The Unclaimed Baby (11 page)

Bronte smiled to herself as he shuddered through his release. He might have kept his distance for the last three weeks but he was no less immune to her than she was to him.

He pushed her back down to the floor, leaning over her with his weight, his mouth starting to work its way down her body. ‘My turn, I think,' he growled playfully.

Bronte felt a shiver rush down her body as his mouth closed over her breast. He sucked on her tantalisingly, drawing from her a whimpering cry. He went lower, down over her sternum, dipping his tongue into the tiny cave of her belly button before going deliciously, dangerously lower.

She drew in a sharp breath as his fingers gently opened her. She gripped his shoulders as his tongue brushed against her most sensitive point. A shudder went through her and then another as he repeated the caress again and again, picking up her internal rhythm, leading her step by inexorable step into the whirlpool of release. Her whole body shook with the explosion of pleasure that rippled through her. It was shameless, it was erotic, and it was primitive and unstoppable.

Bronte fell back but he wasn't finished with her. He moved back up her body, leaving her in no doubt of his rapid recovery. He was rock-hard and ready to go all over again. She gasped as he thrust into her deeply, the tight clutch of her inner muscles urging him on and on.
She dug her fingers into his buttocks, holding him tight as he went harder. She felt every movement of his body in hers. Delight coursed through her, lifting her skin in delicate goosebumps of pleasure. It had always been this way between them: a roller coaster ride of passion and pleasure that knew no bounds.

‘Tell me to slow down,' he said against her neck.

‘Go faster,' she whispered back shamelessly.

He brought his mouth down hard on hers, kissing her as his body continued its passionate pounding within hers. She lifted her hips for each downward thrust, urging him on as her need for him climbed higher and higher.

The final lift-off was cataclysmic. It shook her from head to foot, every convulsion of her body sending shockwaves through his. Bursts of colour exploded in her head like a crazy kaleidoscope. Pleasure shot through her like a powerful drug, leaving her limbless and useless in his arms.

She felt him plunge into oblivion moments later, the quick, hard final thrusts pumping the life force from him until he collapsed against her.

As soon as it was over Bronte felt ashamed. Their coupling was about lust, not love. It was the same as in the past. She was a convenience, a plaything to entertain him. He didn't want anything else from her. He didn't love her. He was incapable of loving her. He was only marrying her to get his child.

‘You are very quiet,' Luca said, raising himself up on his elbows to look down at her.

‘Please get off me,' she said, pushing against him with her arms.

He controlled her flailing hands in one of his. ‘Stop, damn it. What's the matter with you?'

She rolled her eyes. ‘How can you ask that?'

‘Bronte, we had consensual sex,' he said. ‘You're surely not suggesting anything else?'

She glowered at him. ‘This is all a game to you. You don't really want me as your wife. I'm just a means to an end. You get Ella with me thrown in for free. How convenient, a willing bed partner to entertain you whenever you feel like it.'

Luca studied her face for a moment. ‘This is about the last three weeks, isn't it?'

She turned her head away so she couldn't look at him. He turned her head back, anchoring her chin so she wouldn't pull away. ‘Look at me, Bronte,' he said. ‘I've kept my distance to give you some space to think about the future. I had a lot on my mind, in any case. I had to cram six weeks of business into three. This is not all about you.'

‘It's never been about me, has it?' she tossed back bitterly. ‘Right from the start, our relationship has always been about you. What you want, what you were prepared to give or not give, to do or not do. It was never about what I wanted.'

This time when she pushed at him he let her go. She snatched up her clothes and disappeared into her room, shutting the door behind her.

Luca rolled onto his back and rubbed his hand down over his face. She was right, of course. He had never allowed her to dictate the terms of their previous relationship. He had always been the one to state the way things were going to be. He couldn't have handled her turning up unannounced at his London home. He couldn't have
handled spending the night with her, or with anyone. He had never spent the night with anyone. It wasn't something he could have trusted himself to do until recently.

He got to his feet and pulled on his clothes. He used the bathroom and then checked on Ella. He stood, looking down at her sleeping angelic face, his heart feeling as if two large fingers had it in a hard pinch.

