Secret Heirs And A Forever Family

But she hadn’t done any of those things. And he couldn’t get the picture of her, looking devastated and furious, not with him, but with herself, out of his head. It was foolish of him to feel guilty. He really had nothing to feel bad about. But still he couldn’t shake the feeling that he owed her at least a visit.

The memory of her sobs of fulfilment, her sighs of pleasure, her body so sweet and trusting nestled in his arms all through the night, couldn’t quite allow him to leave it the way it had ended.

He didn’t have to explain himself. They were adults, consenting adults, and everything they’d done together during the night had been mutually pleasurable. But still he felt responsible.

‘I’m sorry, sir, there’s no answer from the apartment.’ The receptionist frowned, the officiousness dropping away to reveal concern. ‘Which is odd, because I saw Miss Whittaker go up there ten minutes ago and I know Mr Whittaker and Katie are there, too.’

‘Try it again,’ he said, the back of his neck prickling.

Something wasn’t right. The lift pinged and out of it flew a girl dressed in skinny jeans and a scanty top that left her belly bare. ‘De Rossi!’ she yelled, racing down the steps leading to the lift and coming to a shuddering halt in front of him. ‘You have to rescue her! He’s going to kill her, and it’s all your fault!’

She grabbed a fistful of his sweater, the fear in her eyes, deep green eyes so like Megan’s, searing him to his soul.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded as he marched towards the lift. But he had already guessed. The prickles became a swarm.

‘What’s wrong, Katie?’ the receptionist shouted out, jettisoning the formality as she confirmed that the frantic girl was Megan’s younger sister.

Dario broke into a run, stabbing the lift button ahead of the girl, who shouted to the receptionist, ‘Call the police, Marcie. And an ambulance.’

‘Which floor?’ Dario demanded as they entered the lift together. Cold hard dread gripped his insides—as the memory of another time, another place, assaulted his senses.

Megan’s sister punched the button herself. And kept stabbing it as the doors closed, tears streaking down her face now.

‘Hurry up, hurry up,’ she said in a broken mantra.

‘Stop it.’ He gripped her shoulders as the lift travelled up to the tenth floor, her fear forcing him to push the flood of memory and his own terror back.

She collapsed against him, her whole body shaking, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Burying her head against his chest. ‘Thank God, you’re here. I couldn’t get the phone to work in the apartment.’

He rested his palms on her thin shoulders, drew her away, her blind faith in him almost as disturbing as his own irrational fear. ‘When we get there, you need to show me where they are.’

‘He’s locked the door. I couldn’t get in.’

The lift finally arrived at the floor. She charged out ahead of him, leading the way to an open apartment door. He heard the sounds first, the rhythmic thuds. He raced down the hallway, kicking open the door the girl indicated at the end with all his might.

The wood shattered and the door flew inward. The explosion of sound startled the man inside, his fist raised, a belt wrapped around it.

Whittaker.

But then Dario saw the woman curled in a foetal position at Lloyd Whittaker’s feet. And his mind stalled, the horror gripping his torso so huge and all-consuming he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear anything but the terrified screams in his own head.

‘Wake up, Mummy. Please wake up, Mummy.’

‘Megan!’ The scream from behind him shocked him out of his inertia. The fear was replaced by a feral rage that obliterated everything it its path. Until he couldn’t see Lloyd Whittaker any more, or the young woman he’d held in his arms all through the night. All he could see was the man he had fought so many times in his nightmares.

His fist connected with Whittaker’s jaw and pain ricocheted up his arm. Whittaker flew backwards and crumpled into a heap, the one punch sending him sprawling into an already broken table, which shattered beneath his weight.

Dario wanted to follow him down, to keep on pounding until the man’s face was nothing more than a bloody pulp, but the small mewling cry, like a wild animal caught in a trap, stopped the rage in its tracks.

He watched Katie crouch beside her sister. Megan’s beautiful gown, the one he’d eased off her body last night, was torn, the red welts of Whittaker’s belt scoring the delicate skin of her shoulders and back.

‘She’s hurt.’ Katie’s cries pierced the fog in his brain, dulling the choking fear, the incandescent rage. ‘He hurt her. I hate him.’

