‘Every day.’ His gaze flicked to the dressing table, as if he half expected to see his mother sitting there. But then he trained it back on her—relentless. ‘Children need their parents just as parents need their children. They need to be there, to keep them safe and protect them. And it’s unfair of anyone to get in the way of that.’
‘I wasn’t trying to keep you out, Raffa. I didn’t think you’d want to know.’
‘You never gave me the chance.’
He stared through every inch of her self-righteousness like a drill through concrete, splintering her excuses. But he was right.
She swallowed. ‘I was going to tell you. Of course I was.’
‘When? After the birth? When he started to walk? First day at school? How much of my son’s life did you think it reasonable to deprive me of?’
She cringed. How had she failed so spectacularly to see things from his point of view? Why had she ignored the voice in her head that told her he had the right to know?
‘It wasn’t like that, Raffa. You threw me out! The Di Viscontis didn’t want to know me my whole life and—’
He put his hand up.
‘I’m not going to judge them. And I’m not going to fight with you about why we’re here. That is a complete waste of my time and yours. The baby is well, thank God, and from here on in we focus on the future. So tell me what you need. Your mother—do you want a car sent for her?’
‘No! Not yet.’
She shook her head vigorously and walked to the window. She couldn’t let her mother know where she was. She had to think this through. The minute Lynda heard that she was with Raffa in Regent’s Park she would start to imagine all sorts of fairytale nonsense. She’d start dreaming of engagements and weddings and christenings and one huge happily-ever-after.
Because that was what Lynda had wasted her entire life on—hoping Prince Charming would come for her.
And had that happened? No. Things like that didn’t happen in real life. All this dust-free polished wood and these freshly laundered linens. This was the same make-believe world she’d been seduced by six months earlier, when she’d won over Raffaele and ignored Mariella. A world which had seemed about to open up like a flower in sunshine, only to shrink and shrivel and close.
She knew better now. Luck like that didn’t land in your lap.
No. She couldn’t risk her mother’s fragile mental health taking another tumble until she knew herself which way was up. The doctor had taken DNA swabs and the results would be ready in twenty-four hours. Then there would be a discussion about the birth and then an arrangement for contact. And work. She really needed to get work—surely the job at MacIver was hers...?
‘Very well. Then we’ll head to Hydros immediately.’
Another order. She stared at his retreating back.
‘Hydros? Why on earth would we want to go there? I don’t want a holiday. I want a job.’
‘We’re not going on holiday,’ he said, rapidly typing something into his phone before dropping it into his pocket.
Then he turned and stared at her, full beam.
‘We’re going away from here—out of sight of the press—to sort out private family business. That’s how I deal with things. Remember?’
Suddenly Coral began to realise that she’d crossed the line. She was now part of his world. His micro-management of la famiglia Di Visconti now included her. Every move she made was now going to be second-guessed and scrutinised, risk-assessed and managed. If he’d thrown chains over her she wouldn’t have felt any more trapped.
‘We’ll get the DNA results tomorrow and by then we’ll have figured out how we’re going to play things. Plus, Salvatore is heading to Hydros—so it makes sense to meet him there and get the other DNA test over with. It’s either that or a trip to Sydney.’
Salvatore? Sydney? Agreeing to one paternity test was bad enough, but she had no need to prove anything to anyone.
‘Hang on—hang on! This is all going far too fast, Raffa. I don’t want to go anywhere near Salvatore. I get it that you want your test done. I accept that someone in your position needs to be sure that I’m not some crazy person trying to stick it to you. And I get that you don’t want this splashed over the front pages. But I’ve already told you I don’t give a damn about proving that I’m a Di Visconti to anyone. I’m more than happy as a Dahl.’
‘Don’t be so naïve, Coral. You can’t honestly have thought things were going to stay the way they were? You’re Giancarlo Di Visconti’s daughter, for God’s sake. Waitressing isn’t an option. And now you’re pregnant? Forget it. Anyway, I was never going to leave things as they were. It was wrong. What happened to your mother was wrong. I know about her debts. I know about your upbringing. All of it. I’m surprised that you don’t want to put things right. There’s more than you to consider in this.’
‘Actually, there’s only me to consider in this. And I’ve considered it. They didn’t want me. And—guess what?—I don’t want them.’
She knew the words sounded silly and petulant, but surely he saw it from her point of view?
Clearly he didn’t. The look on his face said it all as his brilliant blue eyes bored into hers. Selfish. He thought she was being inconsiderate, depriving his baby of an even bigger fortune from the precious Di Viscontis.
‘I’ve told you that I’m not going to argue with you. We’ve both made mistakes. But this is real. These are big issues and you can’t take cover behind a coffee machine or a camera. You’ve got responsibilities now. That child deserves what you never had.’
He walked away, his ever-steady voice now rising, anger thrumming through every syllable.
Damn him. He was making her feel that she was already failing her son.
‘You don’t need money to have a happy childhood,’ she said shrilly.
