by Tessa Radley
“My father used to hit the roof at the thought of his daughter babysitting. He couldn’t understand why I did it. After all, he gave me a generous allowance.”
“Did your father stand in your way when the time came to study?”
She blinked but said nothing.
He tried another question. “Was he responsible for your change of careers?”
She shook her head. “No. I decided all by myself. I do have some original thoughts, you know.”
Now she sounded put out. He hadn’t meant to offend her. “Trust me, I do know.” He tried to placate her, before returning to the topic he’d been pursuing. “But I remember that you loved kids. On the couple of occasions that David Matthews brought his kids, you always took them over, entertained them.” He remembered her playing ball with the pair of towhead twins in the tropical gardens, to the horror of Henry, the gardener.
“In the end I decided to do something else with my life.”
Her voice was calm, and Rico felt awkward making a big deal of something that was so obviously a nonevent. Danielle had simply grown up and turned her back on her teen dream. So why did he care? “I suppose.” He shrugged and slid off the desk. “Well, one day you’ll have your own kids to enjoy, so why run after other peoples’ children, hmm?”
Her tight face alerted him. He thought over his words and wanted to groan at his lack of tact. She wouldn’t have her own child because she’d contracted to give the baby up—to him.
Even though he’d told her that he’d stick around until her tormentor was caught, in reality he knew it wouldn’t take years. Soon it would all be over; the man wouldn’t stay out of sight much longer. Stalkers liked to terrify their victims, play with them and see the results of their actions.
Once she was safe, Rico knew he wouldn’t be playing house with Danielle and a bunch of children. There’d be one child only. A child that he’d take, leaving her with an empty nest. He watched her with worried eyes. When he’d proposed the deal, it had been with Danielle Sinclair woman-of-the-world. Not the virginal waif he’d discovered.
He’d forgotten about her penchant for children.
Or had he? He frowned, drumming his fingers against his thigh. Had he subconsciously picked her because he knew she loved children? Because he wanted his child to be loved while it lay in her womb?
Another vivid fragment came back. Of the stoic pain she’d endured after she’d lost her mother. Would she be able to endure another loss? Or would it tip her over the edge into the turbulent vortex she’d inhabited as a teenager? What price would his revenge have on her when she had to surrender his child?
Troubled, he gazed at the woman he’d grown to…like. So intensely feminine, so desirable. But with a gentle kindness that soothed his tormented soul.
Abruptly he stopped drumming his fingers. For God’s sake, what was he thinking? He had no choice; for the sake of his sanity and his family he had to go through with the plan. He tried to ignore the voice inside his head that insisted by taking her baby he would rip her heart out.
And suddenly he didn’t much like the man he’d become.
Nine
“T o make-believe marriages.”
Danielle glanced across the elaborately laid table to see how Rico would respond to her father’s taunt. To her surprise, Rico merely smiled and raised the wineglass filled with the rich ruby liquid he’d been examining.
“To marriage,” he toasted calmly.
Her father looked taken aback. Pride welled through Danielle. Bradley and Kim should’ve attended this first Sunday-evening family meal, too, but at the last minute Kim had cried off, leaving her and Rico as her father’s sole guests. Glancing at Rico, Danielle couldn’t help thinking how much her husband looked like an advertisement for GQ with his casually styled Armani suit, his hair falling over the back of the unbuttoned shirt collar. The familiar flare of physical attraction ignited as her gaze moved over him. Hurriedly, she turned her attention back to her father. “Rico’s been helping me to furnish the townhouse.”
“Trying your hand at interior design, D’Alessio? How interesting,” Robert Sinclair drawled, and her hands curled into fists, until her nails bit into her palms.
“His name is Rico, Daddy. And it looks fabulous—you should come see.”
“Not my style. As long as all this nest-making doesn’t interfere with your work it’s of little interest to me.” Her father sounded bored. “How’s the employee day care centre proposal getting on? Martin promised me a proposal—even though I’m not sure it’s workable.”
