Affairs Of The Heart: The Italian Boss's Secret Child

He wanted her!

His mouth moved lower, fingers tracing under the edge of her bra and hot breath met her lace-covered nipple, already exquisitely sensitive with her early pregnancy, setting off spears of sensation that pierced her deep inside. Her back arched and she shuddered into his mouth.

Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered, but what he was doing to her and the way he made her feel.

Special.

Beautiful.

Loved?

No. That was what she wanted, not what he was giving. He wasn’t the kind of guy to fall in love. And right now she’d settle for feeling special. Right now she’d settle for feeling beautiful.

A noise, half purr, half groan, escaped her. And right now she’d settle for more of what his magic hot mouth was doing to her breasts—and lower…

Her fingers curled in the quilt as his hands caressed her, his tongue possessing her, circling her navel and driving her crazy with want and need as he deftly discarded her lace underwear. He touched her on her now exposed flesh and her breath caught with the intensity of the feeling. Nerve-endings she’d never known existed all but screamed their presence, their effect expanding inwards, waves of pleasure rippling to her every extremity only to come crashing back again at her core.

What force magnified mere touch to make it so bold, so all-consuming that it carried her away on its tide? Whatever it was, it was beyond comprehension, beyond dispute. Instead she let herself go with it as his tongue dipped lower, unable to fight the onslaught of heat and sensation on her skin and deeper, much deeper, inside.

She wanted more of this. She wanted more of him.

She wanted so much more…

Nothing would ease this delicious torture but having him deep inside her.

‘Please…’ she begged, the agony of her need rendering her powerless in his hands. And he gave something like a low growl and pulled away from her so abruptly that she felt his absence like a snapshot of grief. Her eyes fluttered open to see him looking down at her as his shoes and clothes came off, a flurry of leather and fabric until only air separated their naked skin. And then even the air was gone.

He lay down next to her, pulling her close, his smouldering eyes fixed on hers as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he said. ‘I’ve dreamed of having you again ever since that night.’

And before her heart had a chance to swell he rolled her beneath him and entered her in one swift, deep movement.

And then it was his turn to cry out, something guttural and indiscernible, but which spoke of his hunger and need.

She clutched his shoulders, momentarily relishing the feeling of completion with him deep inside, pulsing with life and heat before he moved, easing back, teetering on the edge before stretching her full again.

She responded to him, meeting his rhythm, joining him in the dance as he repeated the movement, again and again, slowly, then faster, building the pace and her anticipation until he slowed again, driving her to the edge of need and desperation as her hips urged him home.

She felt his need peaking with hers and spurred him on, angling her hips to meet him as he drove himself deeper with every plunge, building her higher and higher with the magic of his rhythm until his whole body powered into hers with one final shuddering thrust. She went with him, her senses exploding in a thousand directions that started and ended at the place he now pulsed within.

For a while they lay there, bodies slick with limbs entwined as their breathing returned to something like normal and their bodies cooled, their craving and desire burned up in the fire of their passion—burned up yet far from extinguished. He shifted so his head was lying across her stomach and with his hand he traced circles over her abdomen, his light touch hypnotising her skin at the same time that it stirred her nerve endings.

‘So somewhere inside here—there’s a baby growing.’

His words took her by surprise. He’d hardly reacted to her news that she was pregnant to him—it certainly hadn’t seemed to have had any impact—until now. Did he have no concept of what a child meant? Was the idea of family that foreign to him?

‘What happened to your family?’

His hand stopped and dropped back to his side as he swung his gaze up to the ceiling.

For a while she didn’t think he was going to answer, his steady breathing the only sound in the spare masculine room.

She touched her hand to his head, stroking his hair with her fingers.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’

He caught her hand in his, brought it to his mouth, and pressed her open palm against his lips with a half kiss, half sigh. ‘It’s okay. I don’t think about it too much.’

‘It must have been awful.’ She knew loss. The death of her brother and his family had been bad enough. She didn’t have to know the details to understand that losing his parents and possibly other members of his family too at such a young age must have been devastating.

