by Lynne Graham
But it hurt to look at him, and as Zara felt the pain of his deception afresh her anger ignited like a roaring flame. Her eyes cloaked, hiding her vulnerability. He hadn’t cared about her, hadn’t even really wanted her for herself. He had simply used her as a weapon to strike at her father. ‘What do you want?’ she asked, her intonation sharp with anger. ‘And how did you find out where I was living?’
‘I have my sources,’ Vitale fielded, his stunning dark deep-set eyes trained on her to track any changes.
Casually clad in cropped trousers and flip-flops, she seemed smaller and younger than he had recalled but, if anything, even more beautiful. Her creamy natural skin was flawless. The wealth of silvery waves falling round her narrow shoulders was bright as a beacon, providing the perfect frame for delicate features dominated by wide lavender eyes and an impossibly full and tempting pink mouth. And that fast Vitale wanted her again. The tightening heaviness at his groin was a response that unnerved him more than a little. He operated very much on cold, clever logic—he had no time and even less understanding of anything uncontrolled or foolish. He could not compute the sheer irrational absurdity of such an attraction when he had remained indifferent to so many more suitable women. In self-defence, he immediately sought out her flaws. She was too small, her hair was too bright, she talked like an express train rarely pausing for breath and much of it was totally superfluous stuff. But in defiance of popular report, he recalled abstractedly, she was anything but stupid. She had a quirky sense of humour and very quick wits.
While Vitale looked her up and down as though he had every right to do so, his face sardonic and uninformative, Zara’s resentment merely took on a sharper edge. ‘You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.’ Her heart-shaped face had tightened, irate colour stealing into her cheeks as she belatedly grasped the most likely reason for his reappearance, and she winced in discomfiture. ‘Oh, of course, you want to know if—’
‘May I come in?’ Vitale incised, not being a fan of holding intimate conversations in public places.
‘I don’t want to let you in but I suppose I don’t have much choice,’ Zara countered ungraciously, reflecting that far from worrying about the possibility of an accidental pregnancy she had shelved the concern in Italy and had refused to think about it again when it seemed that she had so many more pressing things to worry about.
A thumping noise broke the tense silence. At Vitale’s entrance, Fluffy thumped the floor with her hind feet in protest and let out a squeal of fright before hotfooting it for her hutch.
Vitale was even more taken aback by the display. ‘You keep a … rabbit indoors?’ he queried, his only prior experience of rabbits being the belief that people either shot them or ate them and sometimes both.
‘Yes, Fluffy’s my pet. She’s nervous of men,’ Zara remarked, wishing she had been as sensibly wary as Fluffy when she had first met him, for it might have protected her from harm.
Indeed in a rage of antipathy, she was looking fixedly at Vitale. Somehow she couldn’t stop looking and all of a sudden and without the smallest warning she was recalling much more of that night in the love nest in the Tuscan hills than was necessary or decent. She remembered the early morning light gleaming over the black density of his tousled hair. She had run her fingers through that hair before she ran them over the corrugated flatness of his incredibly muscular torso and traced the silken length of his shaft, exploring him in a way she had never wanted or needed to explore any other man. Her heart was beating so fast in remembrance of those intimacies that she wanted to press a hand against it to slow it down before it banged so hard it burst loose from her chest.
‘I don’t know if I’m pregnant or not yet,’ she admitted frankly, descending straight to the prosaic in the hope of bringing herself back down to planet earth again, safe from such dangerous mental wanderings. He might be gorgeous but he was her enemy and a callous con artist and she hated him for what he had done to her.
Still disconcerted by the presence of a bunny rabbit whose quivering nose was poking out of the elaborate hutch, Vitale frowned, uneasy with a situation he had never been in before. The sort of lovers he usually had took precautions and accidents didn’t happen, or at least if they did they were kept quiet, he acknowledged cynically. ‘I believe there are tests you can do.’
