Читать книгу One Night: Sizzling Attraction: Married for Amari's Heir / Damaso Claims His Heir / Her Secret, His Duty - Annie West - Страница 13
ОглавлениеHE HAD SUCCEEDED in shocking her. She was simply staring at him, her large, dark eyes wide, her lush lips parted.
“Was there something confusing about what I just said?” he asked.
He felt a twinge of something in his stomach. A slight bit of... Had he been any other man he might have thought it was insecurity. But that was impossible. Still, he was questioning his methods. He did not seem to be winning her over to his side with his current tactic.
But he despised the need to try and woo her. Especially considering that he still believed her to be a thief. But, perhaps treating her so harshly was not helpful.
He decided to try something slightly different. “What I mean to say is, I am keeping the child. And I am keeping you as well, as I find the idea of our child being without a mother unacceptable. I am still missing a million dollars. I do not feel as though keeping you in exchange is unreasonable.”
Her expression contorted, this time anger replacing shock.
He had the feeling he had not selected the proper method.
“You can’t...keep me. What does that even mean? You cannot keep a person.”
He frowned. “Certainly I can. I have a villa on the Amalfi Coast. And I intend to take you there.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am serious. I’m very serious. In fact, I intend to take you at once.”
“I can’t leave,” she said, her dark eyes shifting to the left. “Who will feed my cat?”
“You have a cat?”
She met his gaze again, her expression ferocious. “No, but I could.”
“There, you have no cat. There is no issue. It’s settled. You are leaving with me. Now.”
She blinked rapidly. “What about my job?”
“What about your job?” he said, waving his hand. “You are a waitress. And as the mother of my child, you will never have to wait tables again.”
“I don’t understand. Just a couple of weeks ago you sent me away, promising me no contact, and money.” She sounded desperate and angry.
Yes, he had said all that. But at the time he’d been knocked so flat by her revelation his reaction had been...much less than gracious. And he’d decided he didn’t believe her, because it was easier. She couldn’t be pregnant, not by him. Not when he’d used a condom.
He had decided that she probably wasn’t pregnant at all. But then the dreams of that wide-eyed little girl had continued to plague him. And so he’d decided to come down to the doctor’s appointment and prove it.
But Charity had been at the appointment. And then...and then the heartbeat.
And he had known in that moment it was his child. Had believed that, in this instance, she spoke the truth.
But he didn’t want her to be too confident in that just yet. Not while he was still sorting through his feelings.
“And you seemed to want me in the child’s life.”
“I don’t need you in the child’s life,” she said, “I only need child support.”
“I disagree.”
“You said that you didn’t want to be a father,” she said.
“And yet, it seems I’m going to be one. Want has nothing to do with it. But for stronger scruples or a stronger condom, we wouldn’t be in this mess. But alas, we had neither. Still, I think the situation can be salvaged.”
“I felt it had been salvaged rather well already.”
“Why? Because you got my money?” Perfect, chilled rage, rushed through his veins. “What do you plan to do with the child? Farm it out to relatives? An elderly aunt? No doubt while you continued to collect my money.”
“No, I intend to raise my baby. But I don’t need you to do it,” she said, lifting her chin, her expression defiant.
“I have as much right as you. I am the child’s father.”
“And, not to put too fine a point on it, I hate you.”
He chuckled. “Am I supposed to be bothered by that? You are not the first woman to hate me, and I daresay you will not be the last. However, you are the first woman to carry my child. And I will have you both. This is nonnegotiable.”
“Or else?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, her dark eyes glittering.
“Prison is still an option,” he ground out.
She blinked rapidly. “You wouldn’t really send me to jail.”
“They take very good care of pregnant women in prison.” He looked at her, watched as the fear took hold of her. Good. Let her understand that he wasn’t giving hollow threats. He was not a man to be trifled with. Most especially by a woman who had wronged him. “I would hate to explain to our child that its mother was a criminal, but I will do what I must.”
“You bastard,” she said.
“Guilty. And you might want to be careful throwing that term around, as technically, our child is a bastard, too.”
Her dark eyes glittered. “How dare you?”
“That is the reality of the situation we find ourselves in, cara mia. If you do not like it, take steps to change it.”
“What steps?”
He lifted a shoulder. “You could always marry me,” he said.
It was the most extreme version of his plan, but not one he was entirely uncomfortable with. He saw no reason why marriage should affect his lifestyle in any way. Or hers. But it would at least provide a comfortable framework for his child’s life. That was something he had lacked growing up, and he didn’t want his child to lack in the same ways.
It was part of his growing obsession.
