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‘No!’ Clamping her lips together, Cara opened her handbag and took out a brown envelope, from which she pulled a square piece of paper. She handed it to him. ‘There,’ she said tightly. ‘There’s your proof. I’m not trying to extort anything from you. I’m sixteen weeks pregnant. You are going to be a father.’
For a moment Pepe feared he would be sick. His stomach was certainly churning enough for it to happen. And his skin...his skin had gone all cold and clammy; his heart rate tripled.
And no wonder.
If this were a forgery, Cara had done an excellent job.
The square piece of paper clearly showed a kidney bean. Or was it that alien thing he had watched as a child? E.T.? Either way, this was clearly an early-stage foetus. He studied it carefully. There was the name of the Dublin hospital on it, her name, Cara Mary Delaney, her date of birth and the due date of the foetus. He did the maths. Yes. This put her at sixteen weeks pregnant.
It had been sixteen weeks since he’d been to Dublin...
‘You don’t look very pregnant.’ She looked thinner than he had ever seen her. She’d never been fat as such, more cuddly. While she hadn’t transformed into a rake, she’d lost some of her, for want of a better word, squishiness.
‘I’ve been under a lot of stress.’ She gave him a tight smile. ‘Unexpected pregnancy can do that to a woman. But the baby’s perfectly healthy and I’m sure I’ll start showing soon.’
He looked again at the scan picture. Cara was a smart woman but he doubted even she could forge something of this standard. The resolution on this picture was more clearly defined than the one he had held and gazed at for hours on end over a decade ago, but everything else was the same.
Cara was pregnant.
He looked back at her, realising for the first time that she was shaking. It took all his control to keep his own body still.
Dragging air into his lungs, he considered the situation as dispassionately as he could, which was hard. Very hard. His brain felt as if someone had thrown antifreeze into it. ‘Congratulations. You’re going to be a mother. Now tell me, what makes you so certain I’m the father?’
She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. ‘What kind of stupid question is that? Of course you’re the father. You’re the only man I’ve been stupid enough to have sex with.’
‘And I’m supposed to take your word on that, am I?’
‘You know damn well I was a virgin.’
‘I am not disputing that you were a virgin. What I am questioning is my paternity. I have no way of knowing what you got up to after I left. How do I know that after discovering all you’d been missing, you didn’t go trawling for sex—?’
Her hand flew out from nowhere. Crack. Right across his cheek, the force enough to jerk his face to the side.
‘Don’t you dare pull me down to your own pathetically low standards,’ she hissed, her face contorted with anger.
His cheek stung, smarted right where her hand and fingers had made contact. She might be small but she packed a proper punch. He could feel her imprint burrowing under his skin. He raised a hand to it. Her finger marks lay on the long scar that had been inflicted on him when he’d been eighteen. There were still times when he could feel the blade of the knife burn into his skin.
‘I will let you do that this one time,’ he said, speaking carefully, controlling his tone. ‘But if you ever raise a hand to me again you will never see me or my money again.’
Her breaths were shallow. ‘You deserved it.’
‘Why? Because I pointed out that you are expecting me to take you at your word? Trust me, I take no one at their word, especially a woman purporting to be carrying my child.’
‘I am carrying your child.’
‘No—you are carrying a child. Until the child is born and we can get a paternity test done, I do not want to hear any reference to it being mine.’ After what Luisa had done to him, he would never take anything to do with paternity at face value again. Never.
Only fools rushed in twice.
* * *
Cara itched to slap the arrogance off his face again, so much so that she dug her nails into the palms of her hands to find some relief.
If she could, she would leave. But she couldn’t. She hadn’t been exaggerating about the state of her bank balance. Paying for the return flight to Sicily had left her with the grand total of forty-eight euros to last her until payday, which was still a fortnight away. It was one thing living on baked beans on toast when she had only herself to support, but it was quite another when she would soon have a tiny mouth to feed and clothe. And she needed to find a new home, one that allowed children.
When she’d first discovered she was pregnant, her fear had been primitive, a cold, terrifying realisation that within her grew a life, a baby.
Jeez. A baby. She couldn’t remember ever even holding a baby.
That real terror had morphed when the freeze in her brain had abated and the reality of everything that having a child meant had hit her.
A child would depend on her for everything. Love. Stability. Nourishment. Of the three, came the sharp knowledge that she would only be able to provide the first.