‘I’ll buy one and let you know the result when I’ve done it,’ she muttered carelessly. ‘But right now I’ve got more important things to worry about—’ Vitale raised a brow. ‘Such as … what exactly?’ ‘Fluffy, my pet rabbit—what am I going to do with her? My neighbour has already lodged a complaint and you heard the landlord! He wouldn’t budge an inch. He’s going to chuck me out of here if I don’t rehome Fluffy!’ she exclaimed.
‘Rules are rules,’ Vitale pronounced, a little out of his depth when it came to keeping pets because he had never had one of any kind. It was a challenge for him to understand the depth of her attachment to the animal, but her distraught expression did get the message across. Growing exasperation gripped him. ‘Perhaps you could give the rabbit away.’
Zara dealt him a furious look of condemnation. ‘I couldn’t give Fluffy away!’ she gasped. ‘She’s been with me since my sixteenth birthday and I love her. Thanks to you I’ve been put through an awful lot of grief over the last couple of weeks but I can cope with it because I’m strong.’
Vitale was still very much focused on what was most important to him and detached from the rabbit scenario. ‘I’ll buy you a pregnancy test and bring it back here—’
‘Don’t put yourself out!’ Zara slung him a seething look of hatred that startled him, for he had not appreciated that those lavender eyes could telegraph that amount of aversion.
Vitale compressed his sensual mouth and heaved a sigh. ‘I must. I’m equally involved in this situation and I can’t relax until we have found out where we stand.’
‘Well, if wondering about where you stand is all you’re worrying about I can help you right now!’ Zara fired back at him. ‘I hate you. If I find out I’m pregnant, I’ll hate you even more. What will I do? I’ll trail you through every court in the land for financial support and I’ll hope it embarrasses the hell out of you!’
Vitale dealt her a seething look of impatience. ‘If you are pregnant you won’t have to trail me through a court for financial support. I would pick up the bills without argument.’
Unimpressed by that declaration and cringing at the unhappy thought of being beholden to him, Zara stood so straight her spine ached and her eyes glowed like embers in a banked down fire. ‘Then I’ll fight not to accept your financial support!’ she slung back.
Vitale was not slow on the uptake and he got the message that whatever it took she was currently out for his blood. As there was nothing that whet his appetite more than a challenge, a sardonic smile slashed his wonderfully well-shaped mouth. She didn’t know who she was dealing with. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ he warned her before he turned on his heel.
‘You’re not the Terminator,’ she told his back acidly before the lift doors closed on him.
Vitale, her sleek sophisticated banker, had gone to buy her a pregnancy test, surely a humble task beneath his high-powered notice? He was not hers, she scolded herself angrily, marvelling that such a designation had even occurred to her. Why was she even speaking to him? Her period was already four days late, a fact she had kept pushed to the back of her mind because she already had more than she could handle on her plate. Usually, however, she was as regular as clockwork in that department, so her disrupted cycle was a source of concern. She stroked Fluffy, inwardly admitting that she really didn’t want to do a test yet because she much preferred to keep her spirits up by concentrating on sunnier prospects. My goodness, she reflected with a creeping feeling of apprehension, becoming a single parent in her current circumstances would be a nightmare.
Within the hour, Vitale returned and handed her a carrier bag. Zara extracted, not one, but four different boxes containin
g pregnancy-testing kits.
‘I had no idea which you would prefer,’ Vitale declared without a shade of discomfiture. Zara dug into the biggest box and extracted the instructions. The print was so tiny she couldn’t read it and the diagram just blurred. Her hand shook, a sense of intense humiliation threatening to eat her alive and turning her skin clammy with perspiration. ‘Go home,’ she told him shakily.
‘Why? I might as well wait.’ Vitale’s impatience to know the result was etched on his face and hummed from his taut restive stance. He lifted one of the other boxes. ‘Use that one. From what I read on the box I understand it can give an immediate result.’
