Secret Heirs And A Forever Family

The sex had been hot, intense and unbelievably intimate. But she had adored every minute of it. Was this what her mother had been so addicted to? Now she understood. Something fluttered in her chest. Something sweet and seductive and more than a little bit silly.

She set about figuring out the state-of-the-art coffee maker and ignored the feeling. Their liaison was unlikely to last past this morning—so there was no point in getting carried away. She needed to be pragmatic. Really, she ought to be heading home. She had to find a pharmacy en route and take care of the practicalities—as Dario had put it. Her cheeks heated as she recalled their excruciating conversation from the night before. Her hand strayed to her belly. And she wondered, just for a split second, what it would be like to have the child of a man like Dario De Rossi.

Not going there.

She shook off the foolish, fanciful thoughts and let her hand drop.

She didn’t want Dario’s baby. She didn’t want anyone’s baby. She was fairly sure she wasn’t cut out for motherhood, any more than her own mother had been. And if by chance Dario’s seed had found fertile ground last night, she would remedy the problem as soon as she got back home. But first she needed coffee.

She concentrated on filling the machine’s in-built grinder with coffee beans. It didn’t take long to have the strong, chicory scent filling up the kitchen. If only she had more clothing, she could pop out and get something for breakfast. She liked to cook. And she felt she owed Dario. He’d made last night magnificent. And she hadn’t exactly held up her end, so to speak. She frowned as she poured a steaming cup of coffee into one of the demi-cups in the cupboard. He’d been so controlled, so focused, it had been flattering and exhausting and beyond amazing. But somehow the times after that first time hadn’t felt quite as, well, quite as equal. She’d felt oddly like a pupil, being played by a master. Her attempts to touch him, to caress him, to drive him crazy back, rebuffed.

‘I’m impressed.’

She jerked round, sloshing hot coffee over the counter, to find Dario standing behind her, his broad, muscular chest making her pulse race. He wore a pair of sweat pants low on his hips—revealing the most mouthwatering V she had ever seen in her life—and nothing else. His olive skin was deeply tanned, even down to the line of his low-riding pants. His dark hair stood up in clumps on one side of his head, but unlike her hair—which probably resembled Frizz City this morning—the rumpled, just-out-of-bed look only made him sexier. Add that to the jaw sporting a five o’clock shadow that had given her whisker burn in some interesting places last night, and the man wouldn’t have looked out of place in a million-dollar cologne ad.

‘Still skittish, Megan?’ His sensual lips tipped up on one side in a boyish smile as he leant past her to pour himself a mug of coffee and the giddy feeling in her chest fluttered again.

She breathed in his scent, the sandalwood aroma a brutal reminder of everything they’d got up to together in the shower.

‘You have a habit of creeping up on me,’ she said in her defence, but she smiled. Had she actually spent all night in this man’s arms? This god among men? No fair.

He laughed, that deep rusty chuckle that had enthralled her last night, when she’d had the oddest sensation that he didn’t laugh nearly often enough. It had made her feel special. When she knew she wasn’t. But still.

‘Why do I impress you?’ she asked, shamelessly fishing for a compliment.

The tanned skin around his eyes crinkled, as if he knew exactly what she was up to. ‘You figured out the espresso machine without an hour-long tutorial.’

She laughed and glanced back at the complex contraption. ‘It’s not that hard for a computer geek.’

He sipped his coffee, hummed low in his throat, the sound sending the familiar pinpricks darting down to her sex. Heavens, she was a hopeless case.

‘Sexy and smart and a great coffee maker.’ He leant down to kiss her, the teasing licks sending her senses reeling, his rich coffee taste making the hunger in her gut intensify. But as she opened her mouth to take him in, he pulled back.

‘Damn, what do you do to me, piccola?’

Little one.

He’d used the same endearment last night. It was probably something he called all the women who slept with him. It didn’t make her special or different—she needed to remember that. But even so, the deep blue of his irises seemed to sparkle just for her when he said it. This playful, provocative side of him made her feel as if she was getting a glimpse of something he never showed to anyone else.

‘Nothing you don’t do to me,’ she replied, because it was true.