He heard a sound at the door and turned to see Bronte standing there. ‘Is she all right?' she asked in a whisper.

‘She's fine,' he said. ‘I was just checking on her.'

She turned and went back to the kitchen. Luca heard her opening a cupboard and turning on a tap and then the hiss of the kettle as it came to a boil. He pressed a kiss to his fingertips and laid it gently on Ella's cheek before he left the room.

When he came into the kitchen Bronte's face was still looking stormy. She banged a cup down on the bench and then a tin of instant coffee, sending him a fiery look. ‘Dinner's not quite ready but if you want a cup of coffee while you wait then this is all I've got. I don't have any wine.'

‘Bronte, let's get something straight right from the start,' he said. ‘I am not for a moment suggesting you haven't done a brilliant job of bringing up Ella to this point.'

She stood in a huffy silence, her slate-blue eyes wary as they held his.

‘Ella is a contented and happy toddler,' he continued. ‘She's a credit to you. I realise it must have been hard for you, alone and unsupported. If I could change that, I would do so. We have to move forward with what we've
got. And what we've got is a lot compared to most. What happened on that floor half an hour ago is proof of that.'

‘What happened on that floor was exactly the sort of thing I expect from you,' she spat at him. She stirred her coffee until it splashed over the sides. The ping of her teaspoon when she set it down seemed to underline the silence.

‘If you have something to say, then come right out and say it,' Luca said. ‘Don't play word games with me.'

Her eyes flashed blue flames of hatred at him. ‘I have carpet burn,' she said on a pout.

Luca felt his lips twitch. ‘Show me.'

She backed away, her eyes widening. ‘Get away from me.'

He cornered her against the work top, hip to hip, heat to heat. ‘Turn around,' he commanded softly.

Her chest rose and fell against his, her eyes slowly filling with moisture. She blinked rapidly but a couple of tears escaped.

Luca blotted them with the pads of his thumbs, his heart feeling another tight pinch. ‘Hey,' he said softly. ‘Is this about carpet burn or something else?'

She shoved him away, catching him off guard. She stalked to the living room, her arms like a barricade over her middle. ‘Don't you think it's about time you left?' she said, glancing pointedly at the clock. ‘I would hate for you to turn into a werewolf or something once it gets to midnight. Ten-thirty was always the cut-off point, I seem to remember.'

Luca drew in a breath as he thought about the first time he had woken up to realise what he had done while asleep. His body had let him down in a way that shamed
him even now. He refused to talk about it. He couldn't stand the pity or the revulsion. It was all behind him now and he wanted to keep it that way. ‘I will leave when I am happy we are clear on a couple of things,' he said. ‘Firstly, do you need some help with packing before we leave the day after tomorrow? I can't help you myself as I have some last minute business ends to tie up, but I can organise for someone to help you.'

‘That won't be necessary,' she said stiffly.

‘The second thing is the studio arrangements,' Luca said. ‘I've spoken to Rachel. She's happy to continue with the lease. It will take time for her to find another business partner. I'm not charging her rent for the first six months so she can get on her feet.'

‘Why would you do that?' she asked with a guarded look.

Luca shrugged. ‘It seemed the least I could do, under the circumstances.'

‘It doesn't seem like a very sound business decision,' she said, still with that same suspicious angling of her gaze.

‘Not all the decisions I make are motivated by making money,' he said.

He went over to where he had tossed his jacket earlier and took out a velvet ring box. He brought it back to where Bronte was standing and handed it to her. ‘You will need this,' he said. ‘I hope it fits. I had to guess the size.'

‘You could have asked me,' Bronte said, not caring that she sounded churlish and ungrateful.

He set his mouth and turned away. ‘You can smash it with a hammer if it's not to your taste.'

Bronte felt ashamed of herself as she opened the lid
of the box. The most beautiful diamond lay blinking there like a bright star in its night sky of dark blue velvet. Her throat closed over as she took it out and slipped it on her finger. It was a perfect fit. Not too small, not too big—just right. She looked up to where he was standing staring out of the window to the front garden. ‘Luca?'

