Secret Heirs And A Forever Family

He dipped his head, the nod almost imperceptible. ‘I see,’ he said.

She clasped her hands in her lap, but she couldn’t stop her fingers from trembling, the emotion pressing on her chest too huge to deny as the bridge they had spent one glorious week building felt as if it were collapsing into a yawning chasm.

He didn’t want this baby. She could see it in the rigid line of his jaw, the shadowed distance in his eyes.

‘Dario, please tell me how you feel about it,’ she begged, using every ounce of the courage she had left as another tear slid down her cheek.

He shook his head, then reached over to brush the tear away. The tender gesture made her heart ache even more.

Pushing back his chair, he stood up. ‘You are tired, piccola. We can discuss this tomorrow.’

She should say something, anything—they needed to discuss this now, before he had a chance to retreat even further into that protective shell—but the last of her courage deserted her when he lifted her into his arms.

She clung to him as he carried her into their bedroom.

They would make love, she told herself desperately. That would make everything better. They were always so close when they made love.

He undressed her, but when she thought he would reach for her, he didn’t. Instead he brought her one of his T-shirts, and helped her into it.

‘Why do I need this?’ she asked.

‘Because your other nightwear tempts me too much,’ he said. ‘You need sleep, cara.’ He tucked the thin sheet around her and stood up.

‘Aren’t you coming to bed, too?’ she asked.

‘Not yet, I have some work to do. I will be in later.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘Go to sleep. It has been an exhausting day.’

She wanted to argue with him, but her limbs were already melting into the bed. She curled up, taking in the comforting scent of sandalwood that clung to the sheets.

It was okay. She was still in his bed. And he would be back soon. Then they would make love. And all their differences would melt away.

‘Don’t be long,’ she murmured as her eyes drifted closed.

But he had already left the room.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘SHE’S PREGNANT? FROM the look on your face, I’m guessing that’s not good news,’ Jared said, his voice as dispassionate as usual over the scratchy Internet connection.

Dario rubbed his forehead, trying to erase the picture lodged there of Megan crouched on the bathroom floor retching this morning. And the single tear drifting down her cheek this evening in the dusk as she told him she wanted to have his child.

He was shattered, the strain of trying to keep his emotions in check the whole day too much even for him. He had called his friend to get some advice. Even though he knew already, there was no advice that would fix this.

‘No, it’s not,’ he said. ‘It happened on our first night. We had agreed she would take the morning-after pill, but now she doesn’t remember that conversation.’ He raked his hand through his hair, and stared out into the starry night sky, the full moon reflecting off the bay.

The shock of this morning’s discovery had left him reeling. He couldn’t become a father. And Megan did not want to be a mother—something she would know when her memory returned. But as that hadn’t happened, the way forward now was fraught with complications—and heartache.

And the last week had only complicated the situation more. It was all his fault.

He should never have given into his hunger for her and taken her back into his bed. And he should never have agreed to her requests to accompany him during the day. Because the time they’d spent together, instead of reinforcing all the reasons why they could never be a couple, had done exactly the opposite.

He’d become completely enchanted with her. Not just her enthusiasm and responsiveness in bed, but the way she behaved out of it.

He’d come to adore the bright, eager and surprisingly well-informed chatter about all the improvements he was making to the island. He’d been charmed by the way she had captivated the local fishermen with her faltering Italian or bonded with Matteo Caldone’s wife over how to make gnocchi. And had come to rely on having her with him, having her by his side. She had made even the most tedious details of his working life an adventure. When he’d woken up this morning, he’d been stupidly excited about the prospect of taking her for a swim in a lagoon, knowing how much he would enjoy seeing her wide-eyed wonder at the cove’s natural beauty. In the space of one short week, she’d managed to turn him into someone he didn’t even recognise. Someone fun and playful and optimistic in a way he hadn’t been in years. In short, a besotted fool.

But worse than that, in the past week, their fake relationship had started to feel real. Real enough that even the thought of her giving herself to another man had begun to torture him. And he had forgotten to be cautious and careful with her feelings as well as his own.