At that precise moment, even more so than when she’d taken the pregnancy test, her life had changed irrevocably.
What stability did she have living in a shared rented home that banned children? What nourishment could she provide when she barely earned enough to feed herself? Nappies alone cost a fortune on her salary. Maybe if this had all happened a few years down the line, when she’d scaled the career ladder a little higher and was earning more, things would have been more manageable. But they weren’t. At that moment she had nothing.
‘So that’s it, is it?’ she demanded, fighting with everything she had to keep her tone moderate, to fight the hysteria threatening to take control. ‘What do you want me to do? Give you a ring in five months and tell you if it’s a boy or a girl?’
He speared her with a look. ‘Not at all, cucciola mia.’
Cucciola mia: the endearment that had appropriated itself as his pet name for her during their weekend together. Curiosity had driven her to translate it on the same phone he had stolen from her. She had been more than a little chagrined to learn it meant something along the lines of my puppy. The way he said it though...in Pepe’s thick Sicilian tongue it sounded tantalisingly sexy.
Momentarily distracted at the throwaway endearment, it took a second before she realised he was studying the scan picture.
‘I notice this was taken a month ago,’ he said, referring to the date of the scan shown clearly on the corner.
‘And?’
‘And it’s taken you all this time to tell me. Why is that?’
How she hated his mocking scepticism, as if he were looking for a conspiracy in every little thing.
‘I didn’t tell you any sooner because I don’t trust you an inch—I wanted to be sure I was too far gone for you to force an abortion on me.’
Pepe’s firm, sensuous lips tightened and his eyes narrowed, lines appearing on his forehead. After too long a pause, he said, ‘Why would you think that?’
She almost laughed aloud. ‘You have loved and left so many women it’s become a second career for you. What do you, Playboy of the Year, want with a child?’
His features darkened for the split of a second before his usual laconic grin replaced it. ‘It might make a nice accessory for pulling more women.’
She would have believed he was serious if the granite in his eyes hadn’t said otherwise. She gave an involuntary shiver.
‘Do you think I was oblivious to the disparaging comments you made about babies?’ she demanded. ‘Do you think I didn’t notice you rolling your eyes whenever Grace and Luca discussed having kids?’
‘So that’s proof I would demand an abortion, is it?’
‘You made it perfectly clear that kids are not and never will be on your agenda.’
A tiny pulse pounded on his jawline. After a loaded pause, he said, ‘Say a paternity test proves it is mine. What do you expect from me? Marriage?’
‘No!’ She practically shouted her denial. ‘No. I do not want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anyone.’
‘That’s a relief,’ he drawled, heading back to his bar to pour himself another glass of his concoction. ‘But in case you’re only saying what you think I want to hear, know marriage will never be on the cards, whatever the outcome of the paternity test.’
Had he drugged her? For a moment she actually considered the possibility. She could hardly credit she had allowed him to seduce her so thoroughly.
She looked back on their weekend together. It was as if she had been under some kind of drug that allowed the hormones so prevalent in the rest of society to actually work in her. For the first time in her life she had experienced desire. It had been the headiest feeling imaginable.
She had wanted to believe he was serious about her.
She had wanted to believe they could have a future together.
An image of her parents flashed in her head. Was this what it had been like for them? Especially her father, who’d hooked up with a new woman on a seemingly weekly basis. With all the affairs he’d had and all her parents’ fights and making up, had they constantly experienced that same headiness? Was that what had caused their monstrous selfishness?
She blinked the image away. She would not be like her mother and think only of her own needs. Her unborn child’s needs would always take priority, whatever the personal sacrifice.
‘I’m glad you think that way because, believe me, I have no intention of marrying you.’ She’d rather marry an orang-utan.
‘Good. People who marry for the sake of the baby are fools. And I am not a fool.’
She glared at him. ‘I can think of many a choice word to describe you but fool isn’t one of them.’
‘Then we are on the same page,’ he mocked.
‘About marriage, then yes, but, Pepe, I need help. Financially, I am in no position to support a child.’
‘So you thought you would come to me.’ He tipped his drink down his neck in one swallow.
‘If you think for a second I like the idea of having to beg you for money then you have a very twisted view of me. I’ve come to you for help because this is your responsibility...’
‘You’re going to pin the blame for this on me?’
