The Italian Boss’s Secret Child Read online

  Forces shifted inside him as the silence that followed blanketed the table. The quiet emotion of her words betrayed a feeling he recognised, a feeling buried deep inside.

  But it was a feeling he didn’t want to be reminded of. He didn’t want to pull it out and examine what it meant. It was better off left exactly where it was.

  Philly looked up at the faces around the table. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, you didn’t want to hear all that. Please forgive me.’

  Stuart was the first to react. His arm shifted from the chair back to around her shoulders and he gave her a squeeze, putting his wineglass down so he could cover her hands in his. ‘Don’t apologise,’ he said softly. ‘There’s absolutely no need.’

  She smiled up at him, her lashes moist, eyes glistening. ‘Thank you, Stuart.’

  ‘Call me Stu,’ he said, his voice low and sympathetic. ‘All my friends do.’

  Her smile widened. ‘Thank you, Stu.’

  Damien pushed himself out of his chair. ‘Time to call it a night. Thank you, gentlemen. We’ll see ourselves back to the hotel.’

  Philly looked up, surprised by his sudden action. ‘Oh, right. Okay.’

  She made a move to stand but Stuart placed an ironman fist over her arm, pinning her to the chair. ‘It’s still early,’ he said, his eyes fixed on Philly but the tone of his words aimed directly at Damien. ‘Maybe Philly would like to see a little more of the Gold Coast entertainment.’

  His eyes softened. ‘Would you like that, Philly? Do you like to dance?’

  ‘Um, yes, actually,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘I do.’

  He turned to Damien triumphantly. ‘So that’s settled, then. Sorry you don’t feel up to joining us, Damien, but we’ll see you tomorrow morning at the office. And don’t worry, we’ll look after Philly for you.’

  Damien battled with the urge to rearrange one smug face, but he wasn’t about to undo all the goodwill they’d built up today. Then again, he wasn’t about to be out-manoeuvred either.

  He dredged up a laugh, as if he was enjoying the banter, and schooled his voice to sound civilised while inside him his heartbeat pounded like jungle drums. ‘Another time, perhaps. Sorry to disappoint you, but Ms Summers and I have some important details to go over tonight. I’m sure you understand.’

  With that he placed a firm hand under her elbow and levered her from her chair. Stuart was left with no choice but to remove his hand from her arm though he made no pretence that he was happy about it.

  ‘Good night, gentlemen. I look forward to furthering our discussions in the morning.’

  He steered Philly out of the restaurant and into a waiting taxi without saying another word.

  ‘What was that all about?’

  She was sick of the silent treatment, sick of the brooding male who had sprawled over the taxi seat like a despot, arrogant limbs taking up space as if he owned it, sick of the way he’d frog-marched her to her door like a prisoner to be locked in for the night.

  As his silence continued her anger grew and grew, simmering away, fuelled by the heat he was giving off with his black mood.

  ‘What was what all about?’

  ‘Don’t give me that,’ she said as she inserted her card key into the reader. ‘You acted like some caveman back there at the restaurant.’

  Down the corridor the lift doors binged open, spilling a load of camera-wielding tourists into the hallway.

  The lock clicked open. Damien grabbed the handle and turned. ‘Inside,’ he said, half shoving her across the threshold, closing the door behind them.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, wheeling around to face him, hands on hips. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing now?’

  ‘Keeping our private business just that. Private. There’s no need to share it with a busload of tourists.’

  ‘Well, don’t make yourself comfortable then because what I have to say to you will only take a moment. You had no right to come on like that back there.’

  ‘I’m your boss. I had every right.’

  ‘Is that so? Then where’s this important work we need to go over then? You never said anything about it before. You made that up.’

  ‘We have important meetings tomorrow and you know it.’

  ‘Yes, with people you did your best to completely alienate tonight. What on earth were you thinking?’

  ‘I was thinking I brought you up here to work with me, not to flirt with the customers.’

  Her mouth fell open in disbelief. ‘I wasn’t flirting!’

  ‘Come on. You had Stu-baby draped all over you like a gorilla.’

  ‘He was being sympathetic, that’s all.’

  ‘Sympathetic? Is that what you call it when someone’s angling to get into your pants?’

  ‘How dare you?’ The crack of her palm against his cheek was as loud as it was satisfying. Her victory was short-lived though as he snared her still open hand in one swift-moving fist. His other hand stroked the region, a red weal already brightening under his fingers.

  ‘You deserved that.’ She spat the words out over a gasping breath, refusing to give in to her first instinct to apologise.

  He looked down at her, dark fire burning in his eyes, his breathing strangely calm under the circumstances. ‘And this,’ he said, pulling on her wrist so that she collided full length with him, ‘is what you deserve.’

  Still half off balance, she felt his arm surround her and haul her tightly against him as his head dipped lower. Panic, outrage and sheer bliss all welled within her as his lips meshed with hers; panic that he would somehow recognise her as the woman he’d made love to on Saturday night; outrage that he could treat her this way, and sheer unadulterated bliss that he had.

  Since their encounter at the ball she’d dreamed of nothing else but to be in Damien’s arms once more. Those dreams had ended in disappointed awakenings and frustrated tomorrows. But now he was here, really here, holding her, kissing her and it was no dream.

