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‘There’s a chair over here.’ Bronte pushed it forward and he sat down, cradling Ella against his chest.
Luca couldn’t take his eyes off her. The perfection of her amazed him. She had the most beautiful face, like an angel. She favoured her mother, but now that he had her up close he could see traces of his own mother and even his long-dead baby sister. She smelt so sweet, a combination of talcum powder and baby that was indescribably beautiful. He traced a gentle fingertip over each of her tiny eyebrows and then the up-tilted button nose that was so like Bronte’s. Love flowed through him like a torrent. It filled him completely; there wasn’t a space inside him that wasn’t consumed with love for this child.
‘Would you like some time alone with her?’ Bronte asked after a long silence.
‘It’s all right,’ Luca said, carefully getting to his feet and carrying Ella back to the cot. He laid her down gently and pulled the covers back over her, tucking them in either side of her. ‘I don’t want to wake her. She might feel frightened at not knowing who I am if she should suddenly wake up.’
He stood back from the cot and took a steadying breath before turning to Bronte. ‘We need to talk.’
She nodded resignedly and led the way out of the room.
The kitchen–living room combined was on the small side but with Luca there it made it shrink to the size of a doll’s house. There was nowhere in the room that kept her more than two metres away from him. It was intimidating to say the least. One step from him and a reach with one of those long arms of his and she would be snared. The most bewildering thing was, she wasn’t entirely sure she would try to move away if he did reach out and touch her.
Bronte was so moved by watching him with Ella. She hadn’t been sure what to expect but seeing the love on his face for his child had made her all the more certain he was not going to walk away from his little daughter. He would want to be an active father. He came from a strongly connected family background, a rich heritage that Ella was entitled to be a part of as a Sabbatini. The only trouble was, where did Bronte fit into it all according to his plans for the future?
‘Would you like a cup of tea or something?’ she asked to fill the silence.
‘No tea,’ he said.
She gestured to the one and only sofa. ‘Would you like to sit down?’
‘No, but you had better do so,’ he said ominously.
Bronte sat down on the chain store sofa and pressed her knees against her hands to keep them from trembling. ‘Don’t take her off me, Luca, please, I beg you,’ she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in an agonised stream. ‘I love her so much. I would do anything to make it up to you. I know it was wrong not to try harder to tell you. I realise it now. I couldn’t bear it if you…’ She couldn’t continue as the tears began to fall. She bowed her head and stifled a sob.
‘Tears are not going to work with me, Bronte,’ he said through tight lips. ‘I have lost more than a year of my child’s life. Do you have any idea of what that feels like?’
She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. ‘I know how upset you must be—’
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he ground out. ‘I look at Ella and every day I have missed is like a punch to my guts.’
‘I have photos and some home videos to show you—’
‘For God’s sake, Bronte, a child’s life is not like a movie I’ve missed when it came to the local cinema,’ he said, raking a hand through his hair. ‘I can never have that time back. I can never tell her when she is older what it was like to see her born. I can never tell her what it felt like to hold my hand over your belly to feel her wriggling in there. I can’t tell her when she took her first step or when she first smiled.’
‘She’s still so young,’ Bronte said. ‘She won’t even remember you weren’t a part of her life in the beginning. Children don’t really remember anything until they are about three years old. You have plenty of time to make up for what you’ve lost.’
‘And how do you suggest I do that?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
Bronte pressed her lips together. She knew what was coming and took a breath to prepare herself for it.
‘You live in Australia,’ he said. ‘I spend half my time in Italy and the other half in London.’
‘I… I know.’ Her voice was a thready whisper.
‘Which means one of us has to move.’
Her eyes rounded, her mouth going completely dry. ‘You’d do that? You’d consider moving here to be closer to Ella?’ she asked.
His expression was derisive. ‘Not me, Bronte,’ he said, ‘you.’
‘Me?’ The word came out like a squeak.
‘Of course you,’ he said. ‘I can’t run a corporation the size of mine from this distance. You can teach ballet anywhere.’
Bronte got to her feet in one agitated movement. ‘Are you out of your mind? I can’t move to Italy or wherever you want me to. I’m building up my career. It’s just getting to the stage where I can expand and take on more teachers. And I have my mother and friends here. My support network is very important to me.’
