Claiming His One-Night Baby

CHAPTER TWO

THE WORLD AROUND them blocked itself out and, without a word being said, Matteo crossed the threshold, kicked the door shut behind him and lifted her into his arms.

Their eyes locked together. Her fingers burrowed in the nape of his neck and he carried her up the stairs and into a bedroom. There he laid her on the bed and, his heart hammering in his throat, closed his eyes and brought his lips to hers.

Her taste...

When she parted her lips and his tongue swept into her mouth, the sweet, intoxicating taste he’d never forgotten filled him and from that moment he was lost.

In a frenzy of hands and heady kisses, they stripped each other’s clothes off, items thrown without thought, a desperation to be naked and for their bodies to be flush together. Then he speared her hair with his fingers and crushed her mouth to his, teeth and tongues clashing as if they were trying to peel the other’s skin and climb inside.

There were no thoughts, no words, only this potent madness that had them both in its grip.

He cupped her small perfect breasts then took them into his mouth, her moan of pleasure soaking right into his bloodstream. He ran his hands over her smooth belly and followed it with his tongue before going lower to inhale her musky heat.

He devoured her, not an inch of her creamy skin with the texture of silk left untouched or without his kiss.

Never had he experienced anything like this, this combustible, primal need to taste her, mark her, to imprint himself into her.

To worship her.

Natasha was adrift in a world she’d never been to before, Matteo her anchor, and she clung to him as if he were all that was left to hold onto, dragging her fingers through his hair, touching every bit of smooth skin she could reach with her needy hands. Every touch seared her, every kiss scorched.

His kiss from seven years ago had flicked something on inside her, a heat that had briefly smouldered before the direction of her life had extinguished it. Now he’d switched it back on and it engulfed her, flames licking every part of her, heat burning deep inside her, an ache so acute she didn’t know where the pleasure ended and the pain began. She could cry with the wonder of it all. All those years of living without this...

And it wasn’t enough. She needed more. She needed everything.

As if sensing her thoughts, Matteo snaked his tongue back up her stomach and over her breasts, climbing higher to find her mouth and kiss her with such passion that it sucked the air from her lungs.

His hand found her thigh and pushed it out while she moved the other and wrapped her legs around him.

His erection brushed her folds and she gasped for breath at the weight and hardness of it then gasped again when he pushed his way inside her.

There was no pain, there was too much heat and fire racing through her for that, just a slight discomfort as her body adjusted to this dizzying newness.

And then there was a moment of stillness from Matteo, a pause in the frenzy.

Suddenly terrified he’d sensed or felt something wrong, she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him deeply, hungrily.

And then she forgot to worry, forgot about everything but this moment, this time, and welcomed his lovemaking, the feel of him inside her, the pleasure taking over, taking her higher and higher until the pulsations burst through her and rippled into every part of her being.

As she absorbed these beautiful sensations with wonder, Matteo’s movements quickened, his lips found hers and with a long moan into her mouth, he shuddered before collapsing on her.

For a long time they simply lay there, still saying nothing, the only sound their ragged breaths and the beats of their hearts echoing together through their tightly fused bodies.

Then, as the sensations subsided and the heat that had engulfed them cooled, something else took its place.

Horror.

She heard Matteo swallow into her neck, then his weight shifted and he rolled off her, swung his legs over the bed, and swore, first in his native Italian and then in English.

Coldness chilled her skin.

It was just as well she was lying down for if she’d been on her feet she was certain her legs would have given way beneath her.

What had they just done?

How had it happened?

She couldn’t explain it. She doubted he could either.

Feeling very much that she could be sick, she stared up at the ceiling and tried to get air into her tight lungs. If she could get her vocal cords to unfreeze she might very well swear too.

After a few deep breaths to steady himself, Matteo got to his feet and went in search of his discarded clothing.

He needed to get out of this house. Right now.

He found his shirt under her dress. One of his socks was rolled in a nest with her bra.

Nausea swirled violently inside him.

What had they just done?

Why the hell had he got out of his damned car? Why hadn’t he driven off?

He pulled on his black trousers, not bothering to do the button up, then shrugged his shirt on, not caring it was inside out.

His other sock had rolled half under the small dressing table that had only a thin glass of dried flowers on it. That this was clearly a guest room was the only mercy he could take from this.

Stuffing his socks into his jacket pocket, he slid his feet into his brogues and strode to the door. Just as he was about to make his escape a thought hit him like a hammer to the brain.