She stared at him blankly. Martin hadn’t mentioned anything about it before he’d gone on paternity leave. Nor had she found any mention of anything similar in Martin’s Outlook diary or in any of the files on his desk. He certainly hadn’t brought it up when she’d called him about something else yesterday, although to be fair, she’d had other things on her mind, like the distressful arrival of her period a couple of days late and lighter than usual.
Perhaps he’d forgotten. She made a mental note to call Martin tomorrow and sort it out. She had no intention of sneaking on her boss to her father. Finally she asked, “When is his proposal due?”
“Don’t you know? What’s the matter with you, girl? Is playing house muddling your brain?” her father said, his voice heavy with impatience.
“That’s uncalled for.”
Danielle started as Rico spoke harshly from beside her.
“Ah, you’re an expert on what my daughter does for my company?” Robert Sinclair raised an eyebrow. “You understand the finer points of human resource management?”
Danielle squirmed at the hostility that poured from her father’s mouth. When her father discovered the truth—that they were really married and that the marriage had been consummated—there’d be hell to pay.
Rico leaned back in the Georgian chair and played with the stem of his wineglass. “Come down to the sixth floor any evening of the week and that’s where you’ll find your daughter. Working. Not playing house as you so quaintly put it. She’s so terrified of a charge of nepotism being levelled against her that she works twice as hard as anyone else—and, yes, she’s doing Dunstan’s job in his absence as well.”
The diamond-hard edge to Rico’s voice gave her father reason to pause. Danielle watched with bated breath as the men traded stares. Her father gave way first. “Perhaps you should remind D’Al—Rico—” her father amended “—that I am your father, not the enemy. The enemy is the madman he’s supposed to be apprehending before you get killed.”
“He knows that, Daddy.” Surreptitiously she placed a hand on Rico’s thigh under the table. Muscle as tense as coiled steel moved under her fingers. Rico was nowhere near as relaxed as his appearance suggested.
“Trust me, Sinclair, your daughter will not end up dead, not while I have breath in my body.” Rico’s fierce words resonated with passion and made her heart soar. She turned to him, but he was watching her father, his hard, unyielding profile etched against the subtle lamplight that glowed on the antique table against the wall.
Her protector. Secure in Rico’s presence beside her, she knew that her father’s cruel words could not touch her. The uncompromising way in which Rico had confronted her father caused joy to flood her, and a sudden realisation struck her: what she felt for Rico was far more than desire.
It had to be love.
Shaken, she examined her discovery. It couldn’t be love. It didn’t resemble the gentle devotion she’d always expected love to be. It was too strong and stormy. And, like a tropical storm, she knew it would blow past leaving behind devastation and tears. Her tears.
Pushing her chair back, her stomach heaving, Danielle muttered an excuse.
Rico whirled around, the anger in his eyes rapidly sharpening to concern.
“Danielle…?”
She blinked furiously, determined he shouldn’t see anything amiss. “Give me a few minutes, I need the bathroom.” She desperately needed time to regain her c
omposure. And to get the unexpected nausea that threatened to humiliate her under control. Through the pricking tears, she read the speculation on her father’s face; she forced herself to slow down, to move with her usual calm grace.
The bathroom she took refuge in looked unfamiliar—even though she’d approved the décor that the sophisticated designer had selected. Looking around at the white-on-white colour scheme, at the mirrors and hard shiny surfaces, she decided that the sterile environment was definitely not to her taste, however prestigious the designer her father had appointed had been. And relief fluttered through her that she’d finally found the courage to leave her father’s home. For too long he’d run her life and she’d allowed him to do it.
Rico had given her the opportunity to escape. And she wouldn’t be back. As she turned the tap and let the cool water sluice into her hands, she thought of how sharing a home with Rico had given her some inkling of how other people lived, without a bevy of cleaners and cooks and chauffeurs around all the time.