But this morning’s bombshell had brought that illusion crashing down around his ears.

This relationship wasn’t real.

He could never love Megan—however much he had enjoyed her companionship in the past week or the intense physical connection they shared. And Megan didn’t really love him, because any feelings she had for him were based on a lie. But even knowing all this, when she had stared at him out of misty green eyes and told him she wanted to have his child, for one terrifying moment he had actually wanted it to be true.

It was all such a catastrophic mess, and he didn’t know how the hell to get them both out of it.

‘So she still doesn’t remember that you were never engaged for real?’ Jared said.

Dario shook his head.

‘Maybe it’s time to tell her the truth and see what happens, pal.’

Jared was right, of course. He should have said something tonight when he’d had the opportunity. Should have said something a week ago, before he’d taken her back into his bed. But still he kept second-guessing himself.

‘What if I do that and it only confuses her more?’ A tiny, foolish part of him almost wished she never regained her memory. It just went to show how far he had lost his grip on reality.

‘Doesn’t seem like you have much of a choice,’ Jared said. ‘It’s either that or she has the kid and you pretend to love her for the rest of your life.’

‘No, that is not an option, either.’ His head felt as if it were about to explode, the fear that had haunted him since childhood making his heart kick his ribs in harsh erratic thuds.

‘Sorry I can’t be of more help, man,’ Jared said, sounding as dejected as he felt. ‘Good luck.’

Signing off, Dario turned off his laptop and walked back into the bedroom.

She lay curled on the bed, having kicked off the sheet. Her body looked small and defenceless as she moved restlessly in her sleep. He should sleep elsewhere, but as a small moan escaped he found himself taking off his clothing and slipping into the bed. He cradled her quaking body in his arms, and inhaled the flowery fragrance of her hair. Her breathing deepened as he stroked the soft strands to quieten her and the arousal that was always there became a dull ache in his groin.

‘Shh, piccola,’ he murmured as he struggled to find his own peace. And a way out of this mess—without hurting the smart, sweet, beautiful woman he had come to know.

‘You stupid slut! You’re worse than your mother.’

The darkness came to her in dreams, seeping into her consciousness where she couldn’t defend herself against it. She saw her father’s face contorted with rage, sweat dripping down his mottled skin as he screamed at her.

Pain rained down on her, striking her shoulders, her back, lancing through her heart, shattering everything she had ever known about herself and her place in the world.

‘You’re not mine! You and your sister were whelps from her lovers.’

Her broken sobs echoed in her head, as she begged her daddy not to hurt her any more. But her daddy wasn’t her daddy now, and he hated her.

Just as the pain became unbearable, Dario’s voice beckoned her out of the nightmare. ‘Shh, Megan, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re safe.’

She awoke with a start in the darkened bedroom with Dario’s arms around her.

Shapes formed in the moonlight. Familiar, comforting shapes. Dario’s face harsh with concern. The giant bed where they had slept together in each other’s arms. Luxury furnishings gilded by the light of the waning Mediterranean moon. The citrus and sea scented breeze brushed her naked skin through the open shutters. And for a moment she did feel safe. Secure. Loved… So happy.

But then the darkness unfolded as the dream returned. Not a dream this time though, but terrible reality: the kaleidoscopic colours of the ballroom as Dario spun her around in a circle on their pretend date; her sobs of fulfilment as he stroked her to orgasm; the wry tilt of his lips as they discussed emergency contraception; the shuddering humiliation as she received her father’s text.

Nausea pitched and rolled in her belly. Clammy sweat covered her body. And horror hit her hard in the chest.

‘Cara, are you okay?’ he said, his voice gentle, coaxing.

But she knew the truth now. And his concern, his care, wasn’t love. It was pity.

She could feel the phantom pain from her father’s belt and see the dispassionate concern so clearly on Dario’s face as he knelt next to her shattered body.