‘Hmm, I doubt that,’ he said enigmatically, before he walked round and perched on one of the bar stools by the kitchen counter.

‘I thought I could cook us breakfast, before I go,’ she said, trying not to sound too eager. ‘But you don’t have any food.’

‘I use a caterer when I entertain. Otherwise I eat out.’

‘I see.’ Although she didn’t really. Surely for any house to be a home, you had to eat in occasionally? ‘Well, I guess I should be going, then.’

‘There is no need to leave yet. I can get groceries sent up. I like the idea of you cooking me breakfast.’ He glanced at her shirt. ‘Especially in my Roma shirt. Maybe I will ravish you afterwards on the countertop.’

The arrogantly male statement and the wicked intention in his eyes should have unsettled her, but instead it only excited her. But then every damn thing about the man turned her on.

‘If you’re going to be a caveman about it, I may have to rescind my offer,’ she teased back.

‘We will have to see if I can persuade you,’ he said and she knew she was sunk. They both knew her resistance when it came to him was zero. ‘How much time do you have?’ he asked.

She glanced at the clock on the glass wall next to the eight-ring cooker…that he never used. And blinked, shocked to realise it was inching towards ten o’clock. She had to get back to her apartment before Katie woke up. Katie was not an early riser on a Saturday when she didn’t have to go to college, thank goodness. But she didn’t want her sister asking probing questions about where she’d been all night. And she definitely didn’t want her finding out about the morning-after pill debacle—which meant making sure she bought it and took it before Katie got out of bed.

‘I didn’t realise it was so late,’ she said, unable to keep the regret from her voice. ‘I really need to go home and change and handle the other…um…practicalities we talked about last night.’

‘This is a shame,’ he said, and seemed to mean it—which didn’t help with the giddy flutter in her chest.

But then her phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up. A message from her father.

What the hell happened with De Rossi last night?

Guilt washed over her as she glanced up at Dario. Her father sounded as if he was freaking out again. This couldn’t be right. Dario had told her he wasn’t pursuing Whittaker’s, that there would be no takeover.

‘I should probably take this,’ she said.

A strange chill settled in her stomach as she walked to the other side of the room and texted her father back.

Don’t panic Dad, everything’s okay. Dario assured me he’s not attempting a takeover. I spoke to him.

She stared at the text, then quickly scrolled back to delete Dario and replace it with Mr De Rossi. Then she pressed send. She’d done a lot more than speak to Dario, but her father did not need to know that. Their liaison had nothing to do with the company. Not now.

The reply came back within seconds. And the sinking feeling in her stomach became a black hole. The vicious words felt like a punch in the gut she couldn’t defend herself against.

Stupid little slut! You slept with him, didn’t you? After he stole my company. You’re no better than your bitch of a mother.

‘He shouldn’t say such things to you.’

She swung round to find Dario watching her, his expression grim. She whipped the phone behind her back, humiliated and sick at the same time. Had he read that?

‘He’s upset. I think… He’s under a lot of stress at the moment,’ she said, instantly jumping to her father’s defence. He didn’t mean to be cruel. He wasn’t a bad man, just an extremely stressed one. ‘But I should go, and explain things to him. He’s obviously got the wrong end of the stick. He thinks De Rossi Corp is involved in a hostile takeover. And obviously that’s not the case, because you promised me yesterday you have no interest in Whittaker’s.’

Dario took the phone from her and grasped her hand to lead her to one of the kitchen stools. ‘Sit down, Megan. I need to explain something.’

She sat down. Confused now and wary. Why did Dario look so serious? Where had the sexy man of a moment ago gone to? The man who had worshipped her with his mouth, his hands, his body, last night? And why had her father texted her so viciously? None of it made any sense. The company wasn’t under threat; it had all been a misunderstanding of some sort.

‘Megan, you must understand, I never mix business with pleasure.’

‘I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up, it’s just he texted me and I—’

‘You misunderstand me.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Last night was about us enjoying each other, not about your father, or his company.’

‘I know that, but you promised me that—’

‘What I promised you was that I would not destroy Whittaker’s. That is what you asked me and I answered truthfully.’

‘I know, and that’s good.’