He was halfway along the hallway. He stopped at the top of the stairs and turned, one hand on the gleaming banister. Light flooded in from the glass cupola in the ceiling, down on the walls hung with oil paintings of haughty, beautiful women and plump-cheeked cherubic children.
For a fleeting moment she wondered if they were his ancestors, and if her child would look like them.
‘Agreed! Children need parents. Two of them. Which he has—thank God.’
He checked his watch, hitched an eyebrow, smiled without mirth.
‘We’ll leave in an hour. Are you ready?’
He started down the stairs without waiting for her reply. She felt she’d been judged and sentenced and now she was going to be put in detention. Like a silly little girl let loose with a big bag of sweeties, keeping them all for herself and not thinking about the consequences.
‘No, I’m not ready! There are other things I need to sort out first,’ she said, hurrying after him.
‘Such as?’ he said, walking straight past the vases of perfectly poised lilies like a king past his courtiers.
‘Like my work. Am I just supposed to forget about that now? And what about the MacIver job? Is it mine or isn’t it?’
He turned into an office. A polished oak table stretched all the way up the centre of the room, behind which hung four large screens and four clocks, showing the time in New York, Sydney, Paris and Rome. He walked to a desk and lifted a tablet from underneath a folder. She could see a print-out of the baby’s scan photograph through the clear plastic cover.
‘I’m not going to complicate things further by employing you. Here—take this.’
He typed into the tablet and held it out. She could see the home page of one of the most exclusive boutiques in London.
‘We’ve got some time before we fly. Why don’t you choose some proper maternity clothes? They can be delivered to Hydros.’
She snatched the tablet, switched off the screen and shoved it down on the table. It rattled as it lande
d, but finally he was looking at her.
‘Sorry if I’m not being clear. No, I’m not going to pick out some “proper” clothes. Let me say it again: I’m only here with you because of these tests. As soon as they are confirmed I’m going back to my own life. In my own clothes. And if you’re going to play God by refusing to give me that job at MacIver, then I’ll keep on waitressing. I don’t need your charity.’
That was a lie. She knew it and he knew it. There was no photography work falling into her lap, and she was too pregnant for waitressing. Soon she’d have nowhere left to turn unless it was to state benefits. Or Salvatore—and that was never going to happen.
He closed the space between them, stepping towards her like a challenge. She stood her ground, heart pounding, chest heaving and blood rushing in her ears.
‘You’re not getting my charity. You’re getting my care. Whether you like it or not.’
His lips parted as he slowly stated each word. His eyes flashed all over her face, then landed on her mouth. They stared at one another, for one long moment and then another. Then, with just the slant of an eyebrow, he seemed to slash through the fractious, angry air and it suddenly settled into something much, much heavier.
‘But you do like it, don’t you? As I recall, you like it very much.’
She stared at his broad, muscled chest under the light cashmere sweater, at the perfect dark curve of his beard where it met his neck. She stared at the outline of his biceps and shoulders, his protector’s body. She breathed in his strength and his pure male magnetism.
When she looked up into his face she knew she should hate him. She should despise those brilliant eyes and scorn his perfect lips. She should turn her face away, grab the reins of her life back and gallop for the hills. But she couldn’t. She was rooted to the spot, drinking him in.
‘You’ll need to stop fighting me, cara. Sooner or later.’ His tone softened. He closed the last inches between them. ‘It won’t all be bad. We’ve got something special—you can’t possibly deny that.’
She felt his fingers closing around hers as he tugged her towards him.
‘Remember how good it was when you stopped fighting me before? Remember...?’
His voice was barely a whisper now, his breath close to her ear. Her body erupted with lust as he shifted even closer.
‘Remember how you begged me to take you?’
Yes! screamed her hot, aching body. Yes!
He lifted his fingers to her cheek. He slid his hand to her jaw. He bent forward one tiny fraction, then another, and another. Her eyes darted to his lips. He was going to kiss her.
She hovered for a moment, once more torn between following her head and following her heart, but she could no more stop the wave of longing that washed over her than stop breathing.
She closed her eyes and gave in.
And then he kissed her.
He pressed his lips to hers and she felt the rasp of beard, the firm demand of one kiss, then another. She smelled his cologne and a trace of espresso. She opened her mouth to his tongue’s darting and probing and pushed her own tongue back as they met one another in a hunger she could barely contain.
She grabbed at his sweater and he held her wrists.
‘Not here—not in my office,’ he panted.
His eyes were dark as the night sky, and it made her almost cry out to know she affected him so deeply.
‘Yes, here,’ she said, looking at the wide expanse of polished walnut.
She could barely speak, so desperate was she to feel his flesh, fill her hands with him and satisfy the need that had built since that night.
She tried to draw him back to her.
‘No,’ he said, pulling away and shaking his head softly. ‘We’ll go upstairs. We’ll take our time. Let me look after you. Please, Coral. Let me start to look after you now.’
CHAPTER NINE
HE GRASPED HER hand and tucked her underneath his shoulder. Without a single sound he walked her out of the office, along the hallway to the stairs. He was not going to give her a moment to change her mind because finally—finally—she had stopped combatting every single thing he said. Finally she was relenting.
