The Italian Boss’s Secret Child Page 10

  Before she had a chance to change her mind he lifted her, her skin smooth and cool yet at the same time on fire under his hands, and swivelled her around and across to the bed.

  She was certifiably insane. She must be, to let Damien do this to her. Five minutes ago he’d been accusing her of sleeping with someone else. She should be so offended she’d never think of giving him even the time of day.

  And yet there was definitely something to be said for being insane. She sank into the soft down quilt and writhed under Damien’s hot mouth, currently blazing a trail towards her breasts, relishing the sensations triggered in her flesh.

  Because sanity had no place here. Logic had ceased to exist. Feelings took precedence and what she was feeling now, what Damien was making her feel, was extravagant and pervasive enough to block out every other rational thought.

  Except one. He wanted her. She’d expected rejection to follow the disbelief; she’d been prepared for it. No way would he have expected her to turn out to be the woman he’d made love to in the boardroom. But it hadn’t happened that way. He hadn’t rejected her.

  He wanted her!

  His mouth moved lower, fingers tracing under the edge of her bra and hot breath met her lace-covered nipple, already exquisitely sensitive with her early pregnancy, setting off spears of sensation that pierced her deep inside. Her back arched and she shuddered into his mouth.

  Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered, but what he was doing to her and the way he made her feel.

  Special.

  Beautiful.

  Loved?

  No. That was what she wanted, not what he was giving. He wasn’t the kind of guy to fall in love. And right now she’d settle for feeling special. Right now she’d settle for feeling beautiful.

  A noise, half purr, half groan, escaped her. And right now she’d settle for more of what his magic hot mouth was doing to her breasts—and lower…

  Her fingers curled in the quilt as his hands caressed her, his tongue possessing her, circling her navel and driving her crazy with want and need as he deftly discarded her lace underwear. He touched her on her now exposed flesh and her breath caught with the intensity of the feeling. Nerve-endings she’d never known existed all but screamed their presence, their effect expanding inwards, waves of pleasure rippling to her every extremity only to come crashing back again at her core.

  What force magnified mere touch to make it so bold, so all-consuming that it carried her away on its tide? Whatever it was, it was beyond comprehension, beyond dispute. Instead she let herself go with it as his tongue dipped lower, unable to fight the onslaught of heat and sensation on her skin and deeper, much deeper, inside.

  She wanted more of this. She wanted more of him.

  She wanted so much more…

  Nothing would ease this delicious torture but having him deep inside her.

  ‘Please…’ she begged, the agony of her need rendering her powerless in his hands. And he gave something like a low growl and pulled away from her so abruptly that she felt his absence like a snapshot of grief. Her eyes fluttered open to see him looking down at her as his shoes and clothes came off, a flurry of leather and fabric until only air separated their naked skin. And then even the air was gone.

  He lay down next to her, pulling her close, his smouldering eyes fixed on hers as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

  ‘You are so beautiful,’ he said. ‘I’ve dreamed of having you again ever since that night.’

  And before her heart had a chance to swell he rolled her beneath him and entered her in one swift, deep movement.

  And then it was his turn to cry out, something guttural and indiscernible, but which spoke of his hunger and need.

  She clutched his shoulders, momentarily relishing the feeling of completion with him deep inside, pulsing with life and heat before he moved, easing back, teetering on the edge before stretching her full again.

  She responded to him, meeting his rhythm, joining him in the dance as he repeated the movement, again and again, slowly, then faster, building the pace and her anticipation until he slowed again, driving her to the edge of need and desperation as her hips urged him home.

  She felt his need peaking with hers and spurred him on, angling her hips to meet him as he drove himself deeper with every plunge, building her higher and higher with the magic of his rhythm until his whole body powered into hers with one final shuddering thrust. She went with him, her senses exploding in a thousand directions that started and ended at the place he now pulsed within.

  For a while they lay there, bodies slick with limbs entwined as their breathing returned to something like normal and their bodies cooled, their craving and desire burned up in the fire of their passion—burned up yet far from extinguished. He shifted so his head was lying across her stomach and with his hand he traced circles over her abdomen, his light touch hypnotising her skin at the same time that it stirred her nerve endings.

  ‘So somewhere inside here—there’s a baby growing.’

  His words took her by surprise. He’d hardly reacted to her news that she was pregnant to him—it certainly hadn’t seemed to have had any impact—until now. Did he have no concept of what a child meant? Was the idea of family that foreign to him?

  ‘What happened to your family?’

  His hand stopped and dropped back to his side as he swung his gaze up to the ceiling.

  For a while she didn’t think he was going to answer, his steady breathing the only sound in the spare masculine room.

  She touched her hand to his head, stroking his hair with her fingers.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’

  He caught her hand in his, brought it to his mouth, and pressed her open palm against his lips with a half kiss, half sigh. ‘It’s okay. I don’t think about it too much.’

  ‘It must have been awful.’ She knew loss. The death of her brother and his family had been bad enough. She didn’t have to know the details to understand that losing his parents and possibly other members of his family too at such a young age must have been devastating.

