The Italian's Love-Child: The Italian's Stolen Bride / The Marchese's Love-Child / The Italian's Marriage Demand

She started fumbling with her handbag, desperately eager to get the zippered compartment open, extract the cheque, get rid of the burden of Peretti money.

‘Skye, you’re owed child support for the past five years,’ he argued in a gentle, soothing tone. ‘The law courts would award it to you.’

‘I don’t want it. I didn’t ask for it,’ she gabbled. The wretched zipper had stuck. ‘I didn’t know my stepfather had gone to your family for money until he handed me the thousand dollars for…for…’

‘Yes, that was very clever of him, handing over enough money to convince you it was meant for an abortion. Which, of course, neatly tied off the scam for him. No child. No more interest from the Peretti family. No comeback for him to worry about.’

Luc rolled off his interpretation of the situation so fast, Skye was distracted by how closely it matched her own anguished reasoning. She stopped struggling with the zipper to stare at him. ‘You believe me?’

‘Without a doubt,’ he assured her.

Which instantly played havoc with her heart. If only he had believed her against his brother and those terrible photos…

‘It’s abundantly clear that your stepfather saw the opportunity to milk the situation for all he could get, intending to feather his own nest,’ Luc went on, reminding Skye he was working off evidence this time, as well.

His belief in her word meant nothing!

Easy enough to deduce the truth from the investigator’s report, which had supplied the date when her stepfather had left Sydney, flitting off to the Gold Coast in Queensland. It had also stated the money had been gambled away and her stepfather’s current credit rating was not only nil, but criminal charges were pending over embezzlement at the used car yard where he’d worked as a salesman.

Her stepfather!

Skye burned over the rotten deception he’d played.

‘At least he isn’t my real father,’ she flashed at Luc. ‘I don’t have to live with him like you do yours.’

Maurizio Peretti had also played a rotten deception, keeping the news of her pregnancy from Luc, intent on feathering his nest with the right kind of woman for his precious son.

Skye resumed tugging at the zipper, telling herself it was stupid to be affected by anything Luc said. He had probably moved on to relationships with women who were far more compatible with his family. Which would make his father’s judgement ultimately right.

‘My father has been made very aware of my feelings about his past actions on my behalf,’ Luc answered grimly. ‘He knows not to interfere between us again.’

‘I just don’t want him or you or anybody employed by your family to interfere with me,’ Skye said fiercely, finally getting the zipper open, removing the cheque and thrusting it at Luc. ‘Take back your blood money. It won’t buy me or Matt.’

He shook his head, leaving the cheque hanging from her hand. ‘It wasn’t meant to buy you, Skye. It was meant to contribute what a father should, at least in financial support, towards his child’s upbringing.’

‘I’ve managed without it all these years and I much prefer to keep it that way.’

‘It wasn’t right that you had to manage alone,’ he strongly demurred.

‘Do you think this makes anything right, Luc?’ she mocked savagely.

‘It can help.’

‘No. We occupy different worlds and Matt belongs in mine. It won’t be good for him to have that line blurred by your money. I won’t have it. Please…take it back.’

Again he shook his head.

Frustrated by his refusal and hating even the feel of the paper representing an obscene amount of money, she ripped it into pieces, marched over to a nearby litter bin and dropped the fragments into it, determined on making the point that he couldn’t buy into his son’s life.

‘Money corrupts,’ she flung at him as she wiped her hands of its touch. ‘We both have firsthand knowledge of that, don’t we, Luc?’

‘It can, but it doesn’t have to,’ he argued. ‘It can be used to good effect. Which was what it was meant for.’

Maybe…maybe not. Skye knew she wasn’t prepared to risk finding out how good the intentions were behind so much money. She walked back from the litter bin, feeling lighter and more self-assured. ‘I can manage without it,’ she said with confidence. ‘I’ve proved that already. Matt is a happy, well-adjusted little boy. He doesn’t need—’

‘You’re not thinking of him,’ Luc sliced in, an aggressive note of accusation warning her he was going on the attack now that she had destroyed the money link he’d tried to forge. No more soothing. ‘You’ve made this choice because it’s what you want,’ he threw at her.