‘I’m not the one who got carried away,’ she countered pointedly. Warmth spread inside her as she recalled lying in his arms after they’d made love for the first time. Pepe’s usual languidness had gone. A more serious, reflective side of his nature had come to the fore, a side she’d never seen before. As they’d talked and his face had come closer to hers, she’d found herself staring at his lips. And he’d been staring at hers. And even though they had made love barely ten minutes before, the heat he had created inside her and she in him had flared back to life, and he’d rolled on top of her and kissed her—devoured her—and before either of them had been fully aware of it, he’d been inside her. If she’d thought having him inside her the first time had been something special...this had been indescribable. For what had felt an age, they had simply lain there, gazing into each other’s eyes, before he had reluctantly withdrawn to get a condom.
That one stolen moment had been enough to create a life.
‘I hardly think that was enough to make a baby,’ he said, his tone becoming grim.
‘Well, it was. You used me, Pepe. Whether you like it or not, you are responsible.’
It sickened him to know she could be right.
You are responsible.
Despite the playboy image he had cultivated—an image he exulted in—Pepe couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so reckless.
Actually, he could remember. The last time he’d made love to a woman without using a condom he’d been eighteen. Young and believing himself to be in love. A lethal combination.
It hadn’t been a conscious decision to enter Cara unsheathed. At the time it had felt like the most natural thing in the world. Not that he’d been thinking properly. He’d been reeling from the discovery that she was—had been—a virgin. He’d also been struggling to understand everything going on inside him.
Usually he would make love to a woman and get back into bed, have a fun conversation, drink a glass of wine or whatever, maybe make love again and then leave without a second thought or a backward glance. He’d never got back into bed with a churning stomach and a tight chest before. He could only assume it was guilt he’d been feeling. Guilt at her virginity or guilt at what he’d had to do, he did not know.
Guilt or not, he’d never got back into bed with a woman and needed to make love to her all over again. Not straight away. For all his reputation, Pepe thought with his brain, not the appendage between his legs. At least he had until that night with Cara.
But he hadn’t been inside her for long enough to make a baby. It had been a minute at the most. But caro Dio, he’d had to force himself to withdraw and get that condom. Being inside her without a barrier...
His groin twitched as more sweet memories filled him.
For that one minute inside her, he’d felt a sense of sheer wonderment and belonging...
‘I need a coffee,’ he muttered. He wanted another drink—a proper drink—but knew it was time to stop. A plan was formulating and he needed to think clearly. ‘Can I get you anything?’
Cara shook her head. She was leaning against the wall, arms folded, chin jutted up, looking ready for a fight.
By the time he’d made a quick call to the kitchen, his plan was fully developed. Cara could like it or lump it. If she wanted a fight, she had to learn it was one she would never win.
CHAPTER THREE
‘SIT DOWN.’
It was a definite command.
Cara tightened her arms around her chest and pressed harder into the wall, which was the only thing keeping her upright—her legs were shot. Not that she could trust the wall. For all she knew, it might be hiding a secret bathroom. The only saving grace was that her dress was long enough to hide her knocking knees.
But even if her legs could be trusted to behave, there was no way she would obey. She didn’t care how rich and powerful Pepe was in his world, she would not grant him power over her, no matter how petty. Not without a fight.
‘Suit yourself.’ He lowered himself onto one of the oversized chocolate leather sofas, stretched out his long legs, kicked off his shoes and flashed a grin.
Her knees shook even harder.
How she hated that bloody grin. It was so...fake. And it did something ridiculous to the beat of her heart, which was hammering so hard she wouldn’t be in the least surprised if it burst through her chest.
‘I can see you are in a difficult predicament,’ he said, hooking an arm behind his head and mussing his hair.
She inhaled slowly, getting as much oxygen into her lungs as she could. ‘That’s one way to describe it.’
‘I have a solution that will suit us both.’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘It involves sacrifice on both our parts.’ He shot her a warning glance before displaying his white teeth. ‘But I can assure you that if I am the father of your child as you say, the sacrifice will be worth it.’
What the heck did Pepe Mastrangelo know about sacrifice? His whole life revolved around nothing but his pleasure.
She nodded tightly. ‘Go on.’
‘You will live with me until the child is born. Then we shall have a paternity test. If it proves positive, as you say it will, then I will buy you a home of your choice. And, of course, support you both financially.’