His mouth took on a stubborn line. ‘You move or you lose Ella,’ he said. ‘I am not going to have her travelling back and forth in planes on access visits. I want to be fully involved in her life. I am not prepared to negotiate on this.’
Bronte opened and closed her mouth, trying to think of some way to make him see reason. She couldn’t believe his obstinacy. Did he really think she should uproot everything at his bidding? What role was she to play in his life? Was she just to be the mother of his child or was he expecting something more?
‘I want my family to meet Ella as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘And it goes without saying we will have to get married as soon as it can be arranged.’
Bronte stared at him in stupefaction. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘I am not going to be drawn into an argument about this, Bronte,’ he said. ‘Ella is a Sabbatini. She has certain rights and privileges as a grandchild and heir. I will have no one refer to her as a love-child. I want her to have my name.’
‘She can have your name without you having to marry me,’ Bronte said. ‘I can have it put on the birth certificate.’
‘Bronte, let me make something very clear,’ he said with an intractable set to his mouth. ‘We have a responsibility towards our child. She needs a mother and a father. The only way to see that she gets what she needs is for us to marry and stay married.’
‘But I don’t love you any more.’ Bronte said it even though she wasn’t sure if it was true. She didn’t know what she felt towards him. She felt so confused about him. He had barged back into her life and was threatening everything she had clung to for security. The hurt over his rejection was like a wound that had been reopened. It ached deep inside her and she was terrified of being hurt all over again.
‘I do not require your love,’ he said. ‘There are plenty of very successful marriages which exist on mutual respect and common interests. We will start with that and see where it takes us.’
Bronte sent him a defiant glare. ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to sleep with you because I’m not going to. If I have to marry you, it will be in name only.’
His eyes were like glittering black diamonds as they held hers. ‘You are not the one dictating the terms here, Bronte,’ he said. ‘You will be my wife in every sense of the word.’
Bronte’s heart gave a nervous flutter as his implacable statement hit home. She could see the fiery intent in his eyes. He wanted her and he was not going to settle for a sterile hands-off arrangement. The thought of sleeping with him was all the more terrifying because she was sure she would fall in love with him all over again. She couldn’t dissociate the intimate act like some of her peers seemed able to do. She felt the emotional connection deeply. In the past she hadn’t just loved him with her heart and soul, but her body as well. ‘You seem to have it all worked out,’ she said, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice.
‘It’s for the best, Bronte,’ he said. ‘In time, you will see that. I know it is a lot to ask of you to relocate, but your mother can visit any time she likes. And you can fly back for visits. You will not be under lock and key.’
She turned and paced what little space she had. ‘I need some time to think about this,’ she said, pressing her hand to her temple where a cluster of tension was gathering.
‘There isn’t time,’ he said. ‘We have to get moving on this. We have a wedding to arrange. I want it to be a proper one, not some hole in the corner affair.’
Bronte swung back to face him. ‘I haven’t said I will marry you, Luca. Don’t rush me. I told you I need some time to think about this.’
He came over to where she was standing, his expression so in control, so commanding, so indomitable, it sent a tremor of unease through her. ‘If you say no to our marriage, you are never going to see your daughter again,’ he said. ‘Have I made myself clear enough?’
Bronte bristled with outrage. ‘You bastard,’ she said in a snarling hiss. ‘You arrogant, cruel, heartless bastard.’
His eyes glinted as they roamed her furious features, his body so close now she could feel the male heat of him. She had nowhere to escape. She was backed up against the wall, her heart going like a jackhammer in her chest as he planted his hands either side of her head, his strongly muscled arms making a cage around her quaking body. She sent the tip of her tongue out over her lips, a rush of unruly desire gushing through her like a flash flood.
His eyes went to her mouth, his lashes lowering in a smouldering manner. She held her breath as he came closer, the soft waft of his breath over the surface of her lips making her heart kick-start in reaction. When he finally touched down on her lips she felt an explosion of desire in her body. It roared like petrol thrown on a fire. Leaping flames of need rose up and consumed her. She opened her mouth to the possessive thrust of his tongue, a hollow pit opening in her stomach as it mated erotically with hers. This was no poignant tender kiss of a revisited relationship. This was a kiss of anger and out of control needs. Bronte tasted Luca’s anger and frustration and gave plenty of her own back. She used her teeth on his lower lip, not the tender teasing little nips of the past, but savage wildcat bites that drew blood. He took control of the kiss, pushing her further back against the wall, his aroused body hot, hard and urgent against hers.