Ever since that night, the night after she had come to tell him about the baby, he had been plagued by the same nightmare over and over again. The empty house, the searching child. The child that eventually became his.
And he had known then what he had to do.
He had grown into an entirely selfish man over the years. He knew that. He had not connected with a single person since the death of his mother. The homes he had bounced between offered him nothing—no comfort, no love. And when he had gone into the workforce, he had approached things with a single-minded ruthlessness. Life on the street had taught him early on that you had to look out for yourself, because no one else would.
His mother’s fate had taught him that you had to be the most dangerous person in the alley, or you would become a victim.
Rocco Amari refused to become a victim.
And yet, he felt connected to this child. The child in his dream. He had no way of knowing if it was a vision of some kind. In fact, he was certain it wasn’t, because he didn’t believe in such things. But he didn’t feel he could ignore it, either.
His sleeplessness had driven him here. To confirm the pregnancy, to confirm what he must do. The moment the sound of the baby’s heartbeat had filled the room, he had known. No matter the cost, he would create a family. A stable environment.
He was determined.
“Are you insane?” she asked, taking a step back.
“No.”
“You say that with a lot of confidence, for someone I’m pretty certain is insane,” she said, shaking her head, a curtain of glossy curls swirling around her. She truly was beautiful. It was a shame she was a criminal.
“You don’t need to answer that now. But you will come back to the island with me now.”
“Or prison?”
He smiled. “Or prison. Yet again, I feel it’s a fairly easy choice.”
“I should have run.”
“Before or after the con?”
She paled, an ashen tone running beneath her cream-and-coffee skin. “I don’t want to talk anymore,” she said.
“Too close to the bone?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
He advanced on her, closing the space between them. And as the air shrank, his chest tightened, his blood running harder, faster. There was something about her, something that called to him. Something elemental. He could not fathom it.
“Did we ever?” They were not the words he meant to speak, and yet he found it was an honest question.
He wondered if there had ever been a choice where she was concerned. If, rather than being the woman he was certain had been a part of stealing his money, he had spotted her in a crowded bar, they would have ended up in bed together.
If, no matter the circumstances, their connection would have been forged.
“I didn’t,” she said.
“You made your choice when you agreed to help your father steal my money. And now I am the one making the choices. You will come with me. Now. I do not make empty threats, and I think you know that.”
“Well then,” she said, her voice strangled. “Perhaps you should show me to your private jet.”
“I will. Make no mistake, cara, you are mine now. And by the end of next week, I will decide what exactly I am going to do with you.”
* * *
For the second time Charity found herself looking at a set of written instructions, and a garment bag.
She still felt as if she was dreaming. Only, it wasn’t a particularly good dream. They had left the doctor’s appointment, only to get on a plane and fly overnight to Italy. Rocco had spent the entire flight ignoring her, which suited her just fine. She’d slept most of the way, and she assumed he had been working, or whatever it was he was doing on his computer. Possibly looking at pictures of women in bikinis. She didn’t really care.
He’d continued his silence on the car ride through the city and up a winding mountain road. Charity had tried to appear blasé about the whole experience. From the moment they had boarded his private plane, until they had touched down in a country she had never even dreamed of visiting. But she’d found it was impossible. Especially when faced with the beauty of Italy.
The narrow streets, tall buildings, cluttered balconies and brightly colored flowers on climbing vines were too beautiful for her to ignore. She’d pressed her nose to the glass of the limo they were riding in and watched as the road widened, the buildings became more sparse, stared in awe at the intense jade ocean down at the bottom of the rocky cliffs.
And once the expansive villa had come into view, she’d had to fight to keep her mouth from dropping open.
Now she was inside, installed in her bedroom, which was larger than the New York hotel suite Rocco had seduced her in. It was expensive, light and airy, with white curtains and flowing white linens cascading over the wrought-iron frame of the bed.
And yet, there was a heaviness in her chest that she could not shake.
And now the note.
You will join me for dinner. You will wear the dress that I have provided. We have much to discuss.
—R
This scenario felt far too familiar for her liking. And the worst part was, much like the first time, she was in no position to refuse him.
She blinked, her eyes feeling gritty. The time change and restless sleep on the airplane was starting to catch up with her. She took her shirt off, and her skirt, then unzipped the garment bag to find a bright yellow dress made of a light fabric that looked as if it would be comfortable in the heat.
She had expected a corset and garter belt, so it was a pleasant surprise.
She slipped the dress on over her head and turned to look at herself in the mirror. Unfortunately, she looked as tired as she felt. Deep purple circles marked the skin beneath her eyes, and she was certain that there was a permanent line etched in her forehead that had not been there BR.