  Her thin sand-washed satin dress might not have been there. She could feel all of him, the length of him, the heat of him, searing her through the fine fabric.

  He let go of her wrist and his hand went behind her head, drawing her closer, holding her firm and somewhere his anger turned into something else. It was desire she could feel from him now, a hot, urgent thing that was as tangible as the flesh beneath her hands and it called to her, tempting her, insisting she give herself up to it.

  Why shouldn’t she?

  It would be so easy.

  She knew the pleasure she’d find. She’d only had a sample of what he had to offer, but there was no doubt there was so much more that she’d like to experience. Why should it matter if she did?

  But how could she?

  Things were complicated between them already. Already there were secrets. Already there was too much to explain. This wasn’t going to help.

  Besides, he didn’t want her. He’d made that perfectly plain when he’d set the boundaries for this trip. What was happening now had more to do with his competitive nature and showing her who was boss than any real interest he had in Philly Summers. Because he’d made it perfectly clear that he had none.

  And that was the killer punch. If she’d thought for a moment that he felt something for her other than pure animal lust, if she thought she had something else going for her in his eyes other than simply being available, then yes, she’d like nothing more than to give herself up to the pleasures he promised.

  But this was no fancy dress ball where he had no idea of her identity. This was no masquerade. Here there was no avoidance of the truth. He’d never wanted her and, whatever his motives, he didn’t really want her now.

  This was simply wrong.

  His hands slipped to her shoulders, sliding her thin straps away. She gasped as his hands followed the curve of her shoulders, around to the front, lower, capturing her breasts, thumbs hooking in her bodice top, easing it lower.

  Her hands found his chest as she dragged her face away from his. She
pushed but his hands caught her and pulled her back. She pushed again, harder, turning her face so that he couldn’t kiss her.

  ‘No,’ she said, her breath choppy. ‘Stop this.’

  His mouth was at her neck, cajoling, insisting and panic gripped her.

  ‘No!’ she yelled. ‘Just because you bought these clothes don’t assume you own what’s in them.’

  ‘The clothes are yours,’ he muttered, ignoring her jibe, his breath hot and persuasive against her skin. ‘Keep them.’

  She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for strength.

  ‘You promised!’

  His head lifted but he didn’t let go. ‘What did I promise?’

  ‘Not to maul me. You promised me there was no chance you would seduce me on this trip. You made it perfectly clear there was not a snowball’s chance in hell—remember? So let me go—now.’

  He had promised, he remembered. Why the hell had he done that?

  His arms slackened their grip around her and she eased herself away, hitching up her shoulder straps before flicking back her hair with her fingers. Her face was flushed, her lips bruised and swollen from his attention and he ached to take her back into his arms and finish what he’d begun.

  He’d made that promise to someone else, though—someone else who wore ill-fitting brown suits and glasses that wouldn’t be out of place on a welder. He hadn’t made that guarantee to the woman standing in front of him. He would have been mad to have done that.

  ‘I think you should leave,’ she said, not moving, clutching her arms over her chest like a shield. ‘Now.’

  He took a deep breath. He would go. After all, he had promised.

  But he definitely wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHRISTMAS came early to the Summers’ household.

  Five mornings before the big day, Philly clutched the white stick, hand shaking, eyes disbelieving, mind unable to comprehend. She looked again at the instructions, reading the last section twice over until she was sure she had it clear in her mind, then she looked back at the stick.

  There was no mistake.

  She had read it right.

  She was pregnant.

  Elation zipped through her. She’d done it! She was carrying a child. Having a baby was no longer just a dream, just a hope. It was now a reality. And in less than forty weeks, all going well, she would hold that baby in her arms. And her mother would hold her grandchild.

  Please God it wouldn’t be too late for it to make a difference.

  But it couldn’t be too late. It was a miracle. She was having a baby.

  Her baby.

  Elation suddenly gave way to another emotion.

  Dread.

  This wasn’t just her baby. It was Damien’s too.

  Guilt gripped her heart, squeezing it as tight as the instructions now crumpled within her fist as her body swayed into the bathroom vanity unit, knocking the soap dish to the floor.

  This was not some IVF pregnancy, where the sperm had been donated with the intention and hopes of furnishing someone with a child anonymously. This child’s father was no phantom, no unnamed donor whose chosen part in conceiving a child was over.

  This child’s father was Damien DeLuca, about as far from a phantom as ice was from the sun. And he would have to be told.

  Oh, he wouldn’t like it. The self-confessed career bachelor and man about town was hardly likely to be excited at the prospect of discovering he was to be a father. But if he was angry about it he could hardly blame her. Neither of them had given a moment’s thought to protection that night. Sure, she was the one who was pregnant, but he wasn’t exactly the innocent party in all this.

  Yet none of that really mattered. There was no question that she had to tell him. It wouldn’t be right or fair to deny Damien the existence of his own child, just as it would be wrong to prevent that child from knowing the identity of its father.

  She gazed unseeing into the mirror. And maybe, once he knew, just maybe there was a sliver of possibility that he might even care…

  She shook her head, shaking out the wistful dreams and hopes. She was having a baby—wasn’t that enough?