It shocked her how much he wanted her.
It shocked her how much she wanted him.
Her body had superseded any counter argument her mind tried to throw up to resist him. The simple truth was she wanted him to make love to her, to reclaim her body, to imprint it with the potency of his.
His mouth was still locked on hers as his hands lifted her cocktail dress, searching for the slick wet heart of her. He cupped her first through the lacy barrier of her knickers, which were already damp with want. She arched her spine as he pushed the lace aside to slide one finger into her. The sensations rippled through her, making her want more and more of his touch. She whimpered against the crushing heat of his mouth as his hand left her moist heat to unzip his trousers. She blindly assisted him, her fingers stroking along his steely length, delighting in the feel of him so aroused. It was something to cling to, this need he had for her. He might not love her, he might never find it in himself to forgive her for denying him knowledge of his child, but he wanted her with a fervency that secretly thrilled her.
She could have pulled away. She could have stopped things before they went any further but she didn’t. She dug her fingers into the tautness of his buttocks and urged him on.
He thrust into her with a deep bone-melting thrust that sent her head thudding against the wall behind her. He set a furious pace but she matched it. It didn’t matter that they were still fully clothed; it didn’t matter that no one had mentioned protection.
The friction of his thickened body brought her undone within seconds. She had never been able to come without added stimulation before but this time her body shattered into a thousand pieces, the convulsions of her inner core setting off his equally powerful release. She felt the pumping of his body as he emptied himself.
His breathing was still uneven as he stepped back from her and re-zipped his trousers. ‘That should never have happened,’ he said grimly. ‘I hope I didn’t hurt you.’
Bronte smoothed down her dress. ‘I thought that was your intention—to hurt me as much as possible for keeping Ella a secret from you.’
His expression was contorted with regret. ‘Anger is a dangerous emotion when it’s out of control,’ he said. ‘I had no right to take it out on you in such a way. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’
Bronte felt a little sideswiped by his sudden mood change. She wasn’t sure how to deal with her own feelings, let alone his. Her body was still humming with the aftershocks of his lovemaking. She could still feel his presence inside her even now, the twinge of unused muscles and the damp heat of him reminding her of how much passion simmered between them. Those out of control needs were satiated for now, but how long was that going to last? If she were to marry him and live with him there would be no way of ignoring the sexual tension that crackled like a current of electricity between them. She stepped away from the wall and wasn’t quite able to disguise a little wince as her body protested at the movement.
Luca’s frown deepened. ‘I did hurt you, didn’t I?’
Bronte felt her cheeks heat up. ‘I’m fine. It’s just been a long time… well, you know…’
There was an awkward little silence.
‘It’s been a long while for me too,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck again.
Bronte looked at him, wondering whether to believe him or not. When she’d met him he had a reputation as a playboy. What he wanted, he got. No woman could resist him. She couldn’t quite see him adhering to a celibate lifestyle for longer than a week or two. He was too full of life, too full blooded, too intensely and potently male.
He looked at her with a wry expression. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
‘Why should I?’ she asked. ‘You’ve told me practically nothing of your life over the past two years. For all I know, you’ve probably had numerous affairs, one after the other. A long time between lovers for you might mean a couple of days.’
He held her look for a long moment before shifting his gaze. ‘It’s not been like you think, Bronte. I’ve had other things going on in my life. There has been no one of any significance for quite some time.’
‘How very restrained of you,’ she said with an attempt at sarcasm.
He ignored her comment and wandered over to the small bookcase and picked up a photograph of Ella. ‘You mentioned you had photos and DVDs of her. I would like to have copies made, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Bronte said. ‘I’ll get them together for you. I’ll have to bring them to your hotel tomorrow, however. Mum has most of them at her house. There’s not much storage space here.’
He turned and looked at her. ‘Why do you live here instead of in the main house with your mother?’
‘I thought it was important to maintain some element of independence for me and for Ella,’ she said. ‘My mother—as you saw—is rather protective. She means well but at times she can be quite smothering. I make allowances for her because she’s been alone for so long. Living here is a sort of compromise. Mum is close by to help me with Ella but there is enough distance, small as it is, to establish some boundaries.’
