The Sicilian's Unexpected Duty

‘It’s decaf,’ he explained when it had been placed on the glass table and the maid left.

‘I told you I didn’t want anything.’

‘You need to keep your fluid levels up.’

‘Oh, so you’re a doctor now? Or have you an army of illegitimates scattered around the world that’s made you a pregnancy expert?’

He quelled her with a glance.

She refused to bow to its latent warning. ‘Sorry. Am I supposed to believe this is the first time you’ve had a paternity suit thrown at you?’

His eyes were unreadable. ‘I always use protection.’

‘And you’re expecting me to take you at your word for that?’

His features darkened before his lips gave a slight twitch and he bowed his head. ‘A fair comeback.’

He really was ridiculously handsome.

She castigated herself. As far as she was concerned, Pepe’s looks and masculinity were void. She would not let her hormones create any more havoc.

It was unfair that she was the one standing yet it still felt as if he, all chilled and relaxed on the sofa, had all the advantage.

A whorl of black hair poked through the top of his shirt. She remembered how that same hair covered his chest, thickening across his tightly defined pecs and down the middle towards his navel, and further down... She’d always assumed chest hair would be bristly, had been thrilled to find it as soft as silk. It was the only thing soft about him; everything else was hard...

She swallowed and pressed the tops of her thighs together to try to quash the heat bubbling within her.

Her throat had gone dry.

Damn him, she needed a drink.

Lips clamped together, she moved away from the wall and poured herself a cup of the steaming tea before carrying it to the sofa opposite him. She only intended to perch there but it was so soft and squidgy it almost swallowed her whole. She sank straight into it, her legs shooting out, the motion causing her to spill the tea all over her lap.

Cara cried out, kicking her legs as if the movement would stop the hot fluid seeping through her dress.

Immediately Pepe jumped to his feet and hurried over, snatching the cup from her hand. ‘Are you okay?’

In too much pain to do anything more than whimper, Cara grabbed the hem of her dress and bunched it up to her thighs, flapping it to cool her heated skin. Making sure to keep the dress up and away from the scald, she yanked the tops of her black hold-ups down.

‘Are you okay?’ he repeated. For some silly reason, the genuine concern she heard in his voice bothered her far more than the scald.

The milky white of her left thigh had turned a deep pink, as had a couple of patches on her right thigh. She took a deep breath. ‘It hurts.’

‘I’ll bet. Can you walk?’

‘Why?’

‘Because we should run cold water over it.’

Her thighs—especially her left one—were stinging something rotten, so much so she didn’t even think of arguing with him.

‘Come, we’ll run the shower on it.’

Wincing, she let him help her to her feet.

Her legs shook frantically enough that she almost fell back onto the sofa, only Pepe’s grip on her hand keeping her upright.

He frowned and shook his head, then, before she knew what he was doing, lifted her into his arms, taking great care not to touch her thighs.

‘This is unnecessary,’ she complained. She might be in pain but she didn’t need this. Besides, she was vain enough to know she must look ridiculous with her dress bunched around the tops of her thighs, her modesty barely preserved. Her stupid black hold-ups had fallen down to her knees like the socks of a scatty schoolgirl.

‘Probably,’ he agreed, heading through the living area and into a narrow corridor, carrying her as if she weighed little more than a child. ‘But it’s quicker and safer than you trying to walk.’

The position he held her in meant her face was right in the crook of his strong, bronzed neck. A compulsion to press her face into it almost overcame her. Almost. Luckily she still retained some control. But she’d forgotten how delicious he smelt, like sun-ripened fruit. Her position meant her senses were filled with it and she had to use even more restraint not to lick him.

Pepe’s bathroom was twice the size of her bedroom and resembled a miniature black, white and gold palace. She had no time to appreciate its splendour.

‘You’re going to have to take your dress off,’ he said as he carried her down some marble steps and carefully sat her on the edge of the sunken bath.

‘I jolly well am not.’

‘It will get wet.’

‘It’s already wet.’

‘Suit yourself.’ He knelt before her and placed a hand on her knee.

She tried not to yelp. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Taking your stockings off.’ He tugged the first one down to the ankle. While she hated herself for her vanity, Cara could not help feel relief that she’d remembered to wax her legs a few days ago.

‘They’re hold-ups,’ she corrected, breathing deeply. The trail of his fingers on her skin burned almost as much as the scald.

‘They’re sexy.’

‘That’s inappropriate.’

His lips twitched. ‘Sorry.’

‘Liar.’

Hold-ups removed and thrown onto the floor, Pepe helped manoeuvre her into the empty bath before reaching for the shower head that rested on the gold taps.

He held it over his hand then turned it on. Water gushed out, spraying over them both.

Adjusting the pressure, he smiled with a hint of smugness. ‘Still happy to keep your dress on?’

‘Yes.’ She would rather suffer third-degree burns than strip off to her underwear in front of him.

‘I’ve seen you naked before,’ he reminded her wickedly, turning the shower onto her thighs.