He turned and strode over to scoop up his jacket and keys. ‘I have to go,' he said. ‘I will send a car for you and Ella on Friday at ten a.m. Don't be late.'

Bronte flinched as the front door snapped shut behind him. Her heart sank as she heard his car roar off down the street, and her tears fell freely as the low growling sound slowly faded into the distance.

W
HEN
Luca arrived in a chauffeur driven car on Friday morning there were too many people about for her to deliver the apology she had spent the last two days rehearsing. By the time she had said a tearful goodbye to her mother and Rachel, Ella needed her attention. When they got to the airport Luca was busy with officialdom so it wasn't until they were on the private jet, secluded in their own quarters, that she finally found herself alone with him, apart from Ella sleeping in a cot nearby.

‘Luca…' she began with a quick dart of her tongue over her lips. ‘I wanted to apologise to you about the way I spoke to you when you gave me the engagement ring.'

He turned one more page of the document he was reading and she heard him release a slow breath before he lifted his head to look at her sitting opposite him. ‘Forget about it,' he said and returned to his work.

She twirled the ring on her finger, her teeth gnawing at her lip as she watched him leaf through the lengthy document. The silence hummed… Well, perhaps it was really the jet that was humming as it levelled out after take-off but, all the same, Bronte felt as if a chasm had opened up between them.

‘I just wanted to say I'm sorry,' she said after a long moment. ‘It's a beautiful ring. It must have cost a fortune.'

He turned another page without looking up. ‘It did.'

Bronte moistened her lips again and watched him for a little while. He was frowning with concentration, his mouth flat and serious and his clean-shaven jaw tight. There were lines of tiredness about his eyes, which made her wonder if he had slept at all over the last couple of nights.

‘What are you reading?' she offered after another long silence.

‘Nothing important.'

‘Is it to do with the hotel developments in Australia?'

He closed the folder and met her eyes across the wide space between them. ‘Yes,' he said. ‘Now, why don't you lie back and have a sleep while Ella's down?'

Bronte twirled her ring again. ‘You're angry with me.'

‘Is that a statement or a question?'

‘It's an observation,' she said.

He gave her a wry smile that didn't reach his eyes. ‘And why would I be angry with you, do you think?'

She let out a choppy sigh. ‘Because I've been an absolute cow about all this.' She waved her hand to encompass their luxurious surroundings. ‘You've gone to a lot of trouble to arrange everything and I haven't thanked you once.'

‘You don't have to thank me,' he said.

‘But you've spent heaps on me and Ella too,' she said. ‘And buying Mum that ticket. She's going to come to
the wedding. I didn't think she would but she told me just as I was leaving. I don't know how to thank you for doing all that for me…for us…'

Luca put the folder on the seat next to him and, unclipping his seatbelt, stood up and came over to sit beside her. He took her hand in his and began idly stroking it with his thumb. ‘The money is nothing to me, Bronte. It's not what counts in life.'

Bronte looked into his dark eyes and felt something shift in her chest. ‘You really love Ella, don't you?' she asked softly.

‘Now that is definitely an observation,' he said with another wry smile. ‘There's no question about it. I love her more than life itself.'

Bronte felt an ache deep inside. If only he would say the same about her. How she had longed to hear those words. She looked down at their joined hands; hers looked so small inside the shelter and protection of his. His skin was so dark, so masculine with its sprinkling of black hair, while hers was so soft and smooth and creamy-white.

She felt a little quiver of awareness when she met his eyes again. Their dark depths reflected everything that had occurred between them two days ago. She could feel the rush of her blood and imagined his body doing the same. Was he remembering how it felt to be joined in out of control passion? Was he remembering the electric shock of intimate contact, the roller coaster ride of release that was as mind blowing as any illicit drug could be?

Luca took her chin between his finger and thumb, a soft tether that had an undercurrent of desire she could
feel through his skin to hers. ‘I have my own apology to deliver,' he said in a gravel-rough tone.