‘How do you think she will take the news of our marriage?’
‘The same way I am taking it,’ she answered. ‘With a great deal of apprehension.’
Luca came back over to her and ran a fingertip down her cheek. She didn’t veer away, but he saw the way her eyes flickered with wariness. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses, puffy and pink and all too tempting to kiss again. ‘There is no other way to do this, Bronte,’ he said. ‘You do realise that, don’t you?’
She snatched in a breath that seemed to catch in her throat. ‘You’re blackmailing me, Luca, can’t you see that?’
He steeled his resolve. ‘I admit it was not the most polished proposal, but the end justifies the means. I want my child. I want to provide for her. I want her to be a part of my extended family. I want her to embrace her Italian heritage, to learn my language. I can’t give her that at a distance and you can’t do it on your own.’
‘But a loveless marriage…’ Her eyes communicated her anguish. ‘Ella’s just a baby now but it won’t be long before she’s old enough to see things are not quite right between her parents. No amount of money can compensate for that. Surely you see that?’
Luca placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her gaze with his. ‘We will work at our relationship. There is no doubt of the attraction that still exists between us. That is a good enough basis to start from.’
‘You’re asking me to give up everything,’ she said, still with that worried look in her slate-blue eyes. ‘I have so much more to lose than you. I will be alone in Italy. I don’t speak the language, or at least only a few words here and there. What if your family doesn’t take to me? Have you thought of that? I have never met them. They will no doubt be just as angry as you are about Ella being kept a secret all this time.’
Luca dropped his hands from her shoulders. ‘It won’t be easy. I am the first to admit that. I will do what I can to make things go as smoothly as possible. My family will accept you. I will make sure of that. They will adore Ella and in time may come to adore you too. It will take time. You will have to be patient.’
He put some distance between them before he spoke again. ‘I will compensate you handsomely for marrying me. I will have an agreement set up by my financial and legal people. That should help dissolve some of your current doubts.’
Bronte screwed up her forehead in a frown. ‘You think you can pay me to be your wife? You think I can be bought?’
The look he gave her was cynical. ‘One thing I have learned through business is that everyone has a price. I am sure you have one too.’
She glared back at him furiously. ‘You think you can afford me?’ she asked, not caring if she was goading him too far.
His top lip curled upwards with the same cynicism she saw reflected in his gaze. ‘Name your price,’ he said.
Bronte threw a figure at him, an astonishingly exorbitant sum that would have made most men flinch in response. Luca’s expression was mask-like. It showed no emotion. It was as if they were discussing a business transaction.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I will make sure the funds are deposited in your bank account as soon as possible. You will need to give me your banking details, unless you would like me to write you a cheque here and now.’
Bronte scribbled her details down on a piece of paper, a war going on inside her over what she had just done. She had sold herself. Her future was now in his hands. She handed him the note, her eyes not quite able to hold his. ‘I will need to give the parents of my students some notice,’ she said.
‘I am sure your business partner will be able to see to everything,’ he said. ‘I want us to be in Italy at the end of the month. I want our marriage to be conducted at the family hotel in Milan. That way, all of my relatives can be there. It is too far for my elderly grandfather to travel all the way to Australia.’
Bronte’s eyes flew back to his. ‘Are you out of your mind? I can’t possibly tie up everything here in less than three weeks!’
‘I am a busy man, Bronte,’ he said. ‘I have commitments here that will now have to be put on hold until we get back.’
She frowned again. ‘So you’re expecting me to follow you back and forth across the globe?’
His eyes challenged her to defy him. ‘That is what most loving wives would do, is it not?’
It took Bronte a moment to catch on. ‘You… you want me to pretend our marriage is normal?’
‘But of course,’ he said.
She folded her arms crossly. ‘That’s out of the question. I won’t do it.’
‘It is not negotiable, Bronte,’ he said. ‘I will not be made an object of ridicule the world over for having a wife who hates the sight of me. You will at all times and in all places maintain the guise of a devoted wife.’
Bronte fumed as she stood facing him. ‘Is this marriage going to be an exclusive arrangement or are you going to continue with your philandering ways?’