‘They had a market garden near Adelaide, where they’d settled after coming out from Italy. It was only small to start, but they built it up and when they could they did picking work as well—apples or pears—before the tomato season really kicked in. I was the youngest so I stayed home but they took my two older brothers—Santo and Jo. Before the tomato crop ripened they could make more in one day picking than the market garden could make in a week. It was my job to look after the garden.’

‘How old were your brothers then?’

‘Thirteen and fourteen. Santo was the image of Dad; he was so proud of him.’

‘What happened?’

He made a sound, a sigh mixed with a note of despair, and she noticed his whole body tense. ‘The orchard they were working on was up in the hills. They hitched a ride in the back of a pick-up truck with a bunch of others from the city. The access road was narrow, a steep dirt track with no safety rail. A car came round a bend the other way. The truck swerved to miss it but too far, too close to the edge. Once the front wheel went over there was no hope…’

Her breath caught as she imagined the horror of the accident and its impact on a young child. ‘You lost everyone?’

‘There were fourteen packed into the back of the truck. Only two survived. They didn’t stand a chance when it rolled.’

He took a deep breath and raised a hand to rub his temple. ‘I didn’t know about it until the next day. It took the police that long to identify everyone.’

‘You spent the night alone?’

He shrugged against her belly. ‘You get used to it,’ he said, his voice flat.

‘That’s so unfair,’ she said. ‘Did you have other family who could take you in?’

‘No. Not in Australia and my two remaining grandparents in Italy were too frail and I didn’t want to go back. I’d grown up here. Even though my roots were Italian, I felt Australian, I belonged here. The market garden was sold—it barely covered the debts—and I ended up in foster care—’ He gave a brief laugh. ‘For a while, anyway. They didn’t want me and I didn’t need them. I worked as hard as I could at school and earned myself a scholarship and then escaped to Melbourne first chance I got.’

‘So this child will be your only family,’ she said, thinking aloud.

He lifted himself from the bed in one rapid movement and scooped up his clothes and she cursed herself for provoking his change in mood. This was a guy who had made it in the world without family. He certainly wasn’t going to be thrilled about having it thrust upon him.

‘I have to get back to work. What do you plan to do?’

She laughed, low and brittle. ‘I would have thought it’s a bit late for planning. I’m going to have a baby. How’s that for a plan?’

‘You’re keeping it then?’

Something congealed cold and hard in her heart.

He’d just made love to her.

She was carrying his child.

If she’d had any hopes that either one of those meant he’d consider her as something a trifle more special than plain old Philly-from-marketing, he’d just smashed those hopes to smithereens. ‘I’m disappointed you could even ask.’

‘Oh, don’t feel so aggrieved. How am I expected to know what you intend to do? It’s not like we really know each other.’

True, she thought, seeking the refuge of her own clothes. But that doesn’t stop you wanting to make love to me. That doesn’t stop me wanting you to.

And it certainly doesn’t stop me loving you.

‘So what do you expect from me?’

She looked up at him, her hazel eyes focused acutely on his, hoping they conveyed the sense of cold he’d just doused her with. Much as it would have been easier never to have let Damien know that he was the father, she’d done the right thing. He now knew about the baby. Her responsibility to him ended right there. If he wasn’t prepared to have anything to do with this child, then she’d be more than happy to assume sole responsibility. It would sure save any complications.

‘What do I expect from you? Absolutely nothing.’

His face starkly displayed his disbelief. But then, why would he believe her? No doubt he’d be expecting her to take full advantage of the benefits of a rich father for her child.

‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I don’t want anything from you.’

‘You think you can do this all by yourself?’

‘Of course I can.’ If I have to. ‘It’s what I want.’ If that’s what it takes.

‘What about what I want?’

‘It’s obvious you don’t want to be involved. You’ve made that perfectly clear by even assuming I could do anything other than keep this child. You didn’t ask for this to happen. You didn’t ask for a child.’

‘And you did?’

