Читать книгу Married for Amari's Heir - Maisey Yates - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

ROCCO AMARI WAS a bastard. In every sense of the word. He’d been aware of that from an early age. From the time he’d first been teased by other neighborhood children for not having a father to the moment he’d watched his mother, a grim look of wounded pride on her face, accept money from an employee of the man who’d sired him, to help them keep the modest house they called home. Provided they never made contact with him.

Yes, he had known, then and always, that he was nothing more than an illegitimate child born to a rich man’s unwanted mistress. And as time had gone on he had learned that playing the part of the bastard in the colloquial sense served a man well in his ascent to success.

Though, in his case, the role had become his reality. There was no place in his life for conscience, no place for compassion. He had learned, long ago, that a man had to look out for himself because when push came to shove no one else would.

Venture capital was not the sort of business that lent itself to being sentimental or soft. Yes, it was about building businesses, but you had to be willing to cut dead branches. And Rocco was more than willing.

A man had to protect what was his, because other men wouldn’t hesitate to try and claim it for themselves.

And given that he was a bastard, and given that he took a dim view of compassion, he found himself irritated by the fact that the conscience he had no place for felt seared by his encounter with Charity Wyatt.

He had never meant for it to go so far.

The plan had been to bring her into the hotel room, strip her bare, humiliate her and leave. Perhaps, not an overly sympathetic plan, but nowhere in his planning had he imagined he would actually... No. Trading sex for his stolen money had never been a part of the plan. Yes, he had intended to flirt with the line. He had always intended to do that. But Charity was a thief, and in his mind she was just lucky he didn’t believe in more medieval forms of punishment.

But things had not gone according to his plan. He had lost control.

Which was, perhaps, the most unforgivable part about it.

The rest he could have forgiven himself for. But not the loss of control.

By taking her to his room, by commanding her to strip, by making her beg for him, he had been proving to her that she was in over her head. That he commanded the situation, as he did all things. But her rich, dark eyes had met him in challenge as she’d taken the expensive, overtly sexual clothing off her body, revealing the perfection beneath. And something had flipped. He had not proven his control. She had broken it. Yes, he was certain he had humiliated her, but at what cost? At what cost to his own pride?

It had been nearly two months since their encounter, yet at night he still woke up drenched in a cold sweat, dreaming of soft delicate fingertips trailing down his stomach. Of rich, dark curls spread out over his chest. Coal-black eyes looking up at him with wonder.

It was the wonder that got him. Because it wasn’t anything he had never seen before. Certainly, women had looked at him with desire, with satisfaction, but never with the kind of awe he had seen in Charity’s eyes. And he knew why.

He clenched his hand into a fist. He shouldn’t care. What did it matter if a woman had made love to a hundred men, or one? It didn’t. It shouldn’t. Not to a man like him.

And yet it mattered.

It made his sin feel that much greater, when he didn’t wish to feel as though he had sinned at all. Normally, he lived his life exactly the way he chose to, conducting affairs with women as he saw fit, spending his money as he chose, drinking as much as he desired. He didn’t answer to anyone, least of all the archaic idea of black-and-white morality. Life on the streets of Rome had taught him early on that morality was only for the middle class.

Those who had nothing couldn’t afford it, and those with billions could pay to bypass it.

And yet here he was, regretting a sexual encounter with all the guilt of a choir boy. Concerning himself over the virginity of a woman who had been far from innocent regardless of her past sexual experience.

It was unacceptable as far as he was concerned. As it was unacceptable that the woman was still taking up so much space in his mind. It was also unacceptable that he was still without his money.

He had not intended to let her off the hook on that score, either.

But as he had deviated from his plan, he had yet to regroup and decide what he would do now.

He could not pursue prosecution now. As he had promised absolution in exchange for sex. However, he’d never intended to actually have sex with her.

But he had. And that limited his options.

That damned conscience again. Where the hell had it come from? He should have no qualms about either one of those things.

His intercom buzzed and he pressed it, annoyance coursing through his veins. “What?”

“Mr. Amari—” his secretary, Nora, sounded harried “—there is a woman here who refuses to leave.”

Rocco gritted his teeth. This was not the first time, nor, he imagined, would it be the last. It was either Elizabeth, a woman he’d ended his association with a little over three months ago, or it was someone entirely random, hoping to fill the currently vacant position of mistress in his life.

Too bad for whoever it was he didn’t enjoy being pursued. He liked to be the one directing the pursuit.

“Tell her I am in no mood.”

“I did. She is still sitting here.”

“Then have security remove her.”

“I thought I should call you before I resorted to that,” Nora said, her tone conveying that she found the idea of having a woman forcibly removed from the building distasteful. He didn’t find it distasteful in the least. If she didn’t want to be carted out, then she should have obeyed the command to leave in the first place.

“Next time don’t bother. Have security remove her as a matter of course. You have my permission.”

