by Penny Jordan
‘Kate…’ She heard the rough emotion in his voice, opened her eyes sleepily and snuggled closer to him.
‘The last woman I made love to was my ex-wife,’ he whispered against her ear. ‘She left me in no doubt that she found the experience less than satisfying, and yet you…’
He smoothed her hair back off her face and added, ‘You said you loved me, and yet before, you told me you couldn’t marry without love. There’s no need to pretend to an emotion you don’t feel, you know.’
Kate snuggled in his arms so that she could look at him.
‘I do love you. I meant that I couldn’t marry you because you don’t love me…’
‘What? Kate, I know you suffer from a lack of self-confidence, but surely even you must have realised how I feel about you!’
‘I knew you desired me…but I thought it was only nostalgia. Something that would fade very quickly. I didn’t want to burden you with my feelings.’
‘Kate, I’ve never stopped loving you. Never.’
As he moved his head, she saw the shimmer of emotional tears darkening his eyes. She raised her head and kissed him gently, her heart overflowing with love and happiness.
* * *
Exactly a year later to the day, Kate looked across their crowded, newly decorated drawing-room to where Joss was standing by the window, expertly cradling the small bundle that was their three-month-old son.
‘What a lovely christening,’ John’s mother commented warmly to her, ‘and little Joshua was so good.’ She eyed Sophy and John wistfully.
‘I know they’re only being sensible in waiting to start their family, but I must say, having a new baby in the family makes me hope they don’t wait too long. And you look marvellous, Kate.’
‘I had a good pregnancy, despite Joss’s attempts to wrap me in cotton wool, and of course Joshua isn’t my first baby…’
As she spoke she looked over the heads of their guests to where her first ‘baby’ was standing laughing with her father, while her three-month-old brother curled his tiny starfish hand around her finger.
At first, when she’d realised she was pregnant, she had been worried about what Sophy would think; the poor girl had already had two severe shocks—discovering her father, and then their marriage—and to present her with a third seemed more than a little unfair, but Sophy had been delighted, even though she hadn’t been able to resist teasing her.
She would have teased her a good deal more, Kate suspected, had she realised that she and Joss had deliberately picked this date for the christening because it had been exactly a year today that their second child had been conceived. Exactly a year today since she and Joss had discovered their love…or rediscovered it; and since then her life had been filled with such pleasure and happiness. She saw Joss looking at her, and smiled back at him, her heart thudding with excited expectation…a sensation more suited to a girl in her twenties than a woman…but now she had promised Joss to stop harping on about her age.
He was, after all, as he had pointed out to her, five years her senior, and if he could behave like a besotted new husband and father, then she could most certainly behave like an adoring new wife and mother.
And tonight, for the first time since Joshua’s birth, they would be able to make love. A small, sensual smile curled her mouth, and Joss, who had moved across the room to join her, murmured provocatively, ‘Careful, Mrs Bennett, or have you forgotten how we came to have this unexpected bundle of joy?’
Smiling maternally into the sleeping face of their son, Kate responded tongue-in-cheek.
‘I’m not sure.’ She lifted her lashes and gave him a mock-demure look. ‘An only child can be a lonely child.’
Joss groaned. ‘Don’t you dare. I was worried enough about you with this one.’
‘Completely unnecessary,’ Kate told him, rising up on tiptoe to kiss his jaw. ‘There was nothing to worry about,’ she told him seriously. ‘These days women are having babies, and first babies at that, in their early forties, and I am only thirty-eight…’
Their guests lifted their heads when Joss burst out laughing. Joshua opened his eyes and glowered protestingly at his father, and Kate, expertly scooping the baby out of her husband’s arms, laughed with him as he bent his head and whispered teasingly, ‘I see, now you’re only thirty-eight… What happened to being thirty-seven and ancient?’
‘You did,’ Kate told him lovingly.
Joss looked from his wife to his son, and then back again, and replied musingly, ‘Mmm. Well, perhaps you’re right. An only child can be lonely…’
‘What are you two plotting?’ Sophy demanded mock-severely, coming to join them, not understanding the laughter they exchanged as they refused to tell her.
* * * * *
Now, read on for a tantalizing excerpt of USA Today bestselling author Carol Marinelli’s next book,
SICILIAN’S BABY OF SHAME
The third and final book in her Billionaires & One-Night Heirs trilogy!
When chambermaid Sophie encounters Bastiano Conti, his raw sexuality tempts her untouched body! Bastiano’s conscience flickers when he discovers that after that unforgettable indiscretion, Sophie was left destitute and pregnant. He must claim his child…by seducing Sophie into wearing his ring!
Keep reading to get a glimpse of
SICILIAN’S BABY OF SHAME
PROLOGUE
BASTIANO CONTI HAD been born hungry.
And born a problem.