‘Let me go.’ Pushing against his hold, she wrestled with the cloying sheet, climbed off the bed.

‘What’s wrong?’ he said, pulling back the sheet to follow her.

She scrambled away from him, her back hitting the wall of the bedroom, the cool plaster chilling her fevered flesh. ‘You lied. Why did you lie to me? We were never engaged!’

For a moment he looked shocked, but then she saw the guilty flash of knowledge. Her thundering heart felt as if it were being crushed in her chest.

‘Your memory has returned?’ he said, his voice patient. And tightly controlled.

She gagged. Rushing into the bathroom, she heaved what little she’d eaten the night before into the toilet bowl. As she carried on heaving she heard him enter the bathroom behind her.

A dim light came on and warm hands settled on her shoulders.

She spun out of his grasp. ‘Don’t touch me.’

He stood in sweat pants, his magnificent body mocking her. How ridiculous she had been, to think for even a moment that a man like him would ever love her.

He had been nothing more than a glorious one-night stand—was never meant to be more than that—and because she had lost her memory, he had spun out a lie.

But why? Why would he do that?

He lifted a hand. Like a man trying to calm a frightened beast. ‘You are over-emotional. Come back to bed so we can talk.’

She shook her head, trying to hold on to the tears making her sinuses ache. ‘How could you pretend we were engaged? That we were in love? For all this time? Why would you?’

It had all been a lie. How could he justify it to himself? And how could she? She’d fallen in love with an illusion. None of this had been real. Her hand strayed to her stomach and the baby growing there. None of it except her child.

The child he didn’t want, and now she knew why.

‘You are overwrought. You need to calm down,’ he said.

Anger flared. She clung onto it desperately, through the heartache and the weariness. ‘Don’t patronise me. Tell me the truth. Why did you tell me we were engaged? Why did you make me believe you loved me?’

He stiffened at the use of the word. And her already battered heart cracked silently in two.

‘I never pretended to love you,’ he said, and the last remnants of hope that she hadn’t even realised she still clung to withered and died. ‘I wanted you to get well,’ he said. ‘Which is why I brought you here. Away from the press, the trial, so you could recover. It was for your own good.’

‘You slept with me, knowing I didn’t know the true nature of our relationship. How could that be for my own good?’

His eyes darkened, his jaw tensed, and she felt the spark of electricity arc between them. She folded her arms across her chest, her swollen breasts tender and far too sensitive under that searing gaze. The T-shirt he had helped her into before bedtime suddenly felt see-through, every inch of skin prickling with the need to feel his touch as memories of that first night, of the past seven nights in his arms assaulted her.

‘You offered yourself to me,’ he said. ‘And I should have resisted. But everything we did together we both enjoyed.’

It sounded reasonable, persuasive even. And of course, he was right. She had begged for him to make love to her. Except it had never been love. At least not for him. ‘Did you ever care for me at all?’

‘Of course I did,’ he said, the frustration in his voice helping her to bury the agonising hurt deep.

‘And what about the baby? Perhaps you should tell me how you really feel about that now.’ But she already knew, the bitter truth turning her insides to jelly.

He heaved a deep sigh. Seeing the agony in his eyes made her want to weep. ‘Megan, it is complicated. You must see that? Now you remember everything?’

He stepped forward, but she threw up a hand. ‘Please don’t, don’t come any closer.’ She couldn’t stay strong, stay invulnerable, make any sense of this if he touched her. The chemistry between them had messed with her head all the way down the line. And made her fall in love with a phantom.

‘My father attacked me because he hated me.’ She pushed the words out past the thickness in her throat. The cruel, ugly words her father had said striking her all over again with more viciousness than the belt he’d used on her. ‘He pretended to care about us for years because of the money in our trust funds. But this…’ she swung her hand between them ‘…what you did, feels so much worse.’

Dario dragged a hand through his hair, cursed under his breath. ‘I understand you are angry and upset,’ he said. ‘But let us talk about this in the morning. It’s the middle of the night. You’re tired. Come back to bed. I can make you feel better.’

