by Caro LaFever
“Our girlfriend,” Tracy cut right through her objections, “bedded the most gorgeous man in London.”
“Um.” Her other friend cocked her head to the side, a slight frown on her brow. “I'm thinking he's the most gorgeous man on the planet.”
“He's the worst man in the world—”
“You're right, S.” Tracy's grin came, sudden and blinding. “Damn, Lise. When you decide to go for it, you really go all the way.”
“Literally.” Suz's smile was no less broad. “And figuratively.”
“Stop.” Her harsh breathing filled the kitchen as her two friends stumbled into silence. “This isn't about his looks. This isn't a joke.”
“Kiddo.” Tracy's grin wilted into a pained grimace. “You're right.”
“Hey.” Her best friend’s gaze shone with regret. “We are just stunned at you finally taking a chance. Finally doing something wild—”
“And look where it's gotten me. I'm pregnant.”
Both of her friends rounded the counter and huddled beside her, their arms intertwining.
“We're here for you,” Tracy whispered. “Whatever you decide to do—”
“I'm keeping the baby. Raising it on my own.”
“Cool,” Suz said. “You're going to be a fantastic mother.”
“I’m not telling him.”
“Right.” Her other friend’s tone was bracing and cheerful. “He'd be a terrible father.”
“He might ask you when you start to show.” Suz frowned. “He might push for a test or something.”
“Hardly,” Lise snorted. She stamped down her conscience and focused on her resentment at his behavior towards her instead. “The man has no interest in babies. He’s going to assume it’s Robert’s. Even if the idea flitted through his mind that the baby might be his, he wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t want to know.”
“You’re sure?” Suz still appeared concerned.
“Positive.” She scowled in defiance. At him. At her conscience. “This baby is mine. All mine.”
Chapter 5
There was something wrong with her.
Vico stared across the boardroom at the Princesse, in her usual place at the other end. Even after winning the battle for the direction of his company, he’d still found it impossible to unseat her or her influence. He now commanded almost as much respect as she held in her dainty hand. However, this hadn’t diminished the respect and affection the staff and board felt for Ms. Helton. They still wanted her here. They still believed in her. Thus, the stubborn woman still fought her fruitless campaign opposing his ideas.
The stubborn woman who currently looked like her best friend had recently died.
This had started…Vico drummed his fingers on the table… it had started about a month ago. The pallor. The dark smudges under her eyes. The weight loss.
He’d heard, through the office grapevine, of her broken engagement.
Had she broken off with her fiancé because of him? Because of what they’d done together? Had his usual pattern of impetuous behavior ruined her hopes and dreams?
Exactly as his actions had ruined another person’s life many years ago.
Guilt had been his constant companion during the last month, roiling inside. Along with the guilt, another heated emotion had pounded in his chest as he worked beside her, observed her, listened for her voice in the office hallways. Desperate hope had bloomed; an emotion he’d been incredulous to find in his heart.
Idiota. Pazzo.
Si, he was an idiot and crazy to think the Princesse would ever look at him with anything other than disgust. Not after he’d shoved her into his bed, played the role of gigolo, and ruined her engagement. So, he’d stuffed the stupid emotions down until they whimpered in defeat.
Lise Helton’s personal life was her own business and had nothing to do with him.
Along with stamping out all his damned emotions, he’d been fairly busy monitoring her behavior at work. Trying to keep his plans on track, trying to keep her sabotage to a minimum. She’d defied every prediction he’d made to himself about how she’d react to his end-run around her with the other stockholders. Instead of spitting fire and yelling and losing her cool—
He’d been denied what he dreamed of.
He’d wanted to light a fire under the woman. One way or another.
The Princesse was made of stern stuff, though. She’d merely glared down her nose at him and then proceeded to calmly try and undermine his plans. Much to her regret, he hoped, she wasn’t making nearly the progress she’d made when he first arrived on the scene. No, he was steadily winning over the hearts and minds of not only the stockholders and the board members, but the average accountant, the lowliest delivery man—hell, even the Princesse’s own PA had started to warm to his charm.
It must irk her. It must irritate her. It must.
Yet she never let him see it.
He should fire her.
He’d thought about it a dozen times. A million times.
But he knew if he acted out, did what he wanted, her dismissal would hurt the company. So instead, he stomped down his emotions, stopped her sabotage, and seethed with frustration.
“Do you agree, Mr. Mattare?” Her cool, clipped voice reached across the long oak table.
He had no idea what she asked him. His hand clenched on his knee. “I wish to hear more.”
“Really?” One blonde brow rose. “I thought Ms. Gelson explained the data in perfectly clear terms.”
“My apologies,” he smiled, his teeth grinding. “Perhaps it is the language barrier.”
“I don’t mind explaining in more detail,” the eager Ms. Gelson gushed. “I’d be glad to do anything for Mr. Mattare.”
“Thank you, Cindy,” the Princesse said, her mouth firming in displeasure at the younger woman’s willingness. “I’m sure we’ll all be more attentive this time.”
