Hiring Cupid (16 page)

"There's no need to be. I'm fine."

"Really? You look pale. Perhaps you need a holiday."

Carly's head shot up. “I'm fine,” she reiterated. “No holiday is required. I've had enough holidays to last a lifetime."

An older woman's head popped around the corner, just then. “Carly, don't be rude, invite your man in."

"He's not my man.” And she shuffled on the balls of her feet, folding her arms across her chest.

Marco took his opportunity. “Hello, Marco Valente.” He held his hand out.

The older woman was clearly impressed, which was just the way he wanted it. He wanted to get Carly's family on his side. She took his hand as if she was inspecting it for dirt and grime.

"I'm Carly's mother, but you call me Mabel. So, you're the one,” she accused.

"I beg your pardon."

"So you should young man."

Carly's horrified gaze swiveled from her mother to him and back to her mother. “Mum, don't,” she pleaded. She had gone deathly white and leaned against the doorway for support.

"Don't what?"

"You mean you haven't told him yet?"

"Haven't told me what?"

"Baby. That's what. You got my daughter pregnant."

Marco gasped audibly.

A baby. Him.

He was going to be a daddy.

Carly seemed even paler than before and her gaze was directed anywhere but at him. “Is this true? Are you pregnant with our child?” he demanded.

"My child. I'm pregnant."

"Yes, but it is mine?"

"You think that little of me, Marco, that I sleep around?"

"
Dio
,” Marco slapped his forehead with the flat of his palm as an icy cold chill took hold of him. “I apologize. I ... we may know very little about each other, but I do know that you would not act this way. Tell me, when exactly where you going to inform me?"

"I've only just found out."

"So you knew when you were at the office?"

Carly nodded again.

Marco felt himself pale. He looked directly at Carly's mother. The woman would have once been beautiful he acknowledged, but now her gray hair hung in scraggy, uncut tendrils around her lined face; a face that had seen too many late nights, too many bars and more than likely, he reasoned, too many men. Then there was the acrid stench that clung to only those who were heavy smokers and the red-rimmed eyes, dulled from years of sitting amidst the pall of cigarette smoke.

"Excuse me Mrs. Mason, but your daughter and I need to talk."

"Go right ahead,” she answered, but remained where she was.

"Alone,” he instructed. Wrapping his fingers firmly around Carly's arm he pulled her away from the door.

"Stop, you can't do this. Where are you taking me?” Carly struggled against him, but Marco's determination was stronger. “The car,” he said curtly. “We're going to talk in the car, Carly."

Snapping the button on his key ring, the vehicle unlocked with a sharp beep. He opened the passenger door and she got in without further protest. That surprised him. He expected a fight.

Never before had a car space seemed so claustrophobic. Carly hugged her body to the door, wishing she could put more space between her and Marco. Preferably a hundred kilometers.

She stole a glance at him. His expression was grim and determined and only exacerbated her weakened defenses. Then she began to shake and clasped her hands tightly across her chest. She needed to stand up to Marco, yet with him so close, her body remembered too much. The aroma of his aftershave filled every nook of the car, setting her on a precipice. Valiantly she battled to stifle the urge to bolt, swallowing back a sob as she roughly brushed at the single tear that trailed down her cheek. She knew she had to face him, but couldn't bear to look him in the eye.

"When exactly were you going to tell me?"

"I don't know. Sometime, I suppose."

"You suppose?” Marco shouted.

Carly flinched and edged closer to the car door as if the metallic hardness offered reassurance. “You're being unreasonable, Marco. I had no idea where you lived or how to find you prior to this morning, remember? And besides, what did you expect me to do, slip it in during the middle of the presentation with Mr. Burns sitting there? Or tell you afterwards when you were so angry, so hostile to me? Or maybe in between throwing up and trying not to...” She inhaled deeply. “No, I couldn't tell you in the office, it wasn't the right time, or place.
And
it would have been completely unprofessional."

"Unprofessional?” Marco's fist hit the steering wheel. “This is my baby we're talking about."

"So?"

