Читать книгу Cinderella's Scandalous Secret - Melanie Milburne, Melanie Milburne - Страница 11

ISLA CHANGED OUT of her work uniform and back into her street clothes. Gone were the designer threads Rafe had bought her. She had left everything behind, wanting no reminders of their fling—other than the one she carried within her body. These days she wore practical and cheap off-the-peg casual outfits.

She stepped into her black leggings and pulled on her long-sleeved jersey top, but rather than disguise her shape, her clothes drew attention to it. She stroked her hand over the bulge of her belly. Surely the baby hadn’t grown in the last few minutes? She pulled the garment away from her abdomen but as soon as she let it go it lovingly draped across her body as if to say, Look at my baby bump!

Isla picked up her jacket even though it was a little warm to wear it inside. She fed her arms through the sleeves and tied the waist ties around her middle. She glanced at herself again in the changing room mirror, doing her best to ignore the niggling of her conscience over the lengths she was going to in order to keep her pregnancy concealed from Rafe.

She took out her small make-up kit from her tote bag and did what she could to freshen up her features. Concealer—her new best friend—was first, followed by a tinted moisturiser and some strategically placed eyeshadow to bring out the blue in her eyes. She followed that up with bronzer, highlighter, lip-gloss and a decent coat of mascara, a part of her wondering why she was going to so much trouble. But, in a way, make-up was another form of armour and, God knew, she needed a heck of a lot of armour around Rafe Angeliri.

Isla released the ties of her jacket and skimmed her hand over her belly again. Was it her imagination or was her baby more active than usual? She was so used to calling it her baby but it was Rafe’s baby too. The prod from her conscience was like the stab of a dart to the heart. Rafe’s baby. Of course, he had a right to know. Hadn’t she always believed that to be the case? His New York deal was finalised now, so why shouldn’t she tell him about the baby? There was a risk he might reject the child, but she wouldn’t insist on his involvement if he didn’t wish it.

The thought of her baby being rejected by Rafe made her heart tighten. The last thing she wanted for her child was a reluctant father. Isla had experienced one of those and look how that had turned out. Rejection. It might as well have been her middle name instead of Rebecca. Years and years in and out of foster homes, never belonging to anyone, never being chosen for an open adoption. Never feeling loved.

No. Her baby deserved better and she would do everything in her power to give her child the best upbringing she could, with or without Rafe’s support.

Isla drew in a shuddering breath and retied her jacket around her waist. She would look for an opportunity to tell him during their catch-up drink rather than dump it on him straight away. She knew that much about him—he didn’t like surprises.

The hotel bar was downstairs on a mezzanine level and Isla walked in with a tight band of tension around her head and her stomach like a nest of agitated ants. Rafe was seated in a quiet corner on one of two burgundy-coloured leather chesterfield tub chairs and, as if he sensed the precise moment she arrived, he looked up from his phone and locked gazes with her. A zap of awareness shot through her body. They might as well have been the only people in the bar—the only people on the planet. The only people in the universe. She couldn’t look away if she tried. Her gaze was tethered by his, her body under his command as if he had programmed her to his particular coordinates.

He was still wearing the dark blue business suit and white shirt but he had since put on a silver and black striped tie. That small gesture had a strange effect on her, momentarily ambushing her feelings. Feminist she might be, but she had always admired his attention to the old-fashioned manners of dating. During their fling, she hadn’t opened a single car door for herself. He had always walked on the road side of the footpath...he had never sat down before she was seated. It was so starkly different from the way other men in her past life had treated her and she had lapped it up, enjoying every moment of feeling like someone of value.

Rafe rose from the chair as she approached, his gaze sweeping over her in an assessing manner. ‘You look very beautiful but I quite liked you in that sexy housemaid outfit.’ His voice had a rough edge and his rich Italian accent seemed even more pronounced.

Isla had always been a sucker for his accent. She had worked on her regional Scottish accent for years, doing all she could to rid herself of any trace of her chaotic and underprivileged childhood. These days, no one would ever guess she hadn’t been educated at an exclusive fee-paying Edinburgh school and that was the way she wanted it.

