‘I’m suggesting you choose the best-case scenario in this situation.’ He stared at her resolutely. ‘It is, of course, your decision.’
Her heart sank.
Her decision?
She was broke, alone, and hardly ever saw her tiny baby because of the hours she had to work just to get by. Everything she did was for Raf; wouldn’t she hurt her son by denying him all that Gabe could offer?
She was terrified of the way this man made her feel, but wasn’t motherhood about putting your child’s needs above your own? All she had to do, in order to make this decision, was ignore her own needs and wants and think of what was best for Raf.
Then the decision was a simple one.
She wanted Raf to have the best life in the world—she wanted to give that to him. She just had to dance with the devil…
Living with Gabe wouldn’t be a walk in the park, and nor would marriage to him. But for Raf? What wouldn’t she do? With a look of fierce strength and resolve, she nodded. ‘Fine. You win. We’ll come to Italy.’
‘You’ll marry me.’ It wasn’t a question, but he clearly wanted her to answer.
‘On one condition.’
He arched a brow, but said nothing.
Abby hadn’t been sure what she wanted to say, only that she knew she had to demand something of him—anything—to assert her position as an intelligent woman. Yielding power to him would be a disaster. ‘If I move to Italy and marry you—’
‘When,’ he interrupted, his expression daring her to disagree.
‘When I marry you,’ she agreed with soft defiance, ‘you’ll be a good father to him. You’ll spend time with him. He’s not a trophy son to be loved on Christmases and birthdays. I’m only doing this for Raf, so he’ll have what I…’
The sentence tapered off, a sense of betrayal forestalling her from adding: what I never had.
But Gabe knew. He understood what kind of father she’d had, or rather hadn’t.
‘I will be a hands-on father, Abigail. You can rest assured on that score.’
She expelled a soft breath. He would be a good father; she had no doubts. He might hate her, and perhaps with good reason, but she could see how much he wanted this, how much he already loved their son.
‘Fine,’ she said, holding his gaze even when she wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and blot out reality for a little longer.
There was a brief glimmer of triumph in the coal-dark depths of his eyes, but then he nodded. ‘We’ll leave in the morning.’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘WHERE ARE WE going to, Mamma?’ Gabe asked, his six-year-old self huddled beside Marina’s slim frame.
‘On an adventure, darling. Far from here. To a happy place, full of sunshine and oceans and friendly people.’
‘Sunshine all the time?’
‘Yes, Gabe. Somewhere life will be kind, where you will be happy, and me too.’ She crouched down, her eyes meeting his. ‘And your father.’
‘Papà?’
‘Sì.’
‘He’s going to come with us?’
‘He’ll visit.’ She smiled mysteriously. He didn’t see Marina smile often. It was nice. He was glad.
‘I’ll get to meet my father?’
‘You will.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sweet. ‘He gave me this, for you. For the flight.’
‘We’re going on an aeroplane?’
‘Oh, yes, Gabe. Australia is far away, across many oceans. It will take a long time to get there, but it’s worth it.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because when I was a little girl, I lived there, and I loved it. And because your father says so, dolci, and he’s never wrong. He’s going to take care of us from now on. No more struggling, no more worries. Just sunshine and happiness for you and me.’ She kissed his head and ruffled his hair, and then smiled in a way he hadn’t known her capable of. ‘Pack your bag, little love. It’s time to go.’
* * *
He slept in the lounge. Abby hadn’t expected that, but at one point during the night, having tossed and turned for hours, she got up to get a glass of water and saw Gabe’s broad sleeping frame huddled in the dilapidated recliner nearest to the window. It was a tatty chair, but it was her favourite spot to curl up in and read a book.
The sight of his body crumpled into it arrested her in her tracks. She froze, just inside the kitchenette, her eyes hungrily devouring every single detail in a way she’d never have allowed herself to do were he awake.
He’d stripped off his suit jacket and discarded it over the back of another chair, and his tie too. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, revealing the strong, thick column of his neck, and his sleeves were pushed up to reveal tanned forearms.
He breathed deeply, his broad chest lifting with each inhalation.
In the year since they’d been together, she’d dreamed of him often. But they were never coherent dreams, nor were they sensible. They were fractured memories. His body over hers, their eyes locked, fingers entwined, lips meshing. Their breathing in unison, laughing, his voice as he whispered Italian words into her ears, words that she couldn’t understand but became addicted to hearing.
The way he’d held her tight as he’d pushed past her innocence, reassuring her with his words and his body that she would be all right. That he would keep her safe.
She swallowed and took a step closer to him without realising it. He shifted in the chair and she froze, swallowing guiltily, heat spreading through her cheeks.
He was a beautiful specimen of masculinity. When she’d met him, she’d been rendered speechless by the strength and power that emanated from him. There was confidence and control in every breath he issued. He was inherently remarkable. But now, in repose, there was something even more fascinating, even more appealing.
