Her Sicilian Baby Revelation / The Greek's One-Night Heir

Orla had been a virgin. He remembered the flame of colour that had stained her cheeks when she’d told him that and had to fight back the memory snaking through his blood of the first time he’d made love to her.

‘Hello, Finn. Are you having a good time?’

Finn nodded vigorously. He strained forwards but the straps of his wheelchair stopped him leaning too far.

‘And do you like your suite?’

He was rewarded with a blank stare.

‘Your room,’ Tonino clarified. ‘Do you like your room?’

Another vigorous nod.

‘You’re sharing it with your mummy?’

A less vigorous nod.

‘What about your daddy? Is he sharing it too?’ Having checked the room and suite allocation, he already knew the answer to this, but he wanted to see Finn’s reaction to the word ‘daddy’. Dante had been uncharacteristically evasive on the subject of Finn’s parentage when he’d tried to quiz him a short while ago. Tonino understood. Orla was Dante’s newfound sister. He had a sister himself. Blood protected blood. It had been Aislin’s reaction to his questions that had been the biggest giveaway. She’d reminded him of a cornered rabbit.

The blank stare returned.

A little voice piped up, the Irish brogue strong. ‘Finn doesn’t have a daddy.’

Tonino raised his head to look at Orla. She was clasping the handles of the wheelchair so tightly her knuckles had whitened.

The expression on her face along with the child’s unwitting answer was all the confirmation he needed.

Her green eyes held his, wide and pleading, before she gave a slight shake of her head and mouthed, Later. Please, and expertly pushed the wheelchair around him and aimed it towards the ballroom at a speed that would suggest she was being chased by a pack of rabid dogs.

Suddenly feeling in need of a large drink, he let her go.

The ballroom had been transformed into an even glitzier spectacle by the time Orla hurried through its doors. The main lights had dimmed so the only illumination came from the glittering chandeliers. The DJ had started playing music but the dance floor was empty.

The fear gripping her heart tightened when she saw her sister’s face.

‘Tonino Valente was asking questions about Finn’s father,’ Aislin whispered when she reached her.

Terrified she was going to cry, Orla blinked frantically.

Sympathy and understanding washed over her sister’s face. ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

All she could do was nod.

‘He knows?’

Pulling her lips in tightly, she nodded again. Tonino had taken one look at Finn and recognised him as his own.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know.’ For three years she’d waited for the memories to return, assuming that, once she had them back, she would enlist her sister’s help and set off to find Finn’s father. She would have had time to prepare herself.

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined a scenario like this.

Behind Aislin, Dante approached them.

His presence brought some much-needed sanity to Orla’s frazzled nerves.

Whatever happened, she mustn’t lose sight that this was their big day. If Aislin so much as suspected the fear in Orla’s heart then everything would be ruined. She wouldn’t hesitate to cancel the party or the honeymoon.

Flinging her arms around her, Orla held her sister tightly. ‘I need to settle my nerves but I’m going to be fine. I promise. Now stop worrying about me and enjoy your party.’

On cue, the DJ called for the bride and groom to take to the dance floor.

‘Go,’ Orla urged, kissing Aislin’s cheek. She was rewarded with a kiss in return.

While Dante led Aislin onto the dance floor, Orla took Finn out of his wheelchair and put him in his walker, a wonderful device Dante had bought for him that kept him secure and allowed him to use his legs to get himself about. She had to be careful with the amount of time he used it as he tired easily, but she knew he would want to get on the dance floor with the other children.

As soon as he was in it he started bouncing with glee. His ‘girlfriend’ the bridesmaid shot over to admire him in it.

Orla went with them to the edge of the dance floor with the other guests.

Tears she’d been holding back filled her eyes again to see the love shining between the two people she loved so much. She didn’t need to pray for their love to be eternal. Aislin and Dante were made for each other.

As the dance came to an end an arm brushed against hers. Her skin tingled.

