скачать книгу бесплатно
“What do you mean you’ve changed your mind?”
He stood, pacing the room. “I have decided the child support isn’t enough. I have decided that I want my child.” He paused, dark eyes boring into hers. “Not only do I want my child, I want you.”
CHAPTER FIVE (#ue77fbab4-6d04-5b9e-b503-4af7f9d06650)
HE HAD SUCCEEDED in shocking her. She was simply staring at him, her large, dark eyes wide, her lush lips parted.
“Was there something confusing about what I just said?” he asked.
He felt a twinge of something in his stomach. A slight bit of... Had he been any other man he might have thought it was insecurity. But that was impossible. Still, he was questioning his methods. He did not seem to be winning her over to his side with his current tactic.
But he despised the need to try and woo her. Especially considering that he still believed her to be a thief. But, perhaps treating her so harshly was not helpful.
He decided to try something slightly different. “What I mean to say is, I am keeping the child. And I am keeping you as well, as I find the idea of our child being without a mother unacceptable. I am still missing a million dollars. I do not feel as though keeping you in exchange is unreasonable.”
Her expression contorted, this time anger replacing shock.
He had the feeling he had not selected the proper method.
“You can’t...keep me. What does that even mean? You cannot keep a person.”
He frowned. “Certainly I can. I have a villa on the Amalfi Coast. And I intend to take you there.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am serious. I’m very serious. In fact, I intend to take you at once.”
“I can’t leave,” she said, her dark eyes shifting to the left. “Who will feed my cat?”
“You have a cat?”
She met his gaze again, her expression ferocious. “No, but I could.”
“There, you have no cat. There is no issue. It’s settled. You are leaving with me. Now.”
She blinked rapidly. “What about my job?”
“What about your job?” he said, waving his hand. “You are a waitress. And as the mother of my child, you will never have to wait tables again.”
“I don’t understand. Just a couple of weeks ago you sent me away, promising me no contact, and money.” She sounded desperate and angry.
Yes, he had said all that. But at the time he’d been knocked so flat by her revelation his reaction had been...much less than gracious. And he’d decided he didn’t believe her, because it was easier. She couldn’t be pregnant, not by him. Not when he’d used a condom.
He had decided that she probably wasn’t pregnant at all. But then the dreams of that wide-eyed little girl had continued to plague him. And so he’d decided to come down to the doctor’s appointment and prove it.
But Charity had been at the appointment. And then...and then the heartbeat.
And he had known in that moment it was his child. Had believed that, in this instance, she spoke the truth.
But he didn’t want her to be too confident in that just yet. Not while he was still sorting through his feelings.
“And you seemed to want me in the child’s life.”
“I don’t need you in the child’s life,” she said, “I only need child support.”
“I disagree.”
“You said that you didn’t want to be a father,” she said.
“And yet, it seems I’m going to be one. Want has nothing to do with it. But for stronger scruples or a stronger condom, we wouldn’t be in this mess. But alas, we had neither. Still, I think the situation can be salvaged.”
“I felt it had been salvaged rather well already.”
“Why? Because you got my money?” Perfect, chilled rage, rushed through his veins. “What do you plan to do with the child? Farm it out to relatives? An elderly aunt? No doubt while you continued to collect my money.”
“No, I intend to raise my baby. But I don’t need you to do it,” she said, lifting her chin, her expression defiant.
“I have as much right as you. I am the child’s father.”
“And, not to put too fine a point on it, I hate you.”
He chuckled. “Am I supposed to be bothered by that? You are not the first woman to hate me, and I daresay you will not be the last. However, you are the first woman to carry my child. And I will have you both. This is nonnegotiable.”
“Or else?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, her dark eyes glittering.
“Prison is still an option,” he ground out.
She blinked rapidly. “You wouldn’t really send me to jail.”
“They take very good care of pregnant women in prison.” He looked at her, watched as the fear took hold of her. Good. Let her understand that he wasn’t giving hollow threats. He was not a man to be trifled with. Most especially by a woman who had wronged him. “I would hate to explain to our child that its mother was a criminal, but I will do what I must.”
“You bastard,” she said.
“Guilty. And you might want to be careful throwing that term around, as technically, our child is a bastard, too.”
Her dark eyes glittered. “How dare you?”
“That is the reality of the situation we find ourselves in, cara mia. If you do not like it, take steps to change it.”
“What steps?”
He lifted a shoulder. “You could always marry me,” he said.
It was the most extreme version of his plan, but not one he was entirely uncomfortable with. He saw no reason why marriage should affect his lifestyle in any way. Or hers. But it would at least provide a comfortable framework for his child’s life. That was something he had lacked growing up, and he didn’t want his child to lack in the same ways.
It was part of his growing obsession.
Ever since that night, the night after she had come to tell him about the baby, he had been plagued by the same nightmare over and over again. The empty house, the searching child. The child that eventually became his.
And he had known then what he had to do.
He had grown into an entirely selfish man over the years. He knew that. He had not connected with a single person since the death of his mother. The homes he had bounced between offered him nothing—no comfort, no love. And when he had gone into the workforce, he had approached things with a single-minded ruthlessness. Life on the street had taught him early on that you had to look out for yourself, because no one else would.
