Читать книгу Modern Romance February 2020 Books 5-8 - Мишель Смарт, Natalie Anderson - Страница 21

ORLA LOOKED OUT of the car window, eyes straining for the first view of Tonino’s home.

Finn was beside himself with excitement. If her little trouper could have packed his own case, he would have done it within seconds of her telling him about their trip. Finn hadn’t immediately embraced Tonino as he’d done with Dante and she wondered if it was because Finn detected the threat Tonino posed to their family life. Whatever the reason behind it—and she wouldn’t ask unless it became a problem, as she didn’t want to feed ideas to him that might not already be there—she was glad he was excited to be back in Sicily and excited to be seeing his father.

There was no point denying the butterflies rampaging in her belly were testament to her own excitement. The leaping of her heart at every alert from her phone these past three days was testament too. The few times the alerts had come from Tonino…quite frankly she was surprised to find her heart still secure behind her ribs.

Hearing his voice down the line had had the effect of turning the thousands of miles between them into nothing. The deep tones would dive through her ears and heat her veins, sensitising her skin as acutely as if she were in the back of his car with him again, a recent memory that had had her clutching her cheeks in mortification so many times these past three days it was a wonder she hadn’t worn her cheekbones down.

This was how it had been for her four years ago, Orla turning into a walking tinderbox of feverish heat and heightened emotions. Her emotions were far more yo-yo-like than they had been then. Nothing could come of these feelings. She wanted to trust him but how could she after all the lies? And even if she found a way to trusting him, Tonino didn’t want her. He wanted their son. He might still desire her, but one look at her naked body would extinguish it. If she could hardly bring herself to look at her own reflection how could she expect him to react to it with anything but horror?

The winding, narrow road that they’d been driving on for the past five minutes, through fields of crops ready to be harvested, peaked. In the distance rose a salmon-coloured stone chateau.

Orla cleared her throat and pointed. ‘Look, Finn. That’s your daddy’s house.’ She could not say where this certainty came from, but she would bet her own house that it belonged to Tonino.

Finn strained against the restraints of his car seat, trying to get a decent view.

The closer they got, the more the chateau—at least, that was what she called it in her head—emerged, but it wasn’t until they drove through a high stone arch into an enormous courtyard that she fully appreciated its vast magnificence. The chateau surrounded the courtyard, which could double as a car park if the need arose, in a square. In the centre of the courtyard stood a fountain with a trio of cherubs in it, the water squirting from a certain part of the cherubs’ anatomy that had Finn squealing with laughter when he spotted it.

Baskets of flowers hung on the chateau’s walls, random palm trees adding additional colour, and Tonino…

Orla blinked and looked again.

Her heart soared and caught in her throat.

Tonino had emerged from nowhere, as if he’d slithered out of the chateau’s walls or, as was more likely, become flesh from a marble statue, Adonis brought to life. Unlike the marble statue of the naughty cherubs, Tonino was dressed, insofar as a pair of black shorts and a lazy grin could be considered as dressed.

The driver opened the door and, as Orla carried Finn out, Tonino walked over to them. The late afternoon sun beamed down and cast his bare chest in a hazy glow.

She remembered pressing her lips to that chest and inhaling the musky scent of his skin. She remembered rubbing her cheeks against the thick hair spread across it and marvelling at the contrasts between them, his masculinity and her femininity, as different as night from day yet the two of them coming together…

Their coming together was still a blank.

His dreamy chocolate eyes caught hers. His lazy grin widened before he planted a kiss right on her lips. Immediately her senses were assailed with the scents of salt, muskiness and the faint remnants of Tonino’s cologne. The stubble of his unshaved face rubbed against her cheek and when he broke the kiss as abruptly as he’d formed it, she had to stop her fingers from pressing against her tender, stubble-assaulted skin. She had to stop herself from swaying into him and pulling him back for another.

Before she had the chance to compose a greeting that didn’t make her sound like a brain-dead eejit, Tonino had lifted Finn from her arms.