A spicy scent filled her nostrils. Her pulses surged. Her lungs tightened. A memory of pressing her nose into a strong neck and inhaling this scent flashed through her.

‘I give them six months.’

She didn’t dare look at him. Somehow she managed to croak, ‘What?’

‘Their marriage. If Aislin has your blood in her veins then it won’t be long before her mask slips and Dante realises that beneath the pretty surface lies a black, deceitful heart.’ A huge hand closed on her wrist. ‘Dance with me.’

She thought her knees were about to collapse beneath her.

‘Dance with me or I make a scene. Do you want to be responsible for ruining your brother and sister’s special day?’

He gave her no further chance to answer. Before she knew it, Orla was being smoothly manhandled onto the dance floor and pulled against the hulking body of the only man she’d ever been intimate with.

CHAPTER THREE

DANCING WITH ORLA was like dancing with a lump of aged clay. Her arms hung limply by her sides; her movements stiff and resistant.

Taking her hands firmly and placing them on his waist, Tonino dipped his head to whisper into her ear. ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’

Somehow she managed to stiffen even further.

A loose strand of her hair brushed against his nose and suddenly he became aware of his sinews tightening and his veins thickening as her scent worked its magic in his senses.

Her magic had once thrilled him. Initially shy, she’d soon revealed herself to be sweet and funny, a woman who wore her intelligence lightly, unaware of her inherent sensual nature until he’d brought it out of her. That was what had made her abrupt disappearance so hard to comprehend. He could have understood if she’d been prickly and had the bitchy streak so many of the women in his world wore like a badge of honour, but she’d been nothing like them.

He could never have imagined she would turn out to be worse than all of them put together.

Disgust that he could still feel such a visceral response to her had him stepping back so their bodies no longer touched.

‘Orla, you have hidden my son from me for three years,’ he said tightly, loathing that he could feel anything other than loathing for this treacherous woman. ‘If you want me to keep hold of my temper and not make a scene, I suggest you answer my question. Were you ever going to tell me I have a child?’

A contortion of emotions crashed over her face. Frightened green eyes flickered. Soft, plump lips tightened.

Tonino’s self-loathing increased at the vivid remembrance of how good it had felt to have those soft lips crushed against his.

Never had he hated anyone as much as he hated Orla right then. That he could still desire her after everything she’d done stretched credulity to a whole new dimension.

He spun her round in his arms so she faced the socialising guests rather than the DJ. Ignoring the malevolent stares being thrown his way by Sophia and the rest of the Messinas, he said, ‘You see the table I was on?’

She gave a tiny nod.

‘That is my family. They have spent the day celebrating your brother and sister’s marriage. My parents are here, my brother and his family, my brother-in-law and my sister’s children… They have all seen Finn, unaware he is their blood.’

Tonino might still feel the residue of anger over the furious arguments that had erupted between him and his parents when he’d ended his engagement to Sophia, but his parents adored their grandchildren. Nothing made them happier than news of another family pregnancy. Babies were celebrated as gifts from God.

‘You have deprived them of a grandson, nephew and cousin. You have deprived Finn of his Sicilian family and heritage.’

The anger in Tonino’s carefully delivered words chilled Orla’s heart. Her brain kept alternating between hot and cold, a vapid mess of confusion, fear and guilt. Being held so close to him only made matters worse. Her heart pounded so hard there was danger it could beat itself out of her constricted chest. Every time she managed to take a breath his spicy scent dived into her airwaves. It shocked and terrified her that her nose seemed to want to bury itself into his neck and breathe his scent in properly, just as it had done all those years ago. It terrified her even more that her hands wanted to wrap fully around his waist and her body strained to press closer against his hard torso.

Being held in his arms had flooded her with more memories.

She remembered taking one look at him and her insides and brain melting into hot goo.

She remembered lying naked in his arms, half awake as the morning sun filtered into the bedroom, and thinking she had never been so happy.

And she remembered learning that everything he’d told her about himself had been a lie.