Isla gave him a stiff-lipped, no-teeth smile and, finally tearing her gaze away, sat in the chair beside his, placing her tote bag on the floor next to her chair. ‘I hope there isn’t a policy about hotel cleaning staff fraternising with guests but here goes.’

‘If there is any issue I will deal with it,’ Rafe said and then frowned. ‘Don’t you want to take off your coat? It’s warm in here.’

‘No. Not yet.’ Isla couldn’t meet his gaze and picked up the cocktails menu and pretended an avid interest in the selection.

‘What would you like to drink?’ Rafe signalled the drinks waiter.

‘Something soft—lemonade.’

His ink-black eyebrows rose. ‘What about some champagne? Or a cocktail? You used to love—’

‘You know that saying: when life hands you lemons?’ Isla sent him a wry look and leaned forward to place the cocktail menu back on the table between them. ‘Suffice it to say, I’ve developed quite a taste for lemonade.’

Rafe gave the order for drinks to the waiter, who had just then approached, and once the young man had left Rafe turned back to study Isla’s expression for a long moment. ‘You don’t seem yourself. Does my company distress you that much?’

Isla could feel the heat crawling into her cheeks and right now the last thing she needed was more warmth on her person. Her jacket was making her feel as if she were sitting in a sauna. ‘It was quite a shock running into you like that while I was doing your room. I...I haven’t quite recovered.’ She was pleased with her response. It sounded reasonable and it was more or less the truth. She would probably never recover.

‘Yes, indeed it was.’

The silence contained an undertow of tension that tugged at Isla’s already fraught nerves.

The waiter came over with their drinks, setting them down in front of them and discreetly melting away.

Rafe watched Isla take a generous sip of her lemonade with a slight frown between his eyes as if he couldn’t quite understand why she wasn’t sipping a Bellini instead. The lemonade was cold and sweet but it did nothing to reduce the tide of colour she could feel in her cheeks. Beads of perspiration formed under her hairline and between her shoulder blades but the thought of removing her jacket and letting her body deliver the message for her was suddenly too daunting.

Isla put her glass back on the table and forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘You’re not happy.’ It was a statement, not a question.

Isla pushed a strand of sticky hair back off her face, uncomfortable with his probing scrutiny. Uncomfortable that he could see things she had fought so hard to conceal. ‘I hardly see why that is any business of yours.’

‘I could have made you happy, cara.’ The pitch of his voice lowered to a low growl of bitterness.

She crossed one leg over the other and moved her top foot up and down in jerky movements. ‘How? By dressing me up like some sort of doll? A toy you played with only when the fancy took you. No thanks.’

A brooding frown entered his gaze. ‘I told you how important that deal was to me. Bruno Romano was a nightmare to negotiate a coffee date with, let alone a hotel chain that size. I’m sorry if you read that as neglect.’

Isla picked up her glass of lemonade again, the ice cubes rattling against the glass betraying her nervousness in Rafe’s presence. She had to find a way to tell him about the baby, but how? Meeting him like this was crazy, but hadn’t she always been a little crazy where he was concerned? Her feelings for him were so confusing. There were times when she didn’t even like him and yet her body adored him. Her body craved him like a powerful drug. Damn it, her body even recognised him. She could feel the tingles and fizzes moving through her flesh just by sitting within reach of him, every cell of her body vibrating.

She took another sip of her lemonade. ‘So, why are you interested in this hotel? I didn’t realise Scotland was on your radar.’

‘It wasn’t until I met you. You awakened my interest.’ Rafe lifted his small dram of whisky to his mouth and took a measured sip, savouring the taste for a moment before he swallowed. Isla couldn’t tear her gaze away from the up and down movement of his tanned throat, her eyes drifting to the dark stubble around his mouth and jaw. She tightened her hand around her glass, remembering how it felt to run her fingertips over that sexy regrowth, remembering the way it felt grazing against the soft skin of her breasts. On her inner thighs...

