The Italian Boss’s Secret Child Read online

  Philly.

  Just a skinny kid then, but there was no mistaking her eyes and that chin, defiant and serious even back then.

  And now she was a woman. Every part a woman, as this morning’s heated passion had attested. What drove her then, to deny him? Three times she’d evaded his reach. Three times she’d slipped away from him. The Christmas party when she’d stolen away, that night at the Gold Coast when she’d pushed him from her room, and today, when he’d all but offered her luxury on a platter. Still she seemed to want no part of him.

  But he would have her. He’d never failed at anything in his life. Anything he’d wanted he’d strived for and achieved. Philly would be no exception.

  He dragged his eyes away to the graduation photographs, the two children all grown up and about to set the world aflame. Another wedding photograph, more recent, no doubt Monty with his new bride, smiling into each other’s eyes, totally oblivious to the camera. And the last one, another young family, a tiny baby cradled in its proud parents’ arms.

  He swallowed as he continued to stare, feeling swamped by the history, the tragedy, but most of all by the sheer force of emotion contained in the photographs so lovingly arranged on the mantle. Those most wonderful moments in a family’s history recorded—disparate images of a particular moment of time—together making up a snapshot of a family’s history, a pictorial chronology.

  For some reason the picture of the baby drew him, its doll-like quality, the sprinkling of downy hair on its head and its surprisingly long fingers poking out from beneath its blanket as it slept.

  He didn’t know the first thing about babies. He’d never wanted to know. But now there was this overwhelming sense of fascination. A door had been opened to him and there was a whole new world to explore. Philly had opened that door.

  ‘That’s little Thomas,’ Daphne said, her voice soft and heavy with sorrow. ‘He would have turned two just last week. I can’t help but think what he’d be up to now if he were still alive. No doubt toddling about everywhere, getting into everything.’

  He looked over his shoulder. She was so small and weak, her sadness so much a part of her. ‘You must miss them very much.’

  Her nod was no more than a tilt of her head, even her gaze still fixed on the floor in front of her. ‘I do, but then there’s something so special about babies,’ she said, as he turned back to the photograph. ‘I think that’s almost what I miss most—the wonder of new life, the hope for the future. It’s too late for me to experience that again now.’

  She sighed and reached for a handkerchief to blot the dampness from her eyes. ‘Oh, just listen to me,’ she croaked, almost to herself, ‘rambling on like a silly old woman.’

  He put the photograph down and turned, barely noticing her words as what she’d said earlier slowly permeated his consciousness.

  She didn’t know.

  Philly hadn’t told her.

  Why on earth wouldn’t she tell her own mother about the baby? Couldn’t she see how much it would mean to her?

  He looked back at the mantle, mentally seeing one more photograph—a beaming Philly holding a tiny child—another chance at life and a future.

  Didn’t Philly want her mother to see that photograph already? Or was she more worried about the absence of another? His eyes flicked over the wedding photographs. He could almost see the space where Philly’s wedding photo would slot in alongside her brother’s. Was the prospect of an illegitimate child the reason why Philly was holding off sharing the news with her mother?

  Was she trying to save her mother hurt by not telling her the truth?

  Something shifted inside him, sliding away to reveal a solution which was on the one hand so unexpected, yet at the same time so logical. He could help. He wanted to help. And he would have Philly in the bargain.

  ‘Maybe all hope isn’t gone,’ he said, taking Daphne’s hand in his own before sitting down. ‘Maybe there’s still a chance for something good, something that could give us all hope.’

  She peered up at him, her dark-ringed eyes curious and hopeful at the same time. ‘Whatever do you mean? Why are you here, Mr DeLuca?’

  ‘I have something to tell you,’ he said, struck by the fragility of her bird-like hand, her thin bones covered by barely more than a paper-thin cover of dry skin. He covered her hand with his other as if to keep her warm. ‘Actually, I have something to ask of you.’

  He paused, momentarily wondering if he was doing the right thing, but one look into her eyes told him that for the first time in what seemed like for ever he was doing something that mattered, something that had a beneficial effect beyond just the bottom line. And yet it would still get him what he wanted.

  He took a deep breath before he continued.

  ‘Would you give me the honour of allowing me to marry your daughter?’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THERE. He’d said it. And it didn’t feel so bad. In fact, taking in her sudden gasp of delight, the following smile which lit up the older woman’s face, it felt pretty damned good.

  It was the most logical solution. Philly obviously couldn’t cope here, with a sick mother, a full-time job and a baby coming. And marriage would mean the baby would carry his name while Philly would bear none of the stigma attached to being a single mother.

  It solved everything. Sure, he’d never intended getting married; in fact, he’d done all he could to avoid it. And he’d spent most of his lifetime alone—it wasn’t as if he needed anyone—but if it meant that his child would be brought up the way he wanted, then maybe it would be worth sacrificing his independence just this once.

  Because he’d get to spend his nights with Philly. That would at least be some compensation. He would have settled for mistress, but he’d marry her if that was what it took.

  A key grated in the front door lock and he glanced at his watch, surprised at the late hour and realising just how much time he’d spent aimlessly driving around today.

