The Unclaimed Baby (10 page)

Luca went in pursuit and captured her just as she knocked an ornament off one of the coffee tables in her effort to hide beneath it. Thankfully, the ornament just thudded to the carpeted floor without breaking and
without hurting her. ‘You little minx,' he said with a smile as he tugged her gently out by the ankles before he scooped her up in his arms.

Ella giggled and patted his face again. ‘
Papà
finded me.'

Luca smiled, even though his chest ached at the irony of his little girl's words. ‘Yes, Ella,
Papà
found you.'

He took her back to the bathroom and this time held on to her with one hand while he tried to open the change bag with the other. Ella wriggled and squirmed but somehow he managed to get a new nappy out as well as a change of clothes.

He decided upon inspection that it was a bath job, not a simple change of nappy. He ran a warm bath, carefully checking the temperature before he put Ella in. She laughed and kicked her legs under the water, splashing him in the process. He wished he had thought to buy some bath toys. He remembered having a rubber duck as a child and some little cups and a jug to play with. He made a mental note to get some the next day, as well as some baby bath instead of the heavily perfumed hotel bath foam in case it was too strong for her skin.

He thought of all the times Bronte must have done this, bathed and changed Ella, while juggling all the other things she had to do. No wonder she hadn't had time to sort out photos and albums.

‘Out now?' Ella said, holding her arms up.

‘Er… Right,' Luca said, reaching for a fluffy white towel. He wrapped it around her and lifted her out and carefully dried her. She fussed over getting dressed again, seeming to want to run around naked, but he somehow managed to convince her to wear a new nappy and another pair of leggings and matching dress.

‘I'm hungy,' Ella announced matter-of-factly.

Luca wondered if room service catered for kids this young. What did kids of this age eat, anyway? He knew she had teeth; he had seen them shining like little pearls when she grinned so cheekily at him. He just hoped she didn't have any allergies he should know about. But surely Bronte would have told him. Mind you, Bronte hadn't told him much. She had stormed out and left him to it, no doubt to drive home her point about him knowing zilch about being a parent. It annoyed him that she was right. He didn't have a clue and was still running on instinct and doing a pretty poor job of it if the current position of Ella's nappy was any indication.

He adjusted it as well as he could and carried her back to the lounge. She sat on the floor and played with his phone while he used the hotel phone to dial room service. Within a very short time indeed a waiter came up to the suite with a suitable meal for a toddler, which Luca then proceeded to offer to Ella.

More food ended up on the floor than in her mouth, and he seriously considered giving her another bath as she had smeared yoghurt all over the front of her dress, not to mention her face and hands.

Luca wondered what to do next. Was she too young to be read to? Not that he had any children's books. He made another mental note about getting some tomorrow.

He sat her on his knee and made up a story to keep her occupied. She looked up at him with a big smile and then settled her dark little head against his chest, right where his heart was beating. One of her thumbs crept up into her bee-stung mouth but he decided against pulling
it out. He continued with his story until she finally fell asleep in his arms.

He held her for a long time, just sitting there feeling her slight weight on his lap, wishing he had been there for her birth, for every single moment of her life. How could he make it up to her? How could he make it up to Bronte? Would Bronte ever forgive him for cutting her from his life the way he had? He had thought he was doing the right thing at the time, but now he had to face the fact that a simple phone call would have changed everything. If anyone was to blame, it was him, not Bronte. She had done what she could do to reach him but he had made it impossible for her to get through. Even if she had written to him, he knew he would not have opened it. He had made a pact with himself and it had come back to bite him in the most devastating way.

Ella sighed and gave her tiny thumb another couple of substantial sucks before she settled back down to a deep and peaceful slumber.

Luca stroked his hand over her little silky head, his eyes misting as he thought of how much he had missed. He would do whatever it took to put things as right as they could be.

Whatever it took…

 

Bronte came back to the hotel feeling a little foolish for her outburst. She had worried the whole time she was away, thinking of Ella waking up disoriented and confused. What had she been thinking, rushing off in a tantrum like that? It surely wouldn't help Luca see her as a responsible and sensible young mother.