Before Rocco.
She sighed and took her hair out of its clip, running her fingers through the glossy dark curls that she had always imagined were a gift from her mother. A thick, unruly gift that made getting ready a chore. A fitting present from a woman who had never once bothered to check on the child she had given birth to.
She reached down and picked up her purse, taking out her bright pink lipstick and smearing a bit over her lips. The effect brightened her face some, made her look less tired. Made her look less worn down. She needed that. That little bit of armor in place so that he didn’t just think he had won. So that he didn’t assume he had the upper hand.
She arched one dark brow at her own reflection. “You are in his villa, in a foreign country. A country where you don’t speak the language. He’s a billionaire. And you are not even a thousandaire. There is no question who has the upper hand.”
She sighed and turned away from the mirror.
She didn’t know how she was going to get out of this, but she would be damned if she betrayed herself to him.
She opened the door to the bedroom, running a countdown in her mind as she walked slowly down the hallway that led to the sweeping curved staircase. She put her hand on the polished wooden banister and let her fingers glide across the smooth, cool surface as she made her way down to the opulent entryway.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
She was strong. She would hold her own.
Seven. Six. Five.
He might have brought her here, but he did not control her.
Four. Three. Two.
All of the vulnerability he had made her feel back in the hotel room was over now. She was impervious to it. Impervious to him.
One.
She stepped off the bottom stair and looked up. Rocco was there, his dark eyes clashing with hers, his hand extended toward her.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart hammering hard, her stomach twisting.
“So pleased you could join me,” he said, appraising her slowly. “I knew that color would suit you.”
“You can’t imagine how relieved I am that you approve of my appearance. I was deeply concerned.”
“Come now, must everything be a fight?” He kept his hand extended. “Take my hand.”
“No thank you, I can walk just fine. Probably better without you leading me off a cliff. Oh, look. I suppose everything does have to be a fight.”
He arched a brow and lowered his hand. “Dinner is back this way on the terrace. And while it does overlook a cliff, I have no desire to walk you off it.”
“You expect me to trust you? I don’t trust anyone,” she said, following him through the expensive living area, her shoes loud on the marble floor.
“I see. And why is it that you don’t trust anyone? Because I find that a curious stance for someone like yourself. I could understand a victim of yours no longer trusting people.”
“I don’t have victims,” she said, her tone crisp. “They’re called marks.”
“Admitting something?”
“No,” she said, looking away, her heart beating a bit faster, “I’m not.”
“You will not convince me of your innocence. You might as well drop the denial.”
She rolled her eyes. “So I should give you a full, signed confession?”
“You could start by simply answering my question.”
“Why don’t I trust people? Because I see what happens when you trust people. My father is a con man. He always has been. The quality time I remember with my dad consisted of running scams that required playing on people’s sympathy for children. Not exactly a weekend at the ballpark. Why would I trust people?”
He pushed open the double doors that led outside to an expansive terrace that overlooked the ocean. He turned to face her, his lean figure backlit by the sun. “You shouldn’t trust people. At least not in my experience. Certainly don’t trust me.”
She followed him outside, to a table that was set for two. There was a Mediterranean platter including olives and various other Italian delights, a basket of bread, a glass of wine for him and water for her.
“Oh, I don’t trust you.”
He pulled her chair out and indicated that he wanted her to sit. “Good. I don’t need you to trust me. I simply need you to stay with me. Sit.”
She kept her eyes on his and she obeyed his command, deciding that in this instance, it wouldn’t do any good to push against him. “What do you mean you want to keep me?”
“I have done some thinking. I want to be in my child’s life. And I want you to be in the child’s life. You see, I was denied both my parents at a very early age. I cannot knowingly do the same to my own flesh and blood.”
“Well, I...I feel the same way. At least as far as I’m concerned.” It was the truth. Growing up without a mother, it had never been an option for her to give her child up. Knowing that her mother had left her with a con artist for a father and never bothered to contact her again, had caused Charity pain all of her life. Doing the same to her own child was unthinkable.
“Then it is decided. Shall we set a wedding date?”
“I am not marrying you.”
He waved a hand. “Marriage is not necessary. I’m flexible on that score. But I do think we should share a household, don’t you? It would only be jarring for the child to bounce back and forth between your tiny apartment and one of my homes.”
“Are you suggesting we live together?”
“If you refuse to marry me, cohabitation works just as well.”
“But...I don’t understand. You can’t possibly want a relationship with me.”
