by Abby Green
‘The end result...?’ Rose parroted back, struggling to get her hormones back under control. She felt raw.
‘Yes. The end result being that no woman is a fixture in my life—not even the ones who play hard to get. And not even the ones who get pregnant in a bid to earn themselves a fortune at my expense.’
He smiled then, as she digested his words, but it didn’t meet his eyes.
‘You’re good for an innocent. I’ll give you that. Who knows? Maybe you’ve been practising in the meantime. Maybe this baby isn’t mine at all...but you’re not going anywhere till I know for sure. And if paternity is confirmed, be under no illusions. He, or she, will be a Valenti. No force on earth will prevent that. This child will not suffer because of your betrayal and greed. It will be under my protection, and the extent of your involvement will be negotiated with me.’
At that stark declaration—at the prospect of what that would mean—Rose felt fear grip her by the throat, cutting off her breath. She felt weak and told herself it wasn’t because of that kiss. The sofa was nudging the back of her knees and she sat down.
She tried to rationalise, to reassure herself. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t... But she knew as she looked into that hard-boned face and saw those eyes full of disgust that he could. And would.
Zac Valenti had already shown the world what he did to people who got on his wrong side. He excised them from his life like a toxic wound and he flourished in the aftermath.
He’d famously left his fiancée standing at the altar, subjecting her to public ridicule and humiliation. And that was a woman who hadn’t even betrayed him. Rose knew he would do much worse to her.
A bitter dart struck her as she realised that he still suspected the baby might be someone else’s. Considering the anxiety she’d endured for the last few months, and the morning-to-midnight jobs she’d taken to improve her father’s chances of getting that operation, it was laughable that she would have taken another lover.
Right now she knew that she couldn’t endure another bruising round of words or, worse, his taking a notion to prove that he felt nothing for her by kissing her again. He’d done it purely to prove a point. That she’d revealed herself so easily burnt her up inside.
Maybe it was better this way... Better for her to have found out exactly how detached Zac had been all along. Better that than have him guessing for a second how much it had meant to her, losing her virginity to him. If he ever knew that...
The thought made her break out in a cold sweat.
She stood up, locking her legs into place in case they were still wobbly after the adrenaline rush of his kiss. ‘If that’s all for this evening, I’m quite tired. I’d like to go to bed.’
‘It’s not quite all, actually.’
Rose looked at him and truly hated him in that moment. She bit out, ‘What more is there?’
‘Your passport. We’ll need to pick it up from your house on the way to the airport tomorrow—along with whatever personal items you want to bring.’
Rose shook her head as if that might help clear it. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I have business in Tuscany. We’ll be in Italy for about ten days.’
Rose opened her mouth to protest against this further display of might and arrogance, but Zac cut in curtly, ‘This isn’t up for discussion. You’re coming with me.’
She watched open-mouthed as he turned and strode away from her, having delivered his decree, but just before he disappeared he turned again. ‘There are some ready-to-eat meals in the fridge, prepared by my housekeeper. Help yourself.’
Rose’s mouth had snapped shut, but now she said testily, ‘I’m surprised you’re allowing me to eat. Surely it’d be preferable if I just wasted away out of your life altogether.’
Zac made a tsking sound, and Rose immediately regretted her childish outburst, but at this stage she was tired and hungry and feeling thoroughly claustrophobic at the thought of going anywhere with this man.
‘I’m concerned, naturally, for your well-being—assuming that you are carrying my child until it is proved otherwise. And to that end I’ll be setting you up with the best gynaecologist in Manhattan as soon as we return from Italy.’
He sent a dismissive glance up and down her body. ‘I’ll have a stylist send over some clothes before we leave.’
This was too much. Hotly, Rose protested, ‘I have plenty of my own clothes.’ That wasn’t actually true, and her own clothes were beginning to feel distinctly tight around the midriff. She hadn’t had time to invest in maternity wear yet.
As if reading her mind, Zac spoke again. ‘While I will be doing my utmost to keep you out of the press until the baby’s paternity is confirmed, I can’t guarantee their interest will die down. And as long as your name is linked to mine you’ll look the part.’
When he was gone Rose sank down onto the sofa like a limp rag. Of course all he cared about now was the baby and how she might look. A man who dated supermodels obviously didn’t want to be seen to be lowering his standards.
She thought of her father then, lost for a moment in all the tumult, and vowed to call him as soon as she was alone in her room. Luckily she hadn’t made any plans to see him until closer to the operation. He believed she was working and didn’t want her to disrupt her schedule for him.
As much as Rose would have loved to march after Zac right now and tell him she would not be going anywhere with him, she knew she couldn’t. For all the same reasons she’d allowed him to bring her here in the first place. And, she had to concede weakly, the prospect of getting out of Mrs Lyndon-Holt’s orbit was very tempting.
Rose put a protective hand on her small but burgeoning belly and squeezed her eyes shut, assuring herself that she would get through this. She would. These, after all, were the consequences of her actions and she had to bear them. Somehow.