Cupping her hands, she stared at the clear water pooling against her palms. Already the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach was subsiding. She’d make an appointment with the doctor this week, check if she was perhaps anaemic. Her last period had barely been more than spotting, and now this. Danielle bent forward and splashed her face. But anaemia was minor compared to the dilemma that now faced her.
When she raised her head to stare in the mirror she knew that she’d never regret loving Rico. Never regret the lovemaking they’d shared, even though she knew that her final memories of him would be of an angry, thwarted man…but even that wouldn’t kill her love.
Danielle sighed. As tired as she was of the lies and half-truths, she couldn’t come clean with Rico. If she did, she’d lose him forever. And she wasn’t ready to face the pain of that moment yet. But she wasn’t going to lie, even by omission, to her father for another day.
Towelling her face dry, she muttered impatiently when she realised that she’d left her purse at the table. She didn’t even have a smudge of fresh lipstick to hide behind. A quick glance in the mirror revealed a paler-than-normal face and wide eyes that looked peculiarly childlike for a woman who’d just discovered herself in love. No evidence existed of the lovestruck signs that might give her away.
Closing the bathroom door behind her, the sound of raised voices caused her to quicken her pace until she was running down the passage.
“Don’t think you can use my daughter to further your own ambitions, D’Alessio,” her father roared so loudly that she could hear him through the heavy door.
“Whatever happened to calling me Rico?”
Danielle shut her eyes at the humour in her husband’s voice. She could imagine his dark face, his lip curved in amusement. It would drive her father mad.
“You’re dealing with me now, not a starry-eyed female.”
“Shut up, Sinclair.” Rico sounded savage, all traces of humour had vanished. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Danielle heard the scuffle of feet and knew she dared not lurk out here for much longer. The vision of the two men coming to blows made her twist the heavy brass door handle.
“I’m warning you.” Her father’s voice rose. “I’ll cut her off without a cent—”
She pushed the door open and took in the way the men stood nose-to-nose. “Daddy, what’s going on here? Rico’s a guest in your house and he’s my husband.”
“I’ll see to it that you never work…” Her father’s voice trailed off as her words registered. He turned. “Hardly a husband, Danielle,” he said dismissively.
Her chin went up a notch as she met her father’s gaze. “You’re wrong. Rico is my legal husband.”
“Danielle—” She stilled Rico with a raised finger and shot him a glance imploring him to let her speak. He closed his eyes and lowered himself into a chair.
“We’re legally married, Daddy.”
Her words finally penetrated. She saw the shock in her father’s eyes. “Legally married? When did this happen?”
“The day after the church ceremony.”
“Are you stupid, girl?” His face turned a dark red, and his voice rose. “I was just warning him about trying something like this.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of movement as Rico rose to his feet.
“Watch how you talk to my wife. You’ll address her with respect,” he growled, his gaze relentless.
Her father’s eyes grew fearful. He’s scared of Rico. Satisfaction curled through her.
“Apologise!” Rico loomed over the shorter man, looking deadly. “You can say what you like to me. But take care of how you talk to Danielle.”
Her father had clearly decided Rico looked like a man who’d reached the end of his tether. He sidled away and sank into a chair. “Sorry, Danielle.” The apology sounded forced. “Your announcement surprised me.”
She suppressed a smile at the reluctant concession. “Daddy, you don’t need to worry about Rico being after my trust fund, he’s got enough millions of his own.”
“Millions?” He threw Rico a furious look. “He’s been working in the Third World. Don’t be taken in,” her father sneered.
“I can vouch that he’s got more than a cent to his name. He’s been insisting on purchasing large items for the townhouse.”
“He trying to impress you.”
Danielle laughed. “I can’t believe that you don’t know how successful his kidnap retrieval operation has been. Pascal even said he’d read about it. And that’s without the fortune—”
“Fortune?” Robert Sinclair barked, turning on Rico. “Is this a scam? Or have you been gun running? How else would you get your hands on millions?”
