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All he wanted was to get away from her, get away from this claustrophobic party with all the talk of babies and marriage, and find himself a few hours of oblivion.
Her cheeks coloured but her jaw hardened. ‘What’s enjoyment got to do with anything? You lied to me. You spent a whole weekend lying to me, pretending to enjoy my company...’
He flashed his most winning smile. ‘I did enjoy your company.’ He certainly wasn’t enjoying it now though. This conversation was worse than the frequent visits to the headmaster he’d endured as a schoolboy. Just because he deserved someone’s censure didn’t mean he had to enjoy it.
‘Do I look like I was born yesterday?’ she shot back. ‘The only reason you hooked up with me was because your brother was so desperate to find Grace.’
‘My brother deserved to know where his wife had gone.’
‘No, he did not. She’s not his possession.’
‘A lesson I can assure you he has learned. Look at them.’ He nodded over to where Luca had joined his wife, his arms locked around her waist. Fools, the pair of them. ‘They’re happy to be back together. Everything has worked out for the best.’
‘I was a virgin.’
He winced. He’d been trying his best to forget that little nugget. ‘If it’s an apology you’re after then I apologise, but, as I explained at the time, I didn’t know.’
‘I told you...’
‘You told me you’d never had a serious boyfriend before.’
‘Exactly!’
‘And as I told you before, not having a serious boyfriend does not equate to being a virgin.’
‘It does—did—for me.’
‘How was I supposed to know that? You’re a twenty-six-year-old woman.’ He’d thought virgins of that age were extinct, a thought he kept to himself. Cara’s skin had gone as red as her hair. He didn’t particularly fancy being on the receiving end of a punch in the face in front of his entire family, even if she would need a stepladder to reach him. There was something of a ferocious Jack Russell about her at that moment.
‘You used me,’ she said, almost snarling. ‘You let me believe you were serious, and that we would see each other again.’
‘When? Tell me, when did I say we would see each other again?’
‘You said you wanted me to come to your new house in Paris so I could advise you where to place the Canaletto painting you bought in the auction.’
He shrugged. ‘That was business talk. You know about art and I needed an expert’s eye.’ He still needed one; he’d bought his Parisian home to showcase his art collection, but the entire lot was still in storage.
‘You said it while dipping your finger in champagne and then placing it in my mouth so I could suck it off.’
A flare of heat stirred in his groin. That particular moment had been during their last meal together, shortly before she’d agreed to join him in his hotel room and spend the night with him.
He cut his thoughts off the direction they were headed. The last thing he needed at that moment was to remember anything further about that night. It was becoming uncomfortable enough in his underwear as it was.
‘Why didn’t you steal my phone from the outset? Why string me along for a whole weekend?’ Her eyes were no longer firing hostility at him. All he saw in them was bewilderment.
It had been easier dealing with Aunt Carlotta’s jabbering mouth than with this. Okay, he got that Cara felt humiliated—he hardly recalled his actions that weekend with pride—but surely it was time for her to get over it?
‘I couldn’t steal your phone because you keep your handbag pressed so tightly to you I knew it would be impossible to steal.’ Even now, she had the long strap placed diagonally over her neck and across her chest, the bag itself tucked securely under her arm.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t arrange for someone to mug me. I’m sure between you and your brother you know enough shady people to do the job. It would have saved you wasting a weekend of your precious time.’
‘But you could have got hurt,’ he argued silkily. A strange shiver rippled through his belly at the thought, a feeling dismissed before it was properly acknowledged.
He’d had enough. He’d behaved atrociously but it had been necessary. He wasn’t prepared to spend the rest of the evening apologising for it. He’d never told her an actual lie—how she’d interpreted his words was nothing to do with him. ‘You share a house with three other women, which made breaking into your home too risky, and you keep your phone on you when you’re working. If you’d left your handbag unattended just once throughout that weekend, I would have taken it, but you didn’t—you didn’t let it out of your sight.’
‘So now it’s my fault?’ she demanded, hands on hips.
Cara had to be one of the shortest people he’d ever met, certainly on a par with his great-aunt Magdalena. In the four months since he’d last seen her, she’d lost weight, making her seem more doll-like than he remembered. Yet, whether it was the long flaming hair or the ferocity blazing from her eyes, she stood tall and unapologetic before him, as if a tank would not be enough to knock her down.
He bit back another oath. ‘What’s done is done. I’ve apologised and as far as I’m concerned that’s the end of the matter. It’s been four months. I suggest you forget about it and move on.’