  ‘They had a market garden near Adelaide, where they’d settled after coming out from Italy. It was only small to start, but they built it up and when they could they did picking work as well—apples or pears—before the tomato season really kicked in. I was the youngest so I stayed home but they took my two older brothers—Santo and Jo. Before the tomato crop ripened they could make more in one day picking than the market garden could make in a week. It was my job to look after the garden.’

  ‘How old were your brothers then?’

  ‘Thirteen and fourteen. Santo was the image of Dad; he was so proud of him.’

  ‘What happened?’

  He made a sound, a sigh mixed with a note of despair, and she noticed his whole body tense. ‘The orchard they were working on was up in the hills. They hitched a ride in the back of a pick-up truck with a bunch of others from the city. The access road was narrow, a steep dirt track with no safety rail. A car came round a bend the other way. The truck swerved to miss it but too far, too close to the edge. Once the front wheel went over there was no hope…’

  Her breath caught as she imagined the horror of the accident and its impact on a young child. ‘You lost everyone?’

  ‘There were fourteen packed into the back of the truck. Only two survived. They didn’t stand a chance when it rolled.’

  He took a deep breath and raised a hand to rub his temple. ‘I didn’t know about it until the next day. It took the police that long to identify everyone.’

  ‘You spent the night alone?’

  He shrugged against her belly. ‘You get used to it,’ he said, his voice flat.

  ‘That’s so unfair,’ she said. ‘Did you have other family who could take you in?’

  ‘No. Not in Australia and my two remaining grandparents in Italy were too frail and I didn’t want to go back. I’d grown up here. Even though my roots were Italian, I felt
Australian, I belonged here. The market garden was sold—it barely covered the debts—and I ended up in foster care—’ He gave a brief laugh. ‘For a while, anyway. They didn’t want me and I didn’t need them. I worked as hard as I could at school and earned myself a scholarship and then escaped to Melbourne first chance I got.’

  ‘So this child will be your only family,’ she said, thinking aloud.

  He lifted himself from the bed in one rapid movement and scooped up his clothes and she cursed herself for provoking his change in mood. This was a guy who had made it in the world without family. He certainly wasn’t going to be thrilled about having it thrust upon him.

  ‘I have to get back to work. What do you plan to do?’

  She laughed, low and brittle. ‘I would have thought it’s a bit late for planning. I’m going to have a baby. How’s that for a plan?’

  ‘You’re keeping it then?’

  Something congealed cold and hard in her heart.

  He’d just made love to her.

  She was carrying his child.

  If she’d had any hopes that either one of those meant he’d consider her as something a trifle more special than plain old Philly-from-marketing, he’d just smashed those hopes to smithereens. ‘I’m disappointed you could even ask.’

  ‘Oh, don’t feel so aggrieved. How am I expected to know what you intend to do? It’s not like we really know each other.’

  True, she thought, seeking the refuge of her own clothes. But that doesn’t stop you wanting to make love to me. That doesn’t stop me wanting you to.

  And it certainly doesn’t stop me loving you.

  ‘So what do you expect from me?’

  She looked up at him, her hazel eyes focused acutely on his, hoping they conveyed the sense of cold he’d just doused her with. Much as it would have been easier never to have let Damien know that he was the father, she’d done the right thing. He now knew about the baby. Her responsibility to him ended right there. If he wasn’t prepared to have anything to do with this child, then she’d be more than happy to assume sole responsibility. It would sure save any complications.

  ‘What do I expect from you? Absolutely nothing.’

  His face starkly displayed his disbelief. But then, why would he believe her? No doubt he’d be expecting her to take full advantage of the benefits of a rich father for her child.

  ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I don’t want anything from you.’

  ‘You think you can do this all by yourself?’

  ‘Of course I can.’ If I have to. ‘It’s what I want.’ If that’s what it takes.

  ‘What about what I want?’

  ‘It’s obvious you don’t want to be involved. You’ve made that perfectly clear by even assuming I could do anything other than keep this child. You didn’t ask for this to happen. You didn’t ask for a child.’

  ‘And you did?’

  Her eyes dropped to the floor. He’d never understand if she told him. He’d never understand how much this baby meant, how much it would mean to her mother and how she’d dreamed so fervently of having a child. But those reasons had nothing to do with him. He didn’t need to know.

  ‘Of course it was a shock,’ she said. ‘But now that I’ve accepted it I’m going to do everything I can to make this child’s life worthwhile. This baby’s never going to feel like it’s not wanted or that its life is the result of a mistake. I’m going to make it a home.’

  ‘Very noble sentiments. And just how do you plan on doing all this by yourself?’

  ‘I’ll manage.’

  ‘You’ll manage,’ he echoed hollowly, his voice dry and flat. ‘A single mother, either unable to work or having to put the child into care all day and scraping by on a pittance if you can work. Is that how you intend to manage?’

  She knew it wasn’t going to be easy—she’d never thought that. But hearing him put it like that— She swallowed, attempting to bury her doubts and regain the confidence she’d felt when she’d worked out that this was what she should do. ‘Lots of women do. They get by.’