She glanced at him again with her making-polite-conversation expression in place. ‘So, are you going to buy it?’

He cradled the whisky glass in two hands, his long strong fingers overlapping. That was another thing she remembered—how those clever fingers could wreak such havoc on her senses when they got down to business on her body. His gaze tethered hers in a lock that made her inner core contract like the tightening of a small fist. ‘I like what I’ve seen so far.’ Somehow, she didn’t think he was still talking about the hotel.

Isla released a shuddery breath and took another sip of her lemonade, acutely conscious of his probing gaze. She was too warm from still wearing her jacket, or maybe it was being within touching distance of the man who had scorched every inch of her body with his touch.

Rafe leaned forward and put his whisky glass on the small table between their chairs and then sat back, his hands resting on his thighs. ‘Tell me why you quit your Fine Arts degree.’

Isla shrugged one shoulder and rolled one of her ankles to burn off restless energy. You should have told him by now. Her conscience was jabbing at her but she couldn’t work up the courage. ‘I lost interest after I came back to the UK. I’d already missed half of one semester by staying in Italy with you. I only planned on going for a two-week sketching holiday if you remember.’

‘But you could have made it up, surely?’

‘I couldn’t be bothered.’ She looked into the contents of her glass rather than hold his gaze. ‘It was a pipe dream to think I could make a career out of painting portraits. I decided it wasn’t worth the effort of trying.’

His frown deepened. ‘But surely cleaning hotel rooms isn’t going to satisfy you long-term?’

Pride stiffened Isla’s shoulders and sharpened her gaze. ‘Careful, Rafe. Your privileged upbringing is showing. Anyway, my friend Layla has made a career out of it—or is starting to.’

‘But you’re an artist, not a businesswoman.’

Isla affected a laugh. ‘You make it sound like you know me. You don’t.’

‘I know you well enough to know you will not be satisfied unless you express your creativity.’ Rafe leaned forward so his forearms were resting on his thighs, his gaze trained intently on hers. ‘I have a proposition for you. Business, not personal.’

Isla raised her brows. ‘Oh? Let me guess... You want me to paint your portrait?’

He gave a twisted smile. ‘No. My grandmother, actually. My mother’s mother. She’s about to turn ninety. She’s difficult to please. I don’t think she’s liked a single thing I’ve bought for her. But I thought a portrait would make a nice birthday present for her.’

Isla chewed at one side of her mouth. How ironic her first ever commission offer came from Rafe. Of course, she couldn’t accept. But the thought of the money he might be prepared to pay her gave her pause. Why would he want to commission her, though? Did he think he could talk her into another fling with him? But, even so, she couldn’t help feeling intrigued about his family. He had rarely mentioned anything about his background and she’d been deliberately evasive about hers. They had somehow come to a tacit agreement to leave the topic of families alone.

‘Surely there are other artists, much more established artists, you could commission?’ she asked.

‘I want you.’ His eyes glittered with something that seemed to suggest it wasn’t just her artistic ability he was solely interested in.

The thought of resuming their affair was strangely exciting. Thrilling and exciting and dangerous.

But completely and utterly out of the question.

Isla leaned forward to put her drink on the table and began to rise from her chair. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not available.’

Rafe placed a hand on her knee before she could stand, locking his gaze with hers. ‘Think about it, Isla. You can name your price.’

She was close enough to him to smell his citrus-based aftershave. Close enough to see the flecks of brown and green in his eyes that made his irises look kaleidoscopic. The warm press of his hand on her knee sent a wave of heat straight to her core, stirring wickedly erotic memories in her flesh.

The air seemed to vibrate with energy. Sexual energy so powerful she could feel its tug-tug-tug on her insides, reminding her of the wickedly erotic delights she had experienced in his arms. Delights she had not been able to erase from her memory. They were seared into her brain and body so that every time he was within reach of her, her flesh tingled and prickled with excitement.