‘I have no plans to destroy it. Because, as of last night, I now own it.’

She blinked rapidly, the black hole in her stomach opening into a huge pit. A huge gaping pit full of vipers. As he continued to speak in that calm, pragmatic voice, his words became barely audible above the hissing in her head.

‘Whittaker’s is still a viable company with the right management. It is a heritage brand with excellent prospects. The right management, though, is not your father. E-commerce is the way forward. He has refused to develop that side of the business to any great degree. I only asset-strip companies that have no future.’

He had taken the company away from her father.

He hadn’t lied, but he had been economical with the truth. And she’d fallen for it. Because she’d wanted to. She’d heard what she’d wanted to hear in his qualified denial, because she’d wanted him. Her father had every right to call her a slut. Because that was exactly what she was. She’d put her own pleasure above the good of the company. The good of the family. Just like her mother.

Tears stung her eyes, making her sinuses throb. She wouldn’t cry. She didn’t deserve that indulgence. She had to get back to her apartment, get changed and then go to see her father and try to make this right. She and Katie had the money from their mother’s trust fund, but her father administered it. He was bound to withdraw Katie’s tuition now, to punish Megan for this folly. For this betrayal.

She sniffed, struggling to pull herself together, to ignore the hollow ache in her gut. The same sick feeling that had paralysed her the night her mother had left, when she was convinced her mother’s departure was somehow her fault, because she hadn’t been a good enough daughter.

She clambered off the stool, but as she tried to walk past Dario he held her arm, and pulled her round to face him. ‘If you are angry with me, you should say so.’

‘I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself. I’ve betrayed a man I love and now I have to tell him what I’ve done and hope he doesn’t hate me.’

‘Why would you love a man who speaks to you like that?’ He sounded annoyed. She didn’t understand.

‘Please, I have to go.’ She tugged out of his grip, and rushed over to pick up her gown. She would have to wear it home. The walk of shame really did not get any worse than this.

‘He doesn’t deserve your loyalty,’ he said, the cynical edge in his voice cutting through the last of her defences. ‘No man does who would use you in such a way.’

But you used me, too.

She pushed the self-pitying thought to one side. Dario hadn’t used her, he had taken what she had offered freely. But even so, she couldn’t bear to look at him as she took off his football shirt and slipped into the satin sheath. She should have been embarrassed that he was watching her. That having those eyes on her, cool and blue and full of heat, still aroused her. But she was way past embarrassment—everything she had ever known or believed about herself and her own integrity ripped to shreds.

She deserved her father’s scorn.

‘We slept together,’ she said, pushing her feet into the torturous heels. ‘I made a choice to sleep with you. It was the wrong choice. I see that now. I let what I wanted get in the way of what was right.’

Not only that, but she’d allowed herself to believe that a man as ruthless as Dario would put his desire for her above a business deal.

She wasn’t just a clueless muppet. She was a hopelessly naïve and narcissistic clueless muppet.

‘Don’t be foolish,’ he demanded. ‘This isn’t about right or wrong. Or you and me and what we did together last night. This is about your father and his inability to run a company competently. The two circumstances are not related.’

‘They are to me.’ She picked the wrap up from the floor of the living room and took one last glance at the wide green canopy of Central Park. There would be families down there, on this bright spring day. Families who loved and respected each other. But her father would never respect her again. She’d failed him. Failed herself. Thanks to her hunger for a man who was so far out of her league it was ridiculous.

He snagged her arm again. ‘This is madness, Megan. We satisfied a perfectly natural urge last night. Nothing more. There is no need to punish yourself.’

She shook her arm free, blinking furiously to stop the tears from falling—because she would feel even more wretched if he ever found out the truth.

That somehow during their wild night together, she had come to believe she and Dario were doing more than just satisfying a perfectly natural urge.

‘I have to go.’

She rushed down the long corridor towards the door, pathetically grateful he didn’t try to stop her. The sound of her heels clicking on the inlaid wood flooring mocked her. Along with the scattershot beats of her heart. And the nausea rolling in her belly.

As she took the lift down, she felt sick at her own stupidity.

But as the cab drove away from the art deco apartment building, she also felt a strange sense of pity. For Dario.