Orla stared at Tonino’s family, her stomach churning violently. These impossibly glamorous, impossibly wealthy, impossibly powerful people were her baby’s family. How would they react when they learned of Finn? She knew it was her broken brain’s fault that they were not a part of Finn’s life but, even as she breathed relief to remember her intentions had always been to tell Tonino about their child, she still felt wretched for them. All she’d wanted was to get through the pregnancy, have her baby on Irish soil and then seek legal help before telling him…

Suddenly finding herself meeting Sophia’s coldly furious stare, she hastily looked away, straight into Tonino’s equally cold and furious stare.

The churning in her stomach increased as she found herself gazing at the handsome face she remembered sighing with pleasure to wake beside.

He was just so…masculine. Thick, dark stubble was already breaking out over his chiselled jawline and perfectly complemented the thick, dark hair he wore short at the sides and longer at the top. But, for all his sculptural perfection, it was his eyes she’d always found the most arresting. They were like the darkest melted chocolate. They had made her melt.

Their son had his eyes.

Wrenching her stare from Tonino, she found her son bouncing happily in his walker and took a deep breath.

From the moment the pregnancy had been confirmed, her child’s welfare had been the focus of her life. When she’d woken from the coma with all memories of the previous six months lost, she’d known, even while everything else had been a blank, that she’d been carrying a child. She would fight to the last breath to keep him safe.

Suddenly desperate to hold Finn in her arms, she dropped her light touch against Tonino’s waist and took a step back. ‘Please, I don’t want a scene but this is not the time or place for this conversation.’

His features darkened. He snatched at her wrist before she could take another step away from him. ‘Then let’s go somewhere private—this is a conversation we should have had four years ago. You have kept my son in the dark about me for long enough. Finn doesn’t have a daddy? He damn well does and he deserves to know it.’

‘I agree but take a look at him. Look,’ she insisted when his now blazing eyes stayed locked on hers. ‘You must see he’s not a well boy. He’s looked forward to this day for ages and looked forward to dancing and playing with other children. Let him enjoy the party for another hour and then I’ll put him to bed. Give him time to fall asleep and then come to my suite. Please? We can talk then.’

He turned his head to the direction of their son. His chest rose and fell heavily.

Eventually he inclined his head sharply, dropped his loose hold on her wrist and faced her again. ‘Two hours, Orla, and then I come to your suite.’ He bowed his head to whisper in her ear, ‘And if you have thoughts of running away, know I have put measures in place to prevent it. You will never escape from me again.’

The nurse helped Orla get Finn into his pyjamas and put him to bed before Orla told her to go and join the party for a few hours.

Alone, she stripped off her bridesmaid dress, avoiding the reflection of her bare figure in the mirror. Her scars were itching but she didn’t dare apply the topical lotion her doctor had prescribed for it, not when the knock on the suite door could come at any moment. Instead, she dressed hastily, donning a pair of checked trousers and a long-sleeved black top.

When Tonino came she wanted to be ready.

Could she ever be ready for this?

She’d spent three years trying desperately to remember who Finn’s father was and unearth the memories of their time together. Now that many of them had popped out of the box they’d been contained in, part of her wished she could shove them back in and nail the lid back down while, contrarily, her search for the still-hidden memories became more frantic.

Much of the time they’d shared together had come back to her, but she still didn’t remember what had happened with her father. Her return to Ireland was still a blur too.

When the loud rap on her suite’s door finally came, it took more effort than she could believe to drag her legs to it.

Tonino loomed at the threshold looking exactly as she imagined a vampire would in the moments before it swooped to strike its helpless victim.

A vampire should not send her pulses soaring with just one look. That was dangerous by any stretch of the imagination.

Without a word being exchanged, he stepped into the suite and closed the door. Folding his arms across his broad chest, he slowly looked her up and down.

The intensity of his scrutiny sent something thick and warm trickling through her feverish veins. Shaken, Orla hastily sat herself on one of the suite’s plush sofas.