With that, he stalked away, striding towards Luca and Grace, ready to tell them he was leaving.
‘Actually, it’s not the end of the matter.’
Something in the tone of her voice made him pause.
‘It’s impossible for me to “forget about it and move on”.’
A shiver of something that could be interpreted as fear crawled up his spine...
* * *
Cara watched Pepe’s back tense and all the muscles beneath his crisp pink shirt bunch together.
Only Pepe could get away with a pink linen shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and snug-fitting navy chinos for his own niece’s christening. The shirt wasn’t even tucked in! Yet he still oozed masculinity. If she could, she’d rip all the testosterone from him—and there must be buckets of it—and flush it down the toilet. Standing next to him in the church, she had been acutely aware of how overdressed she looked in comparison, and had fumed at the unfairness of it all—he was the one underdressed for the occasion. With his long Roman nose, high cheekbones, trim black goatee covering his strong chin and his ebony hair quiffed at the front, Pepe looked as if he’d stepped off a catwalk.
She’d truly thought she’d been prepared. In her head she’d had everything planned out. She would be calm. She would politely ask for five minutes of his time, explain the situation and tell him what she wanted. Above all else, she would be calm.
Under no circumstances would she let him know of her devastation when she’d awoken alone in his hotel suite, or her terror when the stick in her hand had turned pink.
She would be calm.
All her good intentions had been thrown by the wayside when she’d taken one look at his handsome face and wanted to knock his perfect white teeth out.
The whole time she’d been next to him at the christening, even while they were making their respective promises as Lily’s godparents, all she could think was how much she wanted to cause him bodily harm. She’d even found herself gazing at the silver scar that ran down his cheek, wishing she could track the culprit down and shake his hand. Or her hand. She’d asked Pepe about the scar during their weekend together but he’d evaded the question with his customary ease. She hadn’t pushed the matter but it had tugged at her. All she’d wanted to do was trace a finger down it and make it magically disappear.
Who, she’d wondered, could have hated him enough to do such a thing? Pepe was charm personified. Everyone adored him. Or so she’d thought.
Now it wouldn’t surprise her in the least to discover a queue of people wishing to perform bodily harm on him.
The violence of her thoughts and emotions shocked her. She was a pacifist. She’d attended anti-war demos, for cripes’ sake!
She’d spent the past four months castigating herself for being stupid enough to fall for Pepe Mastrangelo’s seduction. She should have known it wasn’t her he was interested in. After all, he’d never displayed the slightest interest in her before. Not once.
On her frequent trips to Sicily to visit Grace, they would often make a foursome for evenings out. Luca had terrified her, had done from the moment she’d met him. Pepe, on the other hand, had been fun and charming. After a few dates she’d been able to converse with him as easily as she could with Grace. Tall and utterly gorgeous, he was the type of man females from all generations and all persuasions would pause to take a second look at.
However much she’d liked his irreverent company, she’d always known he tagged along on their evenings out as a favour to his big brother’s wife. He would flirt with Cara as much as the next woman, fix his gorgeous dark blue eyes on her and make her feel as if she were the only woman in the world—until he fixed those same eyes on another woman and made her feel exactly the same way. His blatancy had made her laugh. It had also made her feel safe. He was not a man any woman with a sane mind could take seriously.
Well, more fool her for falling for it. She would never make the same mistake again, not for him, not for anyone.
Hadn’t she always known that sex was nothing but a weapon? Hadn’t she witnessed it with her own eyes, the devastation that occurred when grown men and women allowed their hormones to dictate their actions? It ripped lives and families apart.
Pepe was a man who positively revelled in allowing his hormones to lead the way. He thrived on it. To him, she, Cara, had been nothing but a means to an end, the sex between them a perk of the task he had undertaken. His brother had wanted his wife back and Cara’s phone had contained the data with which to find her. The fact that she was a human being with real human feelings had meant nothing. When it came to his family, Pepe was a man without limits.
And that lack of limits had come at a price.
‘I can’t “forget about it and move on”, you feckless, irresponsible playboy, because I’m pregnant.’
CHAPTER TWO
CARA DIDN’T KNOW exactly how Pepe would react to her little statement, but when he finally turned to face her, his wide smile was still firmly in place.
‘Is this your idea of a joke?’
‘No. I’m sixteen weeks pregnant. Congratulations. You’re going to be a daddy.’