But he knew her fire. She was exactly like her father. All it would take was one wrong word and she’d be stripping off her dress and stamping it into the ground again.
He kept her close, taking each step with her. He shouldn’t have had to seduce her to get her to calm down, but the fire in his blood was out of control just as before. At least this way they would both get what they needed.
Round the twist in the stairs she almost stumbled, and he caught her swiftly. But even that made him stop, turn her in his arms, cup her beautiful face and kiss her sweet mouth. God, but he could not stop kissing her.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight to his body. It killed him to think of what she had been through. What had Giancarlo been thinking? How could he have shut out his own flesh and blood? There was nothing more important than family. Nothing.
And here he was, holding her tight and squeezing his promises into her. Here in his mother’s house, under paintings of his great-grandmother and her sisters, and their children. Family. Never before had he felt the responsibility of all those generations as keenly as he did now.
I’m going to be a father, he told them all, pausing for a moment to feel them in the empty air. I won’t let you down, he said, tears burning behind his eyes. I will do my best to make you proud.
His jaw clenched where it lay on her head, and his muscles tensed all around her. Around his child.
He knew it was his in his bones. Had known it since she’d thrown out her claim in that office. Yes, it was his child. And she was his woman.
She moved against him and he stiffened. Nothing could stop him from taking her to his bed now.
In seconds they were inside his suite. He closed the door. She was standing halfway across the floor, the apples of her cheeks as red as her tunic, her magnificent auburn hair ready to tumble down her naked shoulders.
‘What are you waiting for?’ she said. ‘You don’t need to be gentle.’
Her eyes were wild and her lips moist. In a single step he grabbed her and thrust his tongue into her mouth. She whimpered.
‘Don’t try to order me around,’ he warned her, pausing for a second to cup her jaw with one hand and her breast with the other. Then he felt for her nipple and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger.
She gasped and pressed her hand on top of his. ‘Don’t stop. Please!’ she cried.
‘I’ve no intention of stopping,’ he said, tugging her face to meet his and laving her mouth with his tongue. His hands moulded her fabulous heavy breasts, so full he could barely contain them. He wanted to see her—see how she had changed with the baby.
She was as greedy as he remembered, and in moments he felt her hands fumbling with his flies. She unbuttoned him as he continued to swell and grow. Then she worked her fingers inside his shorts until she had released him into her hand.
He stopped then. He had to see—had to imprint this on his mind for ever. The sight of him, hard and hot, in her hand. He looked into her face as she hitched her head back with pride and control and he felt the balance shift. She was his equal. And the fire in his blood raged harder.
Then she clasped him in her hand and worked it up and down, her clever fingers rubbing perfectly on his most sensitive area. He groaned his pleasure, feeling the intensity build below the head.
‘Coral—please.’
She eyed him steadily, then bent to take him in her mouth.
But he couldn’t let her. ‘Sweetheart.’
He scooped her up and sat her on the bed. Then he stripped off his sweater and trousers and everything else.
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened
, breathing out a gasp. ‘Oh!’
He stood with legs apart in front of her, his erection full and hard at ninety degrees to his body, inches away from her mouth.
She licked her lips. He leant behind her and unzipped her tunic, but she tugged him into her mouth and worked her tongue around him. It was warm and wet and so, so good.
But he stopped, stepped back. She was still clothed and he wanted every last piece of perfection spread out before him. He was going to give her what she needed.
In seconds he had pulled off her tunic and unfastened her bra. Her breasts fell into his hands and he bent his head to kiss the heavy white flesh and lick her erect rosy nipples.
Again she cried out when he touched them.
‘Angel...’ he said, easing her back, but still she held his head to them and he nuzzled against her, scenting her, glorying in her.
Gently he laid her back to tug off her other clothes, and he marvelled in the lush, feminine woman she had become. Her hair fanned out like a halo, her body round and flowing like life itself.
Finally he found what he wanted—the dark dart of hair at the apex of her thighs, shielding her soft, moist lips and her tiny hard pearl.
He took her knees in his hands and spread her legs, loving how her flesh opened for him. Then he settled down on his knees and did what he had longed to do all this time. He tasted her, working his tongue against her most sensitive area. He kissed and sucked and licked her until he had truly learned her deepest most womanly essence.
He looked up as she lifted her head. Her eyes were glazed with pleasure, but she speared him with a long look and in it he saw hope and fear and trust.
He clutched her hips and worked at her, hearing her call his name, urging him on. He flicked his tongue over and over her hot, hard bud, now swollen and bursting, ready to throb with her orgasm. Then he felt her hips rise up in the air and he suckled her hard. She screamed and released and broke apart for him. And it was beautiful.
In a heartbeat he was on his feet, cradling her, rolling her gently onto her side. Then, as he held her breasts in his hands, he slid his aching cock inside her. Her hands reached around him, grabbing him and urging him on, still crying out her pleasure. With every thrust he kept her going. He knew he was only moments behind her. He felt his own release build, and finally he pulsed and poured himself into her—over and over again.
The Consequence She Cannot Deny Page 11