  ‘Not with my child they don’t!’

  The vehemence of his words took her by surprise. Was this really the man with the reputation of a confirmed bachelor and dedicated non-family man?

  ‘Then what are you suggesting? Some sort of financial support for the child?’

  ‘Not just that,’ he said as he looped his tie deftly into the perfect knot. ‘Something much more appropriate for all of us. An arrangement that will mean you don’t have to worry about balancing work with child-care. Something that will ensure your and the child’s security for life.’

  Her breath caught as a tingle of sensation bubbled inside. No, it wasn’t possible. Surely he wasn’t about to suggest marriage? But what else could offer the security the child needed, the solid foundation for a future life?

  Maybe she’d underestimated him. Marriage didn’t sound like something the commitment-averse Damien would suggest to anyone, least of all to her. Did the existence of a baby make so much difference, that now she was worthy of consideration as his bride, now she was considered marriage material?

  Marriage.

  Marriage to Damien.

  How would it feel to be Damien’s wife? To wake up alongside him every day, to feel his strong body holding her safe at night, to make a family with him.

  To have his child and to have him too—dreams were made of lesser stuff.

  So he didn’t love her. She knew that. But they could still make it work. She loved him and she’d make it work if it meant pretending to be Cleopatra every night to do it. She’d do whatever it took.

  It would be worth it.

  She waited, almost too scared to breathe, unable to speak and ask what he could possibly mean. After what seemed an age he returned from the bathroom, his hair restored to its usual executive state, the tracks of her fingernails obliterated.

  ‘I have a property, out of the city about one hundred kilometres or so. I can’t get out there as much as I’d like but the house is in good condition and there’s a full-time housekeeper and manager.

  ‘It’ll be a perfect place for you to bring the child up,’ he continued. ‘I’ll pay all the household expenses and give you an allowance as well so you don’t have to worry about working.’

  A freezing dump of despair oozed over her and it was seconds before she could convince her jaw to thaw enough to let her speak.

  ‘You’d set me up in a house of yours?’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s the best option for both of us. I’ll visit on weekends when I can get away.’

  ‘And what of my mother? Who would look after her? No, Damien. There’s no way.’

  ‘She can come too. There’s plenty of room. You can all be together.’

  ‘Thanks so much for your kind offer, but I’m sorry, I’m not actually in the market for a new home. Maybe some other time…’

  She pushed past him, trying to reach the bathroom and find a place where she could breathe again, a place where she could think, but he grabbed her arm, wheeling her around.

  ‘Listen to me. I’m offering this child a home, security. I’ll arrange the best doctors for your mother, the best paediatricians for the baby. The child will have everything it needs.’ His fingers tightened on her arm. ‘What are you waiting for—a better offer?’

  ‘Lovely to know you’re so concerned about this child. And what will my role be in this arrangement?’

  ‘You’ll bring up the child. I take it that’s what you expect to do? And you won’t have to do housework or the cooking and cleaning or worry about a day job. I’ll even get private nursing for your mother, and on top of everything I’ll pay you for the privilege. So maybe you could try to be a bit more grateful.’

  ‘Grateful! And let me guess—will I also be expected to share your bed whenever you feel the urge? Is that how you expect me to show how grateful I am? Am I expected to extend my gratitude to you on my back?’

  She wrenched her arm but his grip
merely tightened, locked on, his fingers like steel manacles. She suppressed a gasp as his fingers bit into her flesh. He might be stronger than she was, but still she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was hurting her.

  He drew her closer, so close that she could see the white-hot fury in his eyes, feel his heated breath on her cheek. One side of his lips kicked up in a smile that went no further. ‘You didn’t seem to have a problem with being flat on your back ten minutes ago. Or have you forgotten already how good I made you feel, how you bucked under me until I blew your world apart?’

  Her pulse hammered, her temple throbbed, as her heart cranked up the pressure through her veins as his dark eyes locked on hers. She could never forget how he made her feel, not in this life.

  ‘Have you forgotten already how you begged me to take you?’ His free hand cupped her breast. Her shocked intake of breath was fast and tremulous as he massaged the tender flesh, her nipple firming and reaching out into his palm.

  He closed the gap between them, pushing himself against her. She felt his arousal with shock and awe, excitement building in her own deep places.

  ‘Are you seriously telling me you wouldn’t like to make love with me again?’

  His hand left her breast and dipped down her back, pressing her into his hardness. ‘Are you seriously trying to tell me you don’t want me again?’

  His words were seductive, hypnotising her, a mantra for her soul. His touch was persuasive, compulsive, like a mantra for her body.

  He dropped a hand into her still open zipper, slipping his hand down until his warm fingers cupped the flesh of one cheek, squeezing, massaging, his fingers exploring more…

  ‘There’s no denying it, you realise that. You want me just as much as I want you.’

  ‘Damien,’ she half-pleaded, sensation blotting out rational thought once more, nerve-endings screaming for release. It was true. She could no more deny wanting him than she could deny the sun a place in the sky. But that didn’t mean he could buy her like just one more part of his business.