"So!” He muttered a few oaths in Italian, words she was quite certain his mother wouldn't want to hear.

"Look Marco, we met, we had sex, and we parted."

"Sex. Is that it?"

"Yes,” she lied and looked away for a moment. “Marco, it was a shock. I hadn't gotten as far as figuring out how to try to find you, I was still trying to get used to the idea, trying to figure out what to do..."

"Okay, I see,” Marco agreed quietly. “So what now?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know how I'm going to care for a baby and run my business..."

Misunderstanding her meaning, he turned to her abruptly. “You're not getting rid of my child, Carly!"

"No I'm..."

"I'm telling you here and now, Carly. No way. Never. That's my child you're carrying.” His lips twisted with vehemence and there was an expression of desperation and fierce anger reflected in the depths of his darkened eyes. Suddenly, he started the engine and a stark unbridled fear sprinted down Carly's spine.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Home."

"Home? You don't know where I live."

"Not your home. Mine. Ours. We're having this baby ... and we're getting married."

"Married?” Carly's heart raced and the roar in her ears escalated to super-sonic proportions drowning out every other sound around them. “Married? We're not getting married. No way. Absolutely not."

But Marco wasn't listening and with a squeal of tires, he steered the car away at break-neck speed forcing Carly to clutch the armrest, nails digging into the luxuriously soft leather.

She tried again. “I won't marry you, Marco Valente. This is a joke isn't it?"

But Marco's dour expression remained unchanged as he relentlessly drove them toward his home, wherever that was. Which precisely reiterated the fact that she knew very little about him whatsoever—still.

"This baby is mine. It needs a father."

"You can be its father. But marriage? Forget it. I'm not the marrying kind. Neither are you if I remember correctly."

"I remember what I said. I remember everything,” Marco responded when they'd stopped at a traffic light. He turned to her and his slow lingering gaze slid over her face, down her breasts, and came to rest on her stomach. The look of heated desire reflected in his eyes told her he remembered just as much as she did.

"A baby changes everything. Irretrievably,” he said, lowering his tone.

"It doesn't have to."

"You telling me you're one of these modern women who go around having baby after baby, not caring whether the father is around or not?"

Carly blanched. “You make me sound cheap.” Though what he had done was make her sound exactly like her sisters. She loved her family, but it didn't mean she had to like their way of life. Wasn't that why she had chosen a different life? Chosen work over babies. Work over love.

"Not cheap,
cara
,” Marco intoned, his voice softening. “Perhaps misguided."

"Misguided hell. I
choose
my life, Marco Valente. Not you, not my family. You can't make me marry you."

"Perhaps not. But think of our child. Isn't it better to have two parents than one?"

He may not have realized, but what he said was a cruel blow. Carly sank back on the seat. She felt as if she'd been hit square on the jaw, his comment forcing her to think of her own childhood and drained her of any energy to fight.

With those few words he had hit her right where it hurt.

Round one to Marco.

For the remainder of the journey, Carly sat mute, fingers toying with the handle of her handbag, grateful she'd had the chance to quickly grab it before Marco charged her towards his powerful beast of a car.

Her mind however wouldn't stop. It replayed their holiday. Four days of bliss, of love, and the lying that destroyed her.

And now she was having Marco's baby—and he
wanted
her.

Don't fool yourself.

Carly closed her eyes. What she wanted was to forget it all, forget it happened. Her hand found her stomach and she let it rest there and wondered if the baby could hear its parents fighting, hear the anger and hurt, just like she had all those years ago.

But marriage? Carly's eyes flashed open.

A few minutes later the car edged down a narrow driveway into an underground car park. Carly sat up a bit straighter. “I don't want to go to your apartment, Marco."

"I know.” Dark unreadable eyes stared down at her, searching her face and her breath caught in her chest.

"So why are you making me?"

"We need to talk,
cara mia."

Carly stiffened at his continued use of the endearment and blinked back the sudden threat of tears. He maneuvered the car into a parking space, switched off the ignition, and came around to open her door. Her fingers balled into fists at her side, digging viciously into her palms. She gritted her teeth, and willed herself to remain calm as she breathed in deeply and got out of the car.

