The Shock Cassano Baby

‘I did!’ Her reply came out in a burst of anguish before she lowered her voice in soft confession. ‘Of course I did.’

She turned her head to one side, but not before Orlando had caught sight of the flush of heat that had flooded her face. He waited, watching with cold interest as she struggled to find her composure.

‘I’m not denying that what happened between us was...mutual.’ The intensity of his gaze demanded more. ‘Was...good, in fact. But that was in the past. Circumstances have changed.’

‘Evidently.’

He didn’t have time for this. Orlando felt what little patience he’d had march out of the door.

Pushing back his chair, he drew himself up to his full height and looked down on this infuriating woman. ‘Look, Isobel, I’m not here to mess about or to play games. I’ve only got a short time in London and I thought it would be nice to spend some of it with you. Even if it’s just dinner. But I’m certainly not going to force your hand.’

Standing with his feet apart he folded his arms decisively across his chest.

‘If you have other plans, or would rather not, that’s fine too. Just say the word.’

‘Two words, actually, Orlando.’

Orlando narrowed his eyes, something about the tortured expression clouding Isobel’s face halting the pumped up pride in his chest, preventing any sharp retort from escaping. Instead he grew very still.

‘Go on.’

Isobel dragged in a deep breath and he found himself willing her to just damn well come out with it. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared him for the words when they eventually came.

‘I’m pregnant.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘PREGNANT?’

Isobel watched as Orlando’s face turned to stone, his features hardening, his jaw clenching.

‘No.’ Getting to his feet, he stared down at her, his body rigid with tension. ‘You can’t be.’

‘It’s true, Orlando.’ Isobel heard her reply through the roar in her ears—flat, dull, as if spoken by somebody else.

‘And I am the father?’

Pain lanced through her. Did he really know her so little that he had to ask that humiliating question?

She sat up straight, bracing herself, meeting his penetrating gaze with icy contempt. ‘Yes, Orlando, you are the father. Considering you are the only person I have ever had sex with, I think we can take that as definite.’

Orlando’s eyes narrowed with stunned disbelief. ‘The only one? You mean...?’

‘Yes, exactly that. I was a virgin, Orlando.’

Darkness twisted his handsome features. ‘I didn’t know.’ Then, more harshly, ‘Why the hell didn’t you say?’

‘Why would I?’ Isobel replied, with a calm that threatened to shatter like glass. ‘It was irrelevant. It still is irrelevant.’

‘Not to me, it isn’t.’ Cursing under his breath, Orlando shook his head, then raised a hand to his brow.

‘And this pregnancy... You are quite sure about it?’

‘Quite sure.’

She let her eyes slide to the floor, to the pair of handmade Italian shoes that were planted in front of her.

The shoes moved a couple of steps away and, raising her eyes again, Isobel saw Orlando raking a hand through his hair, his expression one of abject horror.

‘The split condom?’ He fired the question at her as the spinning cogs of his mind whirred to find an explanation.

Isobel gave a small nod. ‘It has to be.’

She had been over it a hundred times, convinced this had to be the only answer. During one of their many mad, passionate, crazy lovemaking sessions on the island of Jacamar she had heard Orlando curse, then reach out for another condom before pulling her back into his arms. She remembered the raw panting of his breath, the pounding of his heart beneath his ribcage as he straddled her once more, intent on finishing where he had left off, taking them both soaring to the heights of ecstasy they’d so badly craved.

As she had fallen asleep in his arms, sweat-sealed and sated, her body still shuddering with the aftershocks of pleasure, it had never occurred to her that the course of her life was about to change for ever.

Cursing again in his native tongue, Orlando turned on his heel, striding over to the wall of windows, where he braced his hands against the glass, resting his forehead between them. Isobel stared at the stark outline of his rear view, his stiffly held posture radiating tension.

‘How long have you known?’ He spoke the words over his shoulder.

‘I just did the test this morning.’

Orlando spun around. ‘So you haven’t had it confirmed by a doctor?’

