Читать книгу Royal Baby: Forced Wife, Royal Love-Child / Cavelli's Lost Heir / Prince of Montéz, Pregnant Mistress - Lynn Raye Harris, Sabrina Philips - Страница 10

‘COME,’ Rafe said, his voice rumbling through her in a series of tremors that threatened to unravel what was left of her defences. His long fingers wrapped around hers, circling her hand, drawing her up from her chair and against the black-clad, lethal length of him.

‘Rafe,’ she said, as his body received her in a swaying motion, almost as if dancing to a slow, silent waltz. ‘Shh,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t say anything.’

She couldn’t say anything anyway, her reason for speaking forgotten while her senses were fully employed drinking in the feel of him moving against her, setting the silk robe to a sensual massage against her tight nipples and aching breasts.

Intoxicating.

His touch was like a drug, she decided, his hands dispensing a sensual dose everywhere they glided, everywhere they touched. And when he kissed her it was with the promise of ecstasy.

Sienna melted against him, his mouth taking possession of hers, hot and wanting and so hungry that she wanted to give him everything she had, if only he would give her more of him.

His fingers splayed wide down the curve of her spine and over her behind, holding her to him and against that rock-hard evidence of his need. She invited herself still closer, as his lips left her mouth to trail kisses down her throat. Her head fell back and he took advantage, sliding the silk of her robe apart, grazing the flesh above her breast with his teeth.

It was everything she’d dreamed of. Everything she’d missed in these last few weeks.

Make the most of it, a tiny voice in her head told her. Because it’s all you’re ever going to get.

A hand cupped her breast and she gasped, the voice in her head vanquished. ‘You’re more beautiful than I remembered,’ Rafe murmured huskily, rolling one aching nipple between his thumb and finger before dipping his head to capture it between his lips.

Pleasure, exquisite and intense, speared deep inside, setting off a bloom of moisture between her thighs. She clung to him, knowing that otherwise her knees would give out and she would fall.

He turned his attention to her other breast, sweeping the fabric from her skin, letting her robe fall open in the process, uncaring, his hands underneath, across her naked skin. He drew back then and drank her in with his eyes, and the raw intensity she saw there terrified her.

She shivered, the tiny voice once again uppermost in her mind. What kind of man was he that he could look at her like that and then calmly turn around and marry another?

What kind of woman was she to let him?

She’d told him she wouldn’t sleep with him. And yet here she was, next to naked, all but begging for him to take her. She was akin to a starving dog under the table, grateful for any scraps that might be thrown her way.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Sienna wrenched her hands from his shoulders, trusting her spine was firmer now and that her legs would hold up on their own, and pulled the sides of her robe together, lashing her arms firmly below her breasts to keep it there. She was shaking and she couldn’t stop it, her body protesting at the sudden change of direction.

His head tilted to one side, his brows drawing together in a frown. ‘Sienna,’ he said straightening, ‘are you cold?’

She shook her head, shuffling her bare feet backwards over the rich Persian carpet. ‘I think you should go. This is a really bad idea.’

His eyes glinted menacingly. ‘You didn’t seem to think so a moment ago.’

‘I told you before I wouldn’t sleep with you. I’m sorry, but I haven’t changed my mind.’

He took a step closer, the knot in his brows deepening. ‘What kind of game are you playing? It’s obvious you want this as much as I do.’

‘No. I don’t think so. And personally I don’t think you give a damn what I want. All you care about is an easy lay.’

He growled at her coarse words. ‘That’s not true.’

‘It is true! You decided when I landed on this island that you had an easy lay on tap. You didn’t give a damn what I thought then, and you don’t give a damn now. I told you I wanted off this island then and I still want off this island now. But you’re still not listening. You still think you can take whatever you damn well please. Well, let me tell you, you had your chance in Paris and you made your choice crystal clear then.’

He didn’t move, other than the faint tic in his jaw and the dangerous gleam in his eyes. ‘Don’t think you’re going to gain some advantage by holding out. I’m afraid Sebastiano’s shortlist of potential Montvelatte princesses is already complete. There’s a place for you in my bed if you want to take it, but I certainly won’t beg you to change your mind.’

Cold fury at his arrogance skyrocketed her anger into overdrive.

‘You think I want to marry you? Get real! I don’t care that you’re a prince. I wouldn’t care if you were the Beast of Iseo himself. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man left on earth. I told you I wouldn’t sleep with you and I won’t. Get used to it!’

His face was dark and filled with a fury that secretly terrified her. He was a prince. This was his land, his world and she was telling him how it was to be. She must be insane to think she could get away with it. But damn it, nothing gave him the excuse to act the way he did.