‘Not under bright light, you haven’t.’

The cold water felt like the greatest relief in the world. Cara closed her eyes, rested her head back and savoured the feeling, uncaring that the cold water spraying off her thighs was pooling in the base of the bath, sloshing all around her bottom. It was worth it. Slowly, wonderfully, her tender skin numbed.

It was only when she opened her eyes a few minutes later that she realised her dress had risen higher and that her black knickers were fully exposed.

One look at the gleam in Pepe’s eyes and she knew he’d noticed.

‘I think that’s enough now,’ she said, leaning up and yanking her sodden dress down to cover herself.

Pepe screwed his eyes shut to rid himself of the image.

It didn’t work.

The image of Cara’s soaking knickers and the memories of what they hid burned brightly, almost as brightly as her flushing cheeks.

His trousers felt so tight and uncomfortable it was hard to breathe.

He gritted his teeth and willed his erection to abate.

He turned the tap off, replaced the shower head and crouched back next to her, making sure to look at her face and only her face. ‘Your thighs should be okay—it doesn’t look as if they’re going to blister—but to play safe I’ve got some salve in the medicine cabinet you can put on them. I’ll get it for you and then you can get changed—where’s your change of clothes?’

‘I didn’t bring any.’

‘Why not?’ Whenever Cara came to Sicily she always came for at least a week.

‘I only came for the day.’

‘Really?’ He’d arrived from Paris with barely twenty minutes to spare before the christening started, avoiding the inevitable for as long as humanly possible. He hadn’t imagined Cara had done the same.

‘I didn’t want to risk spilling the beans to Grace before I’d had a chance to speak to you.’

‘That was good of you,’ he acknowledged.

‘Not really.’ Her face tightened. ‘I was worried she’d be unable to keep it from Luca and that Luca in turn would tell you.’

Upon reflection, Pepe was certain that if his sister-in-law had known she would have tracked him down at the earliest opportunity and given him hell. ‘I’ll ask Grace if she has any clothes you can borrow...’

‘You jolly well won’t.’ Cara glared at him.

‘You’re right. Bad idea.’ If he sought Grace out he’d have to explain why her best friend was sitting with scalded thighs in his bath, and then everything about the baby would become common knowledge... ‘Have you told anyone about the baby?’

‘Only my mother, but she doesn’t count.’

‘Good,’ he said, ignoring the tightening of her lips as she mentioned her mother. He had enough to think about as it was.

‘Why’s that, then? Worried all those doting Mastrangelo aunts and uncles will try and marry us off?’

‘They can try all they like,’ he answered with a shrug. Given a chance, they’d have him and Cara up the aisle quicker than it had taken to impregnate her.

That was if he had impregnated her.

He didn’t care that she’d been a virgin, he didn’t care that the dates tallied—until he saw cast-iron proof of his paternity he would not allow himself to believe anything. ‘I bow to no one.’

‘Well, neither do I. Your suggestion that I move in with you is ridiculous. How the heck would I be able to get to and from work if I have to travel all over the place with you? You work all over Europe.’

‘And South America,’ he pointed out. ‘You’ll have to give up your job.’

He noticed her shiver and remembered she’d just had a cold shower pressed against her for the best part of ten minutes.

‘Let’s get you out of the bath. We can finish this argument when you’re dry and warm.’

‘I’m not giving up my job and I’m not moving in with you.’

‘I said we can argue the toss when you’re dry.’

He could see how much she hated having to use him for support. Not looking at him, she allowed him to help her to her feet. He held her arms and kept her steady while she climbed out of the bath.

She looked like a drowned rat. Even her face was soaked.

Too late, he realised it was tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘You’re crying?’

‘I’m crying because I’m angry,’ she sobbed. ‘You’ve ruined my life and now you want to ruin my future too. I hate you.’

He took a large, warm towel off the rack and wrapped it around her shaking frame before taking a deliberate step back. ‘If you’re telling me the truth then your future is made. I’ll give you and the baby more money than you could ever hope to spend.’

‘I don’t want to be a kept woman. I just want what our child is entitled to.’

‘You won’t have to be a kept woman. The option will be there for you, that’s all. If your child is mine, you’ll have enough money to do whatever you want. You can hire a nanny—hell, you’ll be able to hire an army of them—and return to work.’

Her teeth clattered together. ‘But I won’t have a job to go back to.’

‘There are other jobs.’

‘Not like this one. Do you have any idea how hard it is getting a foot on the ladder in the art world without any contacts?’

‘There are other jobs,’ he repeated. Deep inside his chest, a part of him had twisted into a tight ball, but he ignored it. He had to. He could not allow any softening towards her, no matter how vulnerable she looked at that particular moment.

Luisa had shown her vulnerable side numerous times. It had all been a big fat lie and he had been the sucker who had fallen for it. Every day he looked in the mirror and saw the evidence of her lies reflecting back at him. He could have had surgery to remove his scar. Instead he had chosen to keep it as a reminder not to trust and, more especially, not to love.