The fury finally dissolved into a mist—the surge of adrenaline retreating to leave Dario feeling hollow and shaky. He knelt on Megan’s other side and gathered her into his arms, determined to concentrate on the task at hand.

They had to get Megan downstairs, to an ambulance. She needed medical care.

Her fragile body curled into his chest as trusting as a child, the bodice of her dress drooping to reveal the dark blue lace that had captivated him the night before.

Ave, o Maria…

He prayed to the virgin mother, the prayer that had been drilled into him as a child by his own mother as he carried Megan’s unresisting body through the wreckage of the apartment.

This is not your fault. You are not responsible for the behaviour of a madman.

He kept repeating the words in his mind, his throat dry, his knuckles raw, his arms trembling as he used every ounce of his strength to keep the dark thoughts under control.

As he held her in the lift—Katie stroking her hair and begging her to be okay—Megan shifted in his arms.

He thanked God and all the saints.

‘Cara, can you hear me?’ he asked, gently.

Her eyelids fluttered open, the vicious mark reddening on her cheek making the rage and pain gallop back into his throat.

‘Stai bene, piccola?’ he said, and willed her to be all right.

Please let her be okay.

‘Grazie.’ Her bruised lips tipped into a shy smile—guileless and innocent. She winced, as her eyes closed again.

And the crippling guilt he had been holding so carefully at bay stabbed him right through the heart.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘WE’VE PUT HER into an induced coma, Mr De Rossi. The CT scan was inconclusive and we want to be certain there is no swelling on the brain from the head injury she sustained during the assault.’

Head injury?

The doctor’s words whipped at Dario’s conscience.

He hated hospitals—the chemical aroma of cleaning fluids and air freshener almost as disturbing as the feeling of powerlessness. He’d been waiting for nearly twenty minutes to see the doctor, his self-control on a knife-edge for a great deal longer—ever since the paramedics had whisked Megan away from him in the foyer three days ago.

After watching Whittaker being treated by paramedics and then taken away in handcuffs, he’d spent hours dealing with his team of lawyers and the police to ensure any assault charges against him would be dropped. He’d then spent further hours being questioned as a witness to Whittaker’s assault on his daughter. And after that he had been forced to give a press conference, the media swarming around the hint of a juicy story like flies on a rotting carcass. There had already been a barrage of reports on the Internet, and photographs of him and Megan dancing at the Westchester and their subsequent departure. All of which had fuelled speculation about how Megan had ended up being rushed to hospital the next morning, and how her father had ended up in handcuffs.

As soon as the press conference was over, Dario’s first instinct had been to rush to Megan’s bedside at the exclusive private hospital in Murray Hill where he’d insisted she be transferred to avoid the press hordes. But he’d forced himself not to give in to that knee-jerk reaction.

Going to see Megan in the hospital would only increase the press speculation about them, he’d reasoned. He and Megan were not a couple, they were never meant to be anything more than a one-night stand—and, despite the horror of her father’s attack and his own cursory involvement in it, he was not responsible for her.

But after he had been waiting three torturous days for news of Megan’s recovery, Dario’s ability to be patient and circumspect about the situation was at an end.

He wanted to know what the hell was going on, because the reports he’d been getting had been inconclusive, contradictory and wholly unsatisfactory. She should be awake and lucid by now, surely?

Unfortunately, the decision to go to the hospital and see for himself how she was had not helped calm his temper in the slightest—because he’d been thwarted by a brick wall of white coats and medical jargon as soon as he’d arrived and now the good Dr Hernandez, all five feet nothing of her, was the last straw.

‘I wish to see her,’ he reiterated.

The truth was, he had to see her, to be sure she was okay. The faraway look in her eyes, that bruised cheek and bloodied lip, the welts left by her father’s belt on her shoulder blades had been tormenting him for days. He needed to touch her, feel her skin warm beneath his fingers, before he would be able to breathe again.

‘Her sister is her only authorised visitor, Mr De Rossi.’

‘Is Katie with her now?’ he asked.

‘No, I insisted she went home to rest.’

‘Then Megan’s alone?’ He didn’t want her to be alone. What if she woke and no one was there? Wouldn’t she be scared after everything she’d been through?