‘I’m his mother,’ she retorted, ramming home the close relationship he’d never had with their child. ‘I know what’s best for him.’

‘Like my father knew what was best for me?’ he shot back, bleak mockery in his eyes.

The challenge and the expression behind it gave Skye pause for thought. It was true she was reacting to her previous experience with the Peretti family, not wanting anything to do with them, not wanting Matt to have anything to do with them, either. But was she doing right by…their son?

Her gut feeling was yes.

Or was that fear talking—fear of becoming involved in something she might not be able to control.

Controlling the path of his son’s life was what Maurizio Peretti had been about in breaking up her relationship with Luc. Was she heading the same way herself with Matt, making decisions for him she had no right to make?

‘Can you honestly say, six years down the track, that your father didn’t know what was best for you?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I can,’ Luc replied without hesitation. His eyes bored into hers with searing intensity as he softly added, ‘I lost you. And I lost five years of my son’s life.’

The different tone, and the mountain of feeling behind it, shook Skye into protesting, ‘But you must have met other women who were more…more compatible with your family.’

‘Oh, yes.’ His mouth curled cynically. ‘I’ve had many suitable women paraded in front of me. Not one did I want to take as my wife.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I couldn’t feel with them what I’d felt with you, Skye.’

‘That’s gone,’ she said defensively, frightened of him sensing her vulnerability to the strong attraction that should have died…but hadn’t.

He didn’t reply. He simply looked at her, making her skin crawl over the lie she had spoken. But she would not take it back, couldn’t afford to take it back. How could she ever trust him again with her heart?

‘Yes, what we once had is gone,’ he finally agreed, the regret in his voice hitting her hard as he added, ‘And the fault was mine in not believing your word against Roberto’s. It’s true we’ve occupied different worlds and that, too, was part of it. You might have come after me to pursue the truth if I’d been more accessible to you.’

No. She’d been too crushed to attempt a fighting pursuit. The memory of how he’d looked at her, how he’d spoken to her, how he’d rejected her so utterly…even now, everything within her cringed from it. And knowing his family was behind the deception had added immeasurably to her sense of absolute defeat. Luc was right about that.

He cocked his head consideringly. ‘I wonder how you would have reacted, shown photos of your sister—if you had one—on top of a man who looked like me, a man who was wearing a distinctive watch which you’d given me, and had a very personal identification mark—a man your sister swore was me. Would you have believed my denial, Skye?’

It was difficult to think herself into the turn-around scenario but in fairness to him, she tried to focus on it. Would she have believed a denial, knowing how attractive he was—rich, handsome, any woman’s dream? Would she have believed he was hers and hers alone, given a sister’s sworn word—and photographic evidence—that he’d been intimate with her, too? Wouldn’t her insecurities about his family background have whispered to her that he was arrogantly having fun with both sisters?

‘The difference is… I would have fought the accusation, far beyond what you did,’ Luc said quietly, a wry sadness in his eyes. ‘Though I certainly don’t blame you for not trying. The simple truth is I had the resources to fight and you didn’t. Which was what my family counted on. You didn’t have the power or the money to find the photographer or the woman who looked like you, to prove your innocence. So my family won. And we lost something very special. I lost most of all. What we had together…and my child.’

Regardless of the heat in the air around them, her skin broke out in goose-bumps…as though ghosts of what might have been were wafting over the graveyard of their love. The poignant sense of loss squeezed her heart unbearably. She wrenched her gaze from his and stared out at Botany Bay, fiercely telling herself this was all water under the bridge. They couldn’t go back. They couldn’t change anything. And what they once had was gone. They were different people now. Time and experience had moved them even further apart.

‘Is it fair for you to insist I keep losing, Skye?’ he appealed.

‘You made a choice,’ she cried, fighting not to be drawn into making emotional concessions. Steeling herself to maintain a shield around the vulnerability he could still touch, she swung her gaze back to his. ‘Do you think I’m ever going to forget your choice, Luc?’

‘No.’ He heaved a rueful sigh. ‘I was hoping you might understand it.’

‘I do. I always did.’