Isla knew she had to put a stop to this. Right here. Right now. She couldn’t agree to spending time with Rafe—not under any circumstances. He’d said she could name her price but wouldn’t she be paying the biggest price in the end? She pushed his hand off her knee. ‘Rafe, there’s something I need to tell you...’

‘What?’

She brought her gaze to his and swallowed against the restriction in her throat. ‘The reason I left you so abruptly...’ Oh, God, why was this so difficult? ‘I was scared about how you’d react and I—’

A frown carved into his forehead. ‘Did you cheat on me? Tell me, Isla. Were you unfaithful?’ His tone contained more hurt than anger. It seemed to bruise the atmosphere like mottled clouds.

Isla had a strange desire to laugh at the absurdity of the notion of her being unfaithful. He was the most amazing, exciting, thrilling lover and she had missed him every day since. And probably would for the rest of her life. No one would ever rise above the benchmark he had set. ‘No, of course not. No, it wasn’t anything like that.’

‘Then what was it?’

She took a deep breath and slowly released it. ‘I’m...pregnant.’

He looked at her blankly as if he hadn’t registered what she’d said.

‘Rafe, I’m having a baby.’ She undid the ties from around her waist, gradually revealing the swell of her abdomen. His eyebrows drew together as realisation slowly dawned on his features, leaching him of colour, stiffening every muscle on his face.

‘You’re...pregnant?’ His voice sounded nothing like his. Locked. Tight. Strangled. His Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, a host of emotions flickering over his face—shock, horror, anger. And, yes, hurt. Waves of it rippling like an eddying tide.

Isla pressed her hands together in her lap. Here it comes. The rejection. Cold dripped into her stomach, the icy shards slicing at her insides. I’m so sorry, little baby. This is all my fault. ‘I didn’t want to tell you because—’

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times as if his voice had momentarily deserted him. ‘Is it...mine?’

‘I...’ Her voice deserted her for a moment as the pain of his question hit home. Of course, he had every right to ask but it hurt to think he thought her capable of such betrayal. She might not have been honest with him about her background but she would never cheat on a partner. It went against her moral code.

His eyes drilled into hers. ‘Answer the question, damn it.’

Isla gave a single nod. ‘Yes. Of course, it is. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before—’

Rafe shot to his feet like his chair had exploded. ‘Wait—I’m not having this discussion in a freaking wine bar. Upstairs. Now.’ His voice had that commanding edge that never failed to put her back up like a cornered cat.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea right now—’

‘You will do as I say. You owe me that, surely?’ His mouth was pulled so tight his lips were almost bloodless, his eyes flashing with livid sparks of anger.

Isla put up her chin. ‘You can tell me to get out of your life here. You don’t need me to go up to your room.’

He flinched as if she had struck him. ‘Is that how poorly you think of me?’

Isla no longer knew what to think. He wasn’t acting the way she’d expected. He was angry, yes, but for some reason she sensed he was angrier with himself than with her. She didn’t want to create a scene in a public place so gave in with as little grace as possible, not wanting him to think he could boss her around like one of his employees. She rose from her chair like a sulky teenager being sent to her room, her mouth set in a stubborn line. She hoisted her tote bag strap onto her shoulder and sent him a mutinous glare. ‘You can cool it with the caveman routine. You should know by now it doesn’t work with me.’

‘Nothing seems to work with you, does it?’ Rafe’s tone was so cutting it shredded her already frayed nerves like a sword slashing satin ribbons. He led her to the private elevator that went to his penthouse, his fingers firmly cupping her elbow. He stabbed at the call button, his expression thunderous, but underneath that dark brooding tension Isla could see tiny flickers of hurt. And it shamed her. She hadn’t thought in any detail about how he would feel if he ever found out about the pregnancy. Or at least she had tried not to think about it. She had been too concerned about protecting him from her past, protecting herself from the shame of it being splashed over every newspaper or online news or gossip outlet. She had fooled herself into thinking Rafe would be better off not knowing about his love-child—that it was easier for her to disappear than to risk him demanding she marry him or insist she have an abortion.