She got to the penthouse floor and, rather than use
the swipe key, gave the door a soft knock so as not to wake Ella if she happened to still be asleep.

There was no answer.

She waited for another minute and then used the key. She walked into the lounge area to see Luca soundly asleep, with Ella, also out for the count, snuggled up against his chest. The penthouse looked as if a whirlwind had gone through it. There were toys and clothes strewn about the place and the remains of Ella's supper were still on one of the coffee tables.

Luca suddenly opened his eyes and, with his free hand, he quickly rubbed his face. ‘How long have you been back?' he asked.

‘Not long,' Bronte said, shifting her weight. ‘Look, I'm sorry about storming out like that.'

He gave her a crooked smile. ‘You did me a favour, Bronte. It's what I believe they call quality time,
sì
?'

She chewed at her bottom lip as she looked at what seemed to be smears of yoghurt all over the front of his designer business shirt. ‘I hope it wasn't too steep a learning curve,' she said. ‘Ella can have a mind of her own at times.'

‘She's a Sabbatini,' he said with the same lopsided smile. ‘We're all a little bit stubborn about getting our own way.'

‘Yes, well, I'm not going to argue with you about that,' Bronte said, folding her arms.

Luca looked down at the sleeping child. ‘She's a great little kid,' he said. ‘I just wish I could have known about her from the start.'

‘It was your choice to cut all contact.'

He raised his gaze back to hers. ‘Yes, it was and I take full responsibility for it.'

Bronte frowned at him. ‘So you're…you're apologising?'

He gave a small shrug. ‘Would it help if I did?'

She drew in a tight little breath. ‘Maybe, maybe not.'

Luca gently eased Ella off his lap and settled her onto the sofa, bunching up a couple of scatter cushions to keep her from rolling off the edge. Then he rose to his feet and came over to where Bronte was standing. ‘About last night—' he began.

Bronte felt hot colour shoot to her cheeks. ‘I'd rather not talk about it,' she said and took a step backwards but he caught her by the arm and held her in place.

‘I think we do need to talk about it,' he said.

‘It doesn't mean anything, you know,' she said, throwing him a cutting look. ‘It was just sex.'

His eyes smouldered darkly as his thumb began to gently caress the underside of her wrist where her pulse was skyrocketing. ‘It is never just sex with you, Bronte.'

She put her chin up. ‘Maybe I've changed in the time we've been apart.'

He brought her wrist up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin, his eyes holding hers mesmerised. ‘Then if you have changed you will have no problem with our marriage being a real one,' he said. ‘It will just be sex, nothing more, nothing less.'

Bronte felt the discomfort of being hoisted on one's own petard. ‘I know what you're trying to do,' she said, pulling her hand away. ‘You're trying to make me fall in love with you again.'

‘I am trying to make you see how we can have a wonderful life together,' he said. ‘I know there are hurts
to deal with. I know you don't trust me not to walk out on you again. But, Bronte, I am not the same man I was two years ago.'

She rolled her eyes. ‘People don't change that much, Luca. You'll have to do a whole lot more than talk if you want me to consider staying with you.'

A flinty look came into his eyes. ‘Don't forget who you are dealing with, Bronte,' he said. ‘I can still make things very difficult for you if you don't agree to marry me and move to Italy.'

Ella chose that moment to whimper. Bronte went to her and picked her up from the sofa, holding her close, as if daring Luca to take her from him. ‘You can make me marry you, Luca,' she said bitterly. ‘You can even make me live in a foreign country and make me play the role of the devoted wife. But you need to remember one thing: you can't—no matter what you do or say—make me love you again.'

Luca watched as she gathered Ella's things together, her stiff angry movements communicating her hatred of him. ‘I would like to see Ella each day until we leave,' he said through tight lips.

‘Fine,' she said, throwing him a filthy look over her shoulder as she stalked to the door.

‘Bronte?'

She drew in a harsh breath and faced him with an irritated look on her face. ‘Yes?'