‘I don’t need to, Orlando.’ Isobel knew she had to extinguish the look of hope in his eyes. ‘These tests are extremely accurate. And, besides, I can already feel the changes in my body. I’ve had my suspicions for a couple of weeks, but I wanted to be absolutely sure before I told you.’

Moving away from the window, Orlando came to sit down again, pulling up his chair so that he was positioned directly opposite Isobel, close enough for his knees to brush hers. Isobel crossed her legs tightly, pulled at the hem of her skirt.

‘Then we must figure out how we are going to proceed.’ Running his hand over his jaw, Orlando cupped his chin, his eyes narrowing with concentration as they searched hers.

How we are going to proceed. The words made Isobel’s skin prickle with alarm as she watched his wall of self-control slide back into place. Because she knew the kind of man Orlando was: powerful, ruthless. One who liked to make all the decisions, to bend others to his will. Who even now looked as if he was about to take command, address the problem of this pregnancy with cool detachment and deal with it as he saw fit.

Well, Isobel would never let that happen. She sure as hell wasn’t going to have him ruling her life, calling the shots. She had done the right thing by telling him she was carrying his child, but as far as she was concerned that was it. From now on the responsibility and the decisions were all hers. She needed to make that very clear.

Leaning forward, Orlando rested his splayed hands on his thighs, his dark gaze holding hers with brooding intensity. Isobel could see his mind racing as he tried to come to terms with this information, tried to shape it into some form he could control. He was so close now she could feel the air move with each steady breath, catch the faint scent of his cologne, see the amber flecks in his eyes.

She took in a breath to try and steady the pounding of her heart. This was what Orlando did to her. He messed with her head, made her feel things she didn’t want to feel. She was still trying to fight off the effects of that earlier kiss, the burning ache that had spread through her body and continued to pulse low down in her abdomen. He shouldn’t have done that—it wasn’t fair...he had broken the rules. Because they both knew that what had happened on Jacamar—that crazy, heady cocktail of wild abandonment and mind-blowing sex—had to stay on Jacamar.

As he had pulled away from their final hug the message in Orlando’s eyes had been loud and clear. That was great. Emphasis on the was. And Isobel had played along, knowing it was the only way, ignoring the hard knot in her throat, covering up the wobble of her chin until she had been chugging away from the sunshine island with the wind in her face and horizontal tears leaking from her eyes.

Because she had known then, as she knew now, that she was going to have to fight against her feelings for Orlando with all her might. Losing her heart to this magnetic, masterful man would mean nothing but misery, that was a certainty.

Over the past couple of weeks—from the first creeping realisation that her period was late to the hideous certainty that she was pregnant—she had given serious thought to keeping the news to herself. That way she just might be able to protect her heart and control her own destiny. If Orlando didn’t know about the child she would be free to raise it as she liked. Financially it would be a struggle, but she could do it. It wasn’t as if she wanted anything from him. She wouldn’t be hounding him for maintenance. And she most certainly didn’t expect him to marry her.

But, tempting though it was to try and keep Orlando out of the equation, practically it would be a nightmare. And, more than that, ultimately she knew that her conscience would never let her go through with it. After all, it was a man’s basic right to know that he was going to be a father.

Which was why she was seated here now, fighting off the sweeping feelings of longing with sweaty palms and a deliberately steely stare.

‘It’s not something you have to figure out, Orlando.’ Edging back into her seat, Isobel concentrated on the job she had to do. ‘I will be the one deciding how to proceed.’

‘Scusi?’ A muscle twitched ominously in his jaw.

‘I mean I am prepared to accept full responsibility.’

‘“Full responsibility”?’ Dark brows drew together.

‘Yes. I don’t expect anything from you.’ Isobel paused to take in a breath, strongly suspecting from Orlando’s chilling calm that this wasn’t going her way. She tried again. ‘Obviously I would never stop you from seeing the child—if you want to, that is—but in terms of raising it, I want to make it clear that I expect that role to be solely down to me.’

‘Do you, indeed?’ Orlando’s voice dropped menacingly low.

‘Yes.’