‘You think sex will make this better?’ she said, stunned.

‘I think it cannot hurt,’ he said.

The wry twist of his lips made her heart shatter at her feet. That he had manipulated her with sex wasn’t really the point, because she had revelled in her own destruction. That he thought it would make things better now, though, almost made her feel sorry for him.

How could anyone have such a jaundiced view of love and relationships that they thought sex was the only connection worth having?

He approached her.

But she held up her hand. ‘No. I don’t want to sleep with you, Dario.’

Of course, they both knew that wasn’t strictly true. She only had to be in a room with him for her body to prepare itself for him. To yearn for him. It would be humiliating if it weren’t so sad.

But she refused to give in to the yearning. She had to guard what little was left of her heart. In the hope that, one day, she would be able to heal. And move on from this.

‘I need to think,’ she said as her mind raced. She had to get away from him. Get away from Isadora. If for no other reason than to protect her child. ‘I want to return to my own room.’

For a moment she thought he looked stricken at the suggestion, but it could only be an illusion like everything else. She had never been able to read him, or his feelings; her emotions had played tricks on her in the last few weeks, but that was the biggest trick of all.

She moved past him into the bedroom, pathetically grateful when he made no move to stop her. Her whole body began to shake, heat flushing through her, when she glanced at the bed, the rumpled sheets a testament to her foolishness and naiveté.

She had spent her whole life trying to please her father, a man who had never loved her. And if her memory hadn’t returned, she might have done the same thing again with Dario.

‘We will speak of this again in the morning,’ Dario said from behind her. ‘And find a solution.’

She turned around as she reached the bedroom door. The red fingers of dawn had begun to lighten the sky outside, shadowing his handsome face, and her heart squeezed tight in her chest. For just a moment, he looked like the loneliest man on earth.

‘I never meant for you to be hurt,’ he said.

The last tiny flicker of hope guttered out as she acknowledged something incontrovertible. Maybe he hadn’t meant to hurt her, the way her father had. But the truth was he had.

She left the room as one of the tears she had promised herself she wouldn’t shed slipped over her lid. She scrubbed it away with her fist.

After returning to her bedroom, she kept the exhaustion and the heartache at bay to dress.

She called Katie on her cell, and tiptoed out of the house, then rushed through the lemon groves down to the harbour, where the fishermen would be setting out for their morning catch.

As she stood on the deck of a small fishing boat, the aroma of fish and sea salt made her delicate stomach revolt. She retched over the side of the boat, but there was nothing left to throw up. As she raised her head she caught sight of the villa spotlighted on the hilltop in the early summer dawn.

She imagined Dario inside. And all the hopes and dreams that had never been real. Letting them go would be the hardest thing of all. But she had no choice.

While she had been falling hopelessly in love with a fantasy, he had managed to seal himself off from any emotion that would make him vulnerable.

So now she had to do the same.

Dario awoke, the pounding on his bedroom door disorientating him for a moment. He sat up, confused to find the other side of the bed cold. Then the details of the argument just before dawn came back to him.

He swore viciously, trying desperately to ignore the treacherous memory of Megan’s face, white with shock and grief. And worse still, the deep sinking hole in his stomach when he had been forced to let her leave, and had lain in his empty bed alone.

But then he registered what his housekeeper was shouting through the door.

‘Signor! Signor! La signorina e andato, ha lasciato con I pescatori.’

Megan has left with the fishermen? What the…?

He leapt out of bed, dragging a robe on as he raced to the door to find Sofia on the other side looking distraught as she explained in frantic Italian what she had heard from the young man delivering that morning’s fish.

Dread spread through him. Megan had left? She had hitched a lift in a fishing boat in the middle of the night? When she was still dealing with the emotional trauma of her memory returning? When she was pregnant? Was she mad?

He charged down the corridors until he reached her suite of rooms—to find the bed empty and unslept in, and a note addressed to him perched on the bedside table.