She skimmed the line day after day.
The line of respect for her superior. The line of courtesy. The line of his temper.
He managed to keep his attention focused on the business as the meeting progressed. Though all the while, he watched her, watched her face, her movements.
Something was wrong.
Behind the calm, collected persona lurked something else. Something cracking the high and mighty façade she projected.
Last week he’d noticed the symptoms had grown worse. The tinge of pallor in her pearl skin had turned to outright pale pastiness. The smudges under her eyes now were dark circles. Her clothes hung on her. Her eyes weren’t the usual clear ice blue.
She tried to keep up appearances.
Yet it was obvious, there was something wrong.
He quickly squashed a zag of concern. It didn’t matter to him if she suffered because her fiancé finally figured her out and dumped her. In the long run, what man wanted a woman who couldn’t be trusted? He hadn’t thought about her stupid engagement when he’d been pounding into her, but he’d thought about it since.
A dozen times. A million times.
Lise Helton, for all her high-and-mighty ways, was a cheat. The type of woman he scorned. He held not an iota of concern for the woman. She deserved everything she got.
The meeting came to a close. The staff stood, gathering their papers, talking in low tones about their daily tasks. Vico rose from his chair, snapped his laptop closed and glanced to the end of the room.
She stood. And wobbled. Her hand landed on the table in front of her, propping her up.
Tensing, he forced himself to stay still instead of bounding down the room to her side.
A gleam of sweat on her brow glistened. He’d swear to it.
A sudden realization came to him.
This couldn’t be only emotional distress. This had to be something more.
“Ms. Helton,” he said. “A moment of your time, per favore.”
Her head jerked up, her blonde hair bobbing in soft curls on her shoulders. The hair wasn’t the same, though. Not like his memory
of silky, healthy strands wrapping around his hands as he plunged into her. Now the strands appeared lackluster and lifeless.
Something was wrong. He was sure of it. Something physical.
The beat of his heart sped, then stilled.
“I’m quite busy today.” Her words were rushed.
“A mere moment.”
Her gaze darted to the door as the last person left the room.
Left them alone. For the first time in seven long weeks. For the first time since they’d lain beside each other naked.
The door thudded shut.
She folded her arms in front of her and straightened into her usual erect, royal stance. “What is it, Mr. Mattare? Another one of your schemes?”
A grudging respect pulsed deep in him. A reluctant appreciation for her stubborn determination to keep fighting him at every turn. Except strangely, he didn’t want to fight back. At least not right now. He wanted to know what was going on. What was the matter with her. He wanted to be sure the odd thought that had popped into his head moments ago was a complete impossibility.
Sticking his hand in his pocket, he jiggled the spare pence. “Are you sick?”
Her eyes widened, her skin turned pale as marble, even paler than before, and her body went rigid. On the whole, it looked like a breath of wind could knock her over. His words did more, however.
They scared her.
He stared across the table at her and knew.
Something was seriously wrong.
* * *
“It’s none of your business.” Nausea welled in her throat.
Vico Mattare’s eyes went hard. “I disagree. You are my employee. If you are sick, your work will suffer.”
My employee. He’d edged the two words with spite. At any other time, she’d have told him to stuff it. But her agenda had changed during the last month. Her priorities were far different now than before.
Her baby was all that mattered.
Not the fight for her company, even though she still wanted the control back. Not the determined war she’d fought against him and his shady proposals, even though she still argued against his changes. Not even her pride.
Now the only thing she cared about was her baby: her baby’s needs, her baby’s welfare, her baby’s future.
Which included finances.
Babies were expensive. She’d had the distant knowledge of that before this whole situation came about. Yet now it had come into focus with a stark, brutal clarity. Her financial picture, thanks to her father’s ill-advised investments before his death six years ago, had been precarious for years. Her salary was generous, but it strained to cover her mother’s needs as well as her own. Her mother’s adamant refusal to even think of selling the family estate was understandable. Nevertheless, taking care of the damn barn was expensive.
Her baby’s needs came before all else, still Lise hadn’t figured out how she was going to balance all the financial balls in her court. Selling her Mayfair house would be a step in the right direction, though she’d need somewhere to live and prices in London were astronomical.
Keeping this job was the key to her financial future.
She knew that. So she bit her tongue, stopping the blast of her temper.
“Ms. Helton.” Her nemesis's words were clipped and forceful. “You will tell me what is wrong immediately.”
The demand stiffened her spine and the nausea diminished as anger stirred. “I have a touch of the flu.”
She’d lied to him. To her baby’s father.
The queasiness swept back in with a vicious intensity. She swallowed it back. In some situations, lies were needed. Situations she’d never found herself in before, true, but there was always a first time. And the right time.
“That’s all?” His gaze traveled over her pale face. “It is quite a long bout of the flu.”
“I also suffer from migraines on occasion.”
The man at the end of the long table frowned. “I didn’t know that.”