Nothing!

He glowered at her again, took a step closer that had her wanting to reel right away, before his tightly drawn lips finally gave way to sound. ‘Have it your way.’

It was a perfect day, the rising sun already high in the sky, dazzling with the promise of heat. The infinity pool set into the gardens below sparkled and merged with the sea beyond, the perfect diamante-set blue, which in turn merged into a perfect azure sky.

A perfect day. And the perfectly wrong day for a foul mood.

Rafe sat on the terrace, holding his coffee, staring out resentfully over the beauty of the surroundings. His plans to seduce her into submission had come unstuck. So be it. If she wanted out so badly, she could have it. It was no real loss.

The chopper waited on the helipad for its pilot. He’d watched its arrival half an hour ago. He was surprised, given her vehemence of last night, that she hadn’t already left.

He took a sip. Dio! Even the coffee tasted bitter today. He put down his cup with a clatter and stood. What was he waiting for? She was leaving. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him watching out for her departure.

Something made him turn then, a noise, a movement, and he saw her, standing in the doorway staring at him like a frightened animal stuck in the glare of oncoming headlights. Memories of last night’s argument bubbled up like boiling mud, and his gut squeezed tight.

The only compensation was that she looked as bad as he felt. Her skin was pale. So pale against the Titian gold framing her face, even though pulled tight into that damned braid she favoured. And her eyes were smudged with dark circles that spoke of a lack of sleep that he could only hope matched his own.

What was she so scared of? Did she think he’d make another move on her? Not a chance!

‘I just wanted to say goodbye,’ she said, in a voice so tiny it almost got lost in the space between them.

He gave a brief nod. ‘Have you eaten?’

Her face seemed to lose even more colour, if that were possible, and as he looked closer, he could see she was clutching at the door beside her for support, her grip so tight that her knuckles were white.

She shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together, her whole face looking pinched and drawn. She’d had a worst night than he had. Good. But as he edged nearer, he noticed for the first time that there was colour in her face after all, a strange shade of grey. ‘Shouldn’t you have breakfast before you go? At least some coffee?’

‘I have to go,’ she squeezed out between barely open lips, her eyes wider than ever as he approached. ‘Thank you for your … Well, thank you.’

He nodded again, determined not to care one way or another how she felt. ‘I’ll have Sebastiano take you down to the helipad.’

She nodded and turned to go then, letting go of the side of the door to melt back into the house, but something about the way she moved, a slight stagger, a waver in her step, had him at her side in a heartbeat.

He reached for her arm, felt the momentary resistance in her slight frame before she sagged against him in a dead faint.

‘Sebastiano,’ he yelled, collecting her into his arms. ‘Get the doctor!’

‘She’s resting now.’

Rafe stopped pretending not to be interested at the sound of the dottore’s voice.

‘Is she all right?’

‘She’s fine, but I’ve advised her to get a complete checkup when she gets home. And to think about avoiding flying while she feels like this, of course. But she’ll feel better a little later on in the day. That’s usually how morning sickness works.’

Clouds of black filled the space behind Rafe’s eyes, an unexpected explosion of red following close behind as his heart pumped loud in his chest. ‘She’s pregnant, then?’

‘Six to eight weeks, at a guess,’ replied the doctor, oblivious to the bombshell he’d just dropped. ‘So if you can do anything to reduce her stress levels, that will probably help her through this period. She does present as being very stressed.’

The doctor continued his diagnosis but Rafe heard nothing. Not while his mind processed the news, peeling back time, trying to remember. Six to eight weeks. Was it possible?

He’d used protection. He would never be that careless.

Except he hadn’t!

He had been that careless.

The details came back in a blinding flash. He’d heard of his half-brothers’ arrests and of their implication in their father’s death. He’d learned that Montvelatte’s existence balanced on a knife edge. And he’d been blind with anger and fury and rage that they could have been so arrogant and so self-absorbed that they had done this with pure greed in mind, and that they hadn’t seen where they were heading. So blind with anger that he hadn’t stopped to think, hadn’t hesitated before burying himself one last time deep inside the woman who’d just happened to be there.

Had that momentary loss of control done this, resulted in a child? Was it his?

She’d almost got away. He’d been that close to letting her go, angry that she could deny him the pleasure he’d find with her, and so close to letting her walk out of his life for ever.

Would he ever have found out if she’d gone? She might never have told him.

Six weeks. Coincidence? Or fate?

Whichever, she wasn’t getting away before he found out for sure.

The doctor had finished his report. ‘Can I see her?’