Because for all his wealth and power, for all his good looks and potent sex appeal, his indomitable confidence and charisma, it was clear he did not understand the importance of family.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘MEG, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?’ Katie pounced on her forty minutes later as she let herself into their apartment.

‘Oh. My. God. You spent the night with him, didn’t you?’ Katie hissed as she took in the creased satin gown, the haphazard wrap, and the hastily knotted bundle of frizz on Megan’s head. ‘Sheesh, is that whisker burn on your cheek?’

Megan placed a hand over the raw skin, ashamed all over again. ‘I can’t talk about it now.’ Or ever.

Her head hurt, the deep ache matched by the smarting pain in her tear ducts from the disastrous end to her wild night with Dario De Rossi—and all the tears she refused to shed.

That was nothing though compared to what the company would face now. She would lose her job, and she’d deserve it. A part of her—the small, sane part of her that could still think straight—had reasoned that it wasn’t her fault De Rossi had targeted Whittaker’s, or that her father’s wild scheme to discover Dario’s intentions through some sort of computer hack wouldn’t have made a difference. But even so, she felt unbearably guilty. For sleeping with a man who had destroyed what her family had spent years building.

‘Actually, you don’t have to talk about it, I already know…’ Katie grabbed her hand, and tugged her into the alcove off the hallway. ‘Dad’s here, and he’s behaving like a lunatic. He called you all sorts of horrid names and dismissed Lydia. Just sacked her on the spot.’

‘Oh, no.’ Was Lydia going to be made to pay for her mistakes too?

‘Did he say anything about your tuition?’ Megan asked, praying that she might be able to limit at least some of the damage.

‘Yeah, he’s pulling the plug on that. You could have told me he was paying for it,’ her sister said, but she didn’t look nearly as devastated as Megan had expected.

‘Don’t worry, Katie, I’ll find a way to fund it.’ Somehow.

‘Forget it, I’ll figure out a way to fund it myself,’ Katie said dismissively. ‘Believe me, that’s the least of our worries. We have to deal with Dad first. I think he’s lost his marbles. I’m not kidding. He’s been ranting and raving about Mum, and you and De Rossi. He’s behaving like King Lear on a bender. I think he’s on something. He’s dangerous.’

‘What?’ The vice around Megan’s temples tightened.

‘I tried to call you, to warn you.’ Katie’s head swivelled round to peek past the column that edged the hallway and gave her a direct view of the living-room door. ‘But I kept getting the answer-machine.’

Because Megan had switched off the phone when she’d left Dario’s—too much of a coward to bear her father’s wrath before she had to. She’d delayed the inevitable still further by stopping at a pharmacy en route. But the chemist’s judgmental look as she’d bought the emergency contraception in a crumpled satin ball gown had been more than enough of a guilt trip to remind her of all her transgressions.

‘Don’t worry,’ Megan murmured wearily. She really didn’t need Katie’s ongoing battle with their father resurfacing and turning this crisis into a catastrophe. ‘Dad’s mad with me, that’s all. I did something he may never forgive me for…’ Just the thought of that had the guilt clawing at her insides like a rabid dog. ‘He’s lost Whittaker’s.’ Of course her father was distraught. He must have just found out about the takeover when he’d texted her this morning. ‘But he’s not going to hurt either one of us.’

‘Don’t be so sure,’ Katie whispered, her eye darts and head swivels becoming increasingly frantic. ‘Please, you have to go. Don’t let him catch you here. He smashed up the living room already. You have to run away and hide until he calms down. I can stall him. He hardly knows I exist. He won’t hurt me. But you…’

‘Megan, get in here now!’

Katie shuddered as their father’s voice boomed down the hallway.

Weariness and regret added to the guilt tying Megan’s stomach into tight greasy knots. But as she went to step into the hallway to face her fate, and the dressing-down she no doubt deserved, Katie grabbed her arm. ‘Don’t go, Meg. For God’s sake, what’s wrong with you? He’s nuts.’

‘He’s not nuts,’ she said, although he did sound a bit deranged. But losing a company that had been your father’s, and his father’s before him, could probably do that to any man. ‘And he’s not going to hurt me.’ Their father had always been distant, preoccupied with the company and his commitment to making Whittaker’s a success, but he had never raised a hand to either one of them.