His hands clenched into fists as recriminations at his complete and utter stupidity raged through him, every curse he knew hollering in his head.

Slowly he turned around to look at her.

She hadn’t moved an inch since he’d rolled off her, her hands gripping the bedsheets, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. But then, as if feeling the weight of his gaze upon her, she turned her face towards him and wide, terrified eyes met his.

That one look confirmed everything.

It didn’t need to be said.

Natasha knew as surely as he did that the madness that had taken them had been total.

They had failed to use protection.

And he knew as surely as she did that Natasha wasn’t on the Pill. Pieta himself had told him they were trying for a baby.

A thousand emotions punching through him, he left without a single word exchanged between them, strode quickly across the street and into his car.

Only when he was alone in it did the roar of rage that had built in his chest come out and he slammed his fists onto the steering wheel, thumping it with all the force he could muster, then gripped his head in his hands and dug his fingers tightly into his skull.

Another twenty minutes passed before he felt even vaguely calm enough to drive away.

He didn’t look at the house again.

Two weeks later

It was taking everything Natasha had not to bite her fingernails. It was taking even more not to open one of the bottles of Prosecco that had been in the fridge since Pieta’s funeral. She hadn’t drunk any alcohol since the wake. If she started drinking she feared she would never stop.

Francesca was due any minute to go through the plans for the hospital they were going to build in Pieta’s memory. To no one’s surprise it had taken her sister-in-law only one week to buy the site and get the necessary permissions to develop on it. Her sister-in-law was possibly the most determined person Natasha knew and she wished she had an ounce of her drive and a fraction of her tenacity.

For herself, she seemed to have lost whatever drive she’d ever had. She felt so tired, like she could sleep for a lifetime.

Where this lethargy had come from she didn’t know, had to assume it was one of those stages of grief she’d been told to expect. Everyone was an expert on grief, it seemed. Everyone was watching her, waiting for her to crumble under the weight of it.

And despite everything, she was grieving, but not for the reasons everyone thought. Her grief was not for the future she had lost, but the seven years she and Matteo had both wasted.

Mixed in with it all was that awful sick feeling in her belly whenever she remembered how the night of the funeral had ended.

God, she didn’t want to think about that but no matter how hard she tried to block the memories, they was always there with her.

The bell rang out.

She blew a long puff of air from her lungs and tried to compose herself while the housekeeper let Francesca in.

Footsteps sounded through the huge ground floor of the house Natasha had shared with Pieta and then Francesca entered the study with her brother, Daniele. It was the figure who appeared behind her brother-in-law that almost shattered the poise Natasha had forced on herself.

As was the custom with her Italian in-laws, exuberant kisses and tight embraces were exchanged with whispered platitudes and words of comfort. Then it was time to greet Matteo.

Bracing herself, she placed a hand loosely on his shoulder, felt his hand rest lightly on her hip as they leaned in together to go through the motions of something neither could forgo without arousing suspicion. When the stubble on his warm jaw scratched her cheek she was hit by the vivid memory of that same cheek scratching her inner thigh and had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut to block the image, something she must forget.

But she could smell his skin and the scent of his cologne. Smell him. Feel the strength of his body, the curls of his dark hair between her fingers...

It had been a terrible mistake, something neither of them had needed to vocalise.

She didn’t know it was possible for someone to hate themselves as much as she hated herself. She owed Pieta absolutely nothing, she knew that, but...

She just couldn’t believe it had happened. Couldn’t believe she had lost all control of herself, couldn’t work out how it had happened or why.

It was as if some madness had taken hold of them both.

For one hour she had left behind the girl who had done everything she could to please her parents to the point of abandoning the life she’d so desperately wanted, and had found the hidden woman who had never been allowed to exist.

Protection had been the last thing on either of their minds.

They’d been stupid and so, so reckless.

Francesca hadn’t said she would be bringing her brother and cousin with her. It hadn’t occurred to Natasha to ask. Daniele and Matteo both ran enormously successful businesses that took them all over the world. She’d assumed their input for the hospital—especially Matteo’s—would come at a later date.

But then she looked properly at Francesca and understood why Daniele at least had stuck around in Pisa. Her sister-in-law looked more bereft than she had at Pieta’s funeral. More than bereft. Like the light that had always shone brightly inside her had been extinguished. Daniele would never leave his sister in this state.

And Francesca looked closely at Natasha in turn. ‘Are you okay? You look pale.’

She gave a rueful shrug. None of them could pretend they were okay. ‘I’m just tired.’