Her eyes dropped to the floor. He’d never understand if she told him. He’d never understand how much this baby meant, how much it would mean to her mother and how she’d dreamed so fervently of having a child. But those reasons had nothing to do with him. He didn’t need to know.

‘Of course it was a shock,’ she said. ‘But now that I’ve accepted it I’m going to do everything I can to make this child’s life worthwhile. This baby’s never going to feel like it’s not wanted or that its life is the result of a mistake. I’m going to make it a home.’

‘Very noble sentiments. And just how do you plan on doing all this by yourself?’

‘I’ll manage.’

‘You’ll manage,’ he echoed hollowly, his voice dry and flat. ‘A single mother, either unable to work or having to put the child into care all day and scraping by on a pittance if you can work. Is that how you intend to manage?’

She knew it wasn’t going to be easy—she’d never thought that. But hearing him put it like that— She swallowed, attempting to bury her doubts and regain the confidence she’d felt when she’d worked out that this was what she should do. ‘Lots of women do. They get by.’

‘Not with my child they don’t!’

The vehemence of his words took her by surprise. Was this really the man with the reputation of a confirmed bachelor and dedicated non-family man?

‘Then what are you suggesting? Some sort of financial support for the child?’

‘Not just that,’ he said as he looped his tie deftly into the perfect knot. ‘Something much more appropriate for all of us. An arrangement that will mean you don’t have to worry about balancing work with child-care. Something that will ensure your and the child’s security for life.’

Her breath caught as a tingle of sensation bubbled inside. No, it wasn’t possible. Surely he wasn’t about to suggest marriage? But what else could offer the security the child needed, the solid foundation for a future life?

Maybe she’d underestimated him. Marriage didn’t sound like something the commitment-averse Damien would suggest to anyone, least of all to her. Did the existence of a baby make so much difference, that now she was worthy of consideration as his bride, now she was considered marriage material?

Marriage.

Marriage to Damien.

How would it feel to be Damien’s wife? To wake up alongside him every day, to feel his strong body holding her safe at night, to make a family with him.

To have his child and to have him too—dreams were made of lesser stuff.

So he didn’t love her. She knew that. But they could still make it work. She loved him and she’d make it work if it meant pretending to be Cleopatra every night to do it. She’d do whatever it took.

It would be worth it.

She waited, almost too scared to breathe, unable to speak and ask what he could possibly mean. After what seemed an age he returned from the bathroom, his hair restored to its usual executive state, the tracks of her fingernails obliterated.

‘I have a property, out of the city about one hundred kilometres or so. I can’t get out there as much as I’d like but the house is in good condition and there’s a full-time housekeeper and manager.

‘It’ll be a perfect place for you to bring the child up,’ he continued. ‘I’ll pay all the household expenses and give you an allowance as well so you don’t have to worry about working.’

A freezing dump of despair oozed over her and it was seconds before she could convince her jaw to thaw enough to let her speak.

‘You’d set me up in a house of yours?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s the best option for both of us. I’ll visit on weekends when I can get away.’

‘And what of my mother? Who would look after her? No, Damien. There’s no way.’

‘She can come too. There’s plenty of room. You can all be together.’

‘Thanks so much for your kind offer, but I’m sorry, I’m not actually in the market for a new home. Maybe some other time…’

She pushed past him, trying to reach the bathroom and find a place where she could breathe again, a place where she could think, but he grabbed her arm, wheeling her around.

‘Listen to me. I’m offering this child a home, security. I’ll arrange the best doctors for your mother, the best paediatricians for the baby. The child will have everything it needs.’ His fingers tightened on her arm. ‘What are you waiting for—a better offer?’

‘Lovely to know you’re so concerned about this child. And what will my role be in this arrangement?’

‘You’ll bring up the child. I take it that’s what you expect to do? And you won’t have to do housework or the cooking and cleaning or worry about a day job. I’ll even get private nursing for your mother, and on top of everything I’ll pay you for the privilege. So maybe you could try to be a bit more grateful.’