‘How was the journey?’ He rubbed his nose against Finn’s in an affectionate gesture that sent her heart soaring all over again.

Only the good Lord knew how she untied her tongue to answer. ‘Fine.’

He looked back at her and shifted Finn on his hip. ‘My apologies for not sending my plane to you.’

She forced her vocal cords to cooperate. ‘I cannot believe you’re apologising for making us travel first class.’

‘It is an inconvenience for you.’

The serious way in which he declared this made her snort with laughter. ‘Seriously? First class an inconvenience? And you say I need to get some perspective?’

For a long moment Tonino stared at her, enjoying the way the sunlight bounced on her thick dark hair and injected it with strands of gold and red. ‘You look beautiful.’

As beautiful and as fresh as any flower his gardener coaxed into bloom on his estate.

Tonino had arrived back in Sicily a few hours earlier than expected. He would have flown to Ireland to collect them, but they’d already left for the airport. Finding himself pacing the chateau’s corridors and getting in the way of his live-in staff, he’d gone for a swim but quickly found himself bored so had resorted to playing tennis with his ball-launcher machine as an opponent. That had used up much of his latent energy but not all of it, not with the promise of Orla and his son arriving at any moment feeding him energy as quickly as he wore it out.

Gazing at her now, he felt as if he’d done no exercise at all. His veins still thrummed. His skin and loins still buzzed with anticipation.

The memory of what had taken place in the back of his car had shadowed his every waking moment since.

The three days away from Orla had passed slowly. A snail could have passed the time more quickly.

It had been the same when she’d disappeared four years ago. Life had suddenly gone from passing at breakneck speed to a crawl.

This time, he was certain the slowing of time had been because he’d been parted from his son. Already his feelings for Finn ran deep. They were feelings he’d never had before, different from any other emotion. Far different from the feelings he had for Finn’s mother. There was a purity to his feelings for Finn, a semi-conscious knowledge that for this child he would be prepared to kill to keep him safe. He would never allow his son to feel that the family name and Tonino’s pride meant more than Finn’s happiness. He would support his son and love him unconditionally.

His feelings for Orla were far more complicated. He hated her for keeping him in the dark about the pregnancy but relished being in her company. He wanted to punish her for her lies. He wanted to worship the body that had created something so special for them. He desired her. He fantasised about her. Orla being back in his life had set off a charge in his veins that time had dulled. He’d forgotten it could be so strong. She was the only woman the charge had scorched him for.

Dio, he longed to throw her on his bed, rip her clothes off and plunder that beautiful body. He longed to hear the soft moans that had once fallen from her lips. He longed to hear her pleas for more.

But this Orla was not the Orla of four years ago. That Orla had been impulsive. She had thrown caution to the wind and embraced the desire that had caught them both in its snare. For a short shameless passage of time she had sunk into the desire still binding them so tightly together. The way she had come undone for him had blown his mind. Orla had always blown his mind.

Four years ago they had been dynamite together and that explosive chemistry still bubbled strongly. If desire alone could bind Orla to him he’d have already won. But this Orla was a mother. Motherhood had made her cautious. She thought with her brain rather than be led by her desires. To get what he wanted, namely Finn permanently in his life, he needed to seduce her brain. He needed to make her feel that his home could be their home. Because to achieve what he wanted he needed to bring Orla into his life permanently too.

The next morning, Orla closed Finn’s bedroom door carefully and put her finger to her lips to remind her son to be quiet.

She needn’t have bothered with silence. No sooner had she taken her first step than Tonino’s bedroom door opened.

She could scream. Yet again he’d caught her at the crack of dawn looking as though she’d been dragged through a gooseberry bush backwards.

He caught the look on her face and grinned. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that I’m an early riser before you believe me?’

‘No one gets up this early voluntarily, not unless they’re a three-year-old child.’

‘Why doesn’t the nurse get up with him?’ he asked when they reached the kitchen, a space that was double the size of the ground floor of her old house. The scent of fresh coffee filled the room. So tantalising was it that Orla suddenly found herself craving a coffee for the first time in years.