‘You’re holding your back. Does it hurt?’

‘A little.’

The housekeeper brought in a tray of coffee and biscotti, which distracted them all from Natasha’s health. They sat around the large dining table onto which Francesca placed a stack of files.

Natasha couldn’t even remember what the meeting was for. Matteo being under the same roof as her had turned her brain into a colander.

Why had he come? Was it to punish her?

Every time she’d seen him over the past seven years had been a punishment she’d accepted. She’d let him kiss her and then hours later had agreed to marry someone else, in front of him, in front of everyone. Not just someone else, but his cousin and closest friend. She’d let the moment when she should have told him about Pieta slip by in the haze of his kiss.

Would things have been different if she’d told him, either then or in the weeks beforehand when Pieta’s intentions had suddenly become clear? Or would the outcome have been the same?

She’d called and left dozens of messages but Matteo had never answered and he’d never responded. He’d cut her off as effectively as he’d wielded his scalpel.

If things had been different, though, would her life have been any happier? She’d long stopped believing that. Matteo wasn’t the man she’d thought him to be. He wasn’t a man any woman with an ounce of sanity would consider spending her life with unless she was a masochist. It wasn’t just a love of wealth he’d developed since the days she’d fancied herself in love with him; he’d developed a hedonistic streak to match it. No man who had a new woman on his arm every week could ever be content to settle down with only one.

Daniele took control of the meeting, explaining where they were with the project and how he and Matteo were planning a trip to Caballeros in the next couple of weeks. It was hoped construction would begin soon after.

‘That quick?’ Natasha found the energy to ask.

‘It’s Caballeros, not Europe,’ Daniele answered with a shrug. ‘Bureaucracy doesn’t exist there in the way we know it.’

‘Have you had any publicity ideas?’ Francesca asked, reminding Natasha of the role she’d agreed to take in the project.

‘I’m sorry, but no.’ She stared at the polished surface of the table in her shame. All she’d done these past two weeks was drift. ‘I’ll get thinking and send you some ideas over the next few days.’ She rubbed her temples, hoping she wasn’t promising something she would fail to see through. The more publicity they had for it the more donations they would receive, the more donations they received the more staff they could employ.

Dull thuds pounded behind her eyes. As Pieta’s next of kin this was her responsibility. Everything concerning her husband’s foundation now rested on her shoulders and so far she’d abdicated all responsibility for it.

She would abdicate that responsibility for ever if it was in her power.

At some point soon she would have to think things through clearly but right now her head was so full yet so loose that she could hardly decide what she wanted to eat for her breakfast never mind make decisions that carried real importance.

She couldn’t carry on like this. She didn’t know if it was shock at Pieta’s death or what had happened with Matteo that had her like this but she had to get a grip on herself.

There was a whole new future out there waiting for her and sooner or later she needed to figure out what she wanted from it. So far, all she knew with any real certainty was that she would spend it alone. She would never remarry. She would never allow anyone, not a man, not her parents, to have control over her again.

Francesca raised a weary shoulder. ‘There’s no rush. The end of the week will be fine.’

Eventually the ordeal was over. Chairs were scraped back as her family by marriage rose to leave. Following suit, Natasha rose too but as she stood, a wave of dizziness crashed over her and she grabbed hold of the table for support.

Francesca, who’d been sitting next to her, was the first to spot something amiss and took hold of her wrist. ‘Are you okay?’

Natasha nodded, although she felt far from okay. ‘I’m just tired. I should probably eat something.’

Francesca studied her a while longer before letting her go. ‘You know where I am if you need me.’

Considering that Francesca looked as bad as Natasha felt, the suggestion was laughable, but it had come from her sister-in-law’s kind heart so she would never laugh at her even if she had the energy.

Burning under Matteo’s equally close scrutiny, she found she could only breathe normally when the front door closed behind them.

Needing to be alone, she sent the housekeeper out to do some errands and sent silent thanks to Pieta for agreeing with her request that their other staff not live in. How sad was it that she had to request such things, like a child asking a favour from a parent?

Everything about her marriage had been sad. Its ending was the least of it. She’d had no autonomy over any of it.

Now the dizziness had passed she realised she was famished. She’d felt a little nauseous when she’d woken and had skipped breakfast, which had saved her the worry of deciding what to eat, and had managed to forget to have any lunch.

Opening the fridge, she tried to think what she fancied to eat. The housekeeper had stocked up for her and there was choice. Too much choice. After much dithering she took a fresh block of cheese out, then found the biscuits to go with it.