“Of course I don’t.” He tossed the words out casually, no venom in his tone at all. “I don’t care about you at all. Except in the context of what you mean to our baby. Even if we were to marry we would continue to conduct our lives separately.”
“I don’t want to marry you.”
“I did not say I wanted to marry you,” he said, taking a seat across from her. “Only that I feel it is an option.”
She studied him hard. “You believe me. About the baby?”
“Yes.”
“And you want the baby. You want to be a father.”
“I am going to be a father. That means I...have to be one,” he said, sounding slightly less confident than he typically did.
“Why did you change your mind?”
“I lived in Rome when I was a boy.” He leaned back in his chair and picked up his glass of wine, swirling the liquid inside slowly. “We lived in a very poor neighborhood. I never knew my father. I woke up one morning and the house was empty. Everything had been taken. And there were strangers there. My mother was gone. And I kept asking them where she was, but no one would answer me. I found out later that she was killed on her way home from work. I assume the landlord took all of our possessions and left me alone. But I don’t know the details, and things like that are always difficult to sort through. Childhood memories. The recollections of a five-year-old are not always clear. But I know what it means to be alone. I know what it is like to feel lost.” There was a faraway look in his dark eyes, a deep well that she could not see the bottom of. So different to the flatness that was usually there. “I do not wish that for our child. I wish for them to have a full house. I wish for them to have both of us. If he wakes in the middle of the night I do not want him to be alone.”
Her chest tightened to the point of discomfort. She looked down at her plate, picked up an olive and rolled it in between her thumb and forefinger. Emotions made her uncomfortable. Especially the emotions of other people. In her experience connecting was dangerous. Empathy was dangerous. It had made it impossible to do what her father asked growing up. Because if she started to think too deeply about what other people would feel when they discovered they had been cheated, she had to contend with her conscience.
And if ever she connected with people, it only dissolved once the con ended and she had to run.
It was why she could never engage herself. Why she had to play a character wholly and completely, so that she was wrapped in it, so the real her was protected.
But she found that she was not protected now. She was not distant. Because it was too easy to picture a lonely boy in an empty house. Because she had felt that, too.
“Some nights,” she said, questioning the words even as she spoke them, “my father would go to events, and he could not bring me with him. He would tell me to lock the doors, not open them for anyone. We had a password. So when he came home in the early hours of the morning, he would say it, and I would know not to be afraid. But sometimes he didn’t come home. And I would be by myself all night. Normally I would sleep through it, but sometimes I would wake up, go get a glass of water, something like that. And the house was so empty. It’s a very scary feeling late at night.” She met his gaze. “I don’t want that for our child, either. I want what you want.”
Her stomach twisted hard. She didn’t really want to deal with him, because he frightened her. Because he had used her. Because he had scraped away the layers of rock she kept between herself and the world, made her vulnerable to him. Exposed her to him. She could not forget that.
“He will have it,” Rocco said, a certainty in his voice that she found oddly comforting. “It is a terrifying thing as a child. Being alone in that way. I am...sorry that you were alone. I know that feeling. It is... I avoid it at all costs now.”
She swallowed hard, an unexpected wave of emotion washing over her. “Thank you.”
Then, as though he had not just softened for her, he straightened, his eyes unreadable again. “Then it is settled. We are staying here for the foreseeable future.”
“Why?” Her heart was pounding fast, fluttering in her chest like a panicked bird.
“Because I don’t trust you. I do not trust that you will not find a way to make off with my money and my baby. Your word has limited value to me.”
His words cut close to the bone, because there was so much truth to them. Because initially she had intended to take his money and go. Because she was a liar, and she had proven herself to be. And she could not even find a shred of righteous indignation to throw back at him. “I am being honest with you,” she said. It was all she could say.
He looked at her, his gaze hard. “I cannot read you, and I find that disturbing. Are you a practiced con woman? Are you an innocent virgin? Are you a tough girl from the wrong side of the tracks forced into criminal activity because of your circumstances and your upbringing? I don’t know. Because I have seen you play all those roles. And you play them all very well.”
“Maybe I’m all of them.” She reached down and put her fingers on her water glass, turning it in a circle. “And what about you? Who are you? A lonely boy without a mother? The wicked predator who blackmailed me into bed?”
“I am definitely the second. I decided long ago to move past where I began. Feeling guilty doesn’t benefit you, Charity. You make decisions—you must own them.”
“So, you don’t think I should feel guilty about the money my father took and the part I played in it?”
He took a sip of his wine. “If I were you? I wouldn’t feel guilty in the least. However, I am not you. I am me, and I had to ensure that you paid for what you did.”
