With those few words he had hit her right where it hurt.
Round one to Marco.
For the remainder of the journey, Carly sat mute, fingers toying with the handle of her handbag, grateful she'd had the chance to quickly grab it before Marco charged her towards his powerful beast of a car.
Her mind however wouldn't stop. It replayed their holiday. Four days of bliss, of love, and the lying that destroyed her.
And now she was having Marco's baby—and he wanted her.
Don't fool yourself.
Carly closed her eyes. What she wanted was to forget it all, forget it happened. Her hand found her stomach and she let it rest there and wondered if the baby could hear its parents fighting, hear the anger and hurt, just like she had all those years ago.
But marriage? Carly's eyes flashed open.
A few minutes later the car edged down a narrow driveway into an underground car park. Carly sat up a bit straighter. “I don't want to go to your apartment, Marco."
"I know.” Dark unreadable eyes stared down at her, searching her face and her breath caught in her chest.
"So why are you making me?"
"We need to talk, cara mia."
Carly stiffened at his continued use of the endearment and blinked back the sudden threat of tears. He maneuvered the car into a parking space, switched off the ignition, and came around to open her door. Her fingers balled into fists at her side, digging viciously into her palms. She gritted her teeth, and willed herself to remain calm as she breathed in deeply and got out of the car.
She took a glance up at the powerful man at her side. Almost regal in his bearing, his strong Mediterranean features exuded an omnipotent aura that commanded attention.
But what did she know about this man?
Very little.
Fear should have been warring in her gut, yet it wasn't. Not really. Somewhere deep down inside, hidden beneath the pain and hurt and bitterness, was one thing she had to cling on to. And that was hope.
"You're having my baby, Carly. We need to at least discuss this.” And with that, as if she was breakable glass, Marco took her hand and placed it on his arm and guided her towards the lifts that would, Carly reasoned with silent acceptance, lead her life in a very different direction.
As the elevator whisked them to his penthouse apartment, Carly stood chin up, shoulders back, ready for battle. But with each passing moment, a complete and debilitating numbness seeped through her body, limb by limb, until it reached her heart with a chilling thoroughness.
Meanwhile, her mind played games. She kept telling herself she didn't want this.
She did.
She didn't.
The scenario was something akin to the children's game where they picked petals off a flower reciting ‘he loves me, he loves me not'.
Which petal would she pick?
Marco stabbed at the panel of buttons and the lift jolted to a halt.
"What are you doing?"
"Giving you some time."
"I don't need any time, the answer is still the same. No. Got it?"
"Oh, I get it. But perhaps you'd like to consider something. This morning you pitched the best designs I've seen for our hotel expansion. The contract is yours."
"Really?” Excitement, despite everything else, bubbled in Carly's stomach. Yes! She'd done it. She had reached out and grabbed exactly what she wanted. Hard work had paid off.
"Excited?” Marco questioned.
"Of course. It's..."
"Yours—on one condition."
With those few words, Marco ripped the rug right out from under her feet and a chilling dread snaked through her, insidious in its totality.
She lifted her chin, determined he wouldn't see her crumble. “And that is?"
"Marriage. You want the contract, I want to be my child's father."
"You can do that without marriage."
"Not this father. Have we got a deal?"
"You want a deal based on needs versus wants?"
"I want to be in my child's life,” he reiterated.
So where did that leave her, Carly thought bitterly?
Such a hollow victory. Marco would only give her the contract as a tool to get what he wanted, not because she'd earned it, because her design was the best for his complex, though he'd already admitted as much.
Caustic fury burned deep in Carly's belly. “I've worked damned hard on your designs, Marco Valente. I know they're good. Excellent in fact."
"Absolutely,” he agreed.
"And yet you blackmail me to assuage your desire. How dare you!"
"Oh, I dare, Carly. You see, desire is such an easy word to flaunt around."
Carly bit her tongue, stifling the urge to retaliate. Besides, it would do no good. She had already made up her mind.
Then why did she feel like she was selling her soul?
"Damn you, Marco."
But he said nothing, simply stared at her, one brow slightly cocked, his surety in himself so evident, so blasted real, that Carly felt her own self-confidence melt with every passing silent second.
Seconds escalated into minutes. Still he said nothing. She fumed inwardly. Finally he reactivated the lift and the conveyance slid soundlessly to the penthouse apartment. Marco opened the door and stood back to let her walk in.
Three steps inside and Carly halted mid-step.
Wall to wall glass offered a view over the city, across the harbor and the gulf islands and the harbor bridge that spanned the city's two shores. In every direction colorful lights like something from a fairy grotto blinked a million times a minute.
"Impressive,” she muttered, surprised she could even function.
"Once a designer, always a designer I suppose."
Carly shrugged, refusing to rise to the bait, but the moment Marco stepped up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, she stiffened.
"Don't. Please.” If she was going to go through with this, his touch was the one thing she couldn't handle. Instead, she stepped away and removed her coat, dropping it on the side of a brown leather sofa. Slowly, she gazed around the room. A rich, cream on cream had been painted on three walls and on the fourth a dark burgundy suede paint effect had been used on either side of the bricked fireplace. Leather, suede and stone. This was a man's home. Strong and defined with a myriad of textures for the senses.