His mother had died giving birth to him and had never disclosed who his father was. All she had owned had been left to him—a ring.
It was Italian gold with a small emerald in its centre and some seed pearls dotted around it.
Bastiano’s uncle, who had four children of his own, had first suggested that the nuns raise the orphaned baby who’d lain crying in the small maternity ward in the Valley of Casta. There was a convent that overlooked the Sicilian Strait and orphans had usually been sent there.
But the convent was on its last legs.
The nurses were busy but occasionally one would take pity and hold Bastiano a little longer than it took to feed him.
Occasionally.
‘Familia,’ the priest had said to his uncle. ‘Everyone knows that the Contis look after their own.’
The Contis ruled the valley to the west and the Di Savos held the east.
Loyalty to their own was paramount, the priest told him.
And so, after a stern talk from the priest, Bastiano’s zio and his reluctant wife had taken the little bastard to their house but it had never, for Bastiano, been a home.
Always Bastiano had been considered an outsider. If something had gone wrong, then he’d been the first to be blamed and the last to be forgiven.
If there had been four brioches for lunch, they had not been split to make five.
Bastiano had done without.
Sitting in school next to Raul Di Savo, Bastiano had started to understand why.
‘What would your parents save in a fire?’ Sister Francesca had asked her class. ‘Raul?’
Raul had shrugged.
‘Your father,’ she prompted, ‘what would be the first thing that Gino reached for?’
‘His wine.’
The class had laughed and Sister Francesca, growing more exasperated with each passing moment, had turned her attention from Raul.
‘Bastiano,’ she snapped. ‘Who would your zia save?’
His serious grey eyes had lifted to hers and Bastiano had frowned even as he’d given his response. ‘Her children.’
‘Correct.’
She had turned back to the board and Bastiano had sat there, still frowning, for indeed it was the correct answer—his zia would save her children. But not him.
He would never be first.
However, aged seven, Bastiano was sent to collect the brioches and the baker’s wife ruffled his hair and so unused to affection was he that his face lit up and she said that he had a cute smile.
‘Y
ou do too,’ Bastiano told her, and she laughed.
‘Here.’ She gave him a sweet cannoli just for brightening her morning and Bastiano and Raul sat on the hill and ate the gooey treat.
The boys should have been sworn enemies—for generations the Contis and the Di Savos had fought over the vines and properties in the valley—yet Bastiano and Raul became firm friends.
The small encounter at the baker’s was enough for Bastiano to learn that he could get by better on charm.
Oh, a smile worked wonders, and later he learnt to flirt with his eyes and was rewarded with something far sweeter than cannoli.
Despite their families’ protests, Bastiano and Raul remained friends. They would often sit high on the hill near the now vacant convent and drink cheap wine. As they looked out over the valley, Raul told him of the beatings his mother endured and admitted that he was reluctant to leave for university in Rome.
‘Stay, then.’
It was that simple to Bastiano. If he’d had a mother, or someone who cared for him, he would not leave.
And he did not want Raul to go, though of course Bastiano did not admit that.
Raul left.
One morning, walking down the street, he saw Gino storm out of Raul’s house, shouting and leaving the front door open.
Raul was gone and, given what his friend had told him, Bastiano thought he ought to check that his mother was okay.
‘Signora Di Savo…’ He knocked on the open door but she did not answer.
He could hear that she was crying.
His zia and zio called her unhinged but Maria Di Savo had always been kind to Bastiano.
Concerned, he walked inside and she was kneeling on the floor of the kitchen, crying.
‘Hey.’ He poured her a drink and then he got a cloth and ran it under the water and pressed it to the bruise on her eye.
‘Do you want me to call someone?’ he offered.
‘No.’
He helped her to stand and she leant on him and cried and Bastiano did not know what to do.
‘Why don’t you leave him?’ he asked.
‘I’ve tried many times.’
Bastiano frowned because Raul had always said that he’d pleaded with her to leave yet she’d always refused.
‘Could you go and stay with Raul in Rome?’ Bastiano suggested.
‘He doesn’t want me there. He left me,’ Maria sobbed. ‘No one wants me.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘You mean it?’
She looked up then and he went to correct her to say that what he had meant was that he was sure there were people who wanted her…
Not him.
She put a hand up to his face and held his cheek. ‘You’re so handsome.’
Maria ran a hand through his thick black hair and it did not feel like when the baker’s wife had; this felt more than an affectionate ruffle and, confused, Bastiano removed her hand and stepped back. ‘I have to go,’ he told her.
‘Not yet.’
She wore just a slip and her breast was a little exposed; he did not want Maria to be embarrassed when she realised that she was on display, so he turned to leave.
‘Please don’t go,’ she called out to him.
‘I have to go to work.’
He had left school and worked now in the bar that was a front for the seedier dealings of his zio.