‘It’s not her job.’ Tonino had been as good as his word at employing wraparound care for Finn here in Sicily. The nurses he’d employed worked shifts and were unobtrusive, present if needed but fading into the background when not required. They also spoke excellent English and had cared for children with cerebral palsy before.

‘Her job is whatever you require it to be.’ He opened a cupboard door. ‘It’s in the contract.’

‘Sure, but getting up and feeding my child is my job. Caring for my child is my job.’ And a job it had taken eighteen months of blood, sweat and tears to achieve.

He shut the cupboard he’d been looking through and opened the next one. ‘When was the last time you slept later than six a.m.?’

Her last night in the rehabilitation centre. ‘Years ago… What are you looking for?’

‘Finn’s cereal. I instructed my housekeeper to buy some for him.’

‘Where do you usually keep cereal?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘But it’s your kitchen.’

‘It’s my chef’s kitchen,’ he corrected. ‘I never cook, but I’m not a breakfast eater so she doesn’t usually start until ten. I’ll get her to start earlier while—’

‘Don’t you dare. There’s no need for the entire household to be up early just because of Finn.’

‘What if you want food too?’

‘I rarely eat more than a slice of toast in the morning. I hardly need a cordon bleu chef to butter it for me.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘If the chef hasn’t started yet, who made the coffee?’

‘It’s on a timer. If you hunt for cups you’ll find them somewhere. I have mine black.’ Tonino grinned, then made a noise that sounded like the Sicilian equivalent of aha! and pulled the box of cereal out of the cupboard.

A warm sensation flooded Orla’s chest and belly when Tonino, after rooting through a dozen other cupboards, pulled out a plastic bowl with dinosaurs on it. Her heart bloomed when he opened a drawer and removed a plastic spoon, also with dinosaurs on. He filled the bowl, added the milk and joined them at the table, where Orla had put Finn in the brand-new high chair Tonino had bought him and laid their cups of coffee down.

A strange contentment settled in her as she sat back and sipped the delicious coffee. Despite the palatial proportions of the chateau and its kitchen, there was something heartwarming to witness the uber-masculine Tonino feed cereal on a dinosaur spoon into a three-year-old’s mouth.

‘Seeing as you are averse to nurses caring for our son in anything but a medical capacity, do you not think it makes sense for me to take on the early morning parental role while you are here?’ he asked, catching her eye briefly. He adopted a cajoling tone. ‘Think of those extra hours in bed.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ she muttered, knowing full well there was nothing to think about but also knowing Tonino would never understand her feelings on the subject. He’d been deprived of their son for the first three years of Finn’s life but he hadn’t known about it because he hadn’t known of Finn’s existence. He hadn’t missed Finn because how could you miss something you’d never had? Orla had spent eighteen months fighting her own body just to be well enough to hold her child, missing him with every breath she took. Finn had been the focus she’d needed to get through those dark, terrifying days and even darker nights. Getting up early to feed Finn his breakfast was a privilege that she would never take for granted but she couldn’t share this with Tonino.

How could she trust that he wouldn’t use her injuries against her in a custody battle?

She wanted to trust him but until she could, she would try to keep the extent of her injuries from him.

The early morning turned into a sunny day lazily spent exploring the grounds of Tonino’s magnificent estate. After lunch on the terrace, Orla sat on a sunlounger by the huge swimming pool, shades on, a sheer navy kaftan covering her body and the swimsuit she would never get wet, and watched her son squeal with delight to be dipped into the fresh water by his father.

The joy on Tonino’s face sliced through her too, just as acutely.

