Harlequin Presents January 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: The Secret His Mistress CarriedTo Sin with the TycoonInherited by Her EnemyThe Last Heir of Monterrato

by Lynne Graham

  As if to drive home the point Lottie moved past him again, turning her back on him and bending down to take a saucepan out of the cupboard. He stared at the pale strip of skin above the low waistband of her jeans, at the way the denim stretched tautly over her pert behind. Dio!

  ‘Well, that’s nice to know.’ Banging the saucepan down onto the hob, Lottie reached across for the kettle and recklessly sloshed in water. ‘Thank you for enlightening me about how I feel. For telling me that I regret it every bit as much as you do. That makes me feel so much better.’

  ‘Lottie...’ Rafael reached for her arm but she backed away from him with the agility of a springbok.

  ‘Don’t touch me, Rafael. Don’t come anywhere near me. Last night was a mistake. You have made that perfectly clear. Now, if you would like to get out of the kitchen, I would like to prepare my meal in peace.’

  Picking up a knife, she sliced at the plastic film of a container and shook pasta into the pan. ‘The meal I will be eating alone, because you are too busy to join me.’

  ‘I am just saying, Lottie, that after last night it is probably best if we give each other some space.’ Rafael raked an exasperated hand through his tangle of dark curls.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Lottie gestured towards the door with the knife. ‘There is plenty of space out there.’

  ‘If I have upset you then...’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’ Lottie’s blue eyes flashed from cold to fire with murderous intent. ‘Don’t you dare tell me that you are sorry.’

  * * *

  Watching the computer screen close down in front of him, Rafael leaned back in his chair. He should have had more than enough work to keep his mind occupied—apart from anything else he was hosting a charity dinner in a week’s time, a fundraising event for the premature baby foundation he had set up in his daughter’s name. But despite staring at spreadsheets and banging out emails for a couple of hours the tension of his confrontation with Lottie had still refused to lessen.

  Using his foot, he pushed himself away from the desk and stood up, stretching the bunched muscles of his arms out before him.

  What made this so unbearable—what made his mood black enough to block out the moon—was this feeling of loss of control. He had lost it last night—spectacularly so. Given in to his carnal instincts. No, more than that, he had given in to Lottie herself. And it pained him to recognise that that meant so much more than just sex.

  Despite his best efforts to regain control this evening all he had done was make things worse. His bad-mannered behaviour had simply stirred up the simmering cauldron of unspoken tension and newly raw feelings.

  All of which made him want to go out and kick something. Hard. Made him want to go out and do something that would put him in extreme danger. Because that was what he did when he felt like this. An adrenaline junkie, he needed his fix—it was the only thing that went halfway to easing his pain.

  But not this time. Risking his life was not the answer—he could see that now. He had to face up to the reality of the situation and deal with it. From tomorrow there were six more days to get through here in the villa—surely he could do that? If playing happy families wasn’t going to work he would have to come up with some other strategy.

  Six more days until they could do the pregnancy test, find out what their future held.

  Moving over to the window, he stared through his troubled reflection to the quiet dark of the night. If the test was positive...well, they would obviously have to work out how they were going to proceed. But the joy of knowing he was going to be a father would more than compensate for any difficult decisions. And if it was negative...

  Pressing his forehead against the cool glass, Rafael felt the cruel fingers of doubt squeeze at his heart. If it was negative not only would he have lost his only chance of having a child, he would also have lost Lottie.

  Turning away, he picked up a couple of files from the desk and, tucking them under his arm, headed for the door. There was no doubt that if there was no baby then Lottie would disappear from his life for ever.

  Cursing himself for even caring, Rafael slammed the door behind him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  LOTTIE FOUND THE NOTE when she came downstairs, propped up against the coffee machine.

  Urgent business in Milan. Back tomorrow. Contactable by mobile, any time.

  Holding the piece of paper in her hands, she stared at the familiar handwriting. She could almost feel the chill coming off the page, the frostbite in the words. So he had gone, then. They only had two nights left in the villa but he hadn’t been able to stay, to put up with being around her any longer. She didn’t believe for one moment that it was business, urgent or not, that had taken him away. It was her he wanted to get away from. Everything about his behaviour over the past few days had made that perfectly clear.

  Cold didn’t begin to describe it. A polar vortex was more like it—a chill factor of minus thirty whenever they came across one another...something that had happened less and less as the days had gone on. Rafael would be working in his study or punishing himself down in the gym while Lottie spent her time upstairs painting, all the time listening for the sound of Rafael’s footsteps to make sure she wouldn’t have to meet him on the stairs, or share the kitchen with him when they both hurried in to make some hastily prepared food before disappearing again to eat alone.