* * *
Zac looked at the slim figure silhouetted against the bucolic view. The late-summer Italian sun was glorious, sending out different-hued rays of gold and red as it set to the west. A warm breeze ruffled Rose’s wavy hair slightly, and Zac had to admit grudgingly that this was a magnificent setting for her pale rose-gold beauty.
She was standing at a low stone wall—the perimeter of his Tuscan villa which overlooked miles and miles of rolling hilly green countryside, not far from the city of Siena.
Rose was wearing some of the clothes he’d had sent over to the apartment before they’d left New York. The expensive fabrics suited her. Skinny jeans clung to her slim legs like a second skin. Her feet were encased in flat leather sandals. And then higher...to where her pert derriere and slim back gave no indication that she was pregnant from behind.
Even though he couldn’t see her belly right now, he had been acutely conscious of the small proud swell, revealed when the wind had pressed her loose-fitting sleeveless top to her belly as they’d walked to the plane at a private airfield near JFK airport earlier.
She’d pulled on a cashmere top on the plane, and Zac had never before been so distracted by the way the soft material could mould itself to a woman’s curves. Or how tactile it looked. His fingers had itched and all he’d been able to think about was how hard it had been to stop kissing her the day before.
She’d curled up on the seat opposite him, her luminous green gaze glued out of the window as if she’d never seen the world from above before. Even after the plane had levelled off to cruising altitude.
He’d been irritated enough by her prolonged wide-eyed wonder to ask, ‘Haven’t you been on a plane before?’
She’d looked at him and said, ‘Yes, but I’ve never left the States.’
She’d said it with a hint of defiance and Zac had felt his conscience prick. Then she’d turned away again and resolutely ignored him for the rest of the flight.
Zac knew that part of his irritation
was stemming from the fact that he couldn’t seem to get a handle on her. She wasn’t behaving as he might have expected. At all. And that made him deeply suspicious—which was no bad thing in light of her devastatingly effective deception.
He took a breath now and told himself that she couldn’t get up to much right under his nose.
The surroundings soothed him somewhat...reminding him of the big picture and what was important. He’d been so caught up with extricating himself from his family and forging his fortune in the last few years that he hadn’t even contemplated what he wanted for the long term.
Faced with the prospect of a baby, he had to. But it was no bad thing. Because now he knew that this was what he wanted more than anything: for the Valenti name to survive and grow strong again. For it to be recognised as a force.
He might not have chosen Rose O’Malley to be the mother of his child, but the conniving schemer had handed him a golden opportunity and he was not going to let it slip beyond his control now—no matter what secret plan she’d cooked up with his grandmother.
* * *
Rose knew Zac was behind her, studying her. She could almost hear his brain whirring. She’d had a blissful few moments to explore on her own. She should have known it wouldn’t be long before he came to check up on his inconvenient guest. All through the flight to Italy she’d been conscious of his eyes tracking her every movement. It was as if he was just waiting for her to do something. What, she wasn’t sure.
The view that rolled out in front of her was so beautiful it almost hurt. Her father had always told her how green Ireland was, but this looked greener than anything she could have imagined. It made her heart hurt, because she knew how badly he wanted to visit his homeland again to spread her mother’s ashes, and if the operation wasn’t successful it might be something she would have to do on her own, some day...
She diverted her mind away from such maudlin thoughts.
Her father was in the clinic. That was all that mattered. That was what was making this worth it.
Zac had described this place as a ‘villa’. To Rose, though, it was more like a medieval castle. A huge sprawling terracotta castle, with terraces and courtyards and beautiful gardens tucked out of sight, bursting with flowers and greenery. There was even a swimming pool in one secluded courtyard, and it had looked deliciously inviting.
Zac came alongside her now and every tiny hair on her body stood up. She was glad of the covering of the soft cashmere pullover and crossed her arms firmly over her chest.
She couldn’t help saying softly, ‘This is beautiful.’
‘Yes, it is.’
Rose looked at him. While she’d been looking around he’d changed out of the suit he’d worn on the plane and into faded denims and a long-sleeved polo top, with the sleeves pushed back to reveal muscular forearms.
Seeing him like this, against this backdrop, was almost too much to take in. She instantly felt crumpled and inelegant, in spite of the new clothes.
Zac was backing away now, saying, ‘Maria has prepared a light supper. We’ll eat on the terrace—this way.’
Rose was so momentarily distracted by his tight behind in the jeans that he was almost gone from sight before she moved.
When she rounded a corner of a small pathway edged with bright flowers, it led straight onto a terrace, where a table had been set out with white linen, a small vase of flowers and candles. A rotund woman with a smiling face caught her arm and led her to the table, babbling in broken English.
Rose had met her earlier. She was the housekeeper, Maria. The woman oozed friendly Italian maternal warmth and Rose had found herself feeling absurdly tearful, reminded of her mother. She’d been shocked to hear Zac conversing with her in what sounded like fluent Italian.
He was sitting at the table now and flicking out a napkin to spread on his lap, reaching for bread and drizzling olive oil on top. He looked remote, and as Rose sat down and helped herself to some bread she said, ‘Don’t feel you have to be polite and share dinner with me. I’d be perfectly happy to eat in the kitchen with Maria.’ Whom she was sure would provide more pleasant company and be infinitely less disturbing to her equilibrium.