"You like?"
Carly nodded. “It suits you. Very manly."
"Do you want a drink?” Marco headed to a side cabinet and extracted a couple of goblets, before she had time to react.
"Coffee,” she almost shouted, and then colored as she patted her stomach. “The baby. No alcohol or caffeine. Herbal tea if you've got it."
Marco's dark eyes narrowed and he stared at her for a long drawn out minute.
Nothing had changed. She felt as if he could see right through her, read her mind and perhaps even her heart. She wanted to wither up on the spot, but held her ground.
Spinning on his expensive shod heels, he strode to the kitchen and flicked the switch on the kettle. When he finally spoke he seemed to soften tangibly. “How could I forget?” He riffled through the cupboards, a frown creasing between his brows. “I'm sure my housekeeper has some stored somewhere."
Seeing the domestic side of Marco again, Carly couldn't help but smile. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you this afternoon. My assistant made a doctor's appointment for me yesterday—I thought I had the flu or something—and you have to agree it was hardly the time or place. The whole thing is such a shock,” she said knowing she was repeating everything she'd already told him.
Marco said nothing as he moved about the kitchen. There was a firm set to his jaw and his expression was hooded. Was he angry because she hadn't agreed to marry him yet, his pride wounded?
The kettle whistled and automatically switched off. Placing the two cups on a tray, Marco poured the boiling water and carried the tray to where she sat.
She tried again. “It takes two, Marco.
Besides, we both forgot the condom."
"You said you were protected,” he countered.
"Afterward it was too late, and I didn't want you to worry. What was done was done. I wouldn't have allowed us to, um, you know, be together again without protection, but you took care of that. I thought we'd be okay and what good would it have done to tell you at that point?"
"And the doctor says the baby is healthy?"
"Yes,” she replied. “Growing well."
Marco gave a curt nod. “Tell me something, Carly. If we hadn't met by chance again today, would you have taken the time to try to find me? To let me know I was going to be a father?"
"I ... I ... don't know, Marco. I'm sorry, but I don't. In my experience, most men aren't too thrilled to have a pregnant woman from their past show up in their lives again, making demands. And believe me, I wasn't interested in trying to use the baby to get a husband, or for that matter, a contract."
Marco bit back a curse. “I have a right to be angry, don't you think?"
"Why? Angry about what exactly, Marco? What I might have done if we hadn't met again? Tell the truth, Marco Valente, don't you mean angry with yourself for letting this happen to you? For getting carried away and fathering a child with a woman you hardly know? I didn't know how to contact you, had no idea who you really were. Being angry with me makes no sense."
Wordlessly, Marco passed her a cup of tea and she sat down. He didn't follow, but remained standing and started to pace the room incessantly, seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts. Watching him going back and forth made her dizzy.
"If you don't stop that you'll wear a track in your Aubusson,” she said trying to lighten the cheerless pall that hung between them. He halted in front of her and her heart skipped a beat.
"Sit down Marco. You'll give me a crick in the neck. Besides if you're trying to scare me into marrying you, you're failing."
He remained standing.
Who's the liar now? The idea of marriage scared her witless, but in her heart she'd already made up her mind.
Aware Marco hadn't spoken for a long time, his behavior was beginning to make her exceedingly edgy. She shoved her hands beneath her to stop them from shaking and drew in a deep steadying breath. Letting him see her nerves wouldn't help her cause one iota.
"You asked me to marry you,” she said pushing herself out of the chair. Facing your opponent was better than having him tower over her she reasoned. But the moment she was eye to eye with him, Carly realized she was in trouble.
If anything, Marco was better in the flesh than in her memory and nervously her tongue licked over her lips as her mind whirred with erotic memories of the two of them making love, laughing, kissing until breathless.
Yep, in the flesh was infinitely better.
"Our baby needs stability, not a parent who comes and goes at a whim."
Carly gasped. “You think I would do that?” A caustic anger stirred in the pit of her stomach that he thought so little of her. “That kind of life belongs to my sisters, not me."
"I wasn't talking about you, Carly."
"What do you mean, then?"
"I mean, you're not the only one who had a ... shall we say, a disrupted childhood. I'm not prepared to be a deadbeat father who pops in at birthdays and the odd Christmas."
"You don't have to marry me to see our child, or be a part of its life."
"I don't want to ‘see’ my child, I want to live with my child every day. And I assume you do, too?"
For several extended minutes Carly simply looked at Marco. This was another man; a man who seemed both hunted and haunted. She remembered the man who lovingly cared for her, caressed her. She remembered the way he made her feel—deep down.
Carly shook her head. The man before her was cold, hard, calculating, and manipulative; so very different, yet still hauntingly similar.
Finally, she spoke. “Okay. We'll marry."
Dear God had she really said that?
But as soon as the words slid from her lips, the few inches between them became zero as Marco pulled her to him. Heat radiating from his body scorched every nerve cell in hers and she had to force herself to keep her hands at her side when what she wanted to do was to wrap them round his neck, pull him to her, and kiss him senseless. Battling a sensory instinct that warred between her brain and her body, she dredged up every ounce of control she possessed, and stepped back.
