One Night: Sizzling Attraction: Married for Amari's Heir / Damaso Claims His Heir / Her Secret, His Duty
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There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she said.
A smiling woman in a lab coat walked through the door, and Charity smiled back. And then a man followed her, dressed in a perfectly fitted black suit, his black hair combed off his forehead, his dark eyes glittering with some sort of intense emotion she could not readily identify. One she didn’t want to identify. Any more than she wanted to identify the man himself.
Rocco was here. And she felt as though she had been punched.
“Well, now that the father is here, I suppose we’re ready to begin,” the doctor said.
“Such a surprise,” Charity said, her hackles rising. “Rocco,” she said, his first name strange on her lips, “I didn’t expect you.”
“I would imagine not. I didn’t expect me. And yet, here I am.” He didn’t sound very happy about it.
She smoothed the gown down, ensuring that it covered as much of her legs as possible. “I don’t really see how it’s possible for you to surprise yourself.”
She was shocked, but she was doing her best not to let him see it. She promised herself she wouldn’t give him any more of who she was. He didn’t deserve it. A mark never did. And he had already had enough of her.
“We live in strange and interesting times,” he said, taking a seat in one of the chairs that sat opposite the exam table.
The doctor looked from her to Rocco, and back to her.
“Everything is fine,” Rocco said, not bothering to look at Charity. “Just a little spat.”
Charity snorted. “Yes, a lover’s quarrel.” What a joke. She and Rocco could hardly be called lovers. They’d had sex. At its most base level. Love hadn’t come into it. Like hadn’t even been involved. He had used her. Humiliated her.
“So what is it that we are waiting for?” Rocco said, looking around as though he was expecting something grand, as though she was going to deliver the baby here and now.
The doctor blinked, then turned to the computer, entering a password, and bringing up Charity’s chart. “Well, Charity, your weight looks good. And everything was normal with the urine sample.”
Ridiculous, considering Rocco had seen her naked, but the mention of fluids made Charity’s cheeks heat. “Well, that’s good to know.”
“And, now we’re just going to try and see if we can hear a heartbeat. If we can’t get it on the Doppler, it could just be because it’s so early. So there’s no need to be concerned. But it is nice to try and establish viability this way if we can.”
Rocco was staring at her, hard. Maybe this was what he was here for. The chance to hear the heartbeat. To see if she was telling the truth. Though, she would have thought that he might send a lackey to ascertain this sort of information. She could just picture his secretary sitting here, waiting to report back. She would find that less disconcerting.
The doctor stood and put on a pair of rubber gloves. “Could you lie down please?”
Charity shot a look over to Rocco. “Please come and stand up by my shoulders.”
“You did not conceive the baby on your own,” he said, his tone laconic. “We both know I’ve seen it before.”
Even the doctor blinked at him in shock. “You will have to forgive him,” Charity said. “He was raised by wolves. They did a terrible job.”
Rocco shrugged, a rather wolfish smile crossing his features. “The founder of Rome was also raised by wolves. I consider myself in good company.”
Charity rolled her eyes. “Oh, great Caesar, come and stand up by my shoulders.”
She was surprised when he complied. But maybe he was just tired of the delay. He moved up to the head of the exam table, and she lay down. The doctor retrieved a sheet from beneath the cabinet and laid it over Charity’s lap.
The doctor adjusted the gown, then squirted some warm gel onto Charity’s stomach. She took a small wand and placed it over the gel, sliding it around, a strange, watery sound filling the room. She moved it lower, and lower still. And suddenly a pulsing sound rose up over the baseline noise.
“That’s it,” the doctor said, her tone bright. “That’s the baby’s heartbeat.”
Charity looked up at Rocco, then immediately wished she hadn’t. She didn’t care what his reaction was. At least, she shouldn’t care. But truly, she had imagined he would have no reaction at all, and that was clearly not the case.
His face had turned to stone, as hard and immobile as a statue.
He was truly beautiful, and it was an inconvenient moment to think of it. But he was the father of her baby and that realization made her study his features that much more closely. The golden tone to his skin, the hard, angular lines of his cheekbones, his jaw. The sensual curve of his mouth.
Her child would be half of him. Would he have the same sulky expression? Dark straight hair like his father? Or a riot of black curls like her?
Rocco’s frown deepened. “It does not sound like a heartbeat,” he said, the mocking edge smoothed from his voice. He sounded...strange. Uncertain.
“It does to me,” the doctor said, clearly not at all intimidated by Rocco.
There was an odd light in Rocco’s dark eyes, something she couldn’t put a name to. “It’s very fast,” he said, and if Charity wasn’t so cynical about him, she might have thought she heard concern in his voice.