“Why should you?” Lise slipped her laptop into its case and zipped it closed, hoping the action would cover her shaking hands. “All you need to know is I went to the doctor and she gave me a clean bill of health. The sickness will pass.”
She had gone to her doctor who’d confirmed the pregnancy and also confirmed she had no diseases—much to her relief. Her doctor also assured her this overwhelming sickness that had swept in on her, only days after she acknowledged the pregnancy, wasn’t unusual for the first few months.
She hadn’t lied to him again. She did have a clean bill of health and the nausea would pass eventually.
“Really?” A dark brow rose in skepticism.
“Yes, really.” She took in a breath, willing the cold sweat on her forehead away. “There’s nothing for you to be concerned about. I’ll continue to do my job.”
“To full capacity?”
“Certainly.” She gritted her teeth.
“There has been some…concern.” His tone turned lazy. Yet underneath, a strand of menace stirred.
Concern?
The sweat slid down between her breasts, cold and clammy.
Lise had done everything she could to hold on to her regular habits. Despite it taking everything in her to drag herself from her bed every morning. Although she had to take several more trips to the lavatory than usual. She made sure her work had been completed before leaving every day, even if the only thing she could think of was going home and climbing back into bed.
Had she been wrong, totally wrong? Had it somehow become obvious she felt like a walking vomit machine every moment?
No, he was only fishing.
“There’s no reason for anyone to be concerned.” She swung the laptop case over her shoulder with what she hoped was a nonchalant air. “I’ll be completely fine soon. You have no reason to question my work. The quality hasn’t slipped.”
She needed this job. Needed to save as much as she could during the next several months. The fact that this man held her job in his grip made the nausea roll inside her.
“I am not questioning your work, Ms. Helton.” He paused, his mouth stern. “Not yet.”
Stirring menace had now turned to outright threat. She swallowed the fear and the hate, meeting his gaze with a steely one of her own. “Not ever.”
His tiger eyes blazed at the challenge.
Then he shrugged, long, black lashes covering his eyes.
Time to leave. This conversation was only adding to her nausea. Sweeping together the last of her papers and stuffing them into a folder, she glanced around for her pen, the silver pen she valued because Tracy had given it to her as a graduation present. She’d brought it in here, she remembered. The pen wasn’t on the table, though. Had she dropped it on the floor?
“Are you looking for something?” he said, his voice filled with blatant insincerity. “May I be of assistance?”
The very last thing she wanted was him anywhere near her. She’d come back later and find it. “No, I’ve got everything.”
“If you say so.”
Lise glanced back at him. He stood at the end of the boardroom, his mouth slanted in a typical cynical half-smile. In contrast, his eyes glared at her.
How she despised him. How she’d give her last pound to never see him again.
And oh, oh, oh how she needed to puke.
Definitely time to leave.
Tightening her grip on the folder, she edged around the table and towards the door. But the man wasn’t done with her, damn him. With one stride, he made it to the door and leaned his big body back, blocking her escape.
She halted and managed a perfectly good glare of her own. “Mr. Mattare—”
“Are you sure it isn’t emotional distress?” His gaze was keen. Too keen.
“What do you mean?”
“I heard about your unfortunate split.” He waved a negligent hand to her naked fourth finger. “My condolences.”
His fake pity burned her pride to a crisp. It also churned
her stomach into a full rebellion. “My personal relationships are none of your business, either.”
His arms folded across his broad chest. “The thought crossed my mind that it might be very much my business.”
“Of course it’s not—”
“After all, what man would want a cheating fiancée for a wife?” His quiet, lethal words cut through her objection.
A blaze of embarrassment and resentment swept through her like a roaring fire at the unfair and untrue accusation. The righteous fury burned off every bit of queasiness. She forgot the need for her job, forgot the priority of her baby, forgot everything except this man in front of her. “You are the nastiest—”
He held his pose, still lazy and careless as he leaned on the door.
“—ugliest scum I have ever had the misfortune—”
His eyes blazed right back at her.
“—to meet.” Her breath came choppy and uneven.
His mouth twitched into a smile. A fake smile because his gaze burned with animosity. “And yet—”
The breath clutched, caught in her throat.
“—you begged me to take you.”
The truth of the words, the confidence in his voice, the snarl in his tone as he threw it at her; they all combined, sweeping through her. His aggression caused a wash of sickness so overwhelming she knew she had to get out of here before she suffered the ultimate embarrassment of gagging all over his Italian leather shoes.
“Move,” she panted at him.
Something in her tone alerted him. He straightened and stepped aside.
Only luck kept her together until she got to the lavatory.
That and the fierce surge of pure hatred for the man.
Chapter 6
Vico stared out of his office windows, watching the late-spring storm engulf the London streets in a sheet of rain. The rolling grey clouds fit his mood—gloomy, but tense. The growl of the thunder rumbled through his bones and blood making him restless.
Lise Helton was still sick.
After their confrontation two weeks ago, he’d been even more curious, more concerned. More suspicious. But there’d been nothing he could do.