Surprise showed on Marco's face. “Just like that?"
Carly hesitated a fraction, but long enough to clarify in her own mind what she had to do. She would marry Marco—on her terms.
History told her men weren't reliable. Eventually they walked. Just like her father. She wouldn't—no couldn't—trust that much.
Their baby would have a father, but she would keep her distance, keep her emotions tightly reigned in. “Yes, just like that. However, I have some stipulations if I'm going to agree to this marriage."
"Rules?"
She nodded and dragged her gaze away from his and retreated across the room. Space and distance from this man was imperative right now. “If we are to marry, then it's in name only. Nothing else."
The pulse in Marco's cheek jerked, indicating his obvious surprise. Carly couldn't help but feel a tad sorry for him. Marco Valente would never have expected this kind of rule.
"By else, I'm presuming you mean the marital bed?"
"You want this baby in your life. You've got it. But it doesn't mean I come with it. I will live here, we will be a family for all to see, but what goes on behind closed doors at night is no one else's business."
"If I remember, night time wasn't the only time you came to me."
Color scorched Carly from head to foot and her toes curled with a sensual heat Marco's words inscribed.
Toughen up, Carly.
"Memories play funny tricks sometimes,” she countered.
"Not mine—or yours.” His voice was whisper soft and teasing, like sensuous silk gliding over her body, arousing her senses to fever pitch.
Could words do that?
Oh yes, his could.
Carly stifled a gasp at the direction of her wayward thoughts. “Don't be crass. Nighttime, daytime, whatever.” She snapped her fingers. “There will be no marital bed. There will be separate bedrooms."
Marco seethed, obviously offended. “All right."
"You agree?"
"You seem surprised. Did you think I would do a Tarzan act and sweep you off your feet, declaring everlasting love?"
Carly froze. Okay, so she had hoped, a little. “I..."
"Never. I said once before I'm not the marrying kind."
"So why marry me when you don't have to?"
He laughed, a brittle sort of laugh that cut her heart in two. “I'm marrying you for our baby's sake. This is purely a business deal. No more, no less. You, Carly Mason, know all about business deals. Remember?” And with that, he spun around and exited the room leaving Carly alone, and in no doubt as to where her prospective husband's affiliations lay.
Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to give in to them. Yet!
She may have just agreed to marrying Marco Valente, the man she loved, the one she'd dreamed of nightly for the last three months, but she realized she'd never, ever, felt so alone.
* * * *
"Damn it.” Marco's curse sliced the air around him as he bolted like a drowning rat into his study.
How appropriate. He'd never felt so desperate in his entire life, desperate for Carly's agreement and for his child. Desperate from the moment he saw her again in his office, for what he couldn't say, was scared to say, or even acknowledge.
That he'd acted so badly, so high-handedly frog-marching her to his apartment, hadn't just taken Carly unawares, but himself.
He didn't know what to think about anything—except that he couldn't stand there and do nothing but watch her walk out of his life again.
But, reasoned Marco, desperate times required desperate measures.
; Chapter 10
Sleep came surprisingly easy for Carly, though every time she woke she was intensely aware that Marco was only a few feet away in the next room.
So what's different? He was right beside you on the island!
Huddled beneath the cozy feather duvet, she squeezed her eyes closed. Marco hauling her to his apartment last night hadn't prepared her for anything. But then how do you prepare for being offered a marriage of convenience?
She had made her ‘presence’ felt when she demanded a rule of her own, one she wasn't prepared to stand down on.
Well done, Mason. You got one up on him.
Carly chuckled. It had been good to see Marco at a loss for words. Something she hadn't expected, but rather liked, and wouldn't mind seeing again.
And again!
That tiny feeling of success had boosted her confidence; something she needed plenty of right at this moment.
Sliding her legs off the side of the bed, she scouted around the beautiful bedroom and found a toweling robe hanging on the back of the ensuite door. Suitably covered, though wishing she had her own nightwear she decided to enter the lion's den.
The smell of coffee hit her the moment she stepped through the door. She gagged and slammed a hand over her mouth battling to hold onto whatever was in her stomach.
"You okay?” Marco's concerned tone reached through the miasma of what was left of her brain as she concentrated on overcoming the wave of nausea.
She nodded, breathing slowly—slowly—until she was able to remove her hand. “Can you get rid of the coffee?” she said spying the mug Marco held.
Another wave of nausea hit her. “Please,” she added.
Seeing her distress, Marco retreated to the kitchen, pouring the coffee down the sink.
He turned to her. “Better?"
Was she? She gave him a tight nod.
"Did you sleep well?"
"What? You mean you actually care?"
"Of course I care."
"For the baby,” Carly accused waspishly.
Marco's lips thinned and the pulse in his cheek throbbed visibly. Carly knew she was being bitchy, but hell, he was the one who forced her here.
And you agreed!
A flush of contrition washed over her. “I'm sorry, I ... it's just strange, that's all."
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