‘I didn’t know you were pregnant at the time,’ he bit out.
‘And neither did I!’ she shot back.
‘But you knew afterwards.’
‘Yes.’ How could she explain the sense of alienation she’d felt—not just from him, but from everyone? When everything had seemed so unreal and the world had suddenly looked like a very different place. The head of Luxury Limos had said he didn’t think it was a good idea if she carried on driving—not when she looked as if she was about to throw up whenever the car went over a bump. And even though she hadn’t been sick—not once—and even though Keira knew that by law she could demand to stay where she was, she didn’t have the energy or the funds to investigate further. What was she going to do—take him to an industrial tribunal?
She’d been terrified her boss would find out who the father of her unborn child was—because having sex with your most prestigious client was definitely a sacking offence. He’d offered her a job back in the workshop, but she had no desire to slide underneath a car and get oil all over her hands, not when such a precious bundle was growing inside her. Eventually she’d accepted a mind-numbingly dull job behind the reception desk, becoming increasingly aware that on the kind of wages she was being paid, she’d never be able to afford childcare after the birth. She’d saved every penny she could and been as frugal as she knew how, but gradually all her funds were running out and now she was in real trouble.
‘Yes, I knew,’ she said slowly. ‘Just like I knew I ought to tell you that you were going to be a father. But every time I picked up the phone to call you, something held me back. Can’t you understand?’
‘Frankly, no. I can’t.’
She looked him straight in the eye. ‘You think those cruel words you said to me last time we spoke wouldn’t matter? That you could say what you liked and it wouldn’t hurt, or have consequences?’
His voice grew hard. ‘I haven’t come here to argue the rights and wrongs of your secrecy. I’ve come to see my son.’
‘He’s sleeping.’
‘I won’t wake him.’ His voice grew harsh. ‘You’ve denied me all this time and you will deny me no longer. I want to see my son, Keira, and if I have to search every room in the house to find him, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’
It was a demand Keira couldn’t ignore and not just because she didn’t doubt his threat to search the small house from top to bottom. She’d seen the brief tightening of his face when she’d mentioned his child and another wave of guilt had washed over her. Because she of all people knew what it was like to grow up without a father. She knew about the gaping hole it left—a hole which could never be filled. And yet she had sought to subject her own child to that.
‘Come with me,’ she said huskily.
He followed her up the narrow staircase and Keira was acutely aware of his presence behind her. You couldn’t ignore him, even when you couldn’t see him, she thought despairingly. She could detect the heat from his body and the subtle sandalwood which was all his and, stupidly, she remembered the way that scent had clung to her skin the morning after he’d made love to her. Her heart was thundering by the time they reached the box-room she shared with Santino and she held her breath as Matteo stood frozen for a moment before moving soundlessly towards the crib. His shoulders were stiff with tension as he reached it and he was silent for so long that she started to get nervous.
‘Matteo?’ she said.
Matteo didn’t answer. Not then. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to speak because his thoughts were in such disarray. He looked down at the baby expecting to feel the instant bolt of love people talked about when they first set eyes on their own flesh and blood, but there was nothing. He stared down at the dark fringe of eyelashes which curved on the infant’s olive-hued cheeks and the shock of black hair. Tiny hands were curled into two tiny fists and he found himself leaning forward to count all the fingers, nodding his head with satisfaction as he registered each one. He felt as if he were observing himself and his reaction from a distance and realised it was possession he felt, not love. The sense that this was someone who belonged to him in a way that nobody ever had before.
His son.
He swallowed.
His son.
He waited for a moment before turning to Keira and he saw her dark blue eyes widen, as if she’d read something in his face she would prefer not to have seen.
‘So you played God with all our futures,’ he observed softly. ‘By keeping him from me.’
Her gaze became laced with defiance.
‘You paid me for sex.’
‘I did not pay you for sex,’ he gritted out. ‘I explained my motivation in my note. You spoke of a luxury you weren’t used to and I thought I would make it possible. Was that so very wrong?’
‘You know very well it was!’ she burst out. ‘Because offering me cash was insulting. Any man would know that.’
‘Was that why you tried to sell your story to the journalist, because you felt “insulted”?’
‘I did not sell my story to anyone,’ she shot back. ‘Can’t you imagine what it was like? I’d had sex for the first time and woke to find you gone, leaving that wretched pile of money. I walked into a charity shop to get rid of it because it felt...well, it felt tainted, if you must know.’
He grew very still. ‘You gave it away?’
‘Yes, I gave it away. To a worthy cause—to children living in care. Not realising I was pregnant at the time and could have used the money myself. The journalist just happened to be in the shop and overheard—and naturally she was interested. She bought me a drink and I hadn’t eaten anything all day and...’ She shrugged. ‘I guess I told her more than I meant to.’
Matteo’s eyes narrowed. If her story was true it meant she hadn’t tried to grab some seedy publicity from their brief liaison. If it was true. Yet even if it was—did it really change anything? He was here only because her back was up against the wall and she had nowhere else to turn. His gaze swept over the too-tight jeans and baggy jumper. And this was the mother of his child, he thought, his lips curving with distaste.