Her stomach was growling by the time she unwrapped the cellophane from the cheese but when she took the knife to it, the smell it emitted turned the growl into a gurgle that flipped over violently.

She chucked the entire block of cheese into the bin then clutched her stomach with one hand and her mouth with the other, breathing deeply, willing the nausea away.

It had only just passed when the doorbell rang.

She stood frozen, hesitant over whether she should open it. Her house had been like Piccadilly Circus for the past two weeks and all she wanted was to be on her own.

It rang again.

What if it was her mother-in-law? Vanessa had been a frequent visitor since Natasha and Pieta had married, and had visited or called daily since his death. Whatever Natasha was going through was nothing compared to what Vanessa was living with.

And yet, even though she continued to tell herself it was bound to be her adorable mother-in-law at the door, she found she couldn’t draw the least bit of surprise to find Matteo there instead.

‘What do you want?’ she asked, tightening her hold on the door frame. There was no audience for them to pretend cordiality.

‘I want you to take this.’ He held up a long, thin rectangular box.

It was a pregnancy test.

CHAPTER THREE

THE PALE FACE that had opened the door to Matteo turned whiter. ‘I’m not pregnant.’

‘Take the test and prove it. I’m not going anywhere until you do.’

Her gaze darted over his shoulder.

‘Expecting someone?’ he asked curtly. ‘Another lover, perhaps?’

Her lips tightened but she held her ground. ‘Vanessa likes to drop in.’

‘The grieving mother checking up on the grieving widow? How charming.’ It sickened him that his aunt—like the rest of the Pellegrinis—all thought the sun rose and set with Natasha. It had been Francesca’s worry and compassion towards the young widow that had set the wheels in motion for the events that had led him here today. ‘If you don’t want her to find me here and have to explain why I have this with me, I suggest you let me in.’

A long exhalation of breath and then she stepped aside.

For the second time that day he entered Pieta’s home with the same curdle of self-loathing as when he’d entered it the first time. Revulsion. At her. At himself. At what they’d done.

Until Pieta had died Matteo had been in this house only once, when Natasha had been in England, visiting her parents.

‘Have you had a period since...?’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.

Colour stained her white face at the intimacy of what he’d asked. ‘No,’ she whispered.

‘When are you due?’

Her throat moved before she answered. ‘A couple of days ago. But I’ve never been regular. It doesn’t mean anything.’

‘You’re tired. You have a backache. You used the bathroom three times during our two-hour meeting.’ He ticked her symptoms off his fingers dispassionately, although his head was pounding again. They’d made love at her most fertile time. ‘My flight back to Miami leaves in three hours. Take the test. If it’s negative I can leave Pisa and we can both forget anything happened between us.’

Neither of them said what would happen if the test proved positive.

He held the box out to her. She stared at it blankly for a moment before snatching it out of his hand and leaving the reception room they were still standing in. Her footsteps trod up the stairs, a door shut.

Alone, Matteo took himself to the day room and sat on the sofa, cradling his head in his hands while he waited. In the adjoining room was a bar where he and Pieta had had a drink together. The temptation to help himself to a drink now was strong but not strong enough to overcome his revulsion. He’d already helped himself to his best friend and cousin’s wife. He wasn’t going to add to his list of crimes by helping himself to Pieta’s alcohol.

He’d read the instructions himself. The test took three minutes to produce an answer.

He checked his watch. Natasha had been upstairs for ten minutes.

The seconds ticked past like minutes, the minutes like hours. All he had to occupy his mind were the furnishings the man who’d been like a brother to him had chosen. He couldn’t see any sign of Natasha’s influence in the decoration.

She’d once wanted to be an interior designer. He remembered her telling him that during a phone conversation held when he’d returned home after an eighteen-hour shift.

Matteo had thought he could never hate himself more than he had when he’d been ten and his dereliction of duty had ruined his little brother’s life. The loathing he felt for what he’d done with Natasha matched it, an ugly rancid feeling that lived in his guts. The loathing he felt for Natasha matched it too. Damn her, but she’d been Pieta’s wife. Hours after burying her husband she’d thrown herself into his arms and he...

Damn him, he’d let her.

He wished he could erase the memories of that night but every moment was imprinted in him. He’d woken that morning with the vivid feeling of entering her for the first time and the certainty that something had been wrong. It was a feeling that nagged at him more, growing stronger as time passed.