Gemma stormed back to her stateroom and slammed the door. If he’d lied about this, could she trust him to keep his promise regarding the inn?
A cold emptiness expanded in her, freezing any pleasure she’d felt in his arms. The suite where she’d made such passionate love with Stefano now felt like a silken prison.
You are mine now, he’d said.
But he hadn’t meant it in the sense of them being closer as a couple. No, it had been a possessive comment and nothing more.
He had her under his thumb. Or so he thought.
She was a fisherman’s daughter. She knew the sea and these people. Somehow she’d find a way to get back to Italy.
Gemma had to return today to see Cesare, if only to assure herself he was healing after his surgery. Then she must travel to Milan for there was a little girl waiting impatiently for her visit. And what would she tell her about Cesare’s absence?
The truth.
It’d been hidden long enough.
CHAPTER EIGHT
STEFANO paced the near empty waiting room and damned the time that seemed to crawl by—unlike this morning which had flown by in a rush. He’d not wanted to leave Gemma’s side. He’d wanted to get lost in her lush body again.
She’d been a virgin. Virgin!
If not for his strong will, he’d have shaken her awake at dawn and demanded to know what the hell she and his papa had been doing all those weekends in Milan. But he didn’t have the time to delve into it now.
And he didn’t trust her to do as he ordered once they reached land. He didn’t want to hear any more of her lies. No, he wanted to hear his papa’s side of this now.
But he’d gotten to the hospital too late thanks to his reluctance at tearing himself from Gemma and then a traffic snarl after he landed in Viareggio.
Now he would have to wait for his papa to recover before he could get answers. That wasn’t something he was even marginally good at doing.
“Stefano, please sit,” his aunt had said, her usually radiant face looking haggard. “You are making me nervous with your endless pacing.”
Maledizione! He certainly didn’t wish to cause anyone any more grief.
He plopped on the stiff chair beside her and stretched his long legs out. “My apologies. You know patience isn’t one of my strong suits.”
“Sì, I know. But I also know my nephew and recognize when something is deeply troubling him.”
“It has been a long morning without word how Papa is doing.”
She clamped a hand on his arm and her tension vibrated into him. “Did you expect them to stop the surgery and deliver a report?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“What is troubling you, Stefano?” his aunt asked.
Gemma. She invaded his thoughts. Sweet, beguiling Gemma. Sweet, innocent Gemma.
But he couldn’t tell his papa’s sister that. Not now when her stress was palpable for she would ask questions that he didn’t wish to address, either. He sure as hell couldn’t tell her he’d blackmailed his papa’s secretary into his bed!
“There are things at Marinetti that require my attention today,” he said.
She stared at him through narrowed eyes. “What about the secretary? Have you dismissed her yet?”
He heaved a sigh, wishing his mamma hadn’t told her sister-in-law about Cesare’s infidelity. Wishing to hell his mamma hadn’t told him her suspicions at all.
“No. It is more complicated than I thought.”
The color drained from her face as she pressed a hand to her generous bosom. “Addio! Please tell me this woman is not with child.”
“Nothing of the sort,” he said, and hoped to hell that proved true.
Maledizione! He hadn’t used protection.
He hadn’t thought it was necessary since she was his father’s mistress.
Except she wasn’t. He only hoped she was on the pill or used some type of birth control. But how likely was a virgin to do that?
Stefano drove his fingers through his hair and called himself ten kinds of an ass. Taking Gemma’s virginity had robbed him of the vengeance he’d sought. It changed everything that he’d planned to do with her.
It forced him to reassess her role in his life and his future. He wanted to blame her for lying to him, except in this she’d told the truth. She wasn’t his father’s mistress—she was his by coercion.
Imbecile!
He’d never bedded a virgin before. Never wanted to.
He didn’t want to think that he could have fathered a child with Gemma. He didn’t want to think of her at all.
But as the day wore on and his worry for his papa increased, his thoughts continued to turn to Gemma. In his bed. Loving her and knowing that he was the first man to introduce her to sex.
Her sweet scent filled his head. He hungered for another taste of her honeyed mouth. To suckle the pert breasts until the rosy nipples budded on his tongue. To settle between her soft thighs and sup at the erotic essence of her, to drive her wild with ecstasy before covering her and making them one.
Unbidden came an overwhelming swell of possessiveness. She was his now. His.
Up until the time he took her virginity, he’d not been tied to her. He could have sent her on her way without repercussions.
He should never have set out to ruin her for in doing so he’d only tangled their lives together.
There was no going back.
He couldn’t walk away. He wouldn’t desert her until he knew if she carried his child.
What was done was done. If his seed grew in her, he’d accept his responsibility. He’d marry her without hesitation.
And if there was no child?
Stefano would honor the agreement they’d made for thirty days. Then he’d let her go.
By then this fierce possessiveness he felt toward her would have waned. He wouldn’t be filled with rage over the thought of her moving on to a new lover. Of marrying one day. Of having children.
“I do not like that she is still on the payroll,” his aunt said. “Your mamma’s memory deserves more respect than that.”
He heaved a sigh, vexed that his aunt was still brooding about Gemma. He certainly couldn’t let his aunt go on believing the worst of Gemma but he did not relish telling her the truth, either.
“Mamma was mistaken about her,” he said.
His aunt gaped at him. “Do not tell me she has woven you around her finger as well?”
He refused to dignify that with a denial and settled on facts instead. “Gemma Cardone wasn’t Papa’s lover.”