Bronte felt her face heating. ‘You don't have to apologise for anything.'

‘Oh, but I do,' he said in the same deep husky voice as he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. ‘I was rough with you. I could have hurt you.'

Bronte longed to slip her tongue out to touch his thumb. ‘You didn't,' she said in a breathless whisper.

His thumb stilled and his eyes centred on hers. ‘You mentioned something about carpet burn the other night.'

She lowered her gaze, hot colour surging into her cheeks. ‘I just said that to annoy you.'

He tipped her chin up again, holding her gaze with the dark intensity of his. ‘I really meant it when I said you should get some sleep,' he said. ‘There's a bed through there in the curtained section next to Ella.'

‘But I don't feel tired,' she said as her gaze slipped to his mouth.

His mouth turned up at the corners in a sexy smile. ‘Then maybe I can think of something to occupy you until you do.'

Bronte's heart gave a little sideways movement as her eyes came back to his. ‘You mean…here? In the plane?'

His eyes were glinting. ‘No one will disturb us. We have this entire section to ourselves.'

She gave him a shy look. ‘You really think of everything, don't you?'

He pressed a kiss to the tips of her fingers. ‘Go and get ready,' he said. ‘I will be with you in a minute.'

 

Bronte yawned and stretched a few hours later. Her body was still tingling from Luca's passionate but exquisitely tender lovemaking. She turned her head to look at him. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling as he slept.

She smiled and softly traced a fingertip down his sternum, all the way down to his belly button. This was the longest time she had ever spent in bed with him. Seven hours, almost a complete night.

She trailed her fingers over his flat dark nipples and, as she went a little lower, she felt him flinch but his eyes remained closed. She circled his navel a couple of times, lightly, teasingly. Then she went even lower, millimetre by millimetre, watching as his abdominal muscles tightened as her caresses approached his growing erection. She took him in her hand, squeezing ever so gently, her fingers sliding down the shaft, her belly turning to liquid as he swelled even further.

He suddenly moved, rolling her on to her back in a quick movement, his body surging into hers in one slick hard thrust that sent the air right out of her lungs. She gasped in delight as he set a steady pace, her already damp body making it easy for him to gain momentum. She scored her nails down his back as the sensations rippled through her. She was climbing to the summit so quickly, all her senses spinning in the wake of his touch. His mouth captured hers, subjecting it to a sensual assault that made the hair on her head lift in pleasure.

Her body split into a thousand pieces as she came. Her mind blacked out in that moment of sheer ecstasy, every muscle, nerve and sinew twitching in the aftermath. Luca followed with his own release, a deep pumping of his body within hers, his agonised groan
of pleasure sending a shiver of reaction straight down Bronte's spine.

Long minutes passed.

Bronte was content to lie in the circle of his arms, playing mind games with herself about him loving her and wanting her back in his life for good, even if Ella wasn't an issue. Her love for him had never really gone away. She had blocked it out in order to protect herself. She still had nightmares about him leaving her again. Any rejection was hard to take, but one that she had been more or less waiting for right from the start for some reason had been so much worse. It had destroyed her trust and her self-confidence had never really recovered. Telling him how she felt was out of the question. She had told him too much too soon in the past and look where that had taken her. No, this time she would play it cool. No hearts worn on the sleeve, no confessions of eternal love. No long-term promises. She would be cool and clinical about their arrangement. A marriage that would give her the security she had longed for, financial if not emotional. She had watched her mother struggle all of her life to put food on the table. At least Bronte would not have those sorts of worries to deal with. It was a compensation of sorts, but not exactly as reassuring as she would have liked.

Luca lifted his head and pressed a kiss to the end of Bronte's nose. ‘Hey,' he said.

‘Hey yourself,' she said back.

His eyes held hers for several beats before he spoke. ‘Are you currently on the Pill?'

Bronte felt a little flutter of unease. ‘Yes, but only a low dose one to control period pain.'

‘If you were to fall pregnant you wouldn't get period pain, though, would you?' he said.

A small frown began to pull at her brow. ‘What exactly are you saying, Luca?' she asked.