‘Please, Bastiano…’ Maria begged. She reached for his arm and when he stopped she came around so that she stood in front of him. ‘Oh,’ she apologised as she looked down and saw that her breast was exposed to him, but Bastiano did not look. He was still pretending that he had not noticed.
And she would cover herself now, Bastiano thought, yet she did not. In fact, she took his hand and placed it on her plump, ripe skin.
He was good with the girls but in those cases he was the seducer. Maria was around forty, he guessed, and, for heaven’s sake, she was the mother of his best friend.
‘Signora Di Savo…’ Her hand pressed his as he went to remove it.
‘Maria,’ she said, and her voice was low and husky. He could feel and hear her deep breathing and when she removed her hand, Bastiano’s remained on her breast.
‘You’re hard,’ Maria said, feeling him.
‘Gino might—’
‘He won’t be back till dinner.’
Bastiano was usually the leader and instigator, but not on this hot morning. Maria was back on her knees but this time by her own doing. It was over within minutes.
As he left, he swore he would never return there.
But that very afternoon Bastiano made a trip to the pharmacy for protection, and an hour later they were in bed.
Hot, forbidden, intense—they met whenever they could, though it was never enough for Maria.
‘We’re getting out,’ Bastiano told her. He had been paid and, if all else failed, he had his mother’s ring. He could not stand the thought of her with Gino for even a moment longer.
‘We can’t,’ she told him, even as she asked to see the ring and he watched as she slipped it on.
‘If you love me,’ Maria said, ‘you would want me to have nice things.’
‘Maria, give me back the ring.’
It was all he had of his mother but still Maria did not relent. Bastiano left.
He walked up the hill to the convent and sat looking out, trying to figure it all out. All his life he had wanted a taste of this elusive thing called love, only to find out he did not care for it. It was Bastiano who now wanted out.
And he wanted his mother’s ring.
He stood, walking with purpose to the town below, where he saw it unfold.
A car driving at speed took a bend too fast. ‘Stolto,’ he muttered, and called the driver a fool as he watched him take another bend…and then the car careered from the road.
Bastiano ran in the direction of the smoking wreck but as he approached he was held back and told that it was Gino’s car that had been in the accident.
‘Gino?’ Bastiano checked.
‘No!’ a woman who worked in the bar shouted. ‘I called Maria to say that Gino was on his way home and angry. He had found out about you! She took the car and—’
* * *
Maria’s death and the aftermath had not painted Bastiano in a very flattering light.
Raul returned from Rome and on the eve of the funeral they stood on the hill where once they had sat as boys.
‘You had your pick of the valley!’ Raul could barely contain his fury.
‘I went to check on her—’
But Raul did not want to hear that his mother had been the seducer. ‘And you turned on that fake charm…’ Raul had seen him in action after all. He knew how Bastiano could summon even the shyest woman with his eyes and melt restraint with a smile. ‘I was a fool to trust you,’ Raul said. ‘You as good as killed her.’
Yes, he was the first to be blamed and the last to be forgiven.
‘Stay away from the funeral,’ Raul warned him.
But Bastiano could not.
And the next day things went from bad to worse. After a bloody fight at the graveside, it later transpired that half of Maria’s money had been left to Bastiano.
Raul, once his friend, now accused Bastiano of engineering Maria’s death and swore the rest of his days would be devoted to bringing him down.
‘You’re nothing, Conti,’ Raul told him. ‘You never have been and, even with my mother’s money, you never will be.’
‘Watch me,’ Bastiano warned.
It is said that it takes a village to raise a child.
The Valley of Casta had never really been kind to Bastiano, but when the entire population considered you a cheat, a liar, a seducer, a bastard…that’s what you become.
So, when a drunken Gino came to confront him, instead of taking it on the chin, Bastiano fought back, and when Gino called Maria a whore, Bastiano saw red and did not stay quiet. Instead, he gestured with his hand in the sign of horns and tossed Gino
the biggest insult of all.
‘Cornuto!’
Cuckold.
Bastiano, the villagers agreed, was the worst of the worst.
Copyright © 2017 by Carol Marinelli
Don’t miss
SICILIAN’S BABY OF SHAME
by USA Today bestselling author
Carol Marinelli,
available July 2017 wherever
Harlequin Books and ebooks are sold.
www.Harlequin.com
If you enjoyed this story by
NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author
PENNY JORDAN,
you will love
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Recommended Reads for July 2017
The Pregnant Kavakos Bride
A Ring to Secure His Crown
Sicilian’s Baby of Shame
Salazar’s One-Night Heir
The Secret Kept from the Greek
The Billionaire’s Secret Princess
Wedding Night with Her Enemy
Claiming His Convenient Fiancée
ISBN-13: 978-1-488-08092-0
A REKINDLED PASSION
First published in 1989
This edition published in 2017
Copyright © 1989 by Penny Jordan.
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