He opened his mouth to speak but Santino chose that moment to start to whimper and Keira bent over the crib to scoop him up, whispering her lips against his hair and rocking him in her arms until he had grown quiet again. She looked over his head, straight into Matteo’s eyes. ‘Would you...would you like to hold him?’
Matteo went very still. He knew he should want that, but although he thought it, he still couldn’t feel it. There was nothing but an icy lump where his heart should have been and as he looked at his son he couldn’t shift that strange air of detachment.
His lack of emotional empathy had never mattered to him before—only his frustrated lovers had complained about it and that had never been reason enough to change, or even want to change. But now he felt like someone on a beach who had inadvertently stepped onto quicksand. As if matters were spinning beyond his control.
And he needed to assert control, just as he always did.
Of course he would hold his son when he’d got his head round the fact that he actually had a son. But it would be in conditions favourable to them both—not in some tiny bedroom of a strange house while Keira stood studying him with those big blue eyes.
‘Not now,’ he said abruptly. ‘There isn’t time. You need to pack your things while I call ahead and prepare for your arrival in Italy.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. He isn’t staying here. And since a child needs a mother, then I guess you will have to come, too.’
‘What are you talking about?’ She rocked the child against her breast. ‘I know it’s not perfect here but I can’t just walk out without making any plans. We can’t just go to Italy.’
‘You can’t put out a call for help and then ignore help when it comes. You telephoned me and now you must accept the consequences,’ he added grimly. ‘You’ve already implied that the atmosphere here is intolerable so I’m off
ering you an alternative. The only sensible alternative.’ He pulled a mobile phone from the pocket of his cashmere overcoat and began to scroll down the numbers. ‘For a start, you need a nursery nurse to help you.’
‘I don’t need a nurse,’ she contradicted fiercely. ‘Women like me don’t have nurses. They look after their babies themselves.’
‘Have you looked in the mirror recently?’
It was an underhand blow to someone who was already feeling acutely sensitive and once again Keira flushed. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to slap on a whole load of make-up and put on a party dress!’
He shook his head. ‘That wasn’t what I meant. You look as if you haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks and I’m giving you the chance to get some rest.’ He forced himself to be gentle with her, even though his instinct was always to push for exactly what he wanted. And yet strangely, he felt another wave of compassion as he looked into her pale face. ‘Now, we can do this one of two ways. You can fight me or you can make the best of the situation and come willingly.’ His mouth flattened. ‘But if you choose the former, it will be fruitless because I want this, Keira. I want it very badly. And when I want something, I usually get it. Do you believe me?’
The mulish look which entered her eyes was there for only a second before she gave a reluctant nod. ‘Yes,’ she said grudgingly. ‘I believe you.’
‘Then pack what you need and I’ll wait downstairs.’ He turned away but was halted by the sound of her voice.
‘And when we get there, what happens then, Matteo?’ she whispered. ‘To Santino?’ There was a pause. ‘To us?’
He didn’t turn back. He didn’t want to look at her right then, or tell her he didn’t think there was an ‘us’. ‘I have no crystal ball,’ he ground out. ‘We’ll just have to make it up as we go along. Now pack your things.’
He went downstairs, and, despite telling himself that this was nothing more than a problem which needed solving, he could do nothing about the sudden and inexplicable wrench of pain in his heart. But years of practice meant he had composed himself long before he reached the tiny hallway and his face was as hard as granite as he let himself out into the rainy English day.
CHAPTER SIX
GOLDEN SUNLIGHT DANCED on her closed eyelids and warmed her skin as Keira nestled back into the comfortable lounger. The only sounds she could hear were birdsong and the buzz of bees and, in the far distance, the crowing of a cock—even though it was the middle of the day. Hard to believe she’d left behind a rain-washed English autumn to arrive in a country where it was still warm enough to sit outside in October. And even harder to believe that she was at Matteo Valenti’s Umbrian estate, with its acres of olive groves, award-winning vineyards and breathtaking views over mountains and lake. In his private jet, he’d announced he was bringing her here, to his holiday home, to ‘acclimatise’ herself before he introduced her to his real life in Rome. She hadn’t been sure what he meant by that but she’d been too exhausted to raise any objections. She’d been here a week and much of that time had been spent asleep, or making sure that Santino was content. It felt like being transplanted to a luxury spa cleverly hidden within a rustic setting—with countless people working quietly in the background to maintain the estate’s smooth running.
At first she’d been too preoccupied with the practical elements of settling in with her baby to worry about the emotional repercussions of being there. She’d worried about the little things, like how Matteo would react when he discovered she wasn’t feeding Santino herself. Whether he would judge her negatively, as the whole world seemed to do if a woman couldn’t manage to breastfeed. Was that why, in a rare moment of candour, she’d found herself explaining how ill she’d been after the birth—which meant breastfeeding hadn’t been possible? She thought she’d glimpsed a brief softening of the granite-like features before his rugged features resumed their usual implacable mask.
‘It will be easier that way,’ he’d said, with a shrug. ‘Easier for the nursery nurse.’