She didn’t want to look at him but found herself helpless to do anything else. Tonino had such presence, a magnetic energy he carried with him. All the words she’d prepared stuck on her tongue as she gazed into the dark brown eyes of the man who’d swept her off her feet and then broken her heart in the space of ten days. That same broken heart thundered in her chest. Its thuds pounded in her head. Her thoughts, like her words and memories, were a messed-up jumble.

She had no idea how to play this. The man she’d had the time of her life with had been a lie, but he was still Finn’s father. He might have all the wealth and power, but he was still Finn’s father. When all was said and done, that was the one inescapable fact. Finn deserved to know his father and Tonino deserved to know his son.

After a long period of charged silence, he dragged his fingers through his hair and headed to the minibar. ‘I don’t know about you but I need a drink. Do you still drink gin?’

Startled that he remembered something so innocuous, she shook her head.

He arched an eyebrow then opened the bar door and pulled out a bottle of red wine.

He took a corkscrew from a drawer and opened the bottle effortlessly. ‘Will you have one?’

This time she managed to croak, ‘No, thank you.’

Since the accident, Orla had lost all tolerance for alcohol, which was a great shame. Before the pregnancy, she’d loved nothing more than going out with her friends, drinking way too much and dancing until the sun came up. She’d been free. No responsibilities, no pain, no dependency on anyone else. No one dependent on her.

Those days belonged to another woman.

He poured himself a hefty glass, swirled the red liquid, put the rim under his nose then took a sip. It must have pleased his palate for he then took a much larger sip.

Tonino, she suddenly remembered, loved good wine.

When his eyes locked on to hers, a shiver ran down her spine. He looked murderously cold.

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she suggested quietly.

Tonino, propped against the bar, took another drink as he looked at Orla, dwarfed by the sofa she’d sat herself on, fingers twisting together. She reminded him of a newborn deer that had come face-to-face with its first predator.

‘I’m fine where I am,’ he answered.

She raised a shoulder and breathed in through her nose. ‘Then would you mind not glowering at me?’

That voice…

Orla was the only woman who’d turned him on with nothing but her voice. The husky timbre and lyrical brogue were pure alchemy to the senses. It coiled through his veins like the finest of wines and came dangerously close to muffling out her actual words.

‘Glowering?’ It was an unfamiliar word.

Her lips curled into a brief smile. ‘You know—looking like you want to rip my head from my neck. It’s making me feel all itchy.’

‘You’re safe,’ he answered sardonically. ‘If I rip your head off I’ll never get any answers from you. Enough stalling. Tell me what’s wrong with my son and tell me why you have kept him a secret from me for all these years.’

She dipped her head forwards and put her face in her hands. Her fingers dragged through her thick mane of wavy dark hair, which she’d released from its knot. It was every bit as luscious as he remembered and he suddenly experienced the deepest urge to kneel before her and cradle her face in his hands, stroke the soft skin and run his fingers through the thick mane as he’d done so many times before.

When she looked back up to meet his stare, everything inside him clenched.

‘Are you sure you won’t sit down?’ she said softly. ‘This could take a while.’

Gritting his teeth tightly, he stared at her. Or glowered, as she called it. He would not allow her soft femininity to weaken him. His height was one of the natural advantages nature had given him, his strength accomplished by his own hard work. If him remaining standing made Orla feel disadvantaged, then great. He saw no reason to put her at ease. On the contrary.

She chewed her bottom lip then sighed. ‘I always wanted to tell you.’

He snorted.

‘Please, just listen. Finn’s condition and the reason I never told you about him are related. I had a car accident when I was six months pregnant that left my memory shot to pieces. I couldn’t tell you about Finn because I’d forgotten who you were.’

Her excuse was so outrageous he tightened his grip on the wine glass to stop himself throwing it against the wall. ‘Dio mio, you have got some nerve, lady. You’re claiming you had amnesia?’

‘Yes. But it’s not a claim. It’s the truth.’

‘And when did your memories return?’