Grateful for that information, Zara took it and unwrapped it, spreading out the instructions on the table with a careful hand, squinting down at it as calmly as she could in an unsuccessful attempt to focus on the minuscule print. All she could see was a blur of mismatched symbols. She thought it was most probably her mood and the awful awareness that she had an audience that was making her dyslexia even worse than it usually was. She needed to stay calm and focused but just at that instant her self-discipline was absent.
‘What’s wrong?’ Vitale queried rather curtly.
Zara breathed in slow and deep. ‘The print is so small I can’t read it,’ she complained.
Assuming that she had imperfect sight but was not prepared to own up to the fact or indeed have anything done about it, Vitale suppressed a groan and lifted the sheet to read the relevant sentences. Zara would have much preferred to have read it herself. Her cheeks flared red and hot but, veiling her gaze, she made no comment. As she locked herself into the tiny shower room with the kit she thought that anything was better than him discovering the truth about her affliction.
Only when Zara reached sixth form had a concerned teacher asked her mother to allow an educational psychologist to test her daughter. Identified as severely dyslexic, Zara had finally been offered the assistance that she needed to catch up with her peers. Unfortunately by that stage her self-esteem had sunk to rock-bottom and she had been unable to believe that reasonable exam grades might be within her reach. Her father, after all, had immediately dismissed her dyslexia as a ‘poor excuse for stupidity’ and had refused to credit the existence of such a condition.
Although a speech-language therapist had been recommended to teach Zara how to handle the problem, her father had refused to consider that option, saying it would be a waste of time and money. Unsurprisingly Zara had never recovered from her father’s shame and disgust at the news that his daughter suffered from something labelled ‘a learning disability’. It was a subject never ever mentioned in her home but she often suspected it was the main reason why her parents continued to look on her as some sort of perpetual child, rather than the adult that she was.
Zara stood in the shower room with her attention on the novelty wall clock left behind by a previous tenant, refusing to allow herself to simply stare at the test to see if it had changed colour. The waiting time up, she straightened her shoulders and finally directed her gaze to the tiny viewing window on the test wand and there was the line of confirmation that she had most feared to see. Her legs almost buckled beneath her and she broke out in a cold sweat of horror.
Wrenching open the door, Zara reeled out. ‘It’s bad news, I’m afraid,’ she proclaimed jaggedly.
‘Let me see.’ Accustomed to trusting in only his own powers of observation, Vitale insisted on checking the test. He might have paled had his attention not been on Zara, who was displaying more than enough shock and consternation for both of them.
‘You can leave now,’ she told him woodenly. But Vitale stayed where he was, his attention involuntarily fixing to her flat stomach. A baby, she was going to have his baby. He was going to have a child with Monty Blake’s daughter. He was utterly appalled at the news. A selfish moment of inattention in the heat of passion was all it had taken to permanently change both their lives. Yet he more than anyone had known the potential cost of such negligence and had the least excuse for the oversight, he conceded with stormy self-loathing.
‘I can’t simply leave you like this,’ Vitale declared with a harsh edge to his deep drawl.
‘Why not?’ Zara gave him a deadened look, still too traumatised to think beyond what she had just learned about her own body. ‘Don’t you think you’ve already done enough?’
In the face of that unnecessary reminder, Vitale stood his ground. It was a bad moment but in almost thirty years he had lived through an awful lot of bad moments and he would not allow himself to flinch from anything unpleasant. But for him the worst aspect was that this was an event outside his control and he liked that reality least of all. ‘I’d like to deal with this before I leave.’
Zara folded her arms and lifted her chin, suspicious of that particular choice of wording. ‘Deal with it?’ she questioned, astonished by the current of protectiveness towards her unborn child that sprang into being inside her and stiffened every defensive muscle. ‘I should tell you now—I’m not prepared to have a termination—’
‘I’m not asking you to consider that option,’ Vitale countered, exasperated by her drama, craving a sensible solution even though he already knew there probably wasn’t one. ‘You don’t trust me but I assure you that I will only act in my child’s best interests.’
Zara was unimpressed. How could she trust anything he said? How did she know that getting her pregnant hadn’t been part of his revenge? Hadn’t he accused her father of getting his sister pregnant? How much faith could she put in Vitale’s promises now?