“With sex.”
“I already told you,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “That was not part of the plan.”
“And I already told you I don’t trust people. I’m not sure why you think I should take you at your word.”
“Because I have no reason to lie to you. Not on that score.”
Charity laughed and took a piece of bread from the basket at the center of the table. “Who is going to teach our child morals? It seems that you and I both lack them.”
How was she supposed to teach a child right and wrong? How was she supposed to enforce consequences for wrong behavior when she’d spent so much of her life dodging consequences.
When she’d been a thief for so long.
For the first time she wondered if she deserved to go to prison. She didn’t want to. But she was guilty of all she was accused of.
She clenched her hands into fists, a sick feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t go to jail. Then her child wouldn’t have a mother.
She could be better, though. Something was changing in her. For the first time she didn’t just know that stealing from him was wrong. She felt it.
Rocco frowned. “We should get a nanny.”
Charity was about to disagree, but then realized he was probably right. She didn’t know the first thing about babies, after all. Someone was going to have to show her how to change a diaper.
“We...we probably should.”
“We will worry about that a little bit later. For now, I suggest we get used to dealing with each other.”
“Do we have to?” she asked, picking up her glass of water. “We could always just ignore each other.”
“I would much rather sleep with you again.”
She sputtered. “What?”
“Why not? We are attracted to one another. And you will be here indefinitely. It could benefit us both.”
“Yeah. No.” She picked up another piece of bread and ate it. “I spend most days feeling a lot like I just licked the underside of a shoe. So I can honestly tell you that sex is the furthest thing from my mind. In fact, I’m a little bit angry at sex. I blame sex.”
He shrugged, looking completely unconcerned by her refusal. “Fair enough.”
She was slightly wounded that he didn’t press. Which was ridiculous. She should not be wounded. She should be thrilled. Or something. She didn’t want to sleep with him again. He hated her. He had only brought her here because she was having his baby.
Come to that, she wasn’t that fond of him.
Yes, in that hotel suite, in the heat of the moment, with a veil of fantasy drawn around them that had begun with that note and that lingerie, something had caught fire between them. But here, with the brine from the ocean playing havoc with her sensitive stomach, the cool breeze blowing across her skin, raising goose bumps on her arms, things felt all too real.
Still, the rejection stung a little bit, even if she didn’t know why. Some sort of previously unknown feminine sexual pride that had been uncovered by their indiscretion.
Just another bit of evidence to prove that sleeping with him in the first place was incredibly stupid.
“So that’s it then?”
“Did you think I was going to pine after you?” He looked her over, his dark eyes conveying a kind of dismissiveness that cut deep. “I’m used to much more experienced women, cara mia, and while your innocence had a certain charm I prefer a partner who understands the way a man’s body works.”
Heat assaulted her cheeks. “You were the one who propositioned me.”
“Because it made sense. I’m not a man prepared to go without sex. I’m hardly going to be celibate, so the decision is yours. Either I sleep with you or I will find someone else.”
A ball of rage lodged itself in her chest. She couldn’t quite work out why. She had refused him, so, by that logic, he should be free to share his body with whoever he wanted. But she didn’t feel that he should be. His body belonged to her. At least, that was what it felt like. He was the only man she had ever touched like that. The only man who had ever been inside her. How could that not feel significant to him? It didn’t seem fair.
But she would not show him her feelings. She would not reveal herself. “Do what you want. I’m not bothered. Just don’t touch me.”
“I always do what I want. But your gesture of offering permission was cute.” He stood, picking up his glass of wine and swallowing the rest of the contents before setting it back on the table. “And on that note, I believe I will go out and do what I please. Have a good evening.”
He turned and walked off the terrace, leaving her sitting there. Alone.
She picked up another piece of bread and bit into it with no small amount of ferocity. She didn’t care what he went to do. She did not own him. She did not own his body, in spite of her earlier thoughts on the subject.
She didn’t want to go out. She wanted to sit here. And eat. Go to bed early.
Master of the Manor aside, the house was beautiful, and she should just enjoy being here. The money her father had stolen would never gain him admittance into a place like this. To a man like Rocco a million dollars was a drop in an endless sea.
So, she would sit here and enjoy the fact that, although her father had abandoned her and left her to take the fall, she was the one sitting in a villa in Italy.
With a man who had blackmailed her into bed. And had got her pregnant. And was headed out to undoubtedly have sex with another woman.
So, except for all those things, she would sit here and enjoy the fact that she was in an Italian villa. She would ignore the other things. For as long as she could.