The elevator trip to the penthouse was conducted in a silence so thick Isla could feel it pressing against her like a dense invisible fog. Every breath she took in caught at the back of her throat, every second that passed heightened the tension in her body until she thought she would snap. The mirrored walls reflected Rafe’s demeanour—the tension rippling across his features as if he was recalling every moment of their fling and wondering how it had come to this point.

‘Rafe, I—’ she began.

‘Wait until we are inside.’ His tone was as commanding as a drill sergeant and the elevator doors whooshed open as if they too were frightened to disobey his orders.

Isla followed him into the penthouse, the door closing behind him with a resounding kerplunk that set her stomach churning fast enough to make butter. She let her bag drop to the floor with a thump, her legs feeling so feeble that they might go from beneath her. Tension was building behind her eyes and she worried she might be getting another one of the debilitating headaches that had plagued her during early pregnancy.

He came to where she was standing, his gaze focused, direct, searching. ‘So, let me get this straight. You knew you were pregnant before you left?’

Isla drew in a shaky breath. ‘Yes...’

His own inward breath sounded sharp and painful and he swallowed a couple of times, the tanned column of his throat moving up and down in an almost convulsive manner. ‘How did it happen?’

‘The usual way...’

He made an impatient sound in his throat. ‘You told me you were on the Pill and I always used condoms. You can’t get much safer than that.’ His gaze sharpened with accusation. ‘Unless you lied to me?’

‘I was on the Pill but I might have compromised its effectiveness that weekend we went to Paris. I got a stomach bug, if you remember? And you didn’t always use a condom.’ She lifted her chin and forced herself to hold his gaze. ‘We made love in the shower a couple of times without.’

Something passed through his gaze, as if he was recalling those passionate lovemaking sessions in intimate detail like replaying an erotic film. Images of them locked together with steamy shower water cascading over their rocking bodies. Images of him with his mouth sucking on her breast or her sucking on him, drawing his essence from him until he groaned out loud, his legs buckling at the knees. Or her with her hands flat against the marble walls of the shower with him driving into her from behind, her cries of earth-shattering pleasure filling the air. The warm cascading water. The slick press of their bodies. The need. The need. The need. The explosion of release that left them both gasping under the spray of the shower...

‘And do you have a good reason for not telling me you were pregnant before now?’ His voice sounded as intimidating as a headmaster admonishing a recalcitrant student, but his eyes still pulsed with waves of hurt.

Isla hugged her arms around her middle, trying to keep control of her escalating emotions. ‘I was worried you might pressure me into having a termination and—’

His frown was so deep it closed the space between his eyes. ‘Do you really think I would do something like that? For God’s sake, Isla. Surely you know me better than that?’ His ragged tone contained deep notes of anguish along with the chord of anger.

Guilt rained down on her like hail, making her huddle further into herself, her gaze lowered from his. Had she made a mistake? Had she seriously misjudged him? Would it have been better to be honest with him from the outset? Hindsight was all very well, but she had thought she was doing the right thing at the time. The shock of finding out she was pregnant had thrown her completely. In her panicked state, it had felt safer to leave than have him send her away.

Hadn’t she been sent away too many times in her childhood to count?

‘I didn’t know what to think,’ Isla said, slowly raising her gaze back to his. ‘I wasn’t prepared to hang around long enough to risk you doing something radical like asking me to marry you or—’

‘Well, at least you do know that much about me, because that’s exactly what I plan to do.’ The stridency in his voice was matched by the glint of determination in his gaze. ‘I’m not having any child of mine grow up illegitimate. I want it to have my name and my protection. I can’t—won’t—accept any other alternative. We will be married as soon as it can be arranged.’

Isla’s mouth dropped open and her stomach turned over. ‘You can’t be serious? We’re practically strangers who—’

‘We spent two months living and sleeping together. That’s hardly what I’d call the action of strangers. We’ve made a child together. That’s not something that I can approach in a casual manner. Formalising our relationship is the next step. The only step.’ He walked over to the minibar and took out a bottle of mineral water, holding it up. ‘Drink?’