She’d been so certain that not telling him until after the birth was right. She remembered taking the pregnancy test and minutes later searching his name online to discover his engagement to Sophia was over, her heart thumping. She’d been thankful that she wouldn’t have to break the Sicilian woman’s heart a second time but this confirmation of Tonino’s sudden ‘availability’ had not made Orla feel any better about her predicament. If anything it had made her feel worse. With no fiancée at his side, there would be nothing to hold him off launching a custody battle. Orla’s father had wanted nothing to do with her but Tonino was not her father. Tonino wanted children. Lots of them. He had the wealth and connections to get custody of the tiny life in her belly. She’d made the conscious decision to wait until after the birth before telling him. That would allow her a relatively stress-free pregnancy and allow her to register her child as an Irish citizen and to put whatever protection in place she could to stop him using his connections against her. She remembered being terrified. In her mind she’d painted Tonino as a monster. She’d painted him as a cheat, a liar and an all-powerful deity with the ability to snap his fingers and snatch her baby from her.

She’d forgotten that he was a flesh and blood man. She’d forgotten that their time together had been wonderful because he’d been wonderful… No, she hadn’t forgotten. She’d just convinced herself it had all been an act while he’d had his fun with her.

Guilt that Finn and Tonino never had the chance to be father and son from birth gnawed at her. She remembered carrying the guilt in her…

A new memory flashed in her mind and sent her heart racing anew, of searching Tonino’s name online and finding a picture of him and a new woman. She’d effectively cyber-stalked him, she suddenly remembered. She’d searched his name most days.

She remembered Finn reacting to her reaction to Tonino and the new woman by giving a huge kick. She must have seen that picture shortly before the accident because Finn had only really started kicking her belly with gusto a few weeks before it.

Orla thought hard, trying to remember who the new woman had been, but the memory refused to form. It would come in its own time. The memories refused to be forced, especially the significant ones.

Orla thought again about that woman later that evening while soaking in the bath. Tonino had announced that he was taking her out for dinner, leaving the duty nurse in charge of Finn. He’d refused to listen to a word of argument against it.

They’d dined on his rooftop veranda the night before, a relaxed meal under a starry sky with the waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea a distant roar.

But the relaxed vibe had been a lie. Orla had spent the evening with a kaleidoscope of large-winged butterflies dancing a storm in her belly. Every time their eyes had met she’d been certain he’d been remembering what had happened in the back of his car. She’d been on tenterhooks for him to allude to it or make a move on her, but when she’d announced at ten p.m. that she was tired and going to bed, he’d inclined his head, raised his glass and wished her a good night.

She’d walked away feeling the burn of his stare scorching her, then crawled into bed unsure whether she was relieved or frustrated.

She should not feel so damned excited at the thought of being alone with him. The dancing butterflies in her belly and the buzz of anticipation bouncing over her skin were traps.

She must remember that Tonino had an ulterior motive in taking her out for dinner just as he had an ulterior motive with everything he did. That ulterior motive was Finn. The incredible effort Tonino was making for her to feel at home and at ease, the beautiful bedroom he’d appointed for her with the triple-aspect windows and private bathroom Cleopatra would consider die-worthy, the walk-in wardrobe filled with brand-new clothing specially selected by a personal shopper under Tonino’s instructions especially for her…

She must not let her head be swayed by it all because she knew exactly what he was doing it for—he was making her see how great it would be to marry him. He was making her see all the things he could give her and all the perks she would receive by being his wife. He thought those things would impress her and turn her head. He didn’t know her head didn’t need turning. It had been turned four years ago and she’d never got over it.

Ultimately, it was Finn he wanted, not Orla. He was just using her as a means to have his son in his life permanently. She couldn’t blame him for it.

By the time she’d dressed in a scoop-neck silver dress that fell to her knees and had the requisite long sleeves, and a pair of black glittery heels, she stared at her reflection. She stared at the mirror for so long she half expected a voice to emerge from it.

What would the voice say? Would it laugh at her and say that it didn’t matter how she looked with clothes on because any sexual interest Tonino had for her would be extinguished like a candle if he saw her naked?

A part of her thought she should go knocking on his door, whip her dress up to expose the scars and brazenly say, ‘There you go. Still fancy me, do you?’

If she couldn’t bear to look at her scars herself, how could she ever trust Tonino enough to see them and not use them as a weapon against her?