  Lottie felt bad enough about what they had done—the Big Mistake. She was furious with herself for the way she had behaved, for inviting Rafael into the pool with her, for making it so obvious just how much she wanted him. The image of them on that mat simply refused to go away: the raw animal sex, the way she had clung to him like a half-starved waif, clawing at him, urging him on, desperate to bring him to orgasm with her, to share that ultimate sexual intensity. She had gone over it in her head a thousand times but she was still no closer to understanding how it had happened.

  But it had, and now her fury wasn’t just limited to herself. It had spread, like a bush fire, to encompass Rafael as well. Okay, so maybe she had started it, but she wasn’t going to take responsibility for the whole debacle. If Rafael found her so distasteful—as his behaviour over the past few days clearly showed he did—why the hell had he succumbed to her, made love to her? No—correction—why had he had sex with her in that fiercely passionate way? Had the thought of sex just been too tempting? Even sex with someone as offensive as her? Because if that was the case that was his problem. It certainly didn’t give him the right to treat her the way he had these past few days.

  Filling the kettle, Lottie sat on a barstool, watching the water starting to bubble through the plastic panel.

  Beneath the anger lurked another emotion: sadness. Sadness that she and Rafael couldn’t even spend two weeks in each other’s company without it descending into this. No matter what silly hopes she might have harboured that they would be able to get on, be normal together—be friends, even—that was exactly what those hopes had been: silly. Or, to put it another way, downright ridiculously stupid. And as for them being parents...

  Dropping a teabag into her mug, she doused it with water. She couldn’t begin to face that problem yet. She might never have to, of course. And that, in itself, would bring an anguish all of its own that she refused to think about now. Squeezing the life out of the teabag, she dropped it into the metal bin with a clang.

  For now she would concentrate on the positive. She had twenty-four hours to herself—twenty-four hours when she could breathe normally, without the constant shadow of Rafael being around to torment her. She decided she would make the most of the time—starting with a solid day’s painting. Channelling her p
ent-up energies into something creative seemed like the best idea.

  Picking up the note for one last look, Lottie screwed it into a ball and dropped it into the bin before heading upstairs with her tea.

  * * *

  The next day arrived, clear and blue. Day fourteen. The day that would alter the whole course of her life. Without Rafael around Lottie had slept surprisingly well and now, up and dressed, she was already on her third cup of decaffeinated coffee.

  She had had a good look at her body in the shower that morning, sure that if she really was pregnant it would have to show somewhere. She knew that sore boobs were one of the first signs, so she had paid particular attention to soaping them under the pummelling of the water, desperately trying to convince herself that they were more tender than usual. By the time she had finished they had felt a little different—but then so would any part of her body that had been mercilessly scrubbed for five minutes. The fact was there were no signs; she had absolutely no idea if she was pregnant or not.

  Now she fiddled with the mobile phone in her hand. There had been no messages from Rafael. But why would there be—even if she had been obsessively checking for the past hour? No doubt he had enjoyed his night of freedom as much as her. Why would he spoil the relief of not being around her by bothering to text her?

  Not for the first time she found herself imagining what he had done last night, her tortured mind immediately flinging him into the arms of some exotically beautiful woman who would be only too happy to soothe his scarred brow, give him a night of pleasure to take his mind off his troubles. She forced herself to stop right there. This day was going to be momentous enough without chucking in any unnecessary masochism.

  She realised that she had no idea what time Rafael would be back, and she certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking. Absently feeling the weight of her phone, she considered what to do. He might well be on his way now, but she was damned if she was going to be sitting here waiting for him. No. Her decision was made— she was going to go out and buy a pregnancy testing kit.

  The very thought of it made her shiver, every nerve-ending zinging with excitement and anticipation and fear. With a shaky hand she started to look up the number of a local taxi firm to take her into the nearest town. But then she stopped. She had a better idea.

  * * *

  The villa was deserted when Rafael arrived back later that day. He could sense the silence as soon as he strode in, even before he had checked the downstairs rooms and started pounding up the stairs, two at a time. Pushing open the first door, he could smell the oil paint and turpentine as he gazed about him, taking in the large canvas that was on an easel in the middle of the room, the vibrant colours of an evening sunset vividly portrayed by Lottie’s unmistakable sweeping brushstrokes.

  But no Lottie.

  Turning, he felt his heart-rate increase as a terrible thought took hold. He marched across the landing to her bedroom, his eyes raking over the untidy room, searching for clues. Going over to her wardrobe, he flung open the doors; there were her clothes, swinging gently on their hangers, a small pile of shoes scattered beneath.

  Breathing heavily, he went and sat down on the edge of her bed, relief pulsing through his veins. Grazie a Dio. She was still here, then. He glanced down at her bedside table. There was the book she was reading, opened face-down, its spine cracking, along with a jumble of bracelets, some make-up, a lipstick. Picking up the latter, Rafael felt it between his fingers, removing the top and twisting it to reveal the raspberry-red colour. She had been wearing this the night they had gone out for that meal. The same night they had ended up having passionate sex on a wet gym mat.