Isla nodded; her mouth was so dry it felt like she had been licking the plush carpet at her feet. ‘I can’t marry you, Rafe. I won’t marry you.’

‘You can and you will.’ His mouth had a stubborn set to it, his eyes now as hard as lichen-covered stones. ‘I am not taking no for an answer.’ He unscrewed the top of the mineral water with a loud hiss of released effervescence and poured it into two glasses and then turned back to hand her one.

Isla took the glass from him with a hand that was visibly trembling. ‘Rafe...be sensible about this. Marriage between us would never work.’

Lingerie waitress weds Sicilian hotel billionaire? How would she cope with the shame of her past splashed over every paper and news outlet?

‘We will make it work for the sake of our child.’ His jaw was set in an intractable line. ‘How far along are you? Are you feeling well?’ His tone softened a fraction, his eyes losing their hard glitter to be replaced by a shadow of concern. ‘I’m sorry, I should have asked earlier.’

Isla put her glass down on a nearby table and then placed a hand on her small baby bump. ‘I am now... I was more or less constantly sick for a couple of months. I’m five months into the pregnancy. I’m due around Christmas.’

His eyes went to where her hand was resting, his throat moving up and down over another swallow. He stepped closer, coming to stand in front of her. ‘Can you feel the baby moving?’

‘I started feeling it moving around the sixteen-week mark. Here—’ She reached for his hand and laid it on the swell of her abdomen, watching his face as their baby gave tiny kicks. ‘Can you feel it kicking? There—feel that?’

Rafe was standing so close she could see the dark and generous spray of stubble around his mouth and jaw. She could smell the sharp notes of citrus in his aftershave, redolent of sun-warmed lemons. She could feel the magnetic pull of his body making her ache to close the small distance to mesh her body to his—thigh to thigh, pelvis to pelvis. Why couldn’t she be immune to him? Why did her body have to betray her? Could he sense the storm of hungry need he caused in her flesh? A need he had awakened.

His gaze softened in wonder as the baby moved against the press of his hand. ‘That’s amazing...’ His voice became husky. ‘Do you know the sex?’

‘No. I didn’t want to find out until the birth.’

The baby quietened and Rafe removed his hand and stepped back, his expression hardening once more. ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’ The note of accusation in his voice was sobering.

Isla moved to a little distance away so he wouldn’t see how much she ached for him to hold her, to comfort her, to reassure her. I was only trying to protect you. The words were assembled like soldiers on the back of her tongue but she couldn’t give the command for them to march forward. What good would it do? The less he knew about her reasons for not telling him the better. ‘I decided it was better for both of us if I just quietly disappeared from your life.’

‘You decided.’ He spat the words out like bullets. ‘You had no right to decide for me.’ He thumped his fist against his chest for emphasis. ‘I had a right to know I was to become a father. And my child has a right to know me. To have me in its life.’ He swung away with a muttered curse, his hand scraping through the thickness of his hair so roughly she was surprised some of it didn’t come out at the roots. He turned back and glared at her. ‘For God’s sake, Isla. Do you know how it feels for me to find out like this?’

Isla bit her lip, the tension in her head now feeling like needles poking into the back of her eyeballs. ‘Look, I know it must be upsetting but—’

‘Upsetting?’ He gave a rough humourless laugh. ‘Now that’s an understatement. You denied me knowledge of my child. You planned to keep my child away from me indefinitely. Don’t you think I have the right to be a little upset?’

Isla closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to quell the stabbing pain behind her eyes. ‘I was worried you would do exactly what you’re doing. Barking commands at me as if I have no will of my own.’ She dropped her hand from her face and sent him a defiant look. ‘I will not marry you just because you insist on it. Lots of couples have babies together without marrying. And yes, even couples who are no longer together.’

His eyes clashed with hers in a battle she fought not to lose, but in the end, Isla was the first to look away. She couldn’t cope with him when she was feeling so fragile. She couldn’t cope with him, full stop. He was too commanding. Too directive. Too everything.