He brushed some tousled strands of her hair back from her face. It was a stalling tactic, Bronte suspected, which made her angry. Why couldn't he just touch her because he couldn't help it?

‘I am saying we should maybe think about trying for another child,' he said, this time lazily curling a strand of her hair around one of his fingers. ‘I missed out on the first year and two months of Ella's life. If we were to have a brother or sister for Ella it would make me feel less of that loss, I am sure. The gap between them would be ideal. If you were to fall pregnant more or less straight away, she would be out of nappies and a little more independent when the baby arrives.'

Bronte put her hands on his chest to try and push him off her. ‘Let me up.'

He refused to budge, pinning her with his body, his eyes locked on hers. ‘What's the problem,
cara
?' he asked.

She gave him a fulminating look. ‘You've got it all planned, haven't you?'

He let her hair fall from his fingers. ‘I haven't planned anything, Bronte. I am merely suggesting—'

Without the tether of her hair, this time she managed to wriggle out from under him. She scrambled to her feet and grabbed a bathrobe with his family's insignia on it, tying it about her waist with angry, jerky movements. ‘I am not some stupid breeding machine,' she said through tight lips.

He reached for the matching bathrobe and slipped
it on with much less haste than Bronte had. ‘You have an amazing ability to twist my words,' he said with a thread of anger stitched in his voice. ‘You will be my wife in a matter of days. It is not unreasonable for me to suggest we think about having another baby some time in the future. It doesn't have to be straight away. I just think it is something we should seriously think about, especially since I missed out on all this before.'

Bronte's eyes flashed. ‘It's totally unreasonable! I'm not ready to have another baby.'

He placed his hands on his hips, his legs splayed in a let's-talk-about-this pose. ‘What are your main objections?' he asked.

She stared at him for a tense moment before she blew out a breath. ‘How can you ask that?'

‘Bronte, I want more children,' he said with an intractable set to his mouth. ‘I would like to have a son.'

Bronte sent him a death glare. ‘So your daughter isn't good enough? Is that it?'

His eyes rolled upwards in an impatient manner. ‘There you go again, twisting my words. I love Ella. She's my whole world. I'm just saying I would like to have a son if fate or destiny or God or whatever allows it.'

‘We might have several daughters,' she said with a hitch of her chin.

‘Then I will love each one with all my heart.'

But what about me?
Bronte silently asked.
Will you ever love me with all your heart?
‘I can see why your sister-in-law left your brother,' she said with a cynical twist to her mouth. ‘Is it a Sabbatini condition upon marriage to produce an heir and a spare as soon as possible?'

He pushed his thick black hair back off his face. ‘Maybe we should discuss this some other time,' he said.

‘No,' Bronte said. ‘Let's discuss it now. I am not going to be an incubator. I am not going to agree to bring another child into this relationship unless I am convinced it is stable and secure.'

‘Our marriage will be more secure than most,' he pointed out. ‘You will want for nothing. Most women would give anything to be in your position.'

Bronte folded her arms. ‘Money means nothing to me, Luca. You should know that by now. It doesn't impress me.'

‘I know that,' he said. ‘I admire that about you. I've always admired that about you. It's the one thing that has always set you apart from all the other women I have been involved with before you came along.'

She felt the wind drop right out of her self-righteous sails. ‘You say that as if there has been no one since me,' she said, looking down at the floor.

There was a short but telling silence.

Bronte slowly brought her gaze back to his. He was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. ‘Luca?'

His slowly spreading smile was self-deprecating. ‘Not quite the bed-hopping girl-in-every-port playboy profile you were expecting, is it, Bronte?'

She looked at him in confusion. ‘But you were in America… Your housekeeper told me about your…your mistress…'

‘There wasn't a mistress.'

Bronte wanted to believe him. Everything in her wanted to believe him but her mind just couldn't get
around it, couldn't accept it. ‘Then why…?' She left the question hanging in the air between them.

He rubbed a hand over his in-need-of-a-shave face, an abrasive sound that seemed louder than it should have in the silence. ‘I was in America for something else. Something personal.'