‘Grateful! And let me guess—will I also be expected to share your bed whenever you feel the urge? Is that how you expect me to show how grateful I am? Am I expected to extend my gratitude to you on my back?’

She wrenched her arm but his grip merely tightened, locked on, his fingers like steel manacles. She suppressed a gasp as his fingers bit into her flesh. He might be stronger than she was, but still she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was hurting her.

He drew her closer, so close that she could see the white-hot fury in his eyes, feel his heated breath on her cheek. One side of his lips kicked up in a smile that went no further. ‘You didn’t seem to have a problem with being flat on your back ten minutes ago. Or have you forgotten already how good I made you feel, how you bucked under me until I blew your world apart?’

Her pulse hammered, her temple throbbed, as her heart cranked up the pressure through her veins as his dark eyes locked on hers. She could never forget how he made her feel, not in this life.

‘Have you forgotten already how you begged me to take you?’ His free hand cupped her breast. Her shocked intake of breath was fast and tremulous as he massaged the tender flesh, her nipple firming and reaching out into his palm.

He closed the gap between them, pushing himself against her. She felt his arousal with shock and awe, excitement building in her own deep places.

‘Are you seriously telling me you wouldn’t like to make love with me again?’

His hand left her breast and dipped down her back, pressing her into his hardness. ‘Are you seriously trying to tell me you don’t want me again?’

His words were seductive, hypnotising her, a mantra for her soul. His touch was persuasive, compulsive, like a mantra for her body.

He dropped a hand into her still open zipper, slipping his hand down until his warm fingers cupped the flesh of one cheek, squeezing, massaging, his fingers exploring more…

‘There’s no denying it, you realise that. You want me just as much as I want you.’

‘Damien,’ she half-pleaded, sensation blotting out rational thought once more, nerve-endings screaming for release. It was true. She could no more deny wanting him than she could deny the sun a place in the sky. But that didn’t mean he could buy her like just one more part of his business.

‘See,’ he said, a tone of victory injected into his voice. ‘There’s no way you can deny me. Not now.’

‘Damien,’ she said, stronger this time, his arrogance fuelling her determination to fight back. ‘I won’t be your mistress.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ he said. ‘Let me show you what you really want.’ His mouth dipped lower as if intending to claim hers but it never made its mark. Summoning strength she didn’t know she possessed, she pushed and twisted at the same time, swivelling out of his arms and swaying across the room until dozens of cubic metres of super-charged air swirled between them.

‘Believe me, Damien. I won’t be your mistress. I won’t be anyone’s mistress. Have you no idea what an insult that is?’

‘Then what were you expecting? Marriage? Is that what you were hoping for? A white picket fence and a fairy-tale ending?’

She schooled her face blank, her chest heaving, not trusting her voice to hold steady if she uttered a word. Of course it sounded ridiculous when he put it like that. But what was wrong with wanting things to be right, wanting to bring up a child in a proper family? What was wrong with hoping love might have something to do with it?

But there was no way she’d tell Damien that.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, only when she was sure her voice wouldn’t betray her. ‘I told you, I don’t want anything from you.’

Still, his eyes narrowed, focusing on something in her face. ‘Ah, but that’s what you were hoping for, wasn’t it?’

His words cut uncomfortably close to the truth. Why had she had to go and fall in love with him? It had been so much easier in the beginning, before she’d seen beyond the arrogant businessman behind whom Damien existed, before she’d felt his lovemaking and experienced the sheer magic of his touch.

Until then she’d been happy to think about a life with her child—Damien didn’t even have to figure. But she did love him. And now she couldn’t imagine life with his child without him.

Her chin kicked up. ‘You must really fancy yourself. I told you and I mean it. I don’t want anything from you.’

He watched her for a few seconds more, cold emotion drizzling down over them. ‘So be it. Because I don’t do family. It’s not going to happen.’

He walked to the slatted timber bifold doors separating the bedroom from the rest of the apartment. ‘I’m going back to work. Let yourself out when you’re ready.’

‘I’ll be down shortly,’ she said, knowing it would take her a good ten minutes to get herself back together enough to appear in public.

