The Italian's Pregnant Virgin

by Maisey Yates

  She knew he meant the black pair of lace panties she was wearing, and she wanted to turn around and tell him off for making this even more uncomfortable. Except, then she would have to turn around. And expose herself even further, and she wasn’t going to do that. Instead, she decided that she would do her best to show him that she wasn’t so easily toyed with.

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  A few moments later the next dress was on and firmly in place. Then, she turned back to face Renzo, and her heart crawled up into her throat. Because as intense as he always looked, as much impact as those dark eyes always had on her, it was magnified now.

  “Come closer,” he said, his tone hard-edged, the command clearly nonnegotiable.

  She swallowed hard, taking one unsteady step toward where Renzo was sitting. His dark gaze flicked away from Esther, landing on the style team. “Leave us,” he said.

  They did so, quickly and without a word. And when they were gone, it felt as though they had taken all the air out of the room with them.

  “Do people always do what you ask?”

  “Always,” he said. “Closer.”

  She took another step toward him, trying to disguise the fact that her legs were shaking and that she had no idea how she was supposed to walk in heels that were tantamount to stilts.

  He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, propping his chin on his knuckles. “Of course, some people obey more quickly than others.”

  “Did you want me to break an ankle? Because I guarantee you if I walk any faster I’m going to.”

  He moved swiftly, his movements liquid, his grace making a mockery of her own uncertain clumsiness. He stood, reaching across the space between them and sweeping her up into his arms. Then he turned, depositing her in the chair he had occupied only a moment ago.

  She pressed her hand to her heart, feeling the rapid flutter beneath her palm. Her throat was dry, her head feeling dizzy. Her body felt warm. As though she had been burned all over. His arms had been wrapped around her, her shoulder blades pressed up against that hard, broad expanse of his chest.

  That was what stunned her most of all. Just how hard he was. There was no give in him at all. His body was as unbending as the rest of him.

  He turned away from her, facing the rack of clothing and the stack of shoes that was beneath it. “If you cannot walk then you will not present a very convincing picture. We don’t want you to look as though you were only polished today.”

  “Why? Why does it matter?”

  “Because I associate with a very particular kind of woman. I do not need my parents thinking that I swooped in and corrupted some innocent, naive backpacker.”

  It took her a moment to process that. She wondered if he really believed that she was naive and innocent. She was. It was just that he had never seemed particularly sold on that version of her.

  “They would believe that?”

  He laughed, not turning to look at her. “Oh, yes. Easily.” Then he bent, picking up a pair of bejeweled, flat shoes before facing her again. He moved back to where she was sitting, dropping to his knees before her and making a seeming mockery of her earlier thought that he was unbending.

  “What are you—”

  He said nothing. Instead, he reached out, curling his fingers around the back of her knee. The warmth shocked her. Flooded her. He let his fingertips drift all the way down the length of her calf, the touch slow, much too slow. Something about it, about that methodical movement, seemed to catch her at the site of their contact and spark through the rest of her. Reckless. Uncontrollable.

  She fought the urge to squirm in her seat. To do something to diffuse the strange energy that she was infused with. But she didn’t want to betray herself. To betray that his touch made her feel anything.

  He grabbed hold of the heel on her shoe and pulled it off slowly, those searching fingertips dragging along the bottom of her foot then as he removed the shoe.

  She shivered. She couldn’t help it.

  He looked up then and a strange, knowing smile tilted the corner of his lips upward. It was the knowing that bothered her more than anything else. Because she was confused. Lost in a sea of swirling doubts and uncertainty, and he seemed to know exactly what she was feeling.

  You do, too. You aren’t stupid.

  She gritted her teeth. Maybe. She really wished she were a little bit more stupid. She had tried to be. From the first moment she had laid eyes on him, and he had looked back at her, she had done her very best to be mystified by what all of the feelings inside her meant.

  She wasn’t going to give a name to them now. Not right now. Not when he was still touching her. Slipping the ornate flat shoe onto her foot, then moving on to the next. He repeated those same motions there. His fingertips hot and certain on her skin as he traced a line down to her ankle, removing the next stiletto and setting it aside.

  “A little bit like Cinderella,” she said, forcing the words through her dry throat.

  Not that she’d been allowed to read fairy tales growing up, but a volume of them had been one of her very first smuggled titles.

  “Except,” he said, putting the second shoe in place, then straightening, “I am not Prince Charming.”

  “I didn’t think you were.”

  “Good,” he returned. “As long as you don’t begin believing that I might be something I’m not.”

  “Why would I? I’m actually not just a stupid backpacker. I already told you that my family situation was difficult.” She took a deep breath, trying to open up her lungs, trying to ease the tension in her chest. She wasn’t bringing up her family for him. She was bringing them up for her. To remind her exactly why being bound to someone—anyone—was exactly what she didn’t want.

  She wanted freedom. She needed it. And this was a detour. She wouldn’t allow herself to become convinced it was anything else.

  She would enjoy this. The beautiful clothes, the expertly styled hair. She would enjoy his home. And maybe she would even allow herself to enjoy the strange twisting sensation that appeared in her stomach whenever he walked into a room. Because it was new. Because it was different. Because it was something so far removed from where she had come from.