‘Incredibile.’ Orlando pushed himself back forcibly enough for the chair to rock on its legs. ‘Let me get this straight. First you tell me that I’m going to be a father, and then you hit me with the news that you intend to raise the child alone and without my support. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’ Isobel blinked hard but remained defiant. ‘I told you because I thought you had a right to know—not because I want anything from you.’

‘Very kind of you, I’m sure.’ Sarcasm ripped through his voice. ‘So, having been given this information, what exactly did you expect me to do with it? Say “Thanks for letting me know” and then walk away? Forget all about it?’

‘If that’s what you want, yes.’ Isobel was determined not to buckle under the force of his contemptuous stare. ‘You have that option.’

‘Ha!’ Orlando gave a cruel laugh. ‘Believe me, I don’t. And neither do you, come to that, no matter how much you might want it.’

‘Orlando, look—’

Hearing a tap on the door, Orlando held up his hand to silence her as his PA appeared, framed prettily in the doorway.

‘Not now, Astrid.’

His barked words brought a flash of surprise to Astrid’s face before she quickly pulled down the mask of professionalism.

‘My apologies, but I thought you would want to know that your one-thirty appointment has arrived.’

Orlando rubbed his temples. ‘Yes, of course. Tell them I’ll be five minutes.’

‘Certainly.’ Turning on her dainty heel, Astrid left the room, closing the door behind her.

‘We need to talk, Isobel, but not here.’ Pushing back the sleeve of his jacket, Orlando glanced at his watch. ‘I have meetings all afternoon, so it will have to be this evening. I should be free by seven o’clock.’

Isobel hesitated. Part of her—a big part—wanted to decline his less-than-cordial invitation. Tell him that as far as she was concerned there was no point in spending a torturous evening together. Orlando’s cold, calculating reaction to the news of her pregnancy had confirmed her worst fears. He had shown no compassion. Never once had he asked about her, about how she felt.

She had done her duty in telling him about the baby—now she just wanted to be left alone to pick up the pieces and carry on as best she could. But one glance at the determined set of Orlando’s jaw, the hint of steel in his eyes, told her that that was about as likely to happen as holding back the ocean with a wall of sand.

Rising to her feet, she picked up her bag and plastered on the most neutral expression she could muster. ‘Very well, if that’s what you want. I’ll see you this evening. Where do you want to meet?’

‘Leave your address with Astrid.’ Giving her no chance to disagree, Orlando stood before her, all tall, imperious command. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven.’

* * *

Orlando watched as Isobel hurried from the room, those provocative heels clicking accusingly on the polished wooden floor. He could hear her talking to Astrid in the outer office before finally taking her leave. Only then did he allow himself to sink down into a chair and put his head in his hands.

Pregnant.

The reality of what he had done hit him like a ton of rock, the shock firing through his veins. Isobel—a young woman he hardly knew—was pregnant with his baby. And if that wasn’t bad enough she had been a virgin before he had come along and ruined her life. What sort of a brute did that make him? One just like his father, that was what—a man who had swept his teenage mother off her feet, taken what he wanted, then discarded her.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Orlando forced himself to think. Why hadn’t he known that Isobel was a virgin? Would it have made any difference if he had? Their brief relationship had been so sudden, so wildly all-consuming, it had knocked all the normal rules out of the park. The attraction between them had been powerful and overwhelming and impossible to resist. And it had been the same for both of them. Or so he’d thought.

Screwing up his eyes, Orlando let the image of those sultry nights play over in his mind. Yes, Isobel had wanted him—he was sure about that. He remembered them tearing each other’s clothes off, remembered the look of pure sexual longing in Isobel’s eyes as she had reached out to him that first time, arching her naked body against his. But now he also remembered the sharp intake of breath when he had entered her...the fat tears that had leaked from the corners of her eyes when they had finally fallen back against the pillows, gasping for breath.

At the time he had thought nothing of it—or, worse still, had maybe revelled in his potent masculinity, his ability to stir such passion in a beautiful young woman.

Now the thought of what he’d done made him feel sick. But the deed was done—and with the most dramatic of consequences.