‘Miss Whittaker is still unconscious and will remain so, until we’re ready to bring her out of the induced coma later today.’ The doctor continued dispassionately, ‘But when that happens I am only going to authorise close family to visit her.’

And of course she had no other family than Katie, and her bastard of a father. Every protective instinct Dario possessed, instincts he’d never even realised he had, rose up inside him. They had been as close as any two people could get four nights ago, but he could see that wasn’t going to wash with Dr Hernandez.

‘I am paying for her treatment. I insist on seeing her.’

Maybe it was irrational, the fear that had gripped him ever since he’d stormed into her apartment building to find her being brutalised by her father, but he couldn’t wait to see her any longer.

Dr Hernandez drew herself up to her full height, which did not reach his chin, and levelled a sanguine look at him. She didn’t look intimidated in the slightest.

‘This isn’t about what you want, Mr De Rossi. It’s about what’s best for my patient.’

‘And leaving her alone is best for her?’ he demanded, his frustration increasing. This woman hadn’t seen her curled on the floor like a terrified child.

‘That doesn’t alter the fact that you’re not related to her, Mr De Rossi, and I can’t authorise a—’

‘We’re engaged,’ he said, grasping at the only connection he could think of to give him the access he needed. ‘And I’m not leaving until I see her. Does that alter things?’

The doctor’s features softened and she gave a weary sigh. ‘Okay, Mr De Rossi, you can see her when she wakes up. But that could be a while.’

‘I’ll wait.’

She tucked her hands into the pockets of her white coat, the sympathetic look annoying him more. ‘Why don’t you go home first and get some rest? You look exhausted.’

Of course he was exhausted; he hadn’t slept for three damn days. ‘I’m not leaving.’

‘It could be several hours before your fiancée wakes up.’

The quaint, romantic term gave him a jolt, but he ignored it. Seeing Megan was the only way to make the anxiety that had been lodged in the pit of his stomach ever since the attack go away. ‘And I intend to be here when that happens.’ On that point, he refused to budge.

If he returned to his penthouse, the memories of that night would be waiting for him. Memories he couldn’t seem to shake. The sweet sighs of her release, the hours spent touching and tempting her. And worse still, if he closed his eyes, the nightmares would chase him. He would see her bruised and battered body, feel her dead weight in his arms as he carried her into the lift, trying not to hurt her more.

‘Then sit down before you fall down,’ the doctor said, not unkindly, indicating one of the waiting area’s leather armchairs. The pity in the woman’s warm brown eyes added discomfort to his frustration—and the dazed feeling that had started to descend without warning.

‘I’m not going to fall down,’ he said, locking his knees, just to be sure.

‘Good, because I have no intention of catching you,’ the doctor returned. Gripping his elbow, she led him to the armchair she had indicated. ‘What Miss Whittaker needs now most of all is rest,’ she added, her voice floating somewhere over his head and not quite coming into complete focus any more. ‘She’s suffered a terrible trauma.’

‘I understand that,’ he said, his knees giving way as the adrenaline that had been charging through his veins for days finally deserted him. ‘Which is why I intend to stay.’

‘I suppose it can’t do any harm to have her loved ones close by.’

Her loved ones?

The doctor’s softly spoken words made no sense.

But as she left the room Dario sank his head into his hands. He raked his fingers through his hair and gripped his head to stop it dropping off his shoulders. He didn’t have time to worry about the doctor’s misconceptions. He’d said what he had to say to give him the access he needed.

He had to make sure Megan was okay. And that Whittaker paid for his crimes. Then he would be able to forget about the attack—and get a decent night’s sleep again.

His smartphone buzzed and he fished it out of his pocket. He scrolled through the list of missed calls and texts. His gaze snagged on Jared Caine’s text.

Saw the news. Nice work knocking that creep unconscious, buddy. Here if you need me.

The simple, succinct message made his chest tighten—which had to be the exhaustion.

He and Jared were friends. They went way back. Ten years back to be exact, to a dark rainy night in the West Village—when Dario had been a twenty-year-old Italian upstart with a fledging investment corporation making a name for itself on Wall Street and Jared had been a fifteen-year-old street punk who’d made the mistake of trying to pick another former street punk’s pocket.