There was a raw vulnerability in his face as he slept, almost as if she could peel back the layers of time and see Gabe as he’d been years earlier, as a child. Had he always been confident in a way that bordered on arrogance? Had he been feted and worshipped in those early years of his life, so that the seeds of self-belief had been firmly planted in the make-up of his soul? Or had he become like this later? In his teens? Twenties? Had something happened that had shaped him, such as his phenomenal success?
Abigail discounted it instantly. He and his business partner were self-made success stories. To achieve what they had took a huge amount of confidence, as well as intelligence and ability. Success hadn’t shaped him—he’d reached for success with both hands. That determination and grit was fundamentally Gabe.
‘You’re staring.’
She was startled, her eyes flying back to his face, heat intensifying in her cheeks as she realised he was awake, languidly watching her—watching her watch him. Embarrassment curdled her blood.
‘I…thought you might be cold,’ she lied huskily. ‘Do you need a blanket?’
His lips curled derisively, showing he understood exactly why she’d been staring at him.
‘I’m warm enough.’ There was a mocking challenge in his expression.
‘Good.’ She swallowed.
‘You cannot sleep?’ he prompted after a moment.
She shook her head. ‘My mind can’t stop spinning. I can’t stop thinking about the madness of what I’ve agreed to.’
He made a soft noise. ‘There’s no point thinking about what is already done.’
‘It’s not done, though,’ she said with a shrug.
‘Are you trying to tell me you’ve changed your mind?’
Was she? She stared at him, her heart still thundering through her body like a runaway horse in a storm. She bit down on her lip and closed her eyes, trying to sift through her wants and needs, her certainties and doubts.
‘Raf deserves what you can give him,’ she said finally, with a shake of her hea
d. ‘I know that.’
‘I’m going to take care of you both, Abigail.’ The words held a strange other-worldly quality. ‘You will have nothing to worry about from now on. Capisce?’
She carried his assurance to bed, strangely warmed by it when she had no real reason to trust him.
The next morning broke over New York cold and bleak.
‘Are you packed?’ Gabe was waiting when Abby stepped out of the bathroom.
She stared at him, her heart jolting at this version of Gabe. All arrogant, in-control tycoon once more, dressed in his suit, his dark hair pushed back from his brow. This was not the man who’d issued lazy promises to take away all her worries. This was the man who was worth billions, who took over businesses like most people changed underwear.
‘It won’t take me long.’ She gestured towards her bedroom door. ‘Raf’s still sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb him.’
Gabe’s eyes narrowed. ‘We’re leaving soon. Disturbing him is inevitable.’ And then, after a pause, ‘I’ll hold him.’
Abby jerked her attention to his face. ‘Seriously?’
Gabe’s smile was slightly mocking. ‘He’s my son, no?’
She arched a brow, her surprise obvious. But he was right, and hadn’t she wanted him to be a good father?
When she walked into her bedroom, it was to discover that the little boy was already stirring, his back arched, his head pushed upwards and his lips pouting as he stretched the sleep away. She smiled instinctively and pulled him into her arms, pressing a kiss to his soft little head. ‘Your daddy’s here, Raf.’
Gabe was watching her initially when she stepped into the lounge, but then all of his attention, the full force of him, was channelled towards their son.
Abby didn’t have a camera handy, but she didn’t need one anyway. She would always, always remember the tortured look on Gabe’s face in that moment. He wore an expression of such deep feelings, such pain, that she almost forgot all the reasons she had to keep him at a distance.
She almost forgot the way he’d treated her after the night they’d shared—she almost forgot the way he’d ignored her, refused to allow her to apologise or explain, refused to give her the dignity of so much as a simple conversation so that she could tell him about the baby.
She almost forgot that he was, in many ways, the enemy.
She longed instead to wrap her arms around his waist, to lift up onto her tiptoes and press a kiss against his lips. To whisper into his mouth that he could make up for the three months he’d missed—that he had a lifetime to be in his child’s life and it was all about to start.
She didn’t, though.
Sanity and the reality of who they were to one another prevented her from weakening, even a little. She handed Raf to Gabe, careful not to touch him more than she had to in order to effect the transfer, and then stepped back with a crisp nod. ‘I won’t be long.’
Gabe didn’t answer; she couldn’t have said if he’d even heard. He was in his own world—just him and Raf. She watched, and tried her darnedest to ignore the strange prickling impression that she was an outsider.
* * *
Abby had grown up with money, she was used to this rarefied way of living, and yet she still felt a tremble of anxiety as she moved up the metallic stairs and into the body of the private jet.
There were markers of understated luxury everywhere she looked, from the sleek white leather seats to the highly polished woodgrain meeting table and the small cinema space at the back of the plane.
It took her a moment to realise that they weren’t alone. Three women and one man were seated at the back of the plane, and there were the two men in dark suits who’d lifted the luggage from the car.
Gabe walked towards the people at the rear of the plane, his grim expression not lifting. For lack of knowing what else she should do, Abby fell into step behind him.