“Normal,” the doctor said. “Strong, and absolutely nothing to worry about.” She directed her focus to Charity.
“She is pregnant,” Rocco said, not a question.
The doctor’s brows shot up again. “Absolutely.”
A deep groove formed between his dark brows. “I see,” he said, his tone stoic now. “And I hear.”
For a while, no one spoke at all. There was only the sound of the baby’s heartbeat, and on the monitor, a wavy line that moved with each beat. A band that seemed to stretch between Rocco and herself, tightening a bond between them she hadn’t realized was there.
Charity wished it would go away.
“Do you have any questions for me?” the doctor asked, breaking into Charity’s internal monologue.
Charity shook her head, suddenly unable to say anything. Unable to think at all.
“Then I’ll see you in four weeks for your next appointment. Everything seems right on schedule. Nothing to worry about.” Charity could think of about fifty things to worry about without even trying.
The doctor removed the wand from her stomach and wiped away the gel with the sheet that was over her lap. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.”
And then she left, leaving Charity and Rocco alone.
“Would you go please?”
“Why?” Rocco asked, sitting back down in the chair he had been in before. Any softening, any humanity she thought she might have glimpsed a moment ago was gone now.
“I need to get dressed.”
He put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “You’re being so charmingly modest. We both know you possess quite a bit more boldness.”
“Fine. If you’re looking for a show, enjoy.” She stood from the exam table, letting the sheet fall to the floor. The gown covered her until she turned her back on him, and she knew she was revealing everything to him then. She untied the top of the gown and let it fall completely. Then she set about getting dressed.
She was too angry to be embarrassed. She didn’t care if he looked. He was right, he had already seen her. He had touched her. He was the reason things were like this.
Once all of her clothing was on, she turned to face him. He was staring at her, dark eyes glittering. “I should’ve charged admission for that,” she said.
“I found the ingénue much more charming. Perhaps you could revert back?”
“Oh, I think you and I both know that I can’t play the ingénue now. I seem to have lost my innocence somewhere.”
A half smile curved his lips. “And so you have. Though, I’m starting to think that virginity is not necessarily innocence.”
She shrugged. “I won’t argue with you there.”
“Is this an admission of guilt?”
“Certainly not. I’m only saying my innocence is unconnected to whether or not I’ve slept with a man.”
“You really were a virgin, weren’t you?”
She lifted her chin, staring him down. “Is it important?”
He looked back at her, and for a moment she thought she saw something in his dark gaze, something that looked strikingly like guilt. But then it was gone, replaced with the smooth, impenetrable expression she’d come to expect from him. “Not particularly. If I had a conscience, I suppose it might be a little dented by the realization. Happy for both of us I don’t. Though, it might bear weight on how convinced I am that this is my child,” he said, directing his gaze at her stomach.
“It is your child. There was no one else before you, and no one else after you.” She watched his expression carefully for more clues. And was disappointed. So she pushed harder. “Makes it difficult for you to vilify me, doesn’t it?”
“You might find this strange,” he said, his tone hard. “But I’m not here to vilify you.”
“Well, you certainly aren’t here to shower me with flowers and compliments. So why are you here?”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“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
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.
Seven. Six. Five.
He might have brought her here, but he did not control her.
Four. Three. Two.
All of the vulnerability he had made her feel back in the hotel room was over now. She was impervious to it. Impervious to him.
One.
She stepped off the bottom stair and looked up. Rocco was there, his dark eyes clashing with hers, his hand extended toward her.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart hammering hard, her stomach twisting.
“So pleased you could join me,” he said, appraising her slowly. “I knew that color would suit you.”
“You can’t imagine how relieved I am that you approve of my appearance. I was deeply concerned.”
“Come now, must everything be a fight?” He kept his hand extended. “Take my hand.”
“No thank you, I can walk just fine. Probably better without you leading me off a cliff. Oh, look. I suppose everything does have to be a fight.”
He arched a brow and lowered his hand. “Dinner is back this way on the terrace. And while it does overlook a cliff, I have no desire to walk you off it.”
“You expect me to trust you? I don’t trust anyone,” she said, following him through the expensive living area, her shoes loud on the marble floor.
“I see. And why is it that you don’t trust anyone? Because I find that a curious stance for someone like yourself. I could understand a victim of yours no longer trusting people.”
“I don’t have victims,” she said, her tone crisp. “They’re called marks.”
“Admitting something?”
“No,” she said, looking away, her heart beating a bit faster, “I’m not.”
“You will not convince me of your innocence. You might as well drop the denial.”
She rolled her eyes. “So I should give you a full, signed confession?”
“You could start by simply answering my question.”