His eyes bored into hers. ‘Last night wasn't just sex. Not for me.'

Her expression faltered for a moment, her small perfect white teeth sinking into her full bottom lip. But just as quickly she reset her features into a tight little mask
of indifference. ‘I bet you say that to all your lovers,' she said and, without another word, left him with just the lingering fragrance of her perfume for company.

T
HE
next three weeks passed in a blur of activity. Bronte's head was still spinning from the arguments she'd had with her mother over her acceptance of Luca's proposal. But in the end Bronte had refused to budge, knowing that if she said no to Luca she would not see Ella again.

He had made it perfectly clear: she was to marry him or suffer the consequences. It wasn't much of a choice, but then a secret part of her couldn't help but think of what life would be like married to him. That passionate interlude, which had left her body still smouldering in its wake all this time later, made her realise their marriage was not going to be the sterile paper agreement she had first thought. Even that evening at his hotel, even though he had only pressed his mouth to her wrist, she had felt every sensory nerve in her body stirring to throbbing, aching life.

However, since that night Luca had kept his distance physically. He kept their conversations brief and businesslike. He didn't touch Bronte once, not even to give her a kiss of greeting or goodbye. With Ella he was tender and attentive. He spent what time he could with her between appointments while Bronte watched in the
background. It made her heart tighten every time she saw Ella's big blue eyes looking up at Luca so trustingly. His relationship with her was developing so rapidly, making Bronte feel as if Ella preferred her father now to her. Her little hands reached up to touch his stubbly face and her tinkling bell-like giggles brought a smile to his face, softening his features so much it made Bronte feel all the more wretched about how she had handled things.

Luca had organised an account at a high street wedding designer. Within moments of stepping into the smart boutique, Bronte found herself zipped into an exquisite gown that didn't just cost the earth but quite possibly half of the universe too. Other things were delivered to the studio or the granny flat: designer clothes, lacy lingerie, toys and clothes for Ella.

Two days before they were due to leave, Luca arranged to come to the flat for dinner. He wanted to be there in time to bathe and feed Ella, as he had done the night at the hotel, as he had been unable to do since due to business commitments.

He arrived just as Bronte's mother was leaving. Tina gave him a death stare as she began to pass by him on the doorstep but he stalled her by holding out an envelope to her.

‘What is this?' Tina asked suspiciously.

‘It is an all expenses paid trip to Italy for your daughter's wedding,' Luca said. ‘I hope it will be the first of many visits to my homeland.'

Tina's mouth pursed, her gaze eyeing the envelope as if it was going to burst into flames as soon as she touched it.

‘I want you to continue to be involved in Ella's life,'
Luca said. ‘You are her maternal grandmother. You have been a big influence in her life so far. I don't want that to change.'

Bronte watched from the sidelines as her mother's eyes moistened. Tina took the envelope with a grudging murmur of thanks and left.

Luca closed the door and turned to face Bronte. ‘Do you think she will come?'

Bronte tucked a strand of loose hair back behind her ear. ‘I've talked to her about it. She has a passport but she's never used it. She had planned to go on a trip to visit me in London but I came home before she could get there.'

A frown pulled at his brow, making his features darken. ‘You can't resist reminding me of how I let you down, can you?' he asked.

‘I wasn't doing any such thing,' she said. ‘I simply told you—'

‘Papà!'
Ella toddled over, carrying the teddy bear Luca had given her, which was almost as tall as she was.
‘Papà!'

Luca smiled and scooped her up into his arms. ‘
Mio piccolo,'
he crooned. ‘How is my baby girl?'

‘She's been saying
Papà
a lot,' Bronte said. ‘Especially when she sees the toys you bought her.'

He smiled and kissed Ella's button nose. ‘I intend to give her everything money can buy,' he said.

Bronte unwound her twisted hands. ‘Luca…I don't think it's wise to spoil her with too much too soon. She's very young. I don't want her to feel entitled to everything she sees. She needs to learn to appreciate things by learning to wait for them.'

