His eyes narrowed. “I warn you, this is not a time for games.” He jerked his head toward the telephone. “That message. Does it mean you are with child?”
Such an old-fashioned phrase. Another time, she might have found it charming. Now, she found it a measure of how much Nicolo Barbieri belonged in a world that was as far from her own as Earth was from the moon.
“That message was for me. I have no intention of discussing it with—”
He was on her before she could finish the sentence, his hands hard on her elbows as he lifted her to her toes.
“You are three months pregnant!” His grasp on her tightened. “Three months ago, you slept with me.”
“I told you, I am not going to discuss this!”
“You will discuss whatever I wish, when it concerns me.” He lowered his head until his eyes were on the same level as hers. “How many other men were you with three months ago?”
Oh, how she hated him! And yet, he had every right to think that way about her. She’d gone into his bed with no more planning than the slut he’d called her. With less planning, she thought, or she wouldn’t be pregnant!
“I asked you a question.”
“And I told you to get out.” Aimee’s voice trembled; she hated herself for the show of weakness. “You have no right—”
“You will answer me! How many others were there?”
She wrenched free of his hands. “A hundred. A thousand. Ten thousand! Are you satisfied?!”
The expression on his face was terrifying. She didn’t care. Let him think whatever he liked. Let him think anything, so long as he went away and left her alone.
“I assume,” he said, his voice clipped, “that is an exaggeration. Still, all things considered, do you actually know who the father is?”
She’d asked for the insult by her behavior that night and by her answer a moment ago. Still, it took all her control not to launch herself at him and claw out his eyes.
“Whoever it is, it isn’t your problem.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re going to—”
He caught her again, pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her savagely.
“Does that shake your memory, Aimee? Does it remind you that I have every right to demand answers—or have you forgotten I spent half the night spending myself inside you three months ago?”
Her face flamed. “I hate you,” she said, struggling against his iron grip. “You’re a bully. You’re disgusting. You’re—”
He kissed her again, harder than before, his lips, his teeth, his hands all a harsh reminder of his power.
“I am all that and more. Now answer the question. Who fathered the child you carry? Was it me?”
Her mind raced. All she had to do was say no. That would be the end of it.
And yet, how could she?
She didn’t care about lying to Nicolo. But lying to the tiny life within her…
There was something terrible in that.
She knew thinking that way was crazy but everything that had happened today was crazy. Why not this, too?
Besides, the truth wouldn’t change anything. This was her responsibility. She wasn’t naïve; she knew how these things went. In school and then here in the city, she’d known women who’d been in the same fix. Things always ended the same way. The men denied being responsible. Or, if confronted by irrefutable proof, made some kind of settlement to avoid a nasty legal action and then went on with their lives.
The women ended up making decisions that would affect them forever. Abortion. Adoption. Single-mother-hood. Choose the one you hoped would be best for you, for your baby, then live with it.
This would be no different. Considering that Nicolo hadn’t already run out the door, his solution to the problem was surely going to be money.
Not that she gave a damn.
She was not weak. She could handle this on her own, and to hell with Nicolo Barbieri.
The sooner he understood that, the better.
“Is this baby mine?” he demanded.
Aimee looked up in defiance. “You’re goddamned right it is.”
Except for the almost-painful tightening of his hands on her flesh, he showed no emotion.
“You are certain?”
An ugly question, but she didn’t flinch. “Absolutely.”
“There was no one else who could have—”
“No.”
“Because, I promise you, Aimee, I will demand blood tests.”
“What you’d want is a DNA test,” she said coldly. “They’re a much more reliable proof of paternity, according to a law class I took in college.” She smiled thinly. “But bothering with the test would be a waste of time.”
His lips drew back from his teeth in what might have been an attempt at a smile.
“That decision will be mine. It will not be yours.”
His accent was growing more and more pronounced. She’d already figured out that was a sure sign he was having trouble controlling his temper.
Too bad.
She had a temper, too. And there was a limit to how many insults a woman, even an imprudent one, had to take.
“Believe me, Prince Barbieri. I’ve only done a few foolish things in my life.” Aimee jerked free of his hands. “And going to bed with you rates as number one.”
His face darkened. “Insulting me at a time like this is not wise.”
“Then don’t insult me by calling me a liar! You asked the question. I answered it. Unfortunately you don’t like the answer, but that doesn’t change that fact that it was you who made me pregnant.”
“I made you pregnant.” His words were filled with soft malice. “Such an interesting way to phrase what happened that night, cara.”
She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “What happened was that I’d had too much to drink.”
“I don’t recall you having anything to drink.”
His assessment was closer to the mark than hers. She’d had one drink. Actually, a couple of sips of one drink, but she wasn’t going to be sidetracked into a discussion of why she’d had sex with him when she didn’t understand it herself.
“The point is, you impregnated me.”
