Stella refused to look away. ‘No. And that’s not what I was implying. Don’t be so touchy.’

  He made an impatient sound and, strangely, it was he who finally glanced away. ‘You want to know what happened to me and my mother? Fine. She never quite recovered from my father losing his throne and so, when we were exiled from Monte Santa Maria to Milan, she started drinking. My father didn’t care about anything but being king again, and he certainly didn’t care about her. So after a couple of months she decided that she’d had enough. She left and took me with her.’

  Bitterness laced his beautiful voice, like arsenic in hot chocolate. ‘I didn’t want to go. I’d already lost my country, and I didn’t want to lose my family, and especially not my brother. But she didn’t care what I wanted. All that mattered was that she wasn’t alone. We ended up in some dirty tenement in Naples, surviving on nothing because she couldn’t hold down a job.’ He paused, gold gleaming hot in his eyes. ‘You want to hear more or is that enough? It doesn’t get any better, I warn you.’

  She held his gaze, fascinated by that hot glow, the raw emotion he kept locked inside the darkness of his gaze like a candle flame in a dark room. It reminded her of the way he looked at her in bed sometimes when he thought she was asleep, as if she had something he wanted that he didn’t know how to get.

  ‘Yes, more,’ she said. ‘I can handle it.’

  He let out a long breath, then closed the laptop and sat back on the seat. A smile was playing around his mouth, but there was no amusement in it. It looked forced. ‘Of course you can. You were going to kill me, after all.’

  There was a bite to the words that she was sure was supposed to hurt her, but she ignored it. He was angry because she was pushing him and he didn’t want to be pushed. But too bad. Underneath anger there was always pain, as she knew all too well, and she wanted to understand it.

  Why? So you can heal him?

  The ache in her chest deepened. Well, why not? He’d helped her with the pain of her own guilt. Couldn’t she help him in return?

  No, she wasn’t supposed to care about him. But somehow she did all the same.

  ‘Perhaps I should have,’ she said coolly. ‘Apparently attempting to kill you is easier than getting you to talk.’

  A flicker of emotion crossed his face, the gold in his eyes glowing hotter.

  She wasn’t surprised. If she’d learned anything about Dante Cardinali, it was that he preferred a fight to honest discussion. Which she had too—at least up until she’d seen her baby’s heartbeat on that monitor.

  He gave a low, mirthless laugh. ‘You’re a hard woman, kitten. You don’t let me get away with anything do you?’

  ‘Why should I? You didn’t let me get away at all.’

  His smile this time was more natural, and he got up, moving to where she leaned against the table and standing in front of her. Then he settled his hands on her hips and lifted her onto the table top, pushing himself between her thighs and fitting her against him. He was hard, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of their clothing, and she shivered, loving the delicious press of him against her. But she didn’t look away, keeping her gaze on his.

  Dante shook his head. ‘You’re not going to let this go, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay. So, we moved around Naples a lot,’ he went on, his tone casual, stripping the words of any emotion. ‘Since my mother couldn’t stay in any one job too long, it meant she couldn’t pay rent. Eventually she took up with a series of men who would help her out sometimes. Her favourite was a bastard called Roberto, who beat her when he was drunk. But for some reason she loved him and when I finally grew big enough to put a stop to him taking out his moods on her—and sometimes on me as well—she blamed me for hurting him. And for us subsequently moving again, because Roberto stopped the money he was giving her.’

  Stella’s heart squeezed. He sounded as if he’d told this story a hundred times and was bored of it. But she could hear the tension in his voice, an undercurrent of anger and of pain. It made her want to do something for him, but she wasn’t sure what, so she put her hands his forearms, her fingers on his bare skin, hoping the contact would give him some comfort.

  ‘I tried to make her stop drinking,’ Dante went on, his voice becoming harder and more edged. ‘Tried to get her to leave Roberto. I did everything I could think of, telling her that it would kill her if she went on like she was, but she wasn’t interested in stopping, or changing what she was doing. So in the end I gave her an ultimatum—told her it was either the bottle or me. I was just sixteen, old enough to look after myself—though, to be frank, I’d been doing that since she dragged me away from Milan—so when she said that she wasn’t going to stop, that I should go if I couldn’t handle it, that’s exactly what I did.’