‘And possibly…forgive it?’

‘That, too.’

‘Then…?’

‘It’s an issue of trust. I don’t want you or your family anywhere near my son. I don’t trust any of you to be fair. If you’d been fair to me, Luc, you would have investigated Roberto’s claims. You admit you had the resources to do so.’

‘Yes, in hindsight, I wish I’d done that. It makes me even more conscious of the need to be fair now. What good purpose would it serve to alienate you…the only parent my son has known? And clearly loves.’

Her chin lifted in pride. ‘Matt and I do have a very special closeness. Why can’t you just leave us alone, Luc? You walked away from me. Walk away from him, too. Go and forget we even exist. We’ll all be happier that way.’

‘No.’ His chin lifted in hard aggression and the sudden gleam of ruthlessness in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. ‘I will not remain the loser where he is concerned. I’ll fight for visitation rights if I have to. I’ll drag this whole business through the lawcourts if I have to, and I will spare no one along the way. I don’t care what it takes. I will be part of my son’s life.’

The waves of relentless purpose coming from him were warning enough that her worst fears could come true. Her chest felt so tight, it was as though Luc had just wrapped steel bands around it. No room to breathe. Nowhere to move.

‘You can choose to make this a hostile battleground and put us all through hell,’ he went on, making a flippant gesture towards the park bench. ‘Or you can choose to sit down with me and discuss how Matt could benefit by having his father in his life.’

There was no choice and he knew it. The kind of fight he was threatening would be terribly damaging to Matt.

‘What will it be, Skye?’

He was demanding a trust she couldn’t give, but maybe he would earn it if he truly had Matt’s best interests at heart.

‘Of one thing you can be absolutely certain,’ he said, mocking the turmoil of doubts in her mind. ‘This time…this time…nothing on earth will make me walk away!’

CHAPTER FIVE

SATURDAY… Matt’s first day with his father.

Luc instantly made the most of his arrival, turning up in a red Alfa hatchback, presenting Skye with the car keys and announcing, much to Matt’s delight, that the car was for his Mummy, so she could drive him to soccer training during the week and matches on the weekend.

An expensive Italian car, not a cheap runaround which would have been far more suitable. The house they lived in did not have a garage attached. The car had to be left parked in the street and a red Alfa would stick out like a sore thumb in this neighbourhood. But did a Peretti think like that? No. And she hadn’t thought to advise Luc sensibly when he’d insisted she needed her own transport for the activities his son would want to pursue.

Like soccer. Matt’s friends at school were signing up for soccer today. Skye hadn’t driven a car since her mother had died and the Alfa made her nervous, not to mention having Luc sitting beside her in the front passenger seat. Somehow she managed to get them to the football oval without doing anything stupid.

Luc took care of the signing up. Skye gritted her teeth over the pride in Matt’s voice as he announced to his play-mates, ‘This is my father.’

So far he’d been quite shy with Luc, wary of what this new intrusion in his life might mean, not quite understanding the background and sensing Skye’s fearful reservations. But even a little boy could see that the other boys’ fathers did not match up to Luc Peretti, certainly not in looks, and not in authoritative and charismatic presence.

They were exchanging smiles now.

With a sinking heart, Skye realised there’d be no stopping an attachment forming. Luc was intent on it and Matt was responding.

He’d better not walk away, she thought fiercely. If he ever hurt Matt as he’d hurt her… Skye took a deep breath and unclenched her hands. It was impossible to fight this. All she could do was watch over it, which she had insisted upon. No way would she agree to Luc taking Matt anywhere without her, and nowhere that didn’t have her approval. To her intense relief he had made those concessions.

For now, she added to herself.

She didn’t trust him to keep to them for long.

Next stop was a shopping mall where Luc had Matt fitted with a proper pair of soccer boots, which he paid for. They proceeded to a toy shop where he also bought for Matt a soccer ball and a goal structure complete with netting so his son could practise shooting goals—which could have been done with simply setting up two sticks in the backyard.