  But that was all it was. It was all it would ever be.

  “But now,” he said, looking down at her feet, “you will be able to walk into my parents’ home tonight without falling on your face. That, I think, will be a much nicer effect.”

  He stood completely and held his hand out. She hesitated, because she knew that touching him again would reignite that burning sensation in the pit of her stomach she had when he’d touched her leg. But resisting would only reveal herself more. And she didn’t want to do that.

  And—she had to admit—she had perversely enjoyed it. Even though she knew it could never come to anything. Even though she knew there was nothing she could do beyond enjoying it as it was, as the start of a flame and nothing more, she sort of wanted to.

  And so, she reached out, her fingertips brushing his palm. Then, his hand enveloped hers completely, and she found herself being pulled to her feet with shocking ease. In fact, he pulled her to her feet with such ease that she lost her footing, tipping forward and moving her hands up to brace herself, her palms pressing flat against that rock-hard chest.

  He was so... He was so hot. And she could feel his heartbeat thundering beneath her touch. She hadn’t expected that. She wondered if it was normal for him. For his heart to beat so fast. For it to feel so pronounced.

  And then she had to wonder if it was related to her. Because her own heartbeat was thundering out of control, like a boulder rolling down a hill. It wasn’t normal for her. It was because of him. And she couldn’t pretend otherwise, not even to herself.

  Was that why? Was that why his heart was beating so fast? Because she was touching him? And if so, what did that mean?

  It was that last question that had her pulling away from him as quickly as possible. She smoothed the front of her
dress, doing her best to take care of any imaginary wrinkles that might be there, pouring her focus into that, because the alternative was looking at him.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice hard, rough, infused with much less ease than seemed typical for him. “Tonight will go very well, I think.” And then he reached out, taking hold of her chin with his thumb and forefinger. He forced her to look at him, stealing that small respite she had attempted to take for herself. His eyes burned, and she wasn’t sure if she could still somehow sense his heartbeat, or if it was just her own, pounding heavily in her ears. “But you will have to find a way to keep yourself from flinching every time I touch you.”

  Then, he dropped his hand, turning away from her and walking out of the room, leaving her alone. Leaving her to wonder if she had imagined that response in him because of the strength of her own reaction, or if—somehow—she had created movement in the mountain.

  CHAPTER SIX

  DINNER AT HIS parents was always infused with a bit of dramatic flair. Tonight was no exception. They were greeted by his parents’ housekeeper, their coats taken by another member of staff and then led into the sitting room by yet another.

  Of course, his mother would not make an appearance until it was time to sit down at the table. He had a feeling it was calculated this time, even more than usual. That she was preparing herself for the unveiling of Renzo’s new fiancée.

  His father would go along with his mother’s plan. Mostly because he had no desire to have something thrown at his head. Not that his mother had behaved with such hysterics for a great many years. But everyone knew she possessed the capacity for such things, and so they tended to behave with a bit of deference for it.

  He turned to look at Esther, who was regarding the massive, Baroque setting with unconcealed awe. “You will have to look a bit more inured to your surroundings. As far as my parents know you have been with me for at least a couple of months, which means you will have been at events like this with me before.”

  “This place is like a museum,” she said, keeping her tone hushed, her dark eyes glittering with wonder. It did something to him. Something to his chest. Unlike earlier, when she had done something to him in parts much lower.

  “Yes,” he said, “it is, really. A museum of my family’s achievements. Of all of the things they have managed to collect over the centuries. I told you, my parents were very proud of our name and our heritage. Of what it means to be Valentis.” He gritted his teeth. “Blood is everything to them.”

  It was why they would accept Esther. Why they would accept the situation. Because except in extreme circumstances, they valued their bloodline in their heritage.

  He deliberately kept himself from thinking of the one time they had not.

  “Renzo.” He turned at the sound of his sister’s voice, surprised to see her standing there with her husband, Cristian, at her side, Renzo’s niece held securely in her father’s arms.

  “Allegra,” he said, standing and walking across the room to drop a kiss on his younger sister’s cheek. He extended his hand for Cristian, shaking it firmly before touching his niece’s cheek. “I did not know you would be here.”

  “Neither did we.”

  “Did you fly from Spain for dinner?”

  Cristian lifted a shoulder. “When your mother demands an audience, it is best not to refuse, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Indeed.”

  He turned and looked at Esther, who was still sitting on the settee, her hands folded in her lap, her shoulders curved inward, as though she were trying to disappear. “Allegra, Cristian, this is my fiancée, Esther Abbott.”

  His words seemed to jolt Esther out of her internal reclusion.

  “Hello,” she said, getting to her feet, stumbling slightly as she did. “You must be... Well, I’m not really sure.”

  Allegra shot him a questioning glance. “Allegra Acosta. Formerly Valenti. I’m Renzo’s younger sister. This is my husband, Cristian.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, keeping her hands folded firmly in front of her but nodding her head. He was hardly going to correct her, or direct her to do something different from what she had done, but he could see that coaching would be required in the future.