She took a glance up at the powerful man at her side. Almost regal in his bearing, his strong Mediterranean features exuded an omnipotent aura that commanded attention.

But what did she know about this man?

Very little.

Fear should have been warring in her gut, yet it wasn't. Not really. Somewhere deep down inside, hidden beneath the pain and hurt and bitterness, was one thing she had to cling on to. And that was hope.

"You're having my baby, Carly. We need to at least discuss this.” And with that, as if she was breakable glass, Marco took her hand and placed it on his arm and guided her towards the lifts that would, Carly reasoned with silent acceptance, lead her life in a very different direction.

As the elevator whisked them to his penthouse apartment, Carly stood chin up, shoulders back, ready for battle. But with each passing moment, a complete and debilitating numbness seeped through her body, limb by limb, until it reached her heart with a chilling thoroughness.

Meanwhile, her mind played games. She kept telling herself she didn't want this.

She did.

She didn't.

The scenario was something akin to the children's game where they picked petals off a flower reciting ‘he loves me, he loves me not'.

Which petal would she pick?

Marco stabbed at the panel of buttons and the lift jolted to a halt.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you some time."

"I don't need any time, the answer is still the same. No. Got it?"

"Oh, I get it. But perhaps you'd like to consider something. This morning you pitched the best designs I've seen for our hotel expansion. The contract is yours."

"Really?” Excitement, despite everything else, bubbled in Carly's stomach. Yes! She'd done it. She had reached out and grabbed exactly what she wanted. Hard work had paid off.

"Excited?” Marco questioned.

"Of course. It's..."

"Yours—on one condition."

With those few words, Marco ripped the rug right out from under her feet and a chilling dread snaked through her, insidious in its totality.

She lifted her chin, determined he wouldn't see her crumble. “And that is?"

"Marriage. You want the contract, I want to be my child's father."

"You can do that without marriage."

"Not this father. Have we got a deal?"

"You want a deal based on needs versus wants?"

"I want to be in
my
child's life,” he reiterated.

So where did that leave her, Carly thought bitterly?

Such a hollow victory. Marco would only give her the contract as a tool to get what he wanted, not because she'd earned it, because her design was the best for his complex, though he'd already admitted as much.

Caustic fury burned deep in Carly's belly. “I've worked damned hard on your designs, Marco Valente. I know they're good. Excellent in fact."

"Absolutely,” he agreed.

"And yet you blackmail me to assuage your desire. How dare you!"

"Oh, I dare, Carly. You see, desire is such an easy word to flaunt around."

Carly bit her tongue, stifling the urge to retaliate. Besides, it would do no good. She had already made up her mind.

Then why did she feel like she was selling her soul?

"Damn you, Marco."

But he said nothing, simply stared at her, one brow slightly cocked, his surety in himself so evident, so blasted real, that Carly felt her own self-confidence melt with every passing silent second.

Seconds escalated into minutes. Still he said nothing. She fumed inwardly. Finally he reactivated the lift and the conveyance slid soundlessly to the penthouse apartment. Marco opened the door and stood back to let her walk in.

Three steps inside and Carly halted mid-step.

Wall to wall glass offered a view over the city, across the harbor and the gulf islands and the harbor bridge that spanned the city's two shores. In every direction colorful lights like something from a fairy grotto blinked a million times a minute.

"Impressive,” she muttered, surprised she could even function.

"Once a designer, always a designer I suppose."

Carly shrugged, refusing to rise to the bait, but the moment Marco stepped up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, she stiffened.

"Don't. Please.” If she was going to go through with this, his touch was the one thing she couldn't handle. Instead, she stepped away and removed her coat, dropping it on the side of a brown leather sofa. Slowly, she gazed around the room. A rich, cream on cream had been painted on three walls and on the fourth a dark burgundy suede paint effect had been used on either side of the bricked fireplace. Leather, suede and stone. This was a man's home. Strong and defined with a myriad of textures for the senses.