Skye could feel herself bristling at the money being spent without a second thought. They ate lunch in a restaurant—another expensive exercise—with Matt full of excitement at being treated to his favourite chicken nuggets and a banana smoothie. He ate and drank with gusto, while Skye could barely swallow the chicken Caesar salad Luc had ordered for her, remembering it had been one of her favourite meals when they’d been going out together.

She didn’t want those memories revived. It was hard enough, having to be with Luc all day, having to be agreeable for Matt’s sake, feeling forced to accept the Peretti largesse which was bound to have an insidious influence on Matt.

At least the buying stopped with lunch. She drove them home and Luc spent the afternoon in the backyard with Matt, setting up the goal, showing how to kick the soccer ball with the side of the foot, not the toe, practising dribbling the ball and demonstrating other skills that fascinated Matt into trying to copy them.

It hurt to watch them—father and son—having fun together, chatting, laughing, cheering and clapping achievements. Matt was having a great time, completely relaxed now with his new Dad, liking him and loving the different kind of attention he was getting. Male attention. Male understanding. Male activity.

It brought home to Skye that no single parent could supply everything a child needed, no matter how well-balanced one tried to be. Better to have the input from both parents, if it could be given in harmony. And it had to be conceded Luc was delivering on his promises. So far.

At last the day was over, with Matt bathed, fed, put to bed and enjoying the novelty of reading his father a story before lights out. Luc was astonished that his five-year-old son could actually read, and when they left Matt’s bedroom, having kissed him goodnight, Skye found herself being forcibly steered back to the kitchen instead of carrying out her intention to see Luc out the front door.

‘Let go of me!’ she growled, resenting being denied a ready escape from the prolonged tension of his company.

‘I just want to say thank you, Skye,’ he said reasonably, releasing her arm once he’d accomplished his purpose of regaining territorial advantage.

She stepped away quickly, moving to put the small kitchen table between them, instinctively rubbing at the heat he’d left on her skin. He frowned at the action but she’d didn’t care if he found it offensive. He had no right to touch her, to use his dominant strength to get his own way.

‘I don’t want you frightened of me,’ he said in sharp concern.

‘Then please leave. You’ve had your day. You’ve said thank you. There’s no reason for you to stay any longer.’

He shook his head, still frowning. ‘Did I do something wrong with Matt?’

‘No. He had a happy first day with you.’

He raised his hands in a gesture of appeal. ‘So why can’t we talk about it?’

‘What do you want? My stamp of approval?’ she snapped, screaming inside for him to go because any more of him today was unbearable. She’d had to hold in so much for Matt’s sake, pretending she was pleased for him to have his father, giving Luc the freedom to court his son, while all the time feeling that the little world she had constructed was under terrible attack.

Instead of answering, Luc eyed her with searching intensity, looking for the reason behind her hostile stance. ‘Is it really so hard to share him with me, Skye?’ he asked in the soft tone that stripped her of defences.

She gripped the back of a chair, trying to hold herself together. Tears were welling—tears of emotional exhaustion—and the lump in her throat made it difficult to speak. ‘You’ve won him over,’ she pushed out. ‘It’s done. Please… just go now. Let yourself out.’

Her eyes blurred and she swung blindly around, stepping over to the sink, frantically turning on the taps so as to look busy, though there was nothing to wash, only a glass that had already been rinsed. She didn’t hear Luc move, didn’t even sense him closing in on her. Her whole concentration was aimed at not breaking up before he went.

It shocked her when his hand reached out and turned off the taps. Her fingers didn’t have the strength to resist when the glass was taken from them and placed on the draining rack. Her mind was completely seized up, incapable of directing any action. Her body could have been that of a rag doll’s as Luc turned her towards him, wrapping her in a supportive embrace, holding her, pressing her head onto his shoulder, rubbing his cheek against her hair with a tenderness that broke open the floodgates to the tears she’d tried so hard to contain.

The storm of weeping was draining, reducing her to such a helpless state, she couldn’t find the pride that might have dragged her away from him. His broad shoulder was there to lean on. His warmth and strength was like a blanket of comfort. And it had been a long, long time since anyone had held her, emitting a sense of caring.

