Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian

Nick let go of Alessia, swung around and took a long breath. Who was he kidding? Not taking her that night would have been impossible. He would have died unless he could have undressed her, kissed her, buried himself deep inside her…

Merda!

Sex was the last thing he should be thinking about right now. He’d got himself into a mess. Now, he had to find a way out and yeah, he had to find a way out of it for her, too. What was that old saying? It took two to tango.

And it sure took two to make a baby.

Well, then. It took two to deal with whatever came next. She might not like it, might consider his input another intrusion, for God’s sake, but she’d have to accept it. He wasn’t going to let her do otherwise.

“Okay,” he said, doing his best to sound calm. “Okay, what we need to do is discuss this calmly. Very calmly, because—”

He turned toward her and his heart damned near stopped.

For all that imperious air, that “do not touch me” coldness he’d seen in her when they’d first met, what he saw now was the woman he’d come to—to care about. Care about? Even now, his muscles taut, his mind racing like a hamster on a wheel…even now, he wanted her, wanted her as he had never in his life imagined wanting a woman.

Her expression was defiant but her eyes were filled with fear. She was trembling even though the room was warm and he thought of how easily he could stop those tremors, stay her tears by taking her in his arms and kissing her, kissing her until she clung to him.

A groan of despair caught in his throat as he walked past her, out the door and out of the villa.

Hands in his pockets, head down, Nick climbed the hill behind the house. The sun was setting; shadows had accumulated in the olive grove, turning the trees into otherworldly creatures with long, lean bodies and spindly arms. The hoot of an owl added to the seeming strangeness of the landscape and to the confusion in his soul.

No way could he go on blaming this on Alessia. He was as responsible as she, maybe even more. He’d seen to it that she’d forgotten everything the night he’d brought her here, not just the birth control pills but the world outside.

He was the one who’d planned everything.

Planned? Nick barked out a laugh.

Some planner he’d turned out to be. A house. A bed. His stupid brain hadn’t gone beyond the necessities. And a supply of condoms should have been part of those necessities. He’d known that since he was, what, thirteen, sitting through the embarrassment of a sex-ed class, then snickering over what it all meant a couple of hours later with his brothers.

He kicked at a small stone, watched it tumble downhill.

The simple truth was that sex had been the only thing on his mind. Having Alessia. Making love with her. Making her his, as if sleeping with a woman marked her as a man’s property.

A man didn’t make a woman “his” unless he married her. And marriage was a million light-years away.

You could double those light-years when it came to having kids. Kids were not part of the plan. The best he’d concede was that maybe someday he’d want them, but for now…

No kids.

They weren’t in Alessia’s plans, either. Not from what he’d seen when he’d opened that bathroom door. Her tears. Her disbelief. No, clearly she wasn’t in the market for motherhood.

She was young. Beautiful. So damned beautiful, with the world waiting for her to explore it.

Calmer now, he knew that whatever she decided to do—terminate the pregnancy, go through with it and keep the baby, go through with it and give the baby up for adoption—her world would never be the same again.

And it was his fault.

Nick stopped walking, tucked his hands in his pockets and gazed up at the sky. Night was coming on quickly. A handful of stars flamed against the dark blue canopy; a fat yellow moon was rising on the horizon.

Amazing.

The world changed but life went on. And, yes, his world had changed. No matter what choice Alessia made, he’d always know he’d been the reason she’d had to make that choice. He’d always know that he’d created a life that had ended before it began. Or that strangers were raising a kid with his genes, his DNA. And even if Alessia decided to keep the child, it would not have a father.

Yes, of course, he’d acknowledge the kid and support it. Maybe he’d even visit. Or maybe not. Maybe she wouldn’t want his daughter to have only sporadic contact with the man who was her father in only the most scientific terms. His son or his daughter, yes, but somehow it was easier to picture a little girl with Alessia’s features, her golden hair, her blue eyes…

What was that?

A car was coming up the long drive that led to the villa. A car, at this time of evening? Why should a car…