Brunetti's Secret Son

He shut the door in her face.

Her mouth dropped open in shock for several seconds before, temper flaring, she slapped her open palm repeatedly on the door. When he yanked it open, his face was a mask that covered a multitude of emotions. Emotions he was hell-bent on keeping from her.

‘I came all this way and that’s all you have to say to me?’

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. ‘What more is there to say? You’ve made it more than clear our son is the only subject on the table when it comes to you and me.’

‘That’s not true,’ she replied.

His jaw worked. ‘Dammit, what the hell do you want from me, Maisie?’ he demanded gutturally.

‘For starters, why did you tell the concierge my name with the instructions to let me up when I arrived?’

‘Because you’re the mother of my child, and still my wife—at least until one of us decides to do something about it. And also because I have security watching over you and Lucca twenty-four hours a day. I was told the moment you bought a plane ticket to Sicily. I thought I’d save you the trouble of an awkward enquiry at the front desk when you eventually got here.’ The thinly veiled mockery made her skin sting.

Nervously, she shifted on her feet. ‘Well...okay. I’m here. So are you going to let me in?’ she asked with a fast-dwindling bravado.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure you want to come in? Surely this room holds bad memories for you.’

She looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the mixture of opulent and beautiful antique and modern furniture, some of which they’d appreciated up close and personal with their naked bodies. ‘They weren’t all bad,’ she murmured huskily. ‘In fact, the night before the morning after was quite spectacular. One of the best nights of my life.’

He froze, his hazel eyes flaring a bright gold before a cloud descended on his face. ‘What a shame it is then that your worst was finding yourself married to me.’ His voice leaked a gravel roughness coated with pain and her heart squeezed.

‘Don’t put words in my mouth, Romeo. I said I didn’t want to be married to you. I didn’t say it was because I hated the idea. Or you.’

Tension filled his body. ‘What did you mean?’ he asked raggedly.

‘Are you going to let me in?’

He jerked backwards, his hand rigid around the doorknob. His warmth seemed to reach out to her as she passed him, his scent filling her starving senses so headily, she almost broke down and plastered herself against him.

The suite was just as she remembered. The luxurious gold-and-cream-striped sofa stood in the same place she’d first made love with Romeo. She dropped her handbag on it, her fingers helplessly trailing over the exquisite design as memories flooded her.

Unable to resist, she touched the glass-topped console table set between two floor-to-ceiling windows, then the entertainment centre, where Romeo had played Pagliacci’s mournful theme tunes while he’d feasted on her.

‘Do you wish me to leave you alone to reminisce?’ he enquired tightly.

She turned to find him frozen against the closed door, his arms folded. He wasn’t as calm as he appeared, a muscle flicking in his jaw as he watched her.

‘Why are you standing over there, Romeo? Are you afraid of me?’ she challenged, even though her heart banged hard against her ribs.

A harsh laugh barked from him, then his face seemed to crumple before he sliced his fingers through his hair. ‘Sì, I’m afraid. I’m terrified of what I feel when I’m around you. And even more terrified of my emotions when I’m not.’

The naked vulnerability in that announcement strangled her breath. The room took on a brightness that made her blink hard. Then she realised the brightness was her heart lifting from the gloom, hope rising fast and hard, against her will.

‘What are you saying, Romeo?’ She couldn’t allow room for misinterpretation. The stakes were higher than ever this time.

He exhaled. Deep and long and shakily, his massive chest quaking beneath his black shirt. ‘I mean, I love you, Maisie. Of course, I could be mistaken because I really don’t know what love is. But I feel a ravaging emptiness every second of every day that I have to survive without you. I thought I knew what it felt to contemplate a hopeless future until the day you told me you regretted marrying me.’ He shook his head and surged away from the door.

Striding to the window, he stared down into the street. ‘I haven’t been able to function since that moment. You’re all I think about, all I crave...’ Another juddering breath. ‘Is that love? This feeling of desperate hopelessness?’ he intoned bleakly.