  ‘I’m home,’ came Philly’s voice from the small entrance hall. She sounded tired. She should have come home when he’d told her. Except he wouldn’t have been here now if she had.

  He rose to his feet and swung around alongside Daphne, his hand resting on the back of her chair.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Philly felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as she took in the cameo, her mother and Damien together, empty tea cups on the table where they’d sat opposite each other, much too cosily.

  She should have known something was up when she’d spotted the sleek black coupé across the road. A car like that in this street was as unlikely as Damien stopping by for a cup of tea. And yet he was here…

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Sweetheart,’ her mother said, battling her way to her feet with Damien’s help by way of his hand under her elbow. ‘Congratulations. I had no idea.’ Her mother pulled her close, so close she could feel her wasted ribcage pressing into her through the thin cotton housecoat.

  She glared at Damien over her mother’s shoulder. ‘You told her?’ she said.

  ‘Of course he told me,’ said her mother, resting both her hands on Philly’s shoulders. ‘How else could he ask for my permission? Oh, you’ve made me so happy, I can’t quite believe it. How soon do you plan to be married?’

  ‘Married?’

  She blinked as her insides lurched crazily. She’d imagined he’d spilt the beans about the pregnancy, but this… This wasn’t happening. This didn’t make sense. She opened her mouth, about to deny it, about to say there’d been some kind of mistake, when her eyes jagged with Damien’s and the denial she expected to find echoed within his was nowhere to be seen. Instead, their dark intense depths seemed aflame with victory even as they threw out a challenge.

  ‘Oh, married,’ she said, wanting to sound as rational as possible for her mother’s sake while her mind reeled with insane possibilities. ‘Well, Damien and I have to talk about that. Just like we have a lot of other issues to resolve. Don’t we, D
amien?’

  He smiled in response, one eyebrow arched, and not looking half as uncomfortable as she would have preferred him to. What was he up to?

  Her mother broke the impasse. ‘Well, this is wonderful news but I’m afraid I need to lie down for a little while now before dinner. All this excitement has worn me out. But I’m sure you two have plenty to catch up on. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just have a nap.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Philly, kissing her mother on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you get comfortable. We can have a late dinner tonight.’

  Daphne turned to Damien, who dropped a kiss on her cheek likewise. ‘Oh,’ she said in response, ‘if I were twenty years younger, I think I’d fancy giving you a run for your money myself.’

  ‘If you were twenty years younger, I’d be taking you up on that.’

  Her mother laughed like she hadn’t heard for ages and Philly was half tempted to enjoy the sound. It was just so good to hear her mother laughing, let alone flirting. But she knew how fragile her mother was. How devastating it would be for her to realise this was all just some game Damien was playing.

  Why was he doing this? What on earth was he trying to prove? She wouldn’t see her mother hurt for anything or anyone. And this bizarre idea about marriage wasn’t going to help anyone. Damien had had his chance earlier today and he’d made it more than clear then that he simply wasn’t interested. So what was he doing here, putting thoughts of weddings and goodness knew what else into her mother’s head?

  Had he really not said a word yet about her pregnancy as she’d first feared? It was far too early to tell her just yet. What the hell was he playing at?

  She saw her mother settled on her day bed and returned to the living room, white-hot fury building within her with every step.

  Damien was waiting for her, still standing, the look on his face like a cat that had just caught a mouse. Well, this mouse was about to fight back.

  ‘Welcome home,’ he drawled, one side of his mouth curving up mockingly. ‘Hard day at the office?’

  ‘Don’t “welcome home” me. We need to talk,’ she said, her voice a low snarl.

  ‘Sure,’ he said easily with a shrug, as if he hadn’t the least idea what she would want to talk about. ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Not here. Outside.’ She didn’t want any chance of her mother overhearing this conversation. She stalked through the kitchen to the rear entrance, leading the way to the small timber deck without looking back. But she knew he was there. She could feel his smug expression laughing into her back as he shadowed her out the door. She’d wipe that smug look off his face if it killed her.

  She turned and somehow the deck had shrunk. The small outdoor table and chairs still took up the same space but Damien consumed the rest as he leaned his length over, propping his arms on the railing and looking out over the sun-dried back lawn and the fringe of shrubs lining the fence.

  How dared he look so relaxed and at peace with the world? How dared he turn her life upside-down with a click of his fingers? And how dared he fool with the emotions of a frail, sick woman?

  The fury inside her only mounted as he continued to gaze out, ignoring her completely. She crossed her arms over her chest but the action only seemed to magnify the crazy thumping of her heart.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  He turned slowly, almost lazily, towards her, as if her question and tone were no more than the buzzing of an annoying insect somewhere nearby.

  ‘That doesn’t sound like the kind of greeting I’d expect from the woman I’ve just become betrothed to.’

  ‘I never said I was going to marry you. What the hell is this all about—some kind of warped payback because I said no to your earlier demands?’

  ‘You’re having my baby, aren’t you?’

  ‘And what’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘That’s got everything to do with it.’