‘Certainly. Though be gentle. Right now she’s a little emotionally fragile.’

Rafe blew out his breath in a rush. ‘I’ll just bet she is.’

Moments later he paused outside her room, his anger festering inside him, a living thing. He’d paced the terrace for endless minutes, working out the possibilities. If she’d told him last night that she was pregnant with someone else’s child, if she’d thrown it in his face then and there, he would have left her alone. But she hadn’t said a word. And six to eight weeks? Surely she must have known something? Was that the real reason she’d declined to have any wine?

He thought back on her determination to escape the island. She’d been desperate to get away. So desperate to escape that she’d risk flying a helicopter when she was in danger of passing out at the controls. If those facts weren’t enough to spell out her guilt, he didn’t know what was.

She didn’t want him to know.

Which could only mean one thing.

It had to be his.

He hauled in a lungful of air, felt the oxygen fuel the fury inside him until it was in danger of combusting, until he wanted to howl at the irony.

All that time Sebastiano had been doing his utmost to find Montvelatte the perfect breeding stock.

All that time Sebastiano had spent ensuring Montvelatte would not be left without an heir.

And all that time there had been one all along.

It was a disaster. Sienna pushed herself back into pillows damp with tears, unable to assimilate the new-found knowledge, unable to come to terms with the physician’s declaration.

There was nothing wrong with her, he’d calmly informed her, in the very same breath he’d dropped the bombshell that she was pregnant and suffering nothing more debilitating than morning sickness.

Nothing wrong. That was a laugh, when her entire world was shattering to pieces around her. Nothing wrong, when, in fact, nothing could be less right.

And so she’d argued and remonstrated with him. It had been too late in her cycle and she’d had a period, admittedly light, but then she’d only just come off the pill. It couldn’t be possible.

And the doctor had looked benignly down at her as he’d clicked up his bag and explained that there was no mistake, that coming off the pill so recently meant her cycle could be late, and that the light period she’d assumed she’d had was most likely no more than an implantation bleed.

And then he’d asked her what she did for a living and warned her that she might have to think about not flying for a while. Not flying? Flying was her job. She’d just got the job of her dreams. It was her life!

And now she knew that the churning in her stomach was nothing to do with any morning sickness, but a gut-wrenching reaction to the news.

She was pregnant. With Rafe’s child. That alone was bad enough. But he wasn’t just a man any more.

He was a prince.

She screwed her face into the pillow and tried unsuccessfully to stem a fresh batch of tears. This couldn’t be happening to her. Not with him. Not now.

He might be the father of the baby growing inside her, but he was expected to marry. Someone suitable. Someone worthy of being Montvelatte’s princess.

Someone else.

Not some no-name commoner from a dysfunctional family who’d spent one night with him and ended up pregnant.

Which was fine, because she didn’t damn well want any man on those terms anyway.

Sienna sniffed and sat up, grabbing a tissue to wipe away the moisture on her cheeks and blow her nose. Damn it all. Lying here crying wouldn’t help; she had to pull herself together and get moving. She shoved back the covers and eased herself up to sitting on the side of the bed, swallowing air, waiting until the rocking motion inside her settled before she trusted her feet to hold her up.

Rafe wanted her gone from the island, he’d made that crystal clear, so she would oblige. And, let’s face it, the last thing either he or Montvelatte needed right now was the scandal of an unplanned pregnancy with someone unsuitable. So she would get dressed and fly back to Genoa as soon as this damned nausea settled down. As soon as she’d come to terms with the shock of this latest bombshell.

Except that she was pregnant.

How was anyone supposed to terms with something like that?

There was a sharp rap on the door before it swung open, revealing the person she least wanted to see in the world. Her heart slammed into his chest as his dark eyes honed in on her, intent but frustratingly unreadable. Please God, the doctor had not shared her news!

She was dressed in some kind of white nightgown that fitted over her breasts and then fell softly to her ankles and he gave a silent tick of approval for whoever had released her hair from that damned braid so now it rioted around her face in a mass of colour and curl.

She looked like a virgin on her way to a sacrifice.

And then he took in her wide red-rimmed eyes, the eyes that looked up at him with something akin to terror, and revised the description. She looked like hell. As guilty as hell.

‘What are you doing out of bed?’

‘I was just getting up,’ she protested, through lips inordinately pale. ‘Or I was, until you once again decided to invite yourself in unannounced. So if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get dressed.’

‘I thought you were sick.’

‘I’m feeling much better,’ she replied, adding a smile that didn’t go near to erasing the caginess in those hazel eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me back there. I … I must have eaten something that disagreed with me.’