He picked it up, and flicked it open.

Goodbye, Dario.

I will take care of a termination.

Please don’t contact me again.

No, no, no.

The note dropped from his numbed fingers and fluttered down onto the carpet.

He should have been relieved, he should have been grateful, that she had come to her senses, was going to do the sensible thing. But he felt none of those things as he clutched his head in his hands, and slumped onto the bed.

The cold, hard lump of devastation and grief in the pit of his stomach dragged him back to another time. He forced his mind to shut down as he lifted his head to stare out of the window at the new summer day, the dawn light spreading over the ocean.

And wondered if he would ever feel warm again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Two months later

MEGAN SAT IN the chauffeur-driven car and watched the phalanx of photographers and reporters charging down the steps of the Manhattan courthouse towards them. Her sister, Katie, gripped her hand.

‘Are you sure you’re okay to do this, sis?’ Katie’s voice vibrated with the strength and maturity that she had gained ever since Megan had returned from Isadora.

Megan squeezed her sister’s hand. ‘We both need to do this to make sure Lloyd Whittaker stays behind bars as long as possible.’

The clamour outside the car became deafening as two burly security guards muscled their way through the crowd and one of them opened the driver’s door.

He leaned into the interior. ‘We have a detail to see you safely into the courthouse, Miss Whittaker. You both okay to go?’

The harsh flash of halogen lights blinded Megan as they stepped out of the car and were muscled into the courthouse, the noise becoming deafening as the reporters shouted questions.

‘Are you here to testify against your father, Miss Whittaker?’

‘Megan, tell us about your affair with Dario De Rossi? Are you two still an item?’

She clung to her resolve, tried to tune out the mention of Dario’s name, to keep her nerves steady. But as they entered the main foyer she saw the tall, lean figure of Dario’s friend Jared Caine standing beside the security checkpoint. And her heart careered into her throat.

‘Well, if it isn’t Mr Tall, Dark and Patronising,’ Katie said, in a sing-song voice shot through with sarcasm as he walked towards them. Katie hadn’t mentioned Jared before now, but she had never played nice with guys who told her what to do, so her animosity towards Dario’s friend didn’t really surprise Megan.

‘Hello, Miss Whittaker, Katherine,’ Jared said, in the confident, impersonal tone she remembered from the only other time she’d met him. If he’d heard her sister’s jibe, he didn’t let on.

‘Why are you here?’ Megan asked, anxiety gripping her insides.

‘Dario’s giving evidence at the moment,’ he replied.

The news she had been dreading sliced through the defences she had been putting in place ever since running away from Isadora. But she maintained eye contact with Dario’s friend, determined not to give away the turbulent emotions churning in her stomach.

She’d known this was likely. She’d just have to deal with it.

It didn’t matter if she wasn’t ready to see him again. He’d done what she’d asked, and hadn’t contacted her since she’d left Isadora at dawn.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. Or stop going over every minute, every second she had spent with him since that first night. It was a weakness she would have to get over. Eventually. And it seemed today was the day when she was going to be forced to confront it. And him. For the first time.

She needed to move on from the time they had spent together on Isadora. To accept that it had all been fake. The way he obviously had. Coming to terms with the truth about their relationship as well as the truth about her father—or rather her ex-father—would eventually make her a stronger, more resilient person.

If only she weren’t going to be forced to take that next step today, of all days.

One of the security guards who had helped them into the building appeared to Jared’s right. ‘What’s next, boss?’

‘Stick around. Miss Whittaker and her sister will need an escort when they leave the building,’ Jared replied.

‘Did Dario arrange the bodyguards?’ Megan asked and Jared nodded.

The protective gesture was like a new knife through the heart—and her hard-fought-for composure. She didn’t want any evidence that he still cared, when he had never cared enough.

‘Please, tell Dario we don’t need his help,’ she said.

The tension in Jared’s jaw drew tight. ‘You should tell him yourself. He’s not exactly rational where you’re concerned.’