His mother’s fate had taught him that you had to be the most dangerous person in the alley, or you would become a victim.
Rocco Amari refused to become a victim.
And yet, he felt connected to this child. The child in his dream. He had no way of knowing if it was a vision of some kind. In fact, he was certain it wasn’t, because he didn’t believe in such things. But he didn’t feel he could ignore it, either.
His sleeplessness had driven him here. To confirm the pregnancy, to confirm what he must do. The moment the sound of the baby’s heartbeat had filled the room, he had known. No matter the cost, he would create a family. A stable environment.
He was determined.
“Are you insane?” she asked, taking a step back.
“No.”
“You say that with a lot of confidence, for someone I’m pretty certain is insane,” she said, shaking her head, a curtain of glossy curls swirling around her. She truly was beautiful. It was a shame she was a criminal.
“You don’t need to answer that now. But you will come back to the island with me now.”
“Or prison?”
He smiled. “Or prison. Yet again, I feel it’s a fairly easy choice.”
“I should have run.”
“Before or after the con?”
She paled, an ashen tone running beneath her cream-and-coffee skin. “I don’t want to talk anymore,” she said.
“Too close to the bone?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
He advanced on her, closing the space between them. And as the air shrank, his chest tightened, his blood running harder, faster. There was something about her, something that called to him. Something elemental. He could not fathom it.
“Did we ever?” They were not the words he meant to speak, and yet he found it was an honest question.
He wondered if there had ever been a choice where she was concerned. If, rather than being the woman he was certain had been a part of stealing his money, he had spotted her in a crowded bar, they would have ended up in bed together.
If, no matter the circumstances, their connection would have been forged.
“I didn’t,” she said.
“You made your choice when you agreed to help your father steal my money. And now I am the one making the choices. You will come with me. Now. I do not make empty threats, and I think you know that.”
“Well then,” she said, her voice strangled. “Perhaps you should show me to your private jet.”
“I will. Make no mistake, cara, you are mine now. And by the end of next week, I will decide what exactly I am going to do with you.”
* * *
For the second time Charity found herself looking at a set of written instructions, and a garment bag.
She still felt as if she was dreaming. Only, it wasn’t a particularly good dream. They had left the doctor’s appointment, only to get on a plane and fly overnight to Italy. Rocco had spent the entire flight ignoring her, which suited her just fine. She’d slept most of the way, and she assumed he had been working, or whatever it was he was doing on his computer. Possibly looking at pictures of women in bikinis. She didn’t really care.
He’d continued his silence on the car ride through the city and up a winding mountain road. Charity had tried to appear blasé about the whole experience. From the moment they had boarded his private plane, until they had touched down in a country she had never even dreamed of visiting. But she’d found it was impossible. Especially when faced with the beauty of Italy.
The narrow streets, tall buildings, cluttered balconies and brightly colored flowers on climbing vines were too beautiful for her to ignore. She’d pressed her nose to the glass of the limo they were riding in and watched as the road widened, the buildings became more sparse, stared in awe at the intense jade ocean down at the bottom of the rocky cliffs.
And once the expansive villa had come into view, she’d had to fight to keep her mouth from dropping open.
Now she was inside, installed in her bedroom, which was larger than the New York hotel suite Rocco had seduced her in. It was expensive, light and airy, with white curtains and flowing white linens cascading over the wrought-iron frame of the bed.
And yet, there was a heaviness in her chest that she could not shake.
And now the note.
You will join me for dinner. You will wear the dress that I have provided. We have much to discuss.
—R
This scenario felt far too familiar for her liking. And the worst part was, much like the first time, she was in no position to refuse him.
She blinked, her eyes feeling gritty. The time change and restless sleep on the airplane was starting to catch up with her. She took her shirt off, and her skirt, then unzipped the garment bag to find a bright yellow dress made of a light fabric that looked as if it would be comfortable in the heat.
She had expected a corset and garter belt, so it was a pleasant surprise.
She slipped the dress on over her head and turned to look at herself in the mirror. Unfortunately, she looked as tired as she felt. Deep purple circles marked the skin beneath her eyes, and she was certain that there was a permanent line etched in her forehead that had not been there BR.
Before Rocco.
She sighed and took her hair out of its clip, running her fingers through the glossy dark curls that she had always imagined were a gift from her mother. A thick, unruly gift that made getting ready a chore. A fitting present from a woman who had never once bothered to check on the child she had given birth to.
She reached down and picked up her purse, taking out her bright pink lipstick and smearing a bit over her lips. The effect brightened her face some, made her look less tired. Made her look less worn down. She needed that. That little bit of armor in place so that he didn’t just think he had won. So that he didn’t assume he had the upper hand.
She arched one dark brow at her own reflection. “You are in his villa, in a foreign country. A country where you don’t speak the language. He’s a billionaire. And you are not even a thousandaire. There is no question who has the upper hand.”
She sighed and turned away from the mirror.
She didn’t know how she was going to get out of this, but she would be damned if she betrayed herself to him.
She opened the door to the bedroom, running a countdown in her mind as she walked slowly down the hallway that led to the sweeping curved staircase. She put her hand on the polished wooden banister and let her fingers glide across the smooth, cool surface as she made her way down to the opulent entryway.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
She was strong. She would hold her own.