  ‘I thought you said you didn’t do family.’

  ‘I don’t. Normally. But you can’t bring up my baby here and you wouldn’t come as my mistress. I had no choice. Now you have no choice.’

  She let his slur on her house and what she could provide for a child slide away. She couldn’t tackle everything at once. ‘Did you tell my mother about the baby?’

  His hands left the railing as he turned fully to face her. ‘No, but I was left to wonder why you wouldn’t. So now you don’t have to worry about having an illegitimate child. Now your child will have a name and your baby will have a father. You could thank me for taking care of your problem.’

  ‘Thank you? My problem? Tell me, where does your particular brand of arrogance come from? Did you make it yourself or did you take it over, like just another one of your corporate acquisitions?’

  It was his turn to bristle, she noted with considerable satisfaction as he shifted his stance. ‘Do you seriously think I haven’t told my mother yet because I’m worried that she’ll be devastated about me being an unmarried mother?’

  ‘What else? You don’t seem to realise how much a baby would mean to your mother. How could you not tell her such news?’

  ‘Don’t you think I know what my own mother needs? You’re the last person who needs to tell me how much she would love to see another grandchild.’

  ‘So now it’s not an issue. Now you have nothing to be ashamed of.’

  ‘I never had anything to be ashamed of. For your information, I haven’t told my mother yet because I’m little more than six weeks’ pregnant. Do you understand that?’

  ‘You mean,’ he interrupted, his face a tight frown, ‘there’s a chance you could be wrong?’

  ‘No. The pregnancy has been confirmed. But that doesn’t mean things can’t still happen. What if I lose the baby?’

  ‘Is that likely?’

  ‘Not likely. But not impossible either. This is still very early days in the pregnancy. The last thing I need is for my mother to get her hopes up and then have them dashed once more. That’s why I haven’t told her yet—not because of some stupid idea that she won’t be happy unless I have someone’s ring on my finger.’

  His silence lasted for barely a second and then he shrugged. ‘It’s of no consequence. We’re getting married anyway—it’s all decided. You can hardly let your mother down now.’

  ‘And if something happens to the baby?’

  ‘We’ll have another.’

  She shook her head. ‘Damien, you’re not listening to me. I never said I’d marry you.’

  ‘You don’t want marriage? You surprise me. That seemed to be exactly what you wanted this morning. You weren’t satisfied with just my house, my servants, my income. It was clear to me you wanted more.’

  ‘You can’t just waltz in here and take over this house and this family like it’s one of your business deals. Those kind of tactics might work in the boardroom, but they certainly don’t wash here.’

  Immediately she’d mentioned it she wished she could take it back. There was no way she could think about boardrooms without thinking of that night, of the night that had started it all, and with the memories came the heat, heat that was all the more raw after their lovemaking of today. She didn’t need to remember such things now, especially not now, when she was trying to put distance between them, when she was trying to make him see sense.

  Her eyes sought his. Damn. They narrowed, a predatory gleam infusing them, and she saw that he’d made the connection. With two quick steps he’d forced her backwards until his arms dropped either side of her and she was trapped.

  ‘I’m not the only one around here who engages in boardroom tactics—or have you forgotten that first little episode?’

  She shook her head as she backed up hard against the railing, fighting the sheer magnetism of his body, the pull of his body increasing with his proximity. ‘No. But it’s not relevant. You can’t just make people do what you want. You can’t just decide for them their future without a thought for their own needs and desires. You can’t—’

  Her
words were cut off as his arms crushed her to him and his mouth found her throat, sending bold heat suffusing her veins, washing through her on a torrid tide that threatened to blow her resolve, if not her sanity.

  His head forced hers back, leaving her neck and throat exposed to his mouth, his lips and tongue working together immediately finding all of those special places—that spot on her neck just below her ear lobe, the line where her skin disappeared under the neckline of her dress. All of her skin, anywhere his mouth touched, came alive and it was impossible to stop her body responding to his assault.

  ‘You see…’ His head lifted just a fraction so his lips skidded over her skin, a dance of breathy heat and liquid movement. ‘See how much you want me,’ he said. ‘I could take you here, on the deck, and you would be powerless to stop me.’

  She tried to breathe, to clear her mind. Yes, she wanted him. No matter how much she wished she could refute his claims her body would not be denied. Her heart would not be denied. She wanted him body and soul. But that still didn’t make what he was doing right. It was one thing for her to give herself freely. It was another for him to take it.

  ‘But that’s the way you always operate, Damien. You take what you want.’

  ‘You don’t fool me. You want this too.’

  ‘So why not take me then? Take me now, right here, while my mother sleeps inside. And what exactly will that prove? Do you for one moment imagine I will be so blown away by your love-making that I will be desperate enough to rush down the aisle for more?’

  The change in his breathing told her that her words had hit their mark. His head twisted to rest on her shoulder as his arms relaxed their grip. He surged away towards the house without looking at her, one hand on his hip, the other sweeping back through his hair all the way down to his neck.

  She was driving him crazy. He must be crazy, to want to attack her on her own back step, her mother sleeping inside the house.