  “It seems the family will all be here,” he said. “Such a surprise.”

  “Engaged. You’re engaged. That’s why Mother called us and told us to get on Cristian’s private jet, I imagine.”

  “Most definitely,” Renzo returned.

  “You didn’t tell me,” Allegra said.

  “In fairness to me, you did not tell me that you were expecting my best friend’s baby until it became unavoidable. You can hardly lecture me on not serving up a particular piece of news immediately.”

  His sister’s face turned scarlet, and he looked back at Esther, who was watching the exchange with rapt attention. “Don’t pay attention to him,” Allegra said to Esther. “He very much likes to be shocking. And he likes to make me mad.”

  “That seems in keeping with what I know about him,” Esther said.

  Cristian laughed at that. “You two can’t have been together very long,” he said. “But it does seem you have a handle on him.”

  Esther looked down. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Renzo poured himself a drink, feeling slightly sorry for Esther that he could not offer her the same. Especially given what he was about to do. “Since Mother didn’t tell you the great news of my engagement, I imagine she didn’t tell you I have other news.”

  “No,” Allegra and Cristian said together.

  “Esther and I are expecting a baby.” He reached out, putting his arm around Esther’s shoulders, rubbing his thumb up and down her arm when he felt her go stiff. That didn’t help, but he knew that it needled her. So, he would have to take that as consolation.

  Allegra said nothing, Cristian’s expression one of almost comedic stillness. Finally, it was Cristian who spoke. “Congratulations. Start catching up on your sleep now.”

  Allegra still said nothing.

  “I can see you’re completely stunned by the good news,” he said.

  “Well, yes. I know you’ve made many declarations to me about how you intend to be shocking at all times, so I don’t know why I’m surprised. Actually, I heavily resent my surprise. I should be immune to any sort of shock where you’re concerned.”

  Of course, she wasn’t. Being his younger sister, Allegra always seemed to want to believe the best of him. Which was a very nice thing, in its way. But he was a constant disappointment to her. He knew that his marriage to Ashley had been something more than a shock. Although, why, he didn’t know. He had told her, in no uncertain terms, that he intended to marry the most unsuitable, shocking woman that he could find.

  That was one that had backfired on him.

  “Truly, little sister, you should know me better than that by now. Anyway, let us refrain from speaking of the other ways in which I’ve shocked you in front of Esther. She’s still under the illusion that I’m something of a gentleman.”

  Esther looked at him, her expression bland. “I can assure you I’m not.”

  Cristian and Allegra seemed to find that riotously amusing. Mostly, he imagined, because they thought she was being dry. In fact, he had a feeling Esther was being perfectly sincere. She was sincere. That was something he was grappling with. Because he didn’t know very many sincere people.

  He was much more accustomed to those who were cynical. Who approached the world with a healthy bit of opportunism. It was the sincere people who dumbfounded him. Mostly, because he couldn’t figure out a way to relate to them. He couldn’t anticipate them.

  Seeing her earlier today trying on all of those clothes, the way she had looked at him when he had touched her leg, when he had bent down to change her shoes, had been something of a revelation. Until then he had still been skeptical of her. Of her story, of who she claimed to be.

  But who she seemed to present was exactly who she was. A somewhat naive crea
ture who was from a world entirely apart from the one she was in now. Her reaction to his parents’ house only reinforced that. He had watched her closely upon entry. If she were a gold digger, he felt he would have seen a moment—even if it was only a moment—where she had looked triumphant. Where she had fully understood the prize that she was inheriting.

  Frankly, the position he had put her in gave her quite a bit of leverage for taking advantage. Yes, DNA tests would prove that the child wasn’t hers, but who knew how a ruling might go in Italy where there were no laws to support surrogacy. She was the woman who carried the child, and she would give birth to the child. He imagined that legally there was no way she would walk away with nothing.

  And he had offered to marry her. Another way in which she could take advantage of him and his money. And yet she had not seemed excited by that either.

  That didn’t mean things wouldn’t change, but for now, he was forced to reconcile with the fact that she might be the rarest of all creatures. Someone who was what she said.

  “Excellent,” Allegra said to Esther. “I would hate for you to marry my brother while thinking he was well behaved.”

  Spurred on by his earlier ruminations, he turned his head, nuzzling the tender skin on Esther’s neck, just beneath her jawline. “Of course,” he said, allowing his lips to brush against her, “Esther is well aware of how wicked I can be.”

  He looked up, trying to gauge her response. Her burnished skin was dark pink beneath, a wild, fevered look in her eye. “Yes,” she said, her voice higher than usual. “We do know each other. Quite well. We are... We’re having a baby. So...”

  “Right,” Allegra said.

  Just then, a servant came in, interrupting the awkward exchange. “Excuse me,” the man said. “Your mother has asked me to ‘come and fetch you for dinner.’”

  Likely, those were his mother’s exact words.

  Keeping his hand on Esther’s lower back, he led the charge out of the room and toward the dining hall. He could feel her growing stiffer and stiffer beneath his touch the closer they got, almost as if she could sense his mother. He wouldn’t be surprised. His mother radiated ice, and openly telegraphed her difficulty to be pleased.