Читать книгу Her Sicilian Baby Revelation / The Greek's One-Night Heir: Her Sicilian Baby Revelation / The Greek's One-Night Heir - Мишель Смарт, Natalie Anderson - Страница 18

‘ARE YOU OKAY?’

Ever since they’d left the government offices where they’d officially added Tonino’s name as father on Finn’s birth certificate, Orla had lapsed into silence. Her head was turned from him, her body pressed against the door as if she were preparing to make an escape the moment the car came to a stop.

‘I’m fine.’ Her tone suggested she was far from fine.

‘You do know this is for the best?’

She twisted her head to meet his stare and sighed. ‘Yes. I do know that. Whether you believe me or not, I always intended to tell you about Finn. Always.’

Tonino looked at his son—now his legal son—fast asleep in his car seat.

He wanted to believe her. For their son’s sake. But he couldn’t escape the one verifiable fact that she’d made the deliberate choice to keep him in the dark about the pregnancy before the accident. Blaming Sophia’s deliberate sabotage was too easy—and he did believe that Sophia had confronted her; it was exactly the kind of thing the poisonous bitch would do—Orla should have told him about the pregnancy whether she believed he was engaged or not. Instead she had chosen to swallow Sophia’s lies and deprive him of the wonder of experiencing the pregnancy with her, which in turn had led to depriving him of over the first three years of his son’s life. Tonino, as his parents would testify, had never been one for forgiving or forgetting.

‘Can I ask you something?’ she said after a long period of time had passed when he’d left her assertion unacknowledged.

He loosened his tense shoulders and inclined his head. ‘Anything.’

‘Last night you said our fathers were old friends. Did you know Salvatore well?’

‘Well enough. Why do you ask?’

‘I know so little about him. I don’t like to ask Dante because I can see it makes him uncomfortable. I think he feels guilty that they had such a great relationship while I was this dirty little secret.’

He could understand why she felt like that. No one had known of Salvatore Moncada’s secret love child, not even Tonino’s own father, who had been Salvatore’s closest friend.

He wondered how his father would react when he learned Salvatore’s illegitimate daughter was the mother of his grandchild. Probably with open arms. His mother too. There hadn’t been a single conversation between Tonino and his parents in recent years where the subject of him settling down and having babies hadn’t come up, the implication being he needed to find a suitable replacement for the fiancée he’d so callously thrown away. In his parents’ eyes, Sophia had been perfect. Beautiful and rich and from a good Sicilian family. Their engagement had been celebrated in the same way the British celebrated a royal engagement. Their fury at him ending it had been off the charts. They’d taken it personally. They’d accused him of disrespecting the family name and destroying the decades-long friendship with the Messinas. There had been threats. At one point he’d thought his mother was going to slap his face.

That marriage to Sophia would have seen Tonino spend his life in misery hadn’t concerned either of them.

With a sigh, he tried to think positively of his parents. He’d had the security of their unconditional love for the first thirty years of his life whereas Orla had never met her father and as for her mother…where was she? She’d missed Aislin’s wedding. Orla rarely spoke of her. She might as well not exist.

‘Your father was a man of many contradictions,’ he told her heavily.

‘In what way?’

He thought of the best way to put it before saying, ‘He was a womaniser and a gambler. But he was also a great raconteur. He could tell the most boring story and make it funny. He was not a man anyone would trust to lend money to if they wanted to get it back and definitely not someone any man could trust to leave his wife alone in a room with.’

Her eyes widened with alarm. ‘He was a sex pest?’

‘No. Women loved him. Some loved him a little too much. He broke many hearts.’

Her lips tightened as she considered this before giving a decisive nod. ‘He didn’t break my mother’s heart.’

‘Then she was clever enough not to involve her heart.’

‘But not clever enough not to get herself pregnant by a married man.’ She closed her eyes and rested her head against the leather upholstery. ‘Still, who am I to judge her for it? I did exactly the same thing.’

‘I wasn’t married, and neither was I engaged,’ he told her firmly. ‘And I shouldn’t have to tell you that you didn’t get pregnant on your own. We were both there.’

She twisted her head again to look back at him. The faintest trace of colour flared on her cheeks as she asked, ‘Didn’t we use protection?’

‘Of course we did.’

‘Then how did I end up pregnant?’

‘We weren’t always as careful as we should have been…’ He thought of the few times they’d come together in their sleep, Tonino already deep inside her before waking fully and realising he hadn’t put a condom on. He’d withdrawn to sheath himself, knowing even then what a huge risk they’d taken. It was a risk he had never taken before or since, half asleep or otherwise.

Gazing into her confused green eyes, he felt the burn in his loins that had been such a huge part of him in their time together afresh and found himself leaning closer to her, close enough that the soft scent of her perfume coiled into his aroused senses. ‘Do you not remember?’

The colour on her cheeks became a burn to match what was happening in his loins. ‘No.’

‘But you remember us?’

‘I remember most of it, but I don’t remember…’ she swallowed ‘…the actual act.’

He leaned a little closer still and lowered his voice. ‘There was more than one act.’

Her jaw clenched while her eyes darkened and her voice lowered to match his. ‘I don’t remember anything we did in bed.’

‘It wasn’t always in a bed.’

Now her face inched closer to him, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘I don’t need to know the details.’

‘But I can help you remember.’