He heard a muffled shout, and response from Nora. She must have put her hand over the receiver. And then she was back. “Mr. Amari, she says her name is Charity Wyatt, and she says you will want to see her.”

His blood ran cold. Rage following closely, thawing out the ice.

He didn’t want to see Charity Wyatt unless it was in hell.

Of course, in many ways he felt he was already there. Put there by his very own fallen angel. Who had now crawled back into the pit to pay him a visit.

“Send her up,” he said, shutting off the intercom. He would regret this. And yet, he couldn’t resist the temptation. To see her one more time. To shove her skirt up around her hips and take her again, bent over his desk this time. To prove that she was just as helpless in the face of this attraction as he was. Prove that he wasn’t weak.

He stood from behind his desk and began to pace the room, pausing as soon as he heard a knock on the door. A timid knock. Clearly, Charity Wyatt was not quite so defiant as she had been the last time they met.

She wasn’t defiant for long. She melted quickly enough beneath your touch.

He gritted his teeth and willed his body back into submission. “Come in.”

The door opened, and the sight that greeted him was a surprise. It was Charity, but not as he had ever seen her before. Gone was the beautiful, sleek siren he had taken to bed in the hotel suite. Instead, standing in front of him was a woman wearing black pants and a T-shirt. Her dark wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail that looked as if it would suit a schoolgirl better than a woman in her early twenties.

The only makeup she appeared to be wearing was a smear of gloss over her lips, the rest of her face bare. There were dark circles under her eyes, as though she hadn’t slept.

One thing was certain; she was not here to conduct a seduction.

He fought against the hard punch of disappointment that slammed into his gut. He shouldn’t care. He would listen to whatever it was she had to say, and go out and find the nearest socialite and drag her back to his penthouse.

That was his problem. He had been working himself into the ground since his encounter with Charity, and he had not had a chance to be with anyone in the time since. Nearly two months was far too long for a man like him.

Still standing there looking wide-eyed and wounded, she made his gut twist hard. She was not supposed to be here, this woman who had destroyed his control.

He needed her gone.

“Well, obviously you aren’t here to screw me. Which makes me feel very short on patience,” he said. “You had better speak quickly.”

She met his gaze, completely unintimidated by his attempt at scaring her away. “I am certainly not here to... That,” she said, her tone haughty.

He let out a heavy sigh, looking down at the paperweight on his desk. Straightening it before looking at her again. “I find myself growing more impatient. Either get on your knees for me or get out.”

“There are no circumstances on earth that would find me on my knees for you. Not begging you, not pleasuring you. That is my firm promise.”

Anger cut through his veins like a knife. “We will see about that, or do you forget that I hold your future in my hands?”

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and tilted her head to the side, that ridiculous ponytail tilting with her, glossy dark curls sweeping over her shoulders. “Before you start making threats you should know that I carry your future in my womb.”

* * *

Charity hadn’t meant to impart the news quite that way.

She had intended to come over slightly more vulnerable. That was the entire point behind coming in her waitressing outfit. The entire point to not dressing up, to show him the way that she really lived.

Maybe it was stupid to try and engender his sympathy, for a second time, but she needed him to understand that she wasn’t living large with his money. Because his money was exactly what she needed.

For her new life. For her.

For the baby.

It was still so surreal. More surreal than sleeping with a stranger at all, was the realization that she had created a life with one. That there would be a person on earth who would share DNA that belonged in part to her, and in part to him. It didn’t seem fair, really. Not to her, not to the child. She didn’t much care if it was fair to Rocco.

There were certain things she could never provide for a child, not with her income. And really, she shouldn’t be ashamed. This was a sacrifice of her pride, to ensure that her child was taken care of. To ensure the child had everything it deserved.

She didn’t want him to play the part of daddy, and try to make a happy family with her. Far from it. She just needed his money.

But, she felt she had a legitimate claim on it, considering.

She ignored the slight jab in her conscience that reminded her she had already taken some of his money.

But I don’t have it. And so neither will the baby.

She needed the baby to have it. Otherwise, what could she offer? It was either life with the server’s wages, or life that looked a lot like hers had when she’d been growing up. Moving from place to place, running cons.

She didn’t want that for her child. She wanted better. She wanted the best. She wanted to try and figure out how to be a good mother. She wanted to figure out how to be something other than a thief.

It had been nearly thirty seconds since she had dropped her bombshell, and Rocco still hadn’t spoken. Charity didn’t feel obligated to fill the silence. He deserved to feel the same shock she had felt when she had taken the test. When she had seen the little pink lines that had changed everything.

Yes, they had used a condom, but she knew enough to know that they did fail sometimes. And anyway, no amount of arguing that point with the universe would take back what had been done.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel she was being punished for the way she’d handled things. Had she refused him, she would simply be in jail rather than expecting a baby.

That thought almost made her laugh. Just because it was so absurd. Just because she could hardly feel any regrets over sidestepping prison. No matter what else had happened since.