‘Don’t bother,’ he said. ‘Go home.’

And then he was gone.

CHAPTER NINE

‘HOW is she?’ asked Enid on his return.

‘Gone home,’ he snapped back, ‘and if she’s got any sense, she’ll stay there.’

Enid’s eyes narrowed speculatively, her lips tight and puckered. ‘I see.’

‘You do? I sure wish the hell I did. Hold my calls, Enid. Tell everyone I’m in conference.’

‘As you wish,’ she said as he entered his office. He closed the door behind him but for once ignored the expansive desk to his right. Instead he strode to the wall of glass, his window to the outside world, and gazed out across the city, looking for answers amongst the columns of office towers, the low-rise buildings and homes at the city’s fringe and the warehouses of the harbour near the port. The sea lay lifeless in the distance, flat and dull. He empathised. It matched his mood perfectly.

It had been one hell of a day. To finally find the woman who’d been haunting his thoughts and dreams for so long only to discover it had been Philly all along. What was more, to learn she was pregnant with his child.

He was going to be a father.

The concept was as exciting as it was terrifying. Yet he didn’t want a child; he’d never wanted one. He’d survived without the whole family thing for this long. He didn’t need it.

So why did some small part of him insist on feeling proud? He’d spent his life avoiding such possibilities with a vengeance. So why didn’t he break out in a cold sweat as he’d expect? Why did he feel such a sense of exhilaration at the idea?

He was going to be a father.

He was going to have a child.

And, no matter what Philly said, he would make sure that child was properly taken care of.

What was her problem, anyway? He’d just offered her a house, a housekeeper, nursing care for her mother and an income. She wouldn’t have to lift a finger. It was a great deal.

So why wouldn’t she accept? What did she want? He’d made her a reasonable offer. More than reasonable. And she’d turned him down flat.

He sighed deeply, his forehead and hands pressed against the glass as he looked down to the street below. It was a long way down. He’d been down there, at rock bottom and lower, not even within cooee of a rung to begin the long, lonely climb up the ladder.

And he’d made it. All the way to the top on his own. No one to help him, no one to turn to for support but a drunken foster mother who had drunk his foster money blind and the faded memory of a family tragedy that had taught him never to get close to anyone.

He lashed out with his foot, slamming his shoe into the reinforced glass and making the entire window shudder before he spun around and tracked a course round his desk.

What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn’t thought so much about his family for years and yet today, in the feel-good hum of some of the best sex he’d had since their encounter in the boardroom—the only sex he’d had since that encounter in the board-room—the mere suggestion of a honeyed voice had dredged it all up.

He paced the carpet, trying not to ignore the pictures that were surfacing in his mind’s eye, the pictures like dusty film clips he’d been avoiding for years. His father, tall and straight, strong featured, with hair swept back much like his own, but greying already at the temples, the white shirt and dark trousers, his standard uniform; even when picking fruit or working in the garden he had always liked to look his best.

His brothers, loud and broad-shouldered like their father and always wrestling in the yard outside when they should have been doing homework.

And his mother, dark and handsome, with eyes that had sparkled with love and pride, scolding her two eldest sons only to toss her thick, dark hair and leave them, laughing as she’d turned back to her cooking.

He sucked in a jagged breath and closed his eyes but the pictures became even sharper and more distinct.

Unrelated snippets of memories exploded into his mind like the coloured contents of a party popper.

These were real people he was remembering, not some cardboard cut-outs that could be neatly filed away in a corner of his mind, buried deeper than the four wooden caskets that had lain side by side in the old church.

They’d been his family and now they were gone. And he’d done his best to leave them behind, moving cities, moving states. Burying them in his mind.

He shivered.

Suddenly he had to get out of there. Had to go somewhere—anywhere. He pulled open the door in time to see Philly placing some papers on Enid’s desk. She jerked around guiltily at his appearance, her face pale but her eyes challenging. Then she frowned and her features softened into something closer to concern. She took a step towards him.