‘You will marry me, Isla.’ His voice had a steely thread that sent a chill rolling down her spine like a runaway ice cube. ‘For, believe me, you might not like the alternative. If there were to be a custody battle between us, I can assure you I will win it.’

The pain behind Isla’s eyes intensified to a piercing drill that felt like it was burrowing deep into her brain. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. He was threatening to take her baby off her once it was born? He would be able to do it too. It wouldn’t take too much digging into her background to cast doubt on her suitability as a mother. Those topless photos she’d stupidly been talked into doing for her ‘portfolio’, for instance. Who would ever believe she hadn’t done them willingly? That she had been duped into making those shamelessly provocative poses, never realising how they might come back to haunt her. The photos alone might not be enough in a court of law to take her baby off her, but the thought of having those lewd photos out in public, splashed over newspapers and gossip magazines, was too much to bear.

Rafe’s veiled threat only confirmed why she hadn’t told him she was pregnant in the first place. He could be coldly ruthless when he needed to be. How else had he accumulated the amount of wealth he owned?

Her vision became blurred and the room began to tilt and sway as if gravity had been removed. She reached out her hand for the nearest solid object to stabilise herself but misjudged the distance. Her hand patted at mid-air and then a tide of nausea swept over her in an icy wave that prickled her scalp and sent pins and needles to her fingertips.

‘Isla?’

She was vaguely conscious of Rafe’s concerned tone but she couldn’t get her voice to do anything much past a mumble. And then she folded like a ragdoll and slumped to the floor and everything faded to black...

Rafe rushed to Isla’s slumped figure on the floor, his heart thumping in dread. ‘Isla? Are you okay?’ He was shocked at her pallid complexion—shocked and shamed that he had caused her to drop down in a faint.

He put her in the recovery position and then took her pulse, finding it more or less normal. A tornado of guilt assailed him, hammering into him with the force of knockout blows. He brushed the hair back from her clammy forehead, willing her to open her eyes. ‘Come on, cara. Talk to me.’

What sort of man had he become in the last hour? It was unforgivable to harangue a pregnant woman into a state of collapse. Sweat broke out over his own forehead, remorse like bitter bile in his mouth. He was disgusted with himself, furious he had been so intent on communicating his ire that he hadn’t considered her mental and physical state. She was pregnant, for God’s sake—with his child.

He realised with a jolt of remorse that he hadn’t even asked her how she felt about being pregnant. Whether or not the news had pleased her or shocked her. Had she considered other options? He would not have criticised her for considering a termination. He would not have criticised her for having one because he firmly believed it was a woman’s choice what she did with her body. But there was a place deep inside his heart that felt relieved she hadn’t chosen that path. He was going to be a father. It was still hard to get his head around but the evidence had kicked against his hand only minutes ago. ‘Come on, mio piccolo. Talk to me.’

Isla slowly opened her eyes and groaned. ‘My head aches...’

Rafe gently placed his palm on her forehead. ‘I’ll call an ambulance. I need to get you to hospital.’ He reached for his phone in his trouser pocket but she placed a hand on his arm.

‘No, please don’t. It’s just a tension headache. I’ve been getting them now and again. I don’t need to go to hospital... I think it’s because my blood sugar is a bit low.’

He helped her into a sitting position, cradling her around the shoulders with his arm, his other hand gently stroking the red-gold curls of her hair off her forehead. ‘When did you last have something to eat?’

She gave a weary-sounding sigh. ‘I don’t know...a few hours ago. I skipped lunch as I was running late and—’

‘Right, well, that makes me all the more determined you’re coming back with me to Italy,’ Rafe said. ‘You have to think about the baby. You can’t go skipping meals and working long hours in a physically demanding job. Not when I can more than adequately provide for you.’

Isla gave him one of her combative looks but it didn’t have its normal heat and fire. ‘Must you be so bull-headed? I’ve told you I don’t want to marry you.’