His eyes bored into hers but his smile didn’t dim, not by a single wattage. All around them gathered his family. She could feel their curious gazes resting on them. Resting on her.
It was too late to wish she could hide behind Grace as she had done so many times since her teenage years. Whenever she was in a new social situation she would let Grace hold court until her nerves were silenced and she felt capable of speaking without choking on her own tongue. Grace had understood. Grace had protected her.
But Grace had married and moved countries. Grace had also disappeared for the best part of a year, forcing Cara to get her own life in order. She couldn’t keep living her life through her best friend. She needed a life that was her own.
And she’d been getting there. She’d moved back to Ireland, landed a job she loved, albeit at the lowest rung, but it was a start, and even made some new friends. She had truly thought she’d found her own path to some kind of fulfilling life.
Pepe hadn’t just blocked the path, he’d driven a ruddy great bulldozer through it and churned it into rubble.
He’d left her alone, scared and pregnant, with a future that loomed terrifyingly opaque.
Eventually he inclined his head and nodded at the door. ‘Come with me.’
Relieved to get away from all the prying eyes, relieved to have a moment to gather her wits together, she followed him out and into the wide corridor.
Pepe leaned against the stone wall and ran a hand through his thick black hair.
A maid appeared carrying a fresh tray of canapés, which she took into the vast living room.
No sooner had the maid gone when a couple of elderly uncles came out of the same door, laughing between themselves. When they saw Pepe, they pulled him in for some back-breaking hugs and fired a load of questions, all of which Pepe answered with gusto and laughter, as if he hadn’t a single care in the world.
The minute they were alone though, the smile dropped. ‘Let’s get out of here before any more of my relatives try and talk to me.’ He set off in a direction within the converted monastery she’d never been in before.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To my wing.’
He made no allowances for her legs being half the length of his, and she struggled to keep up. ‘What for?’
He flashed her a black look over his shoulder, not slowing his pace for a moment. ‘You really wish to have this conversation in front of fifty Mastrangelos and Lombardis?’
‘Of course not, but I really don’t want to have it in your personal space. Can’t we go somewhere neutral?’
‘No.’ He stopped at a door, unlocked it and held it open. He extended an arm. ‘I’m getting on a flight to Paris in exactly two hours. This is a one-off opportunity to convince me that I have impregnated you.’
She stared at him. She couldn’t read his face. If anything, he looked bored. ‘You think I’m lying?’
‘You wouldn’t be the first woman to lie over a pregnancy.’
Throwing him the most disdainful look she could muster, Cara slipped past him and into his inner sanctum.
Thank God she had no hankering for any sort of future for them. He was a despicable excuse for a human being.
Pepe’s wing, although rarely used, what with him having at least three other places he called home, was exactly what she expected. Unlike the rest of the converted monastery, which remained faithful and sympathetic to the original architecture, this was a proper bachelor pad. It opened straight into a large living space decked with the largest flat-screen television she had seen outside a cinema, and was filled with more gizmos and gadgets than she’d known existed. She doubted she would know how to work a quarter of them.
She stood there, in the midst of all this high-tech luxury, and suddenly felt the first seed of doubt that she was doing the right thing.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘No. Let’s just get this over with.’ Of course she was doing the right thing, she castigated herself. Her unborn child deserved nothing less.
‘Well, I need one.’ He picked up a remote control from a glass table in the centre of the room and pressed a button.
Eyes wide, she watched as the oak panelling on the wall behind him separated and a fully stocked bar emerged.
Pepe mixed himself some concoction she didn’t recognise. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything?’
‘Yes.’
He tipped it down his neck and then fixed his deep blue eyes back to her. ‘Go on, then. Convince me.’
Pursing her lips, she shook her head in distaste. ‘I’m pregnant.’
‘So you’ve already said.’
‘That’s because I am.’
‘How much?’
‘How much what?’
‘Money. How much money are you going to try and extort from me?’
She glared at him. ‘I’m not trying to extort anything from you.’
‘So you don’t want my money?’ he said, his tone mocking.
‘Of course I do.’ It gave great satisfaction to watch his ebony brows shoot up. ‘You have lots of money. I have nothing. I am broke. Boracic. Poor. Whatever you want to call it, I am skint. I’m also carrying a child whose father can afford to pay for a decent cot and wardrobe and a decent place for him or her to live.’
He sucked in air through his teeth. ‘So you are trying to extort money from me.’