Zac sent her a pointed look. ‘Don’t act the martyr. It doesn’t suit you. And I won’t have you putting Maria to work serving dinner in two places just so you’re more comfortable.’
Rose glared at Zac and said testily, ‘That is not fair. Of course I didn’t mean to put her out.’
She clamped her mouth shut, in case she might say something else, and Maria appeared again to put down a platter of antipasto, beaming at Zac like a fond mother.
Zac smiled back at Maria, and seeing his face so transformed knocked the breath from Rose’s chest. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to be under that all too seductive approving regard, and she felt ridiculously emotional for a moment.
But as soon as Maria left the smile faded and Zac busied himself with the food. He glanced at her empty plate. ‘You don’t like antipasto?’
Rose forced herself to take some dried meats and salad, knowing that she couldn’t let Zac ruin her appetite. It wasn’t good for her or the baby. And, once she’d started eating and tasted the delicious food, her appetite thankfully kicked in.
Despite the ever-constant levels of tension, Rose found that she was relaxing as the evening closed in around them, bringing the melodic calls of native birds. The sky looked like velvet strewn with pink ribbons, and the air was warm and fragrant.
It was...idyllic. A million miles from Manhattan and Zac’s supercharged life. Yet, looking at him now, she thought he might have been born to this. He looked like a true Italian, and for the first time Rose found herself wondering about the origin of the break between him and his family.
‘What kind of business are you involved in here in Italy?’
Zac put his coffee cup down. It should have looked ridiculous in his big hands, but of course it didn’t. It only reminded Rose of what those hands had felt like on her body. She flushed.
Sounding distinctly reluctant, he said after a few seconds, ‘It’s a mine nearby. It was defunct, but we did some exploration and discovered a new seam of iron.’
Rose frowned. ‘I didn’t know you were involved with the industry—I thought you dealt only in finance and the hotel and nightclub business.’
He raised a brow. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Rose.’
She might have asked more about the business if she’d felt she could. But Zac was right—what on earth did she really know about him? It scared her to think how easily she’d trusted herself to him in the beginning. And he’d only had to kiss her yesterday before she’d started cleaving to him again like some kind of starved groupie.
Zac stood abruptly from the table, putting down his napkin, clearly done with their tense dinner. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make. You should get an early night—you look tired.’
If Rose had felt at a low ebb earlier next to Zac’s rude vitality, now she felt even more lacklustre. She didn’t doubt that not many women had the nerve to appear in Zac’s company looking anything less than stunning.
He was about to walk away when she called after him lightly, ‘I presume I’m to be seen and not heard for the next ten days?’
Zac turned back, the lines of his body suddenly tense. ‘Don’t worry, Rose, I won’t forget you’re here.’
He disappeared into the sprawling villa and Rose deflated like a balloon, all the tension leaving her body. She hated it that she was in such a constant state of awareness around him when he barely tolerated her.
Something dangerous tugged on her emotions now that she was mercifully unobserved. If only those two first times she’d met him hadn’t been so magical...if only she hadn’t been tempted to take what he was offering and convince herself that it would be okay
...
Rose shook her head at herself. She had to stop thinking like that.
She had no regrets...
She put a hand over her small belly and took a deep breath, trying not to let a feeling of being all alone steal over her. She refused to give in to that vulnerability. She’d gotten herself into this situation—her and this baby—and it was up to her to make the best of it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FOR THREE DAYS Rose had an almost pleasant time. A wave of exhaustion had seemed to hit her after that first night, and she’d spent most of her time sleeping, taking long siestas during the hottest part of the day. Then Maria had taken her into the local village when she’d gone shopping the previous day, and Rose had loved looking around the market and the small artisan shops.
Zac had come and gone from the villa, sometimes using a helicopter, and hadn’t offered to share a meal with Rose again. She’d gotten used to eating alone on the terrace and told herself she didn’t mind. How could she mind? She was in one of the world’s most amazing locations and she was being waited on hand and foot, like a princess.
She’d braved the pool earlier, and lay beside it now after a long, leisurely swim. She was trying to engage with a book she’d taken from one of the bookshelves in the comfortable den.
That was the other thing about this house...it didn’t resemble the ascetic decoration of Zac’s apartment in New York. This was more like a home. Rose could imagine a family here...children chasing each other through the pathways and gardens...
She put down the book and closed her eyes, losing herself for a moment in the daydream, an unconscious smile making her mouth curl up...
* * *
Zac stood at a standstill in the shadows of a tree near the pool. Rose was reclining on a sun lounger in a bikini. As a connoisseur of women’s clothing, Zac knew this bikini was perfectly respectable—demure, even—but his eyes devoured her slim limbs and high breasts as if he’d never seen a semi-naked woman before.
His body got hard in an instant, and he scowled at his reaction. She wasn’t even trying to be sexy. She had a hand spread across her burgeoning belly and Zac felt the most compelling impulse to go over and place his hand there too, feel it for himself. Would it be firm? Could she feel the baby kicking yet?