“Aside from the millions I made legitimately, I inherited several more from my late wife. You may have heard of the family. Ravaldi.” Rico’s mouth slanted. “Alessandro Ravaldi. Perhaps that name rings a bell.”
Danielle began to pay attention. Even she had heard of the Italian gazillionaire.
“Who hasn’t heard of Ravaldi,” her father dismissed.
“Alessandro is my late wife’s brother.”
“My God.” Robert Sinclair gazed at Rico with grudging respect. “That must make you—”
“Rich. Yes.” Rico smiled. But it wasn’t a comfortable smile, and Danielle watched her father, waiting for him to back down at the realisation that Rico could afford everything he owned.
But her father didn’t give an inch. “So what’s in this marriage for you?” he challenged.
A silence fell over the room. Danielle counted the beats off the second hand of the elegant antique grandfather clock in the corner, until she could bear it no longer. “Daddy, don’t—”
“You’re still after my daughter.” Her father turned to glare at her. “And I’m damned if I’m letting him get his hands on you.” His expression changed, and Danielle didn’t like the contempt that she saw in her father’s eyes. “That’s what this elaborate farce is all about, isn’t it? Despite your protestations of innocence all those years ago.”
Did her father know what she’d done all those years ago? Going to Rico’s room, trying to seduce him. God, she hoped not! Suddenly Danielle wished the silence was back. “Rico was innocent. He didn’t do anything four years ago.”
“I don’t believe that. You were besotted with him. And am I supposed to believe it was all innocent between him and Kim, too?”
Her father did know! “He did nothing. I misinterpreted the sympathy he offered after Mother’s death and threw myself at him. He never wanted any part of what I offered, and Kim admitted that he didn’t do anything. She changed her statement.”
“Hmm…I wonder. Pity, that she didn’t see fit to attend tonight.”
“Frankly, I’m not surprised—she’s ashamed! She made a play for a married man who turned her down. Flat.”
“So I’m supposed to believe you rejected both my daughters four years ago.” Robert Sinclair stared a
t Rico for a long moment. “So what are you getting out of this marriage deal, D’Alessio?
Rico stared at her father. “What does one usually get from marriage?”
“Money? Children?”
“Well, the first doesn’t matter to me, but an heir wouldn’t come amiss.”
“An heir?” Her father’s gaze widened, and he shot a look of disbelief at Danielle.
Her knees started to shake as she waited for the axe to fall. Instead her father started to laugh. Clenching her fists against her ears, she cried, “Stop it, Daddy! Or I’ll leave.”
Before her father could say a word, Rico’s arm came to rest under her elbow. “What a good idea. I think it’s time for us to go.”
Danielle sagged against Rico, trembling with relief as he escorted her out of the house after a terse farewell, leaving her father alone at the elaborate doorway to stare after them.
“Don’t let your father bother you.”
The bedroom was bathed in soft light, the curtains drawn and Rico lay under the covers of the big bed beside her.
“I won’t,” Danielle said slowly. “He’s never going to change. I’ve finally accepted that. I have to, or I’ll have no choice but to walk away from him altogether—and I don’t want to do that.”
Pushing the heavy covers aside, Danielle rested her head against his broad bare chest. The slow, solid beat of Rico’s heart beneath her ear was oddly comforting. “But tonight showed me he doesn’t have a great deal of respect for me. Perhaps the time has come for me to leave the security that the Sinco umbrella has always offered. Try my wings out, fly a little.”
“I respect you, Danielle D’Alessio.” Rico placed a soft kiss against her hair. “You’re a hell of a woman, do you know that?”
Something inside her melted. She turned into his arms, breast to chest, and rested her chin on his breastbone. “Thank you.”
Her eyes met his and they shared an instant of complete understanding that made Danielle feel as though she’d accomplished an overwhelming feat, a bit like the flying she’d talked about.