Dario had taken Jared under his wing after that night because the boy’s cynicism and street smarts, his thirst for something better in life and his too-old eyes, had reminded Dario of himself.

But somewhere in the last decade, as Jared had forged his own path, shearing off all but a few of his rough edges, to become a smart, erudite and ambitious security advisor with a growing portfolio, Dario had come to rely on the younger man’s friendship and loyalty.

And right now he could use Jared’s professional help, because his buddy owned and operated one of the best, and certainly the hungriest, private security and investigative firms in the city.

Dario keyed in a quick text, requesting a meeting soon to discuss Whittaker’s case. Not that Dario didn’t trust New York’s Finest, but the NYPD didn’t have the resources of De Rossi Corp. Dario wanted Megan’s father prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

He had seen the look in Whittaker’s eyes when he’d punched him. He knew exactly what that wild glassy sheen indicated. And if the fifty-something CEO had a substance-abuse problem he had managed to keep secret, there would no doubt be other stuff they could use to crucify him.

Jared’s reply came back.

I’ll get working on it. Then we can arrange a meet at my place. More private.

The tightness in Dario’s chest eased.

He laid his head back against the armchair, his galloping pulse slowing to a canter, but blinked to keep the foggy feeling at bay.

No sleep yet, not until he’d seen Megan. And assured himself once and for all she was okay.

Because only then would he be able to get the picture of her cowering at Whittaker’s feet, beaten and brutalised, out of his head.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHE COULD HEAR VOICES.

The first was her sister’s.

‘Meggy, please come back, you have to wake up now.’ She could hear the panic and fear in Katie’s voice. But she didn’t want to come back just yet. Couldn’t she stay here?

But then she heard another voice, much lower and more assured, which didn’t plead, it insisted.

‘Open your eyes for me, cara.’

She frowned. She wanted to be a little bit annoyed. Why did she have to come back? Staying where she was felt so much easier. But that voice, it was so compelling. It made her feel important. Significant. Special. It sounded so sure. And so safe. And so deliciously seductive.

The tingling sensation in her fingers became something more. A ripple of sensation. Warmth spread over her hand and her eyelids fluttered open.

Dario?

Heat flushed through her at the memory of that seductive mouth on hers. But why did he look so different from the last time she’d seen him, in his penthouse apartment, after they’d made love?

His hair had been dishevelled then too, but it looked a mess now. His jaw was covered in dark stubble and his eyes… He hadn’t had those bruised smudges under his eyes, had he?

‘Ciao, Megan. Come va?’ The lyrical Italian washed over her. But then his sensual lips tipped up at the edges as he translated. ‘How are you feeling?’

That smile, she remembered that smile. So sexy. Heat settled in her abdomen and she tried to speak. But all that came out was a husky croak.

He held her hand and pressed it to his lips. The prickle of stubble against her knuckles made her aware of a few other aches and pains. A lot of other aches and pains. Where had they come from? She remembered being sore after their lovemaking, but not this sore.

‘Water?’ he asked.

She nodded.

Cradling her head, he held a cup to her lips, directing the straw into her mouth. She took a sip, the cool water easing the rawness in her throat. Why was she so thirsty?

‘Okay?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she said, despite all those unexplained aches and pains. ‘Where are we? Is this your bedroom?’ Had he taken her upstairs? She was sure he had. She could remember the slow glide of his fingers over sensitive flesh, the prickling spray of the water in his power shower, the scent of sandalwood soap that had clung to his skin and hers later, much later, as they lay together on Egyptian cotton sheets. But everything else felt so disjointed. And this didn’t feel like his bedroom, the cloying scent of roses and the persistent sound of something beeping confusing her.

‘You’re in hospital,’ he said, placing the cup back on a bedside table.

‘I am? Why?’ That didn’t sound right. What was she doing in a hospital? ‘Did I have an accident?’

‘You don’t remember?’ he asked.