He turned his black-brown gaze on her. It was hard,
not soft and tender, and his smile had gone, leaving his mouth tight-lipped. ‘Do not tell me what I can and cannot do with my very own child,' he said in a clipped tone.

Bronte raised her chin. ‘She's a baby, Luca. She's not even two. She doesn't need a lot of expensive clothes and toys. She needs love and attention and security.'

‘She will get that and more,' he said, putting the wriggling child back down on the floor to play with her toys.

‘I am not sure how she is going to feel secure with us locked in a loveless, passionless marriage,' Bronte said, folding her arms across her middle.

Luca's eyes met hers, their smoky black depths sending a tingling feeling down her spine. ‘You think our marriage will be without passion?' he asked.

Bronte felt her face crawl with colour. ‘I'm not sure what to think. You've organised everything at breakneck speed. You've demanded I pack up my life here but I don't know what is expected of me on the other end.'

After a long moment he released a long sigh. ‘I know this is hard for you, Bronte,' he said. ‘It is hard for everyone. I feel for your mother, I really do. I feel for my mother and brothers and grandfather, who have missed out on all of Ella's babyhood so far. But you are Ella's mother and I am her father. There is no other way to do this.'

Bronte felt the sting of tears but fought them back. ‘You want everything your way. You want control. I understand that, but it's hard for me. I've worked so hard for my career. But now I am expected to give it all up for what? A marriage that is doomed to fail.'

‘It will not fail if we both work at it,' he said. ‘I
understand how important your career is to you. I am making arrangements for you to teach in Milan.'

‘I don't speak the language,' Bronte said glumly. ‘I'm not going to get very far without that.'

‘You can take lessons,' he said. ‘I want Ella to speak my language. It is important that she learns both English and Italian while she is young. It will help her if you speak both to her. I can organise a private tutor for you.'

‘It seems to me you can organise just about anything,' she said, scowling.

‘Not everything,' he said, raking a hand through his hair. ‘There are some things money will never be able to buy.'

Bronte watched him crouch down to help Ella with a toy. He ruffled Ella's soft fluffy hair, his smile tender but touched with sadness at the same time. There were times when she thought he was locking her out. A mask would come down over his face, like a shutter on his emotions, leaving her wondering what it would take for him to trust her enough to tell her what he was really feeling.

Luca rose from the floor with Ella in his arms. ‘I think she needs changing.'

‘I'll do it.'

‘I can manage,' he said. ‘I got through it the last time. I need the practice, in any case.'

Bronte led him through to the small bathroom and handed him the baby bath solution she used to protect Ella's skin. ‘I'll set out her night wear and a new nappy in the nursery for you,' she said.

When she came back Luca had Ella splashing in the bath. He was playing with a yellow duck, making
quacking noises, to Ella's delight. It was a typical bath time scene, a loving father and a happy, contented infant having fun together. But Bronte felt shunted aside. She could imagine over time how Ella would no longer look to her for anything. It would all be about Luca. She understood how he wanted to make up for the time he had lost, but still she couldn't quell the feelings of insecurity that were plaguing her incessantly.

After Ella was dried and changed Bronte left Luca to read a story to Ella before tucking her into bed. She noticed it was an Italian one, the melodic-sounding words reminding her of how soon she would be locked out by language as well as Ella's burgeoning love for her father.

After checking on the casserole she had in the slow cooker, she waited for him in the living room, blindly leafing through a magazine for the want of something to do other than chew her nails.

Luca came out after a few minutes. ‘She went to sleep like an angel,' he said.

‘She's usually pretty good about going to sleep,' Bronte said. ‘I guess I've been lucky that way. I'm not sure how I would have coped with a really difficult baby. It's been hard enough with her being so spirited and energetic.'

His mouth tightened. ‘There you go again, playing the blame game. Painting yourself as the victim. We were both victims, Bronte. When are you going to see that?'

Bronte shot to her feet. ‘When are you going to see that you can't just pick up where you left off? You broke my heart, Luca. You shattered my self-confidence. I
don't want to get hurt again. I
won't
get hurt by you again.'