Somehow he had to get his head around this. He was going to be a father. The one thing he had always sworn would never, ever happen. Because Orlando had seen first-hand the brutal destruction that came with so-called family life. His own childhood was a chilling testament to that—completely chaotic from the start.

As a young boy he had been shunted from one foster family to the next, whenever his mother’s fragile mental health had left her unable to cope or plunged her into a depression so black that Orlando had been deemed at risk of neglect. He had been twelve years old when she had died, unable to care for herself any better than she had her precious, skinny, vulnerable son.

Too old to be adopted, and too difficult, challenging and downright angry with the world to be suitable for short-term fostering any more, Orlando had been placed in a children’s home. And that forbidding, prison-like building had been his home for more than four years.

It had been during his last few months there that he had made the disastrous decision to track down his father—the man who had had a brief affair with his mother, then abandoned her before he was born. The man who had triggered the mental health issues that had eventually led to his mother’s death. The man who had very nearly destroyed Orlando too.

But all that had been a long time ago—almost half a lifetime, in fact. At just seventeen years old Orlando had bought a one-way ticket to New York and left his wretched past firmly behind him. And the years since then had been good—remarkable, even—with determination, dedication and sheer hard work seeing Orlando rise rapidly from absolutely nothing to be one of the world’s most successful businessmen. A massive achievement in anyone’s book.

Yes, Orlando Cassano was at the top of his game. He’d got his life exactly where he wanted it.

Or so he’d thought.

Now not only had his past come back to haunt him, but his future was being catapulted into the unknown. He was going to have a child. He had no idea exactly what that would mean, but he did know that he would be there for his son or daughter—come what may, whatever it took. No way would he replicate the despicable behaviour of his own father.

And that meant the course of his life was about to change for ever.

* * *

‘I’ll be right down.’

Replacing the intercom receiver, Isobel reached for her coat and slung it over her arm. After checking her reflection in the mirror she hurried out, locking the door behind her before running down the several flights of stairs. She didn’t want to give Orlando the chance to invite himself up.

Not that she was ashamed of her flat—far from it. It might be tiny, but the rent was reasonable and it was nice and central—only a few stops on the underground to the headquarters of Spicer Shoes. However, it was hardly on a par with the sort of grandeur that Orlando Cassano was accustomed to.

He was studying the view when Isobel joined him, taking in the car park, the bike racks and the group of youths sitting on the wall that housed the dustbins. Her dash down the stairs had left her out of breath, and Orlando turned to look at her, coolly objective.

Isobel fought to suppress the familiar lurch in her stomach at the sight of him. He looked ridiculously out of place, standing there in his dark grey cashmere coat, the collar pulled up against the chilly breeze. All urbane, confident authority, he seemed the very antithesis of the crudely graffitied walls of this inner-city tower block.

‘How long have you lived here?’

Having performed a perfunctory kiss on both cheeks, Orlando took a couple of steps back and craned his head to look up, scanning the soulless concrete facade, the uniform rows of windows. Isobel watched his Adam’s apple move beneath the smooth olive skin.

‘A couple of years.’ She focussed on buttoning up her coat. ‘And, before you start, there is nothing wrong with it. We can’t all live on Caribbean islands or in Long Island mansions.’

‘Did I say that?’

‘Well, no, but...’

‘In that case I’ll thank you not to make accusatory assumptions.’ His mouth flattened into a tight line, his eyes narrowing with warning.

Isobel scowled back—this was not a good start. She knew she was being horribly prickly, but her nerves were shot to pieces, her head all over the place. Being in Orlando’s company again was pure torture, and not just because of the pregnancy, nor the fact that he obviously had no intention of letting her raise the child alone, although that was bad enough. Far worse was the realisation that for these past few weeks she had been fooling herself.

Somehow, while they had been apart, Isobel had managed to convince herself that what had happened on Jacamar—the way she had fallen head over heels for Orlando—had been the result of some sort of Caribbean magic...a spell that would be easily broken when she returned to the UK.