“Now you describe a laboratory experiment.” He moved toward her slowly, gaze locked to hers, and though she hated herself for it, she took a step back. “But that was not what happened in that bathroom or in my bed.”
“There is no reason to have this conversation.”
“Ah, but there is.” He was a breath away now, his eyes glittering with heat as her shoulders hit the wall. “I think you need reminding of what we did that night.”
“I have all the reminding I need.”
“Si. So it would seem. My child in your womb.” His gaze flattened. “Was this part of the great plan?”
Aimee blinked. “What?”
“Such an innocent face, cara.” His mouth twisted with derision. “And such a devious scheme. The clever meeting on the street. The coincidental meeting at the club. The seduction.” He cupped her face, raised it to his until the midnight-blue of his eyes filled her vision. “And now, this. An heir to your grandfather’s kingdom. A child of my blood from the womb of a Stafford-Coleridge-Black descendant.” His gaze darkened. “Such an amazing set of coincidences.”
“You are,” Aimee whispered shakily, “an evil man.”
“I am a logical man. One who assumed you were using protection.”
“I was. It failed.”
“How convenient it failed when failure was most necessary.”
Her eyes filled with angry tears. “I despise you!”
“That really breaks my heart, cara.”
“When I think that—that I let you touch me—”
“You let me touch you?” Nicolo gave a sharp bark of laughter. “You begged me to touch you. I remember every word. Every whisper.”
“I must have been out of my mind.”
Aimee’s face was white
with exhaustion. Clearly this was taking its toll and, just for a second, Nicolo’s anger lessened.
She was pregnant. And she had been so ill just a short while ago….
So what? he thought coldly.
She had brought it all on herself. Did she really expect him to believe her birth control protection had failed? A woman like her…Surely she would know all about such things.
And what about you?
The thought whispered its way from the depths of his conscience. He had to admit, it was a fair question.
He had taken Aimee without a condom. And he always used a condom, even if a woman said it wasn’t necessary.
Perhaps he was old-fashioned but protection was a man’s responsibility, especially in today’s sometimes ugly world.
So, what had become of his sense of responsibility that night?
It had flown out the window along with the ability to think with his brain instead of his body.
He’d wanted Aimee more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. Dio, he was getting hard, just remembering.
Nicolo cursed, spun away from her and paced across her kitchen. He ran his hands through his hair and told himself he was crazy.
His entire world had been upended and he was thinking about what it had been like to make love to a woman who was a stranger to him in every way that mattered.
What he had to think about was not that. It was what he should do next.
Should he contact his attorney? Demand to speak with her physician? What were his financial responsibilities, now and in the future?
Whenever an acquaintance married and had a child, he’d think, yes, I suppose I shall have a son, too, sometime in the future. Perhaps because his father had hardly ever been around when he was growing up, being a parent had never seemed anything more than a vague idea.
Now, it was fast becoming reality, assuming a lab test said Aimee Black was telling the truth. Assuming she wanted to remain pregnant.
Nicolo’s jaw tightened.
That would, of course, be her decision.
But it was a great deal to take in all at once. A child. His child. In the womb of a woman who had stirred him so that he’d forgotten everything he’d ever known about self-control.
To hell with that. Angry at Aimee, angry at himself, he swung toward her again.
“I assume you’ve made plans.”
“They don’t concern you.”
“What are those plans?”
“I just said—”
“Whatever you do, you will need proper care.”
“Didn’t you hear me? What I do is not your concern.”
“The message from your doctor. I gather he found you well.”
“She found me well,” Aimee said, with a lift of her chin.
Could a man laugh at such a moment? Nicolo found that at least he could smile.
“I stand corrected. And this—this OP?”
“OB-GYN. And we’re not going to have this conversation.”
“This is a specialist?”
“Damn it, Barbieri—”
“I see I am no longer that magnificent creature, the prince,” he said dryly.
“You are an intruder. And I want you to out of my home immediately.”
“What is this OB-GYN?”
“An obstetrician. Must I phone the police to get rid of you?”
“And tell them what, cara? That it annoys you to discuss your pregnancy with the man responsible for it?” He flashed a thin smile. “I suspect the officers who respond to your call would enjoy something to lighten their day.”
“Nicolo.” Her voice was weary. “Why are you doing this?”
He strode to her and cupped her elbows. “I am doing it,” he said sharply, “because you claim my child lies in your belly.”
“You asked for the truth. Don’t blame me if…” Aimee gasped and tried to catch his hands. “What are you doing?”
“Opening your robe,” he said calmly, as he undid the sash. “I want to see this pregnancy of yours.”
“I told you, it’s not…” Her breath caught as he spread the lapels of her robe wide. “Damn you, Nicolo—”
“It is my right,” he said coldly.
It was. Wasn’t it? The right of a man to see the body of a woman who claimed she carried his baby?
Dio, he had almost forgotten how beautiful she was.
The night they met, she’d worn something wickedly sexy under that incredible crimson dress. A black bra. A black thong. Both silky and small enough to hold in the palm of his hand.