‘That’s quite a sudden change of attitude you’ve had,’ she remarked in a brittle voice.
His lips set in a firm line, his eyes flaring bright and forceful before he cloaked them. Even though she tried not to, she found herself staring because, regardless of her hatred and distrust, nothing could alter the reality that he was sleek and dark and beautiful as sin.
‘Whether I like it or not the fact that you’re going to have my child does change everything between us,’ he responded darkly.
Zara released a tart laugh of disagreement. ‘Even though you believe that my father is the equivalent of a murderer and hate me for being his daughter?’
Anger lent a feverish hint of colour to his exotic high cheekbones and gave Vitale’s appearence such striking strength and magnetism. ‘I do not hate you.’
Scorn crossed Zara’s heart-shaped face. ‘You’re not being honest with yourself. You hate me for the blood that runs in my veins. How else could you think it was acceptable to treat me so badly?’
Vitale did not think in the emotive terms that came so naturally to her. He was in a stormy mood, naturally resentful of the predicament they were in, but still logical enough to accept that anger would do nothing to solve the problems they faced. He saw even less sense in harking back to the past. ‘The day we learn that you are carrying my baby is not the time to discuss such issues,’ he told flatly. ‘We have more important matters to consider—’
‘The fact that I hate and distrust you tends to overpower every other impression,’ Zara shot back at him, furious at being targeted by that superior little speech and wishing that she knew exactly what he was thinking. Unfortunately that lean darkly handsome face was uniquely uninformative.
‘At the very least I would ask you to see a doctor for a check-up as soon as possible,’ Vitale advised.
‘When I can find the time.’ Zara glanced at her watch. ‘You really do have to leave. I have an appointment with a client in an hour and I’m not even dressed yet! Oh, my goodness, I forgot, what am I going to do about Fluffy?’
Vitale’s sculpted lips parted. ‘I’ll take her,’ he said, startling himself with that announcement almost as much as he startled his companion.
‘Are you serious?’ Zara stared back at him in stunned disbelief.
‘Why not?’ Having made the offer, Vitale refused to back down from the challenge. She had quite sufficient thoughts to occupy her without stressing a
bout her pet’s impending homelessness. She needed peace of mind to concentrate on her own condition and if removing the wretched rabbit could deliver that he was willing to take care of the problem for her.
‘You can’t give her away to someone, you know,’ she warned him doubtfully. ‘Or have her put down or anything like that.’
Vitale dealt her a grimly comprehensive scrutiny, now fully acquainted with how low she feared he might sink even when it came to a dumb animal. ‘In this instance you can be confident that your pet will enjoy the best of care.’
Zara frowned, glancing worriedly at the little animal. ‘You’re not planning to just dump her in a pet-care place, are you? They’re always full of dogs and she’s terrified of dogs.’
As that was exactly what Vitale had planned to do with Fluffy, it was a tribute to his ability to think fast that he didn’t betray a shred of discomfiture. ‘Of course not,’ he insisted as though such a thought had not even occurred to him.
Vitale then learned a great deal more than he ever cared to know about bunny rabbits. Fluffy did not travel light either. Even with Zara helping it took two trips down to his car to transport all Fluffy’s possessions.
‘I’ll look after her,’ he asserted, challenged to retain his patience.
‘I’ll need your phone number,’ Zara told him. ‘I’ll ring you later to see how you’re getting on.’
If ever there was a moment when an unprecedented attack of benevolence on his part had paid off this was it, Vitale recognised with fearless self-honesty. Ironically the mother of his unborn child was more concerned about her pet than about herself, but an avenue of communication had at least opened again. He was going to be a father. The shock of that thought suddenly engulfed Vitale like an avalanche. A baby, he was thinking in a daze of lingering horror as he installed Fluffy in her three deck condo in the corner of his open plan lounge. The brightly coloured plastic rabbit version of a palace with all mod cons looked incongruous against his elegant décor.