That it was Luc didn’t seem to matter. In fact, the familiarity of past intimacy between them somehow made it easy to sag against his body. It didn’t feel strange or wrong. There was a sense of belonging that she simply didn’t have the will to fight, however false it might be.

Eventually the tears dried up, leaving her aching from the emotional upheaval and limp from all the energy spent. She became conscious of Luc’s fingers gently raking through her hair and realised he must have removed the clip at the back of her neck, releasing and loosening the long flow of it—a liberty—but she didn’t mind. It felt good.

‘Skye—’ her name gravelled from his throat as though scraping over painful barriers ‘—I’m not trying to win Matt from you. Please believe that.’

She closed her eyes and dragged in a deep breath, needing to fill her lungs with air, ease the ache in her chest. She felt too tired to speak. Her mind didn’t want to take up the fight over trust. It was too hard.

‘You’re his mother,’ Luc went on, a deeper, strong throb in his voice—a throb that somehow moved into her sluggish bloodstream and revived all the maternal feelings in her heart.

‘You’ve done a wonderful job of bringing up our son. You can be very proud of the boy he is…the boy you’ve shaped him to be…’

The warmth of his approval flooded through her.

‘I don’t know how to thank you…doing it all alone. He’s amazing. A happy child, well-mannered, eager to have a go at everything, and reading at his young age…’

He sounded so awed, a smile tugged at the corners of Skye’s mouth. She was proud of Matt. Justly proud. And she was glad Luc felt she had done a good job of bringing up their son.

‘If you’ve been thinking I might take him away from you, I swear to you I won’t, Skye. That was never my intention. And seeing how he is today…why would I want to? Matt couldn’t have a better mother. So please…don’t be afraid of me.’

She didn’t want to be. But even if he truly meant what he said now…she stirred herself to raise her head, open her eyes, look straight at him, speak her fears. ‘Today…Matt was a novelty to you and you were a novelty to Matt. It won’t stay that way. You won’t want to give him so much quality time and if Matt feels let down by you…’

‘I’ll do my best not to let him down.’

‘Things change, Luc. Other people can interfere…’

‘Not this time.’ The resolute gleam in his eyes suddenly burned into something else entirely. ‘And some things don’t change.’

Her heart kicked in alarm as he whipped his hands up to cup her face, his thumbs slowly fanning the line of her lower lip, making it tingle. ‘Remember how it was, Skye?’

Raw desire was blazing at her, furring his voice, stunning her into mesmerised passivity. Her hands were pressed against his chest but she didn’t think to push away. Some magnetic force kept them glued there. She didn’t think to move her head aside, either, though his was bending closer and closer, his intention unmistakable. She was conscious only of a thundering need to let it happen…to know, to feel, to match the memory.

His mouth covered hers, instantly triggering an electric sensitivity. She hadn’t been kissed since he had last kissed her and her mind filled with wonder that it could be so fascinating, so seductive, the soft sensuality of having her lips tasted, the exciting slick of his tongue opening them further, teasing and tantalising as it slid into her mouth to entice hers into play.

The temptation to respond was irresistible. The desire to feel again what she’d once felt with him surged out of the sense of having been cheated of it, cut off as though she was dead, through no fault of her own.

But she wasn’t dead. It was as if every cell in her body was springing into vibrant life, screaming out for what had been lost. She wanted it back—the all-consuming passion they’d shared. He owed it to her. He owed her so much…

A torrent of feelings pumped through her, driving her out of passivity, long-buried needs rising, demanding at least some satisfaction. Her tongue sprang into an erotic tango with his. Her hands clawed their way up his chest, over his shoulders, fingers thrusting through the thick matt of his hair, curling around his head, fiercely denying any end to the kiss which turned into a wild battleground for possession—invasion, assault, frenzied passion, no retreat, ragged pauses only to regather breath enough to engage again.

He no longer held her face. His hands clutched her bottom, fingers digging into the soft rounded flesh as he dragged her closer, lifting her into more intimate contact with him, and a mad exultation fizzed through her brain as she felt his arousal. She rubbed against it, wantonly provocative, deliberately stirring the desire he’d turned his back on, building the heat he had doused with ice, not believing it had only been for him.