She dislodged Katie’s fingers from her arm and walked down the hallway to the living room. The first shock came when she walked into the room. For once, Katie hadn’t exaggerated. The room Lydia Brady always kept so spotless looked as if a hurricane had hit it. The photos of her and Katie growing up that she’d framed and hung on the walls had been smashed. A table had been up-ended, leaving fresh flowers crushed and water splattered over the broken glass, but it was the wanton destruction of one of Katie’s artworks—the beautiful painting was lying in tattered pieces across the floor—that shocked Megan to the core.

Her father stood by the window, with his back to her. She had expected him to look bowed, to look devastated, had been willing to apologise profusely and then try her best to soothe and persuade and maybe even come up with some kind of solution, if he would let her. But when he turned, his fists clenched at his sides, his usually perfect appearance horribly dishevelled, he didn’t look sad, or angry, he looked wild; the whites of his eyes were bloodshot.

‘About time the little slut got home.’ He strode across the room, the broken picture frames cracking beneath his shoes.

Megan stepped back, the pain in her temples screaming now. He leant past her and slammed the living-room door shut on Katie, who was hovering outside the room. Then propped a chair against the door knob.

‘Daddy?’ Megan said, the first darts of fear combining with the guilt sitting like a lump of lead in her stomach.

The blow came from nowhere, cracking in the air like a missile shot. She reeled backwards, the pain excruciating as it exploded in her cheekbone.

‘You stupid bitch! I’m not your daddy. I kept you two around because I had to—’

She scrambled onto her hands and knees, ignoring the pain in her jaw, the prickle of glass in her palms. He stood over her and hit her again, his fist knocking her shoulder and forcing her down. His foot glanced off her hip then caught the hem of her gown, the blue satin now spattered with blood. Was that her blood?

The metallic taste permeated her mouth.

She couldn’t move, the gown twisted around her legs. She could hear her sister’s cries, the pounding of her fists against the blocked door.

‘Megan? Megan? Answer me, are you okay?’

She tried to shout back, but no sound would come out, the scream locked in her throat as she rolled and saw her father, standing over her, yanking the belt out of the loops on his trousers. He flexed it, snapped it against his palm, as if testing it.

‘It was a condition of the damn trust fund your slut of a mother left you.’ He was talking, his voice tight with bitterness, but so calm, almost conversational, unlike the wild light in his eyes.

Katie was right. He had gone mad.

‘I’m calling the police.’ Katie’s muffled shouts came through the door. ‘Hang on, Megan. I’ll get help.’

She heard Katie’s running footsteps retreat into silence.

Run, Katie, run. Don’t come back.

Her mind screamed as her father ripped away the wrap she had clutched in one hand, then wheeled his arm back. She rolled onto her front, so as not to take the blow on her face.

Pain sliced across her back, the leather biting into her shoulder. She raised her hands, trying to protect her head and the belt cut into the skin of her arm.

‘Please, stop.’ The plea burst free of the blockage in her throat.

‘You deserve this, Lexy,’ he screamed her mother’s name. ‘You did this to me.’

Megan curled into a ball, trying to escape the barrage of blows. His grunts of exertion, the brutal slap of leather against skin, the scent of lemon polish and blood swirled around her, retreating into darkness, nothingness.

Dario’s face appeared, the memory sultry and vivid.

What do you do to me?

The jagged pain in her heart was the last thing to fade as she fell down, down—away from the agony, and the shouts of her mother’s name over and over again—into a safe place where no one could find her. Unless she wanted them to.

CHAPTER SIX

‘COULD YOU INFORM Miss Megan Whittaker I’m here to see her?’ Dario announced to the officious-looking building receptionist.

He didn’t like the way Megan had run out on him. He needed to speak with her again. She hadn’t done any of the things he had expected of her. He’d been prepared for temper, recriminations, even a guilt trip for deliberately misleading her. He had been ready for all those things and had had all the arguments on hand to explain to her, sensibly and dispassionately, why she was wrong to have read too much into their liaison.