Ruthlessly Bedded, Forcibly Wedded

‘Ah-ah.’ He stopped her, coming even closer.

His presence was huge and threatening, and yet Cara realised she didn’t feel physically threatened—not the way Mortimer had made her feel. This was a very different threat, and it had a lot to do with the way her body seemed to be full of tiny fiery magnets, all wanting to go in one direction: towards him. And it killed her.

He stopped a few feet away, his face hard and implacable, taut with the distaste he obviously felt to be here, facing her again, when he’d believed that he’d washed his hands of her. It made something very vulnerable within Cara ache.

‘The story of a Valentini heir is already all over the press here and in the Italian news. It’s going to be impossible to deny without creating an even bigger storm.’

‘And why would you want to deny it? It’s true.’ Her voice rang with bitterness—her own bitterness for having created exactly this situation. While on the one hand she wanted nothing more than to laugh it all off—tell him she wasn’t pregnant—she was. And she felt inordinately protective of this tiny being. She had to take responsibility for her actions, and to deny the truth of her pregnancy here in front of the father was anathema to her.

Vicenzo looked away for a second and ran an impatient hand through his short hair, leaving it dishevelled. When he looked back his eyes were utterly ruthless, utterly cold. ‘Do you have proof?’

Hurt sliced through her again, but she nodded warily. She’d kept her doctor’s note of when the baby was most likely due, the lists of what foods to avoid, what supplements to take, the date of her first hospital appointment. She went to her bag, which she’d dropped on the tiny chipped table, and dug out the piece of headed paper.

With her slim back to him for a moment, Vicenzo took in the flat properly for the first time. It was…shocking. Damp climbed one wall like an insidious mottled disease. The window looking out onto a dark alley was cracked, with a whistle of a breeze coming through. Mangy curtains. Her motive for coming after him was glaring, and the fact that he’d provided her with that motive stung bitterly.

Cara straightened and turned, coming back to him holding out a piece of paper. He willed down his reaction to the flat. Her pale face, with freckles standing out starkly, made her look vulnerable and impossibly young.

He took the piece of paper and his eyes flicked over the words. All apparent proof that she was indeed pregnant. It didn’t take him long to work out that the due date tied in all too perfectly with that night in London. The headed paper looked genuine, and the writing was in a typical doctor’s illegible scrawl, dated almost a week ago. He could seek out the doctor, get further proof, but a sinking feeling told him it wasn’t necessary. The very real possibility that he was facing impending fatherhood was making him slightly numb.

Cara crossed her arms and said tightly, ‘See? So, unless I ran straight to another man’s bed—which I didn’t…’ She took a quivering breath, the full import of this moment hitting her suddenly. ‘The baby is yours.’

Vicenzo looked at her sharply, as if he’d heard something in her voice, and Cara did feel a little strange suddenly—as if everything was coming from far away. She heard him say something unintelligable, and before she knew it she was sitting at the table, Vicenzo putting a glass of water in front of her.

‘Drink that.’ His voice was gruff, scraping across her exposed nerves. His every movement was a further indication of his distaste at being there. Hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremor in her hand, she took a sip and then put the glass down with a clatter. She forced herself to look up to where he was standing, far too close, literally towering over her. It was too much. She scooted out of her seat and quickly walked to where she could stand behind the mismatching armchair in the far corner, unaware of how hunted she looked.

Vicenzo stuck his hands deep in his pockets and said tersely, ‘You could have lied about dates to the doctor. How can I be sure that you carry my baby?’

As soon as he spoke his words had a curious effect on Vicenzo. A surge of something deeply primal struck him suddenly: his baby; his seed. An assertion of his own manhood. And even before Cara answered, as he saw the expressive look of outrage cross her face, he felt that same sinking feeling he’d felt just moments ago. It was becoming annoyingly familiar. As much as he wanted to reject it, in that instant he believed that she was carrying his child. To his chagrin he couldn’t articulate why he was so certain, and it irritated him intensely. He despised not being able to rely on concrete facts. But the instinct was overwhelming.

Cara shook with emotion, and restrained her urge to fly across the room and smack that supercilious look off his face. ‘I’m not even going to dignify that question with an answer. If it’s any consolation you can’t know how much I’m cursing my decision to go and confront you.’

She kept her eyes on his but awfully, betrayingly, could already feel that emotion and anger turning into something much more vulnerable under his steely glare.

‘I just…’ She hated the naked hesitancy in her voice. ‘I’m having a baby as a result of what happened—of what you did—’

He stepped forward, barely leashed anger reaching out like crackling electricity. ‘What I did? There was two of us in that bedroom that night. Do I have to remind you that you walked away? And then all but ran back—straight into my arms? There was no force or even cajoling on my part.’

He took another step, and Cara regretted putting herself in the corner of the room. Bitterly regretted that moment when she had gone back to him in the street. And hated being reminded of it—of how coolly he’d stood there, as if he’d known that she would turn around and come back. H

ow he must have been laughing inside.

Vicenzo tried desperately to reject his instincts, to apply logic to this situation. ‘Do I also need to remind you that I used protection? And let’s just say that I don’t recall any… malfunction.’

Cara coloured. How would she know? She certainly hadn’t had the depth of experience he’d had. She was suddenly reminded of that intensely exquisite moment, when she’d felt the gush of his release within her. She frowned even as her treacherous body melted inside, down low.

‘Look, are you sure? I mean, how can you be so sure…?’

Everything in Vicenzo reacted to her husky plea. And to the fact that he’d just felt the strongest need to have her admit that it was all a big joke. That she hadn’t been a virgin. That she hadn’t made love with such natural abandon that he’d believed—Ruthlessly he shut his mind down.

He was shamed to recall that at the zenith of his orgasm with Cara he’d experienced a minor blackout—the pleasure had been so intense. And then afterwards he’d not even checked to see if the protection had indeed been intact because he’d been so incensed. That hitherto unexposed chink in his armour was something he couldn’t fully articulate to himself.

And yet, now, holding the very evidence on a piece of paper in one hand, he had to finally admit that he had been less than careful that night. It nearly killed him, the possibility that he could have fathered a child. His determination not to have a family had been born of a vow made long ago. Even his father had known not to make that demand of Vicenzo after everything that had happened in their family. But then, he reminded himself grimly, his father had been depending on Allegra to fulfil that role…

Until now. And now this woman, Cara Brosnan… His belly tightened. She had something that he couldn’t fight. Vicenzo could think of countless women he’d been involved with who would be more welcome facing him right now. He could deal with their hard, brittle shells, their blatant avarice. Cara was different. She was more dangerous.

He lashed out at finding himself here, with her, and gave a brief harsh laugh. ‘You didn’t even have to come find me—I came to you. A little convenient, wouldn’t you say?’

Cara’s hands clutched the back of the seat, her whole body tense. ‘I only found out I was pregnant a week ago. Then I saw the report in the paper saying that you were coming to Dublin.’