‘You don’t have to move in with me,’ he said. He drew the towel together so it covered her more thoroughly and forced himself to stare into her damp eyes. He refused to break the hold, no matter the misery reflecting back at him. ‘You can catch your flight back to Ireland and carry on eking out an existence. Or you can stay. If you stay, I will support you and we can take the paternity test as soon as the child is born. But if you leave now, you will not receive a single euro from me until my paternity—or lack of it—has been proven. And if you choose to leave, you’ll have to go through the courts to get a DNA sample from me. That’s if you can find me. As you know, I have homes in four different countries. I can make it extremely difficult for you to get that sample.’

He knew how unreasonable he must sound but he didn’t care.

He could not afford to allow himself to care.

If Cara really was carrying his child then he must make every effort to protect its innocent form, and the only way he could do that was by forcing her into a corner from which the only means of escape was his way. Short of tying her up and locking her in a windowless room, this was his best chance of keeping her by his side until the birth.

He would not risk losing another child.

CHAPTER FOUR

CARA DIDN’T THINK she’d ever felt as self-conscious as she did at that moment, and she’d had plenty of experience of feeling awkward and insecure.

Pepe’s blue shirt came to her knees and she’d rolled his trousers over so many times to get them to fit lengthways that it looked as if she had two wedges around her ankles. All she needed was a pair of extra-long shoes and she’d make the perfect clown.

Following him up the metal steps and into his jet, she forced herself to return the smiles and friendly greetings given by the glamorous cabin crew. Not one of them batted an eyelid at her presence. Most likely because strange women accompanying Pepe on his travels was par for the course, she thought snidely.

The jet was a proper flying bachelor pad, all leather and dark hardwood panelling. A steward showed her to a seat for take-off. She was nonplussed when Pepe took the seat next to her.

‘You have ten seats to choose from,’ she said, glaring at him.

‘So do you,’ he pointed out in return, strapping himself in and stretching his long legs out. He looked at the cheap mobile phone in her hand. ‘Who are you contacting?’

‘Grace.’

‘What are you going to say to her?’

‘That her brother-in-law is a feckless scumbag with the morals of an amoeba.’

He cocked an eyebrow.

She sighed. ‘I wanted to write that but until we’ve got the finances sorted I’m not prepared to risk her ripping your head off.’

‘That’s decent of you,’ he said drily.

She speared him with another poisonous glare then hit send. ‘I’ve apologised for leaving the christening without saying goodbye. I’ve also told her I cadged a lift off you to the airport. Someone was bound to have seen us leave together.’

‘Are you worried people will talk?’ Pepe didn’t sound worried. If anything, he sounded bored.

‘Nope.’ Let them think what they liked. The truth would come out. It always did. And when the truth came out, people would see that, beneath the charming, affable exterior, Pepe Mastrangelo was a horrid specimen of a man. ‘I don’t want Grace worrying, that’s all.’

It crossed her mind, not for the first time, that she should have gone to Grace for help. In normal circumstances Cara would have gone to Grace, but when she’d found out she was pregnant, Grace had been in hiding, going through her own troubles. So, she’d told her mother, but her mam was going through yet another of her new husband’s infidelities and so hadn’t been particularly interested other than on a superficial level. Not that Cara had expected anything else from the woman who had given birth to her.

But then Luca had tracked Grace down and now the pair of them were madly in love and in a bubble of happiness. It would have been the perfect opportunity to ask for help.

Grace would have given her money and anything else she needed, no questions asked. But Cara wouldn’t have been able to keep it contained and the whole sordid story would have come out, and then God knew what would have happened.

In any case, her child was not her friend’s responsibility. It was Pepe’s.

And this mess was not of Grace’s making. This was all on her, Cara. And the feckless playboy, of course.

It was too late to go to Grace for help now. Pepe would undoubtedly turn to Luca, who in turn would put pressure on his wife not to give Cara any financial help. Grace was so loved up at the moment she would probably comply. At the very least it would cause friction between them.

Thanks to Pepe, she couldn’t turn to the one person she needed.

The steward, who was still making checks and pretending not to listen to their conversation, finally disappeared into a separate cabin.

‘How are your thighs?’ Pepe asked. If he was fazed about anything, he had yet to show it.

‘Not too bad.’ The salve he had given her had been bliss to apply. He’d also given her a wrap that resembled cling film to place on it too. He’d been so... Concerned was the wrong word but it was the closest for the way he’d treated her wounds. Not that he’d treated her with the same consideration.

How could someone be so gentle and at the same time be so horribly uncaring? That was part of what had tipped her over the edge and set the waterworks off.

‘You should take the trousers off. I’m sure it can’t help with the material rubbing against it.’

‘They’re fine.’ No way was she taking any of her clothes off within a ten-mile radius of him ever again.

The plane began to taxi down the runway. Cara turned to look out of the window, a lump forming in her throat.

This was utter madness.

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