‘The ones about you returned today… Well, some of them have…’

‘Very convenient,’ he mocked, topping up his glass with more wine. ‘You’ve had hours to come up with a convincing excuse and this is the best you can do? Amnesia?’

‘I understand it sounds far-fetched but it’s the truth. I’ve spent over three years trying to remember you. All I remembered with any clarity until today was your face. Everything else was hazy images. I knew we’d met here in Sicily but that was a deep-rooted knowledge, like knowing my own name—’

‘You expect me to believe this?’ he interrupted impatiently.

‘It’s the truth and it’s a provable truth.’

‘Really?’ he sneered. ‘The only thing provable is that you’re a liar.’

‘I am not.’

‘You booked into my hotel under a false name.’

Confusion creased her beautiful face. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Four years ago you booked into my hotel under the name of Orla McCarthy. Here, you are booked in under the name of Orla O’Reilly.’

Around a month after she’d done her disappearing act, Tonino had drunk too much wine and decided to search her name on the Internet. The few articles he’d found with the name Orla McCarthy in them had not been about her.

Now he understood why Orla had bucked the trend and left no digital footprint. She’d given him a false name.

The woman he’d experienced the deepest connection of his life with, the woman who’d been the unwitting catalyst of the ongoing rift with his family, the woman who’d had no idea of who he was yet had still treated him like a prince…

That woman had lied about her name. She’d kept his child a secret from him.

He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t fighting an urge to throw her out of the suite window into the sea below but was instead fighting the powerful urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her until he’d drawn all the breath from her lungs.

He couldn’t understand how he could look at her deceitful face and feel all his internal organs swelling and compressing his lungs. These were reactions her cruel duplicity should have killed stone dead.

‘When I booked into your hotel four years ago I had to hand my passport over so I used my legal name, which is McCarthy,’ she explained wearily.

‘Then why are you here now as O’Reilly? Was it to throw me off the scent? Did you think I wouldn’t recognise you?’

She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. ‘I genuinely do not know what you’re implying.’

‘There is nothing genuine about you,’ he said roughly. ‘You knew you would see me today. Your brother and I are old friends. You’re staying in my hotel. The wedding reception’s in my hotel.’ He squeezed the back of his neck. ‘You took a huge risk in coming here and an even bigger risk bringing Finn with you.’

‘I wasn’t going to come without him,’ she protested hotly. ‘Dante never mentioned your name. If he had I would have remembered you sooner, but he didn’t. Aislin organised the wedding—she made the booking and checked me in. Aislin has her father’s surname because our mother married him. Our mum registered me as Orla O’Reilly when I started school, so I had the same surname as them. Most people know me as Orla O’Reilly.’

‘Why didn’t you change it legally?’

‘That would have been up to my mother and she couldn’t be bothered.’

He grimaced and took another large drink of his wine, angry with himself for diverting from the only subject that should matter to him. His son. ‘What name have you given Finn?’

‘My legal name. McCarthy.’

‘Why doesn’t he have my name?’

‘Because I’d forgotten it,’ she answered through gritted teeth.

Anger swelled like a cobra poising to strike. ‘Then who the hell is named as his father?’

‘No one.’

‘Now I know you’re lying,’ he snarled. He’d interrupted his lawyer’s evening meal to demand he look into the legalities of Irish paternity for him. ‘It is illegal not to name the father on an Irish birth certificate.’

She rubbed her eyes again then fixed them on him with a sigh that sounded more exasperated than defeated. ‘It isn’t if there’s a compelling reason.’

‘And what compelling reason did you give?’ he demanded. ‘Your amnesia?’

‘Keep your voice down or you’ll wake Finn.’ For the first time since he’d entered her suite, a fierceness entered her tone.

He hadn’t realised he was shouting.

But, Dio, it was taking all his strength not to grab her by the shoulders and shake all the lies out of her until only the truth remained. What kind of a fool did she take him for? Did she seriously think she could play the amnesia line and that he would fall for it? What did she think? That they were players in one of those over-acted soap operas his grandmother watched?