  He ran his hand over his eyes at the memory of the appalling way he had behaved. But as he looked around at the unmade bed, the rumpled sheets, the indentation on the pillow where her head had been, he knew that Lottie was like a forbidden substance to him. She got to him in a way that no other woman ever could. He didn’t know why, and much as he had tried to figure it out, tried to deny it to himself, he now realised it was just an irrefutable, indisputable fact.

  But where the hell was she? Initial relief gave way to another wave of anxiety. Supposing she had already done a pregnancy test and it had proved negative. Had she taken herself off somewhere to lick her wounds? Was that why she had disappeared?

  Rafael knew just how much Lottie wanted this baby. He thought back to when they had discussed it—when she had tried to explain about her deep-rooted desire to be a mother, about wanting to do right all the things her own mother had done wrong.

  And how had he reacted? With compassion and understanding? Or even with relief that here was a young woman who knew her own mind, who was doing it for herself, not as some sort of twisted favour to him? No, he hadn’t reacted in any of those ways. He had bitten her head off, snarled at her about how he had feelings too. He could still see the look of hurt in her eyes before he had turned away. What he didn’t know was when he had turned into such a bastard.

  Marching down the corridor, he checked his phone yet again, to see if she had answered his messages. He could feel anger surging through him now, pushing the anxiety to one side. It was an emotion he was far more comfortable with, if he was honest. Jabbing at her number, he cursed when, after a few rings, it went to voicemail. He heard himself bark, ‘Where the hell are you?’ before returning the phone to his pocket and thundering out onto the terrace.

  Scanning the sun-rippled lake, he watched the traffic of assorted boats weaving about on the water. With no particular plan in mind, he started to descend the steps to the water’s edge, stopping with a jolt and a thudding heart halfway down. The speedboat had gone. Fear gripped his heart and a hundred different scenarios ran through his mind, each one worse than the last.

  What had happened here? Whatever had possessed him to leave her alone last night? How in the name of God could he have been so selfish?

  With panic and fear wrestling in his chest, clawing at his throat, he ran down the remaining steps, pulling the phone out of his pocket, punching in the number for his security team, already visualising the ransom demands, the terrifying danger Lottie could be in.

  A loud toot made him look up. A speedboat—his speedboat—was heading towards him, with Lottie at the wheel, waving casually. What the—? A new, but nonetheless urgent anxiety gripped Rafael; she was going far too fast, she was using only one hand, and she was heading straight for the moorings.

  ‘Slow down!’ Cupping his hands over his mouth, he screamed at her over the roar of the engine. ‘Cut the engine!’

  The boat did an erratic zig-zag as Lottie stood up to try and hear what he was saying.

  ‘Cut the engine!’

  Finally comprehending, Lottie gave him an okay sign and the throaty roar stopped. But the momentum of its speed was still carrying the boat far too fast as it cut through the water towards him.

  ‘Sideways on!’

  He could see Lottie clearly now, cheeks flushed with the fresh air, blonde hair streaming out behind her. At least she had both hands on the wheel now.

  ‘Turn!’ Indicating with wildly flailing arms, he tried to get her to understand what to do. ‘Turn the wheel. Come in sideways!’

  There was a crunch, followed by a long scraping sound, followed by a delicate, ‘Oops...’

  Unscrewing his eyes, he saw his speedboat now indignantly at rest against the far end of the dock. And Lottie, wobbling as she tried to stand, calmly ge
tting ready to disembark.

  ‘Mio Dio!’ He was beside her in a flash, extending an arm to help her ashore. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Refusing to make eye contact, Lottie let go of his hand the second she was on dry land. ‘I’m not quite so sure about the boat, though, I’m afraid there might be a bit of a scrape...’

  As she turned back to look at it Rafe caught hold of her arm, spinning her round to face him.

  ‘I don’t give a damn about the boat.’ He glared down at her, his voice harsh with immense relief. ‘What the hell do you think you were doing? You don’t have the first idea how to drive that thing. You could have killed yourself.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t.’ Shaking her elbow free, Lottie defiantly glared back at him. ‘And for your information I actually managed perfectly fine until you started interfering.’

  ‘Right.’ Rafael matched her stare. ‘So it’s my fault, is it? My fault that you were hurtling towards the shore at sixty knots per hour?’

  ‘Yes—yes, it was.’ Lottie wasn’t going to back down. ‘You made me lose my concentration.’

  ‘Well, all I can say is it’s a good job I did. Your “concentration” was going to end up taking you to the bottom of the lake—along with a pile of fibreglass that had once been my boat.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate.’ Tossing her head, Lottie turned to retrieve her bag from the seat of the damaged boat.

  ‘Where have you been, anyway?’

  ‘Just to do a little shopping.’

  ‘Why didn’t you answer my calls?’