How cold he could be, she thought. Even if he was right. Because despite her earlier resistance, she was now hugely appreciative of the nursery nurse they’d employed. The very day after they’d arrived, he had produced three candidates for her to interview—top-notch women who had graduated from Italy’s finest training establishment and who all spoke fluent English. After asking them about a million questions—but more importantly watching to see how well they interacted with her baby—Keira had chosen Claudia, a serene woman in her mid-thirties whom she instinctively trusted. It meant Keira got all the best bits of being a mother—cuddling and bathing her adorable son and making goo-goo noises at him as she walked him around the huge estate—while Claudia took over the dreaded three o’clock morning feed.
Which meant she could catch up with the sleep she so badly needed. She’d felt like a complete zombie when she arrived—a fact not helped by the disorientating experience of being flown to Italy on Matteo’s luxury jet then being picked up by the kind of limousine which only a year ago she would have been chauffeuring. The drive to his Umbrian property had passed in a blur and Keira remembered thinking that the only time emotion had entered Matteo’s voice was when they drove through the ancient gates and he began to point out centuries-old landmarks, with an unmistakable sense of pride and affection.
She almost wished Santino had been a little older so he could have appreciated the silvery ripple of olive trees, heavy with fruit and ready for harvest, and the golden pomegranates which hung from the branches like Christmas baubles. She remembered being greeted by a homely housekeeper named Paola and the delicious hot bath she took once the baby had been settled. There had been the blissful sensation of sliding between crisp, clean sheets and laying her head on a pillow of goose-down, followed by her first full night’s sleep since before the birth. And that was pretty much how she’d spent the last seven days, feeling her vitality and strength returning with each hour that passed.
‘You’re smiling,’ came a richly accented voice from above her as a shadow suddenly blotted out the sun.
Shielding her eyes with the edge of her hand, Keira peered up to see Matteo towering over her and her smile instantly felt as if it had become frozen. She could feel her heart picking up speed and the tug of silken hunger in the base of her belly and silently she cursed the instinctive reaction of her body. Because as her strength had returned, so too had her desire for Matteo—a man who she couldn’t quite decide was her jailer or her saviour. Or both.
Their paths hadn’t crossed much because he’d spent much of the time working in a distant part of the enormous farmhouse. It was as if he’d unconsciously marked out different territories for them, with clear demarcation lines which couldn’t be crossed. But what she’d noted above all else was the fact that he’d kept away from the nursery, using the excuse that his son needed to settle in before getting used to too many new people. Because that was what it had sounded like. An excuse. A reason not to touch the son he had insisted should come here.
She’d seen him, of course. Glimpses in passing, which had unsettled her. Matteo looking brooding and muscular in faded denims and a shirt as he strode about the enormous estate, conversing in rapid Italian with his workers—or wearing a knockout charcoal suit just before driving to Rome for the day and returning long after she’d gone to bed.
Another image was burnt vividly into her mind, too. She’d overslept one morning and gone straight to the nursery to find Claudia cradling Santino by the window and telling him to watch ‘Papa’ going down the drive. Papa. It was a significant word. It emphasised Matteo’s importance in their lives yet brought home how little she really knew about the cold-hearted billionaire. Yet that hadn’t stopped her heart from missing a beat as he’d speeded out of the estate in his gleaming scarlet sports car, had it?
‘It makes me realise how rarely I see you smile,’ observed Matteo, still looking down at her as he stood silhouetted by the rich October sun.
&n
bsp; ‘Maybe that’s because we’ve hardly seen one another,’ said Keira, flipping on the sunglasses which had been perched on top of her head, grateful for the way they kept her expression hidden. Not for the first time, she found it almost impossible to look at the man in front of her with any degree of impartiality, but she disguised it with a cool look. ‘And you’re a fine one to talk about smiling. You don’t exactly go around the place grinning from ear to ear, do you?’
‘Perhaps our forthcoming trip to Rome might bring a smile to both our faces,’ he suggested silkily.
Ah yes, the trip to Rome. Keira felt the anxious slam of her heart. She licked her lips. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Do we really have to go?’
In a movement which distractingly emphasised the jut of his narrow hips, he leaned against the sun-baked wall of the farmhouse. ‘We’ve agreed to this, Keira. You need to see the other side of my life, not just this rural idyll. And I’m mainly based in Rome.’
‘And the difference is what?’
‘It’s a high-octane city and nothing like as relaxed as here. When I’m there I go to restaurants and theatres. I have friends there and get invited to parties—and as the mother of my baby, I will be taking you with me.’
She sat up on the lounger, anxiety making her heart thud even harder against her ribcage. ‘Why bother? Why not just leave me somewhere in the background and concentrate on forming a relationship with your son?’
‘I think we have to examine all the possibilities,’ he said carefully. ‘And number one on that list is to work out whether we could have some kind of life together.’ He lifted his brows. ‘It would certainly make things a whole lot easier.’
‘And you’re saying I’ll let you down in my current state, is that it?’
He shrugged his broad shoulders with a carelessness which wasn’t very convincing. ‘I think we’re both aware that you don’t have a suitable wardrobe for that kind of lifestyle. You can’t wear jeans all the time and Paola mentioned that you only seem to have one pair of boots.’
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