Now, she wore sensible white cotton. A bra and panties. And it didn’t matter. She had the kind of body that didn’t need black silk to make it sexy.
Was it too soon to see the changes his child would bring? Her belly was still flat. Her breasts…were they already a little fuller?
“Nicolo.” Her voice was husky. “Nicolo…”
“I’m just curious, cara.” His voice was husky, too. And rough. As rough as the sudden pounding of his heart. He reached out, placed his hand over her belly again. “Still flat,” he said, as if it didn’t matter that he could feel the heat of her skin through the plain white cotton panties.
“Nicolo.”
He looked up, his eyes dark as they met hers. She was trembling; her lips were slightly parted and he remembered how they had parted for him that night. How greedily he had tasted her mouth. Her ineffable sweetness.
“What of your breasts?” he said in a low voice. Eyes locked to hers, he cupped one delicate mound of flesh. She gave a little moan; her eyes went from violet to black. “Have they changed yet?”
He felt her nipple engorge behind the cotton of her bra. She moaned again as he moved his thumb across the swollen tip and he knew he could have her. Take her again and again, until he’d rid himself of this need to possess her….
Dio, perhaps he had lost his mind! Quickly he stepped back.
“So,” he said briskly, as if nothing had happened, “we must discuss what to do next. What is right.”
Aimee pulled her robe together. She was shaken; he could see it, but he could see that she wasn’t going to admit it.
“What is right,” she said, “is for you to get out of my life.”
“I intend to as soon as we settle this.”
“It’s settled. This is my problem and I’ll decide what’s right.”
Nicolo nodded, but was that correct? Was the choice solely hers? What did a man do at a time like this? He’d never had to make the decision but he knew the obvious answers.
The trouble was that the obvious answers didn’t apply when you were the man involved in actually making the decision.
And what a hell of a decision this was.
He had made Aimee Black pregnant. Forget the nonsense about other men. He had always trusted his gut instinct in business; he trusted it now. He would own up to his responsibility, financially.
That was his decision.
What she did after that was hers.
Nicolo reached into his pocket, took out his checkbook and a gold pen.
“I don’t want your money!”
He looked up. Aimee was watching him, her eyes almost feverish in her pale face.
“You said you will do whatever is right. And so shall I.” He uncapped the pen. “Five hundred thousand. Will that be—”
“Five hundred thousand dollars?”
His eyebrows rose. “Is it not enough?”
Aimee flew at him and slapped the checkbook and pen from his hand. “Get out,” she growled. “Get out, get out, get—”
“Damn it,” Nicolo snarled, grabbing her wrists before she could slug him, “are you insane?”
“Do you think your money can change what’s happened? That it can buy back my dignity?” Tears of anger rose in her eyes to glitter like jewels on her lashes. “I don’t want your money, Nicolo. I don’t want anything from you except your promise that I’ll never see your face again!”
Her tears fell on his hand
like the rain that had fallen on them both the day they’d met.
He suspected he would never forget that meeting, or Aimee.
Her defiance. Her passion. Her determination.
An inadvertent smile lifted the corner of his mouth. If ever a man wanted sons—even daughters—Aimee would be the woman to bear them. Such fire. Such courage…
His breath caught.
Suddenly he knew what was right. How had it taken him this long to see it?
He let go of Aimee’s hands. Then he picked up his checkbook, retrieved his pen, put them both back in his pocket. A roll of paper towels hung over the kitchen sink. He tore off half a dozen sheets and held them out to her.
She shoved them away.
“I just said, I don’t want anything from you!”
“Perhaps you’ll make an exception,” he said calmly, “considering that your nose is running.”
She flushed, grabbed the towels, put them to her nose and gave a long, noisy blow.
“Much better.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to offend Your Highness’s delicate sensibilities.”
Her voice was shaky but he could see her self-control returning. He had the feeling she was going to need it.
“I know you’re being sarcastic, cara, but—”
“Such perception!”
“—but, sarcasm aside, it’s inappropriate to address me by my title.”
Aimee burst out laughing. “Now you’re going to give me lessons in court etiquette? God almighty, what a horrible human being you—”
“I do not believe in such formality,” he said, cursing himself for a fool because he knew damned well a man couldn’t sound more formal than he did right now. He paused, took a breath and got on with it. “Particularly from the woman who is about to become my wife.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
MARRY HIM?
Marry Nicolo Barbieri.
The man who had seduced her. And he had, no matter what he claimed. He’d started it all. Followed her into that bathroom. Locked the door. Lifted her onto the marble vanity. Torn aside her panties.
Thrust deep into her…and even now, despite everything, just thinking of what it had been like made her body quicken.
What was the matter with her, that she should still feel desire for him? She couldn’t blame him for making her pregnant—she hadn’t been thinking any more clearly than he that night—but there was no escaping that he’d made love to her….
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