‘Do you hate me that much?'

Bronte opened her mouth but then shut it, turning away so he couldn't see the glisten of tears in her eyes.

A taut silence beat for a moment or two.

‘Bronte?'

‘I think you already know the answer to that,' she said, still with her back to him.

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted long before his hands settled on her shoulders. How had her body known he was so close? A shiver went down her spine as she felt his strong tall body just behind her. If she leant backwards she would touch him, she would feel his heat and potency.

And she would be lost.

His warm breath skated over the sensitive skin of her neck as he spoke low and huskily near her ear. ‘You don't really hate me,
cara
. You hate that you still want me.'

Bronte spoke through stiff lips. ‘I don't want you. I loathe you.'

He gave a soft chuckle and slid his hands down the length of her arms, his fingers making a bracelet of steel around her wrists. ‘Why don't you show me how much you loathe me?' he said, brushing up against her from behind.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to resist the temptation. She could feel his body responding to her closeness, his arrant maleness and the musky scent of his arousal. Her body crawled with desire, every nerve ending dancing with the need for more of his touch. Her
breasts felt tight and achy, looking for the caress of his mouth and hands. Her inner core pulsed with need, a liquid hot need that had never really died down. It had smouldered like coals damped down in a fire, just waiting for the moment to spring back into leaping life.

‘Go on,' he said, nibbling on her earlobe with the soft playful bite of his strong white teeth. ‘Show me. I dare you.'

Bronte shivered again and her head fell to one side as his mouth moved over her neck before going to the top of her shoulder. She felt every movement of his lips, the soft brushes, the little nips, the slow drag and the sexy slide of his tongue. She was crumbling with need. She could feel her legs giving way…

He turned her in his arms and locked his eyes on hers. ‘Double dare you,' he said softly, tauntingly, irresistibly.

Bronte felt her lashes go down as his head came down. She felt the breeze of his breath but he went no further. He hovered above her mouth, waiting for her to come to him. She held off for as long as she could but it was a battle she was never going to win. She wondered if that was why he had kept his hands off her for the last three weeks, to prove how little she could resist him when he turned on the charm.

Well, he was right. She couldn't resist him. She couldn't fight it any longer. With a soft sigh of surrender she reached up and pressed her lips against his.

It was a slow kiss at first, soft and sensual but leisurely. Bronte wasn't sure when it changed or who had changed it. But suddenly there was nothing soft about it any more. There was hard urgency and heat and fiery purpose as his mouth commandeered hers. His tongue
stroked for entry and slipped in when she gave it, teasing hers into an erotic mimic of what was to come.

Her body went wild with want. She snaked her arms around his neck, holding him closer, her pelvis rubbing up against the rock-hardness of his. Her breasts flattened against his chest, the tight nipples driving into him as he kissed her hotly and deeply.

She kissed him back with just as much urgency. She used her teeth to bite and nip, teasing him, leading him on until her body was screaming for release. She heard him groan deep in the back of his throat as her tongue darted and dived out of reach of his, only to come back to tease and taunt him with hot moist licks.

He swung her around, away from the wall and pressed her to the floor at their feet. Clothes were discarded piece by piece but there was no order to it. Bronte heard something rip but disregarded it. All she could think about was being pinned by his strong powerful body and being taken to paradise.

His hands were everywhere. One minute he was cupping her face, the next her breasts, his thumbs rolling over the pert nipples until she was gasping with soft little breaths of pleasure. His mouth took over from his hands, the hot moist caresses curling her toes and melting her spine.

She could feel the rough carpet on the tender skin of her back but she was beyond caring. She reached for him once he had shucked himself out of his trousers and underwear.

‘If you are about to do what I think you are, I should warn you that you might get more than you bargained for,' he said in a voice that signalled how close he was to going over the edge.

Bronte sent him a sultry look from beneath her lashes. ‘I'm sure you will recover quickly from the experience.'

‘Don't do it, Bronte,' he bit out, his muscles clenching harder. ‘Don't do it…
ahhh
…'