The Sicilian's Secret Son

His deep, sexy chuckle made the muscles in her pelvis contract. He removed her finger from his chest. ‘Nice try, dolcezza.’

She huffed out a resigned breath.

‘Can I have some water, then?’

He guided her to one of the chairs, went to the en suite and returned with a glass of water. As he lowered his tall, bare-chested frame into the other chair, Annah quenched her thirst, then put the glass down and tucked her feet up under her.

‘Your father frightened me, Luca,’ she said quietly, deciding an honest, abbreviated account was the most painless way forward. ‘I didn’t know if the things I’d heard were true, but I knew, having met him in person, that he was not someone to cross. After Ethan was born, I was afraid of what would happen if your father...’ She hesitated before adding, ‘Or you found out I’d gone through with the pregnancy.’

Grim lines bracketed Luca’s mouth, and her heart twisted at the torment in his dark eyes. She knew it hurt him deeply that she’d once believed he’d rejected her and their unborn child and left her at his father’s mercy.

‘And the panic attacks?’ he said.

Annah tugged the robe over her knees. ‘They didn’t happen often. But sometimes anxiety got the better of me. There were days when I found myself looking over my shoulder, worried someone would try to take Ethan.’

Luca’s expression tightened. ‘You should not have had to go through that.’ Repressed anger laced his voice. He leaned forward and captured her hand. Before she realised his intent, he tugged her out of the chair and onto his lap.

She should have protested. But it felt too wonderful, being surrounded by all that heat and muscle. One large hand slipped under the robe and settled on her thigh, making her pulse thrum.

‘Who supported you through your pregnancy, cara?’

She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘When you were tired. Or unwell. Who did you rely on?’

He looked at her a little too intently. Did he wonder if she’d had a boyfriend? She shrugged. ‘I didn’t rely on anyone. But I wasn’t completely alone. I had Chloe.’ They’d shared the flat over the shop to begin with, right up until two years ago when Chloe had moved in with Ben.

‘Your parents didn’t help?’

She dropped her gaze.

‘Annah?’

‘No,’ she said after a pause. ‘My mother and I aren’t close.’

‘And your father?’

Her discomfort grew. ‘I never knew my father,’ she admitted.

‘Did he die?’ Luca asked gently.

Annah began to shake her head, then stopped. The truth was she didn’t know if her father was dead or alive. She had no way of knowing. She took a deep breath, blew it out slowly. Luca had weathered his own discomfort last night to talk about his father. Surely she could do the same?

‘I was the result of a one-night stand,’ she said, staring at her hands. ‘My mother was young and drunk...’ She stopped herself from adding and irresponsible. That was one stone she couldn’t cast. Not when she was guilty of the same transgression. ‘Afterwards, she couldn’t even remember his name or where he was from.’

She looked up, searching for signs of judgement on Luca’s face, but saw none. His expression was simply intent, his gaze steady, encouraging her to go on. ‘She was only nineteen when she had me and not terribly maternal—her words,’ she added, ‘not mine. To be honest, I don’t know why she didn’t give me up for adoption.’

Luca’s thumb moved in soft, tantalising circles on her thigh. ‘Perhaps she loved you too much to do the right thing.’

Annah stared at Luca. It was a strange thing to say. ‘If she did love me, she had an odd way of showing it.’

His brow furrowed. ‘How so?’

She paused, searching for the words to explain, slightly startled to realise she wanted to explain. ‘I think I was a hindrance more than anything. At first because she was young and wanted to party. And then because she wanted a relationship and most of her boyfriends didn’t want the responsibility of another man’s child.’

The vertical crease between Luca’s eyebrows deepened. ‘Most?’ he echoed. ‘How many were there?’

Annah shrugged. ‘I can’t remember. Some weren’t around for long. Some we lived with for a while.’ She’d hated the constant moving. Never feeling settled. Always waiting for the day her mother would uproot them again. ‘Her relationships never lasted. She was...clingy. I think she drove the men away, although...’ She hesitated, old hurt rising, pulling her throat tight. ‘Sometimes she told me it was my fault.’