One of the women stood at his approach, a smile on her face. Abby liked her instantly. She was tall and slim, in her forties, Abby would have guessed, and while she was dressed in beautiful clothes, her glossy brown hair was braided down her back and she wore no make-up. She had a nice face. Smile lines and bright eyes that spoke of a quick wit and good humour.
‘Hello, little one,’ she cooed as Gabe approached and, to Abby’s surprise, he passed their son to the other woman.
She watched, trying to make sense of this development before reacting.
‘You must be Abigail,’ the other woman said, her tone soft, her eyes not leaving Raf’s face.
‘Abby, please,’ Abigail murmured, her voice sounding hoarse. She cleared her throat softly.
‘I’m Monique.’
Perhaps reading the look of confusion on Abby’s face, Gabe explained, ‘I have engaged Monique as Raf’s nanny. This is her team.’ He nodded to the others. Apparently, they didn’t need names.
But Abby barely noticed. How could she? Not when the hiring of a nanny was a reality still detonating in her brain.
‘What did you say?’ Anger fuelled the words. She didn’t particularly want to argue in front of the nice-seeming nanny, but her maternal instincts were twisting inside her.
And he understood; he easily read the emotions that were about to burst from her. His eyes sparked with Abby’s and he put a hand on the small of her back, his touch none-too-gentle.
‘Come with me.’
He propelled her down the aisle and only the knowledge that no harm could befall Raf when she was only on the other side of the aircraft meant she went with Gabe without complaint.
But as soon as they were far enough away she whipped around and hissed, ‘You can’t just hire a nanny without talking to me!’
His expression was unyielding. ‘Why not?’
‘Because!’ Finally she gave into the impulse to lash out at him, lifting a hand and pushing his chest, hard. He didn’t move. Not even a little. He was like a stone wall to her ricocheting emotions.
‘Because that’s something I want to be consulted on. Who is this woman? What experience does she have with children? You’re asking me to hand my son over to a stranger! I should have been able to review her résumé. Besides, how good can she be if you were able to organise her within a day of finding out you have a son? Or do you just keep nannies waiting in the wings in case you discover you have a secret baby somewhere?’ Her brain kept firing and new possibilities detonated sharply. ‘Oh, God, do you have other children? Has this happened before?’ Abby felt light-headed, and not just because of her tirade but because her palms were resting against Gabe’s chest and her fingertips were tingling with the contact, sending little barbs of electricity through her veins, making her knees tremble.
She didn’t want to be aware of him physically! Not in this moment! Not when she should be simply enraged.
‘No,’ he responded, his own word filled with barely restrained anger. ‘Raf is a first for me.’
‘So?’ Abby wasn’t placated. ‘Where did you find this woman? What are her credentials? How dare you hire someone without taking the time to make sure it was safe or right?’ Her eyes shifted to the back of the plane, but thick grey curtains had been drawn, partitioning the staff from Abby and Gabe.
He wrapped his fingers around her wrists, removing her hands from his chest and holding her arms down by her side. ‘He is my son. I would never do anything that might put him in harm’s way.’
‘Like engaging a nanny you know nothing about?’ Abby retaliated, her gaze smarting.
‘Monique has worked for the Italian ambassador for six years. I have met her a number of times in that capacity and she comes with excellent references. Her security clearance is the highest imaginable. I trust her implicitly, or I wouldn’t have hired her.’
He released his grip on her wrists and stepped backwards, the distance and lack of physical contact immediately frustrating to Abby.
‘And?’ he said, crossing his arms over his chest, drawing her attention to the breadth of his torso—a torso that had been naked above her, that made her ache to feel his body weight once more. She looked away, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘Would you have wanted her, Abigail?’
‘I’m raising my son,’ she said wearily, taking a step back from him, finding a seat and easing herself into it. She curled her legs up beneath her and gnawed on her lower lip, the deluge of emotions that was flooding her quite unwelcome.
‘Yes.’ He took the seat opposite, his long legs spread between them. ‘And you are raising him still. It is not a crime to have professional help.’
Tears clogged her throat and she was afraid of speaking in case he heard the emotions in her voice.
‘If you decide, after a month or two, that you don’t want that help, I am open to re-evaluating the situation.’
It was a concession she hadn’t expected. Abby flicked her glance to him, but whatever she’d been about to say flew from her head. He was looking at her lips, focused intently on them, and her pulse began to drum hard and hot, filling her ears, her body, gushing through her in a way that made her insides clench together. Warmth flooded her and she held her breath.
His eyes lifted briefly to hers and heat seared her, and then his attention moved lower, as if drawn of its own accord. She was wearing a shapeless sweater and a pair of jeans, hardly the stuff of expert seduction, and yet, the way his eyes lingered on the soft curves of her breasts, she felt as though she were wearing the latest designer lingerie.
But when he returned his attention to her face, a face that was flushed courtesy of his slow, possessive scrutiny, there was nothing but determined resolve in his look. Nothing to indicate he’d been at all affected by his languid inspection. Whereas Abby felt as if she might need an ice-cold shower to get her wayward thoughts under control…
Bound by Their Christmas Baby Page 5