But that theory had vanished like an icicle in a furnace the second their eyes had met in the boardroom this morning, when the attraction Isobel had felt for him had been so powerful, so immediate, it had slammed right into her chest. And that wretched kiss hadn’t helped, opening her up to all sorts of forbidden desires. She could feel them now, stubbornly pumping through her body under the grey skies of London, without a coconut or a palm tree in sight.

‘My car is over here.’

He hardly needed to point it out. If Orlando seemed out of place then his gleaming car looked as if it had been dropped down from another planet. Sleek, black and low, it had certainly caught the eye of the local residents, several of whom had sauntered over to inspect it, peering in through the windows and running their hands over the immaculate paintwork.

Isobel felt familiar panic creep through her veins. Not because of the circling hooded youngsters—she’d lived here long enough to know that they wouldn’t bother her—but because cars, fast cars in particular, terrified her.

She had been seventeen when a horrific car crash had all but decimated her family, killing her father and leaving her mother in a wheelchair. Isobel had received only minor injuries, but the course of her life had changed for ever.

Giving up any idea of going to university, she had determined there and then that she would honour her father by taking on the family business and dedicating herself to making Spicer Shoes a success. She’d hoped the hard work would be cathartic and that a thriving business would mean security for the loyal Spicer employees and for her mother, whose continuing care in a residential home was eye-wateringly expensive.

More than that, she’d hoped to be able to make her mother see that the world hadn’t stopped the day of the accident. That she still had her daughter—alive and well and desperate to have a loving relationship with her, desperate to make amends.

But in the seven years that had passed, even though the business was now poised on the brink of massive success, Isobel’s relationship with her mother had become more strained than ever—something that weighed more heavily on her shoulders than she would even admit to herself.

And then there were the panic attacks. The crippling anxiety that Isobel still battled against whenever she sat in a car. But time and some intensive therapy had helped—plus the determination that she was going to overcome her fear. Now, dragging in a deep breath, she released it slowly, the way she had been shown, and strode with great determination to meet her nemesis.

Opening the door for her, Orlando waited as she slid in. Distracted by the car’s admiring audience, he hadn’t seemed to notice Isobel’s fear, which was just the way she wanted it. She waited as he went round to the driver’s side, her nails digging into the palms of her hands.

‘What can she do?’

Outside, she could hear a conversation starting up.

‘Over two hundred, technically.’

Oh, dear God. Orlando had opened his door and was standing outside it, just the lower half of his body visible to Isobel, one foot resting on the car’s sill.

‘Cool. You ever done that?’

‘I’ve taken her up to one-fifty on the autobahn in Germany and she still seemed to have plenty left.’

‘Wow. That’s cool, man.’

The way Isobel’s anxiety levels were racing, she suspected they would give it a run for its money. Reaching across, she pressed the car horn, meaning to grab Orlando’s attention so that they could get going—get this ordeal over with before she lost her nerve completely. But the jarring sound made her shrink back into her seat, and as Orlando peered in she caught his puzzled look.

‘You okay?’

‘Fine.’ She whispered the word under her breath as she double-checked the clasp of her seat belt. ‘Can we just get out of here, please?’

Swinging himself inside with cat-like agility, Orlando turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared into life. As he pressed his foot on the accelerator it growled throatily. Through the windscreen Isobel could see the look of respect on the young men’s faces.

‘You seem very impatient.’ He glanced at her, his hands gripping the steering wheel. ‘I can’t see that it hurts for me to spend a bit of time with those guys.’

‘You won’t say that when your car is found burnt out on a piece of wasteland.’

‘And you accuse me of prejudice?’ He gave a dismissive snort.

Isobel glared at him. ‘Look, I’m not saying they are bad kids, but a flashy car like this is bound to be a target for joyriders. It’s like asking for trouble.’

‘Ah, so it’s my fault.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘It’s important not to write people off because of their backgrounds, Isobel. I was young once. I remember what it was like.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting we wrote them off.’ How had she dug herself into this hole? ‘I happen to get on fine with my neighbours. But I doubt very much that you have anything in common with them.’