  He smiled, sharp and white. ‘I walked out, thinking she’d come after me. That she’d change her mind. But she didn’t. For six months I heard nothing and then I got a call from a hospital saying that she was in Intensive Care with a head injury. She’d fallen over after a night drinking with Roberto and had hit her head on the pavement.’ A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘I spent a month sitting beside her, watching her slowly die. She never regained consciousness and so she never knew that I’d come back.’

  The anger in his gaze gleamed, his fingers gripping her tighter, though she didn’t think he was aware of it. ‘I never got to ask her why she’d dragged me around Italy with her, since it was obvious she preferred the bottle to me. Or why she wouldn’t stop drinking, even when I begged her to. She just died and left me with nothing. Just like she always did.’

  Stella swallowed, grief closing her throat. For Dante and the pain that was obviously still raw inside him. ‘Dante,’ she said thickly, not sure what else to say or what else to offer. Her own parents hadn’t left her with anything either.

  His mouth twisted in another of those terrible smiles. ‘So now you know exactly what kind of man you’re marrying, kitten. Stateless. Rootless. A man who’d rather walk away from a problem than have to deal with it, because it’s easier to not give a damn.’

  Of course. The ‘problem’ he’d walked away from had been his mother.

  ‘You blame yourself,’ she said, before she could think better of it. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘What? For the way she died? No, of course not.’ Dull anger glittered in his eyes. ‘She chose that path herself. I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘If you truly believe that, then why are you so angry about it?’

  ‘Angry? I’m not angry.’ He laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. ‘That would imply that I care. And I don’t. Not any more.’

  But he was lying, that was obvious. Of course he cared. He cared deeply and she could see the depth of it in the pain that lay underneath all that anger.

  ‘Yes, you do.’ She lifted her hand and touched the warmth of his cheek. ‘And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You care too much.’

  The smile on his face vanished. ‘Is there a point to this?’ His hands firmed on her, his hips flexing slightly, the ridge of his erection nudging against the soft, sensitive place between her thighs. ‘Because there are things I’d rather be doing.’

  Stella fought back the shiver of pleasure that whispered over her skin
. It would be easy to surrender, to let him distract her in the way he was so good at, and part of her wanted to. She wouldn’t have this for ever, after all.

  But this was important.

  ‘The point is that you’re angry,’ she said quietly, looking straight up into his eyes. ‘And I want to help you the way you helped me.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Don’t care about me, kitten. That would be a mistake.’

  ‘And is that what you’ll say to your child when they tell you that they love you? That it’s a mistake? That they shouldn’t?’

  It was a low blow and she knew it. But, whether he liked it or not, this mattered. For the baby’s sake if nothing else.

  His gaze went dark, any flickers of gold vanishing from it entirely. ‘Don’t use our child to manipulate me,’ he said, low and hard. ‘I won’t allow it.’

  Stella stared back. ‘I’m not. I don’t care what you feel for me, but I need to know that you’ll care for our child.’

  Liar. You care what he feels for you.

  She ignored the thought, meeting Dante’s black gaze head-on, keeping her fingers pressed to his cheek, letting her know how serious she was.

  ‘Do you really think I wouldn’t?’ he demanded roughly. ‘Why do you think I offered to marry you? Why do you think I’m buying a house for us to live in?’

  ‘You’re doing those things to take care of us, Dante. But that is not the same as love and you know it.’

  ‘Love?’ The word was a sneer, sharp-edged and painful. ‘Since when does love have anything to do with it?’

  Her heart gave one hard beat in her chest. She refused to look away. ‘Since now.’

  * * *

  Stella’s fingertips on his skin were light, her body against his soft and warm, and he felt as if he was holding a sunbeam in his hands; all he wanted to do was bask in her heat.

  He most certainly didn’t want to look into the relentless silver-blue of her eyes and talk about the farce that was love. He’d already given her more of himself than he’d wanted, more than he’d given anyone in his entire life, including his brother.