Her lips parted. Their faces were so close that he could feel the heat of her breath brushing like the lightest petal against his mouth. And then she closed her eyes tightly, reared away from him and snapped her eyes back open with a glare. ‘I don’t want to remember, thank you very much.’

He laughed at this blatant lie. The constriction in his trousers burned but he welcomed it. He would bet his favourite house that Orla was suffering the feminine version of his burn. ‘Scared you’ll remember how good it was?’

‘More like I’m afraid to remember how awful it was,’ Orla retorted as airily as she could, resisting the urge to cross her legs tightly for fear that he would know why she was crossing them.

She’d been about to kiss him. Her mouth had practically salivated in anticipation. The most intimate part of her had throbbed then flooded with a warmth that still tingled acutely.

‘The brain is a funny thing, but it does try to protect the body it’s encased in,’ she added.

Her attempt to stab at the heart of his ego ended in failure. His voice became a sensuous purr that sent fresh tingles careering over her already sensitised skin. ‘I can help you remember, dolcezza. All you have to do is say the word.’

‘And what word would that be? Do I wave my hand in the air, yell out “sex” and you whisk me to bed?’ She regretted her flippant remark the moment it left her mouth.

Tonino leaned in even closer, eyes gleaming. ‘That sounds good to me. Or you can do what you did on our third night together.’

Orla knew she was taking the bait of the trap he’d laid but was unable to stop herself from whispering, ‘What did I do?’

The gleam deepened, the strong nostrils flaring as he stared at her appreciatively and put his mouth to her ear. ‘You performed a seductive striptease for me then lay on my bed naked and touched yourself—’

‘I did no such thing,’ she cut in angrily, rearing away from him. She would never do such a thing. Hadn’t her grandmother always told her that anything but straight penetrative sex within the confines of marriage was for harlots, the inference being harlots like Orla’s mother? For sure, Tonino was the sexiest man she’d ever set eyes on and for sure her body reacted in wanton ways she’d never dreamed of, but to touch herself for his titillation…?

Never.

Please, God, let it not be true.

Now Tonino was the one to rear back. The look he cast her only made her feel more mortified. ‘Dio, you really don’t remember, do you?’

The car came to a stop.

Right on cue, Finn woke up.

Cheeks flaming with humiliation, Orla removed Finn from his car seat. She was halfway up the steps of the medical centre for his physiotherapy appointment when she realised she’d failed to put him in his wheelchair and still had him in her arms.

Tonino, Orla decided, was some kind of mind guru. For the third time in two days he’d steamrollered her into doing something she’d thought she would never agree to, in this case, leaving Finn with the duty nurse and letting him take her out to dinner.

He’d had those powers over her from the beginning. When he’d knocked on her hotel door four years ago and asked if he could take her out for coffee the next morning, the automatic refusal that had formed on her tongue had turned into a beaming, ‘I would like that.’

She hated that the same excitement thrummed through her veins as it had then. She hated that she’d found herself trying over and over to capture the memories of them making love. And she hated that whenever she caught Tonino’s gaze, his knowing glimmer suggested he knew exactly what she was thinking.

She especially hated that she’d spent an age getting ready. This was not a date. This was dinner. A chance for them to talk with privacy about how they were going to manage the future. She’d still spent an inordinate amount of time dithering over what to wear. In the end she’d settled on a pretty long-sleeved rust-coloured blouse and smart, fitted navy trousers, the two items separated by a chunky belt. She’d forgone her usual flat shoes for a pair of black heels. Outfit decided on, she’d then spent an even longer amount of time dithering over how to wear her hair and how much make-up to apply. She’d ended up leaving her hair loose and applying a little eyeliner and mascara, a touch of blusher and a nude lipstick. Dressed up but not overdone. There was no way Tonino could look at her and think she was dressing to attract him.

And yet, the appreciation in his eyes when she’d greeted him at the front door had almost had her running back up the stairs to change into a nun’s habit. Only the fact that she didn’t actually possess a nun’s habit had stopped her.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked when she realised they’d left the city and were driving through Ireland’s beautiful countryside. That was one thing she missed about her old home in Kerry—the scenery. The home she’d spent her life in had backed onto forest. They had awoken every morning to the sound of birds chirruping. Now she awoke to the sounds of cars hooting impatiently at each other.

‘You will see.’

Soon they’d turned up a narrow road lined with woodland. A mile later, the trees thinned and somehow curved into an arch to reveal a sprawling stone structure and immaculately kept sweeping gardens artfully filled with stone and marble benches and ornaments, a vast beautiful pond filled with waterlilies and with a wooden bridge traversing it. Dotted around the main structure were small cottages…

Her heart fluttered with excitement as she asked the question she already knew the answer to. ‘Is this Bally House?’ The pictures she had seen did not do it justice. It was like driving into a magical fairy tale.

His answering smile was definitely smug. ‘Sì.’

The driver pulled up in the large courtyard. As she climbed out, Orla noticed with a pang the young couple holding hands as they walked slowly over a meandering path, oblivious to anyone but each other under the setting sun.

Her fingers felt as if they’d had magnets inserted into the tips, pulling them towards Tonino’s hands. She folded her arms across her chest and rammed her hands between her sides and her arms.

They stepped into a large reception area. Three people working at the desk clocked their entrance and, in unison, straightened. The shortest of them, a middle-aged woman, hurried over to greet them.

‘Would you like a drink in the bar or to go straight to your table?’ she asked.