  Damien would just have to deal with it, just as she would. First though, she had to tell him.

  She hauled herself upright and away from the vanity. It was just as well the office was closing over Christmas. She had two weeks off to spend with her mother. She’d use the time well, see a doctor, get confirmation of her home pregnancy test result and obtain some advice about the best time to tell her mother.

  ‘Philly?’ Her mother’s voice came muted from outside the door. ‘Are you all right? I thought I heard something crash.’

  She looked around her and saw the soap dish, now lying shattered in pieces on the floor. She hadn’t even noticed. ‘I’m fine,’ she called back. ‘Just clumsy today.’

  Her mother would be delighted when she discovered why. She stooped to pick up the largest pieces and tried to quell a sudden pang of remorse. She wouldn’t be judgmental—her mother wasn’t like that—but she’d be curious all the same and maybe just a tiny bit sad that there was no boyfriend or husband on the scene. She’d wanted to see Philly settled down after all.

  But she’d considered that same scenario when she’d applied to undergo IVF treatment. She’d known that it would still be worth it, that any disappointment would be short lived in the joy that a new baby brought, especially when that baby meant so much.

  As for telling Damien? She had to tell him as soon as possible. It had been one thing to keep her secret to herself when there was no chance of him ever finding out. But now there was no way. The product of that secret would soon betray her anyway.

  As soon as the doctors had confirmed the pregnancy. The first chance she had, she would tell him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘ENID!’ Where was that woman? ‘Enid!’

  Enid appeared at his office doorway, pen and blue folder at the ready.

  ‘You rang?’ she asked, one eyebrow skewed north.

  He gritted his teeth. He never liked it when she took that tone. Having a PA who knew too much about you was a positive drawback at times.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Completing the papers you asked me to fax the last time you bellowed at me, not five minutes ago. Not to mention,’ she added before he had a chance to respond, ‘sorting out two weeks worth of mail you demanded barely five minutes before that. And answering the phone in between—you did ask me to take even your direct line calls for today. And thank you for asking, I had a wonderful Christmas holiday. At least, I imagine that’s why you demanded my presence this time?’

  For a moment he was speechless. ‘Well, good for you,’ he replied with a snarl, wondering just why the hell he had wanted to see her.

  ‘And Switzerland?’ she continued, her eyes narrowing as if she was peering right into his soul. ‘How was the skiing this year? Normally you come back a little more relaxed after your break.’

  ‘Fine,’ he snapped, drumming his fingers on the table while he tried to forget all about his failure of a holiday and remember what he wanted Enid for. ‘Switzerland was fine.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Enid in a tone that said pigs could fly. ‘Then maybe you’d like to go over what’s in your diary for today.’

  His head snapped up. That was it. ‘Only if you’ve finished discussing my social calendar,’ he retorted. ‘My diary is why I asked you here in the first place.’

  ‘I see,’ said Enid, clearly nonplussed. ‘Only you never said.’ She flipped open the folder in her hands. ‘First up at nine, you have an hour long meeting with Philly about the roll out of the new campaign, after which…’

  He jerked upright and out of his chair at the sound of that name, turning to the window as Enid’s voice droned on in the background listing today’s appointments.

  Philly. What was it about her that made him so unsettled? How did she do that? He glanced down at his w
atch as Enid’s unheeded dialogue tailed off. Eight-thirty. She’d be here in half an hour. Barely any time at all. So why did thirty minutes suddenly seem so long?

  Philly wondered if this was how morning sickness felt. It was still only early in her pregnancy, but she’d been fine up until now, finding it difficult to believe she really was pregnant, even after her doctor’s confirmation and referral to a specialist. She had felt so unchanged, so utterly well.

  Until today. Her gut churned, her legs felt less solid than the rice pudding she’d made for her mother last night and it had nothing to do with the motion of the train wending its way closer to Melbourne’s city centre, closer to making her announcement to Damien. She knew she couldn’t put it off. She knew she’d have to tell him some time. But she just wasn’t at all confident she could do this today.

  But neither could she delay it. The longer she did that, the harder it would be.

  The train stopped, mid station. Heads lifted from newspapers and novels, knitting needles stopped clacking and fifty heads swivelled around, searching for some explanation for the delay. The speakers crackled into life with the grim news. A minor derailment ahead and a delay of at least an hour. Fifty disgruntled passengers gave a collective groan, giving up any hopes of an early start, and pulled out mobile phones to relay the news before turning their attention resignedly back to their activities.

  At least an hour. Another hour to think about what she had to do. Another hour for her insides to rebel. It was the last thing she needed today. She glanced at her watch, realising she wouldn’t be at work anywhere close to being in time for her meeting with Damien and rummaged in her handbag for her own mobile phone. At least she could let him know she’d be late.

  Damien knew the moment she arrived. Standing with his hands in pockets, gazing out over the view of the city, he’d heard the soft ping of the lift bell and the whoosh of the doors and he’d known instinctively that she was finally here. He was sure those were her hurried footsteps tearing along the plush careting, and already he could even imagine the scent of apricots drifting along the corridor.