He almost growled. She was still trying to hide the truth. ‘So now you’re accusing my cook of poisoning you?’

‘No! I didn’t mean—’ She gave up trying and shook her head. ‘Look, I’m sorry to put you out, but I’ll be gone soon. So if you wouldn’t mind …’

She gestured towards the door but he wasn’t going anywhere. He stood at the foot of the bed and leant a hand against one of the carved wooden posts. ‘I don’t think so. I really think leaving would be unwise right now.’

Sienna stood up in a rush and sprang away from the bed, a blur of motion as the white gown billowed around her long legs like a cloud, her bare feet pacing the carpet. He could almost see her mind ticking over as her hands busied themselves collecting her hair into a loose pony tail before letting it go to spring back wild around her face again. ‘Look, Rafe,’ she said, turning to him, the colour of irritation high on cheeks that otherwise looked too pale to be human, ‘we’ve been through all this and I’m fed up with the way you think you can push me around. You agreed last night that I could leave today and, quite frankly, it won’t be soon enough. As soon as I’m dressed, I’m out of here.’ She was halfway to the bathroom before he caught up with her, catching her arm and swinging her around.

‘Not with my baby, you’re not.’

He heard her gasp. Smelt her fear. ‘What are you talking about?’ She was still fighting, but the guilt was there, in the defensive sheen in her eyes, in the faint tremor in her lips.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?’

Her breathing was shallow and fast, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the action. ‘I don’t know why you think it’s any of your business, but maybe I didn’t know.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘Then maybe it’s not your baby? Did you ever stop to consider that?’

He reeled back as if she’d physically lashed out, but only for a moment, before the feral gleam in his eye returned. ‘You went from my bed to another’s? I don’t believe you.’

‘You threw me out. Why should you care who I sleep with?’

‘I care because I do not believe you. You were hiding it from me and you’re still trying to. It’s my baby, isn’t it? You’re having my baby!’

If he hadn’t sensed her need, if he hadn’t let her go, she would never have made it to the bathroom in time. There was precious little in her stomach, nothing more than dry toast and some of the same sweet tea she’d had yesterday that had been so soothing at the time. And yet it felt like she was being torn apart from the inside with each violent heave.

And he was there, holding back her hair and steadying her shoulders as she held onto the bowl for grim death.

Oh, God, if it wasn’t bad enough that Rafe should see her like this, the doctor had obviously told him why.

A total disaster had just got worse.

At last it was over; the thrashing of her stomach calmed. She heard the sound of running water, felt the cool press of a flannel against her face and she took it gratefully, pressing it to her tear-stained cheeks and wishing that there was something that could so easily soothe her soul.

The doctor had told him, and Rafe knew!

What the hell was she supposed to do now?

‘Let’s get you back to bed,’ he said, helping her to rise on unsteady legs and steering her from the room. She went with him, the fight gone from her, her strength drained, her mind numb with it.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as he eased her down on the bed, knowing that a terrible wrong had been done, knowing she was at least partly responsible, not having a clue what to say. Having even less idea of how to fix it. ‘I realize this is inconvenient. I’ll go. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’

And the band that had bound his gut ever since he had heard she was pregnant grew even tighter, until even his lungs felt squeezed with the pressure. Better than any test result, it was the final confirmation he needed, banishing any lingering doubts in an instant. ‘So it is mine!’

Her eyes looked up at him, pained and dull. ‘Nobody will ever know. I promise.’

‘Merda! I will know! Or are you already planning on disposing of the “inconvenience”, as you so clinically put it, in order to assure that outcome?’

Her eyes sparked with indignation, their hazel lights suddenly flashing gold as if someone had thrown a switch, though her skin was still deathly pale and her voice was still rough and raw. ‘As it happens I haven’t had a chance to consider my options, but just what kind of person do you think I am?’

‘It doesn’t matter what type of person I think you are. What matters is what you plan on doing with my child.’

‘And I’m supposed to believe you care? Don’t bother. I promise not to go to the papers or get in the way of your precious princess hunt.’

‘No.’

‘What do you mean, “no”?’

‘It means that’s not good enough. I will not allow another generation of Lombardi bastard children to be cast aside as if they are not family. There is only one solution.’

She rolled her head from side to side against the pillow. ‘You can share access, if that’s what you want. I can hardly deny a child access to its father.’

‘I’m glad you understand that. And there is no better way to share access …’ he smiled, amazed at how neatly the whole thing fitted together—a woman he had no trouble desiring, already pregnant with his child, and an end to Sebastiano’s endless round of prospective wife interviews, all rolled into one neat solution ‘… than to make you my wife.’