‘No, I… I remember being with you and…’ The heat suffused her skin. Should she tell him? But he looked concerned. She didn’t want him to worry. She didn’t want him to think for even a second that she hadn’t enjoyed herself. It had been a little sore at first. Just as she had suspected, he wasn’t a small man…anywhere. But it had been glorious after that. She wanted him to know that. She thought she’d told him this already, but maybe she’d only thought it.

‘I remember it was wonderful. You were wonderful. But that’s all I can remember.’ Had she made a complete muppet of herself? Fallen over in his power shower? Tripped down the stairs leading up to the mezzanine? That would be just like her, to knock herself unconscious after the best sex of her life. The only proper sex of her life.

‘What accident did I have?’ she asked, when he simply stared at her, his gaze searching her face as if he was looking for something. Something important.

‘Meg, you’re awake.’ Katie’s excited voice pierced her aching head before her sister bounced into view beside Dario.

He started to move aside to make room for Katie, who looked overjoyed to see her. But as he went to let go of her hand, Megan’s grip tightened.

‘No, don’t. Don’t go.’

She didn’t want to let go of him, not yet. She liked having him there. Something dark and scary seemed to be lurking just out of reach, and she didn’t want to let it come any closer. With Dario there, holding her hand, she knew it wouldn’t be able to. He was such a force of nature. He would never let it hurt her, whatever it was. And he cared about her. She knew he did. Because she could hear his voice in her memory telling her everything would be okay.

He squeezed her hand back. ‘What is it, cara?’

‘Could you stay with me?’

He hesitated for a moment, but then he sat back down, still holding her hand. ‘If you want.’

She could see Katie swivelling her head between the two of them, her eyes widening. But she didn’t have the energy to care. She had known she would have to tell Katie about Dario, and everything that had happened last night at the Westchester Ball, because it was impossible to keep anything secret from her sister. But she was more than happy to let Katie draw her own conclusions now, because she wasn’t exactly sure herself what had happened any more. Except that it had been glorious. And just having Dario look at her like that, as if he would keep her safe no matter what, was enough to make the aches and pains from her mysterious accident fade away.

Along with the dark, scary thing lurking in the shadows.

A short, rotund, middle-aged Hispanic woman with a friendly face and gentle hands appeared and introduced herself as Dr Hernandez.

She checked Megan’s pulse, shone a light into her eyes and then spoke to her in a soft, even voice.

She asked Megan all sorts of silly questions, like her age and her name, and Katie’s name and their relationship. And where they lived. And what year it was. The doctor asked her about Dario and if she remembered him. Of course she did, she said, as the blush spread up her chest.

Thank goodness the lighting was muted in here. Or this interrogation could become really awkward, especially with Katie sitting there listening to every word.

But then the questions became more confusing.

‘Do you remember your relationship to Mr De Rossi?’

She felt Dario’s hand clench hers, his jaw stiffening.

‘I…’ She wasn’t sure how to answer that. She didn’t want to seem even more gauche, or clueless, than she did already, but at the same time he was here, holding her hand, so maybe he wouldn’t mind her mentioning it. ‘We’re lovers,’ she said, deciding that sounded a little less embarrassing than We shared a night of the hottest sex I’ve ever had.

‘Do you remember that you’re engaged to Mr De Rossi?’

Huh?

‘What? Seriously?’ Katie said, echoing Megan’s confused thoughts. ‘You’re kidding?’

Her little sister crowded in on her and Dario and the doctor again.

Really? They were engaged? That was, well, surprising. Astonishing even. She couldn’t remember the exact details, but hadn’t they only met last night?

Dario’s grip stayed firm, though, and he didn’t jump in to deny it. The look on his face was guarded somehow but intense.

Even though she couldn’t remember falling in love with Dario—which was probably a bad thing—being engaged to him, having him fall in love with her, felt like a good thing. Or at least not a bad thing. It made her feel protected, coveted, the way she hadn’t felt since she was a little girl and her mother—She cut off that thought.

No, she wasn’t going to think about her mother. Because it would take away the happy, floaty buzz, the giddy excitement in her chest that thinking about Dario gave her.

And being with him. Now. For ever. That felt pretty good too. Because as well as him being there to protect her, he could give her lots more of the hot, sexy times that she could remember from their night together—their apparently very eventful night together.