“I suppose she told you that.”
“She did and I refused to believe her.”
“So what changed your mind?”
He shifted uneasily and made a cutting movement with his hand. “I was her first lover.”
An awful quiet echoed in the waiting room to set his nerves on edge. “When?”
“This is not the time to discuss such things,” he reminded his aunt when a couple entered the room and crossed to the chairs on the other side.
“Now is the perfect time,” she said in a voice pitched low. “Tell me how long you’ve known this woman.”
“We spent last night on the yacht.” And in case his aunt had any doubts what he meant, he added, “In the same bed. She hadn’t known any man before me.”
She treated him to a long, assessing look before spitting out a torrent of curses directed at the male of the species. “You are sure of this?”
“Positive,” he said. “She is Papa’s personal secretary. That is all.”
Yet even as he said it he knew Gemma was more to his father than that. There were the unexplained weekends spent in Milan and the small fortune that Cesare had given Gemma.
A man didn’t hand over that kind of money to a stranger unless there was a very good reason. Gemma had never offered an explanation for her good fortune. She couldn’t even look him in the eyes when the subject was brought up.
Stefano knew she was hiding s
omething that involved her and his father. But what?
He’d visited Milan shortly after his mamma had voiced her suspicions about his papa straying, but all he’d discovered was that his papa and Gemma had made weekly visits to a lavish hotel that was owned by an old friend of his papa’s. A friend who claimed to have no idea what business brought Cesare Marinetti and his young secretary to Milan so often.
His father certainly incited loyalty in his friends and employees!
“Cesare was supposed to be in recovery by now,” his aunt said as the dinner hour in the hospital came around and the smells of overcooked food filled the room. “Why is it taking them so long?”
“I wish I knew.”
Unease curdled in his gut. Something must have gone wrong. Stefano knew it couldn’t be good when the doctor strode into the waiting room an hour later, his scrubs damp with sweat, his expression a mask of concern.
“Signor Marinetti?” he asked.
“Here,” he said and rose. “How is my father?”
The doctor motioned to a door. “Please. Let’s go in here where we can talk in private.”
Stefano took his aunt’s arm and guided her into the private room. He’d faced many situations where he had to keep a cool head, but he’d never felt this nervous.
The surgeon didn’t mince words. “The heart surgery went well. But as we were closing the graft site on his leg, your father suffered colpo apoplettico.”
His aunt let out a keening sound that mirrored Stefano’s fear for his father’s recovery. The doctor’s grave expression told Stefano the stroke was severe.
“How is he now?” Stefano asked.
The doctor’s lips thinned a fraction, and Stefano guessed the man was trying to soften the blow. “Unconscious. We have stabilized him, but we have no idea of the damage done until he wakes up.”
If he woke from the coma. The back of Stefano’s throat went dry at the thought.
Time. His father needed time to heal before they could begin to think of any treatment.
“When can we see him?” Stefano asked.
“As soon as he’s stable and moved into intensive care. Get some rest.” The doctor left without another word, closing the door behind him to afford them continued privacy.
Stefano paced the smaller room, his emotions on the razor’s edge. He’d never felt as sad and alone as he did now.
“I’m not leaving the hospital tonight, but I’ll have my driver return you to your hotel.”
“You will call me if you need me?” his aunt asked.
“Yes, of course.”
This complication made Stefano more aware of his own morbidity.
He was bombarded with dire predictions.
His papa could die.
As he’d suspected all along, his papa wouldn’t return to his post at Marinetti anytime soon. His papa’s shipyard was in his sole control, along with all the promises and problems he’d run from all his life.
If it was any other failing business he’d acquired, he’d liquidate it immediately. But many of the men in his father’s employ had worked there all their lives. Their chance for finding another job would not be easy.
Stefano was ruthless in business. But he wasn’t heartless. He couldn’t toss good men out onto the street.
Everyone at Marinetti was his responsibility now.
And Gemma. He needed her help more than ever. How the hell did she fit into his papa’s life? How would she fit into his?
Time would tell.
Stefano settled into a chair that would surely give him a backache by dawn and placed a call to the yacht. “Have it brought in to port in the morning but do not let Miss Cardone leave.”
He and Gemma must talk.
He had to know why she and his father had gone to Milan. He must know just what her role was in his papa’s life before he could think of where she belonged in his.
Early the next morning, Gemma stood outside Cesare’s room and watched him through the observation glass in the intensive care unit. Her nerves twitched with each bleep, whoosh and click of the intensive care machines. Her heart broke to see the strong man lying so still, his gaze trained toward the ceiling.
She longed to sit beside him for a while and just talk like they had countless times. But nobody was allowed in his room.
Nobody but family and they weren’t around.
“May I help you?” a nurse said, startling her.
“Where is his family?” she asked, annoyed that Stefano wasn’t here by his father’s side.
“His son and sister just left a few minutes ago,” the nurse said, and Gemma wondered if they had gone out for breakfast. Perhaps Stefano was en route to his ship to fetch her. Wouldn’t he be surprised, and not in a good way?
“I expect they will return within the hour,” the nurse said. “Are you a friend of the family?”
“I’m Cesare’s personal secretary. How is he?”
“He suffered a stroke during surgery but he is stable now,” the nurse said.
“His prognosis?”
The nurse shook her head and moved away, leaving Gemma to wonder if she was refusing to answer or if Cesare’s condition was that dire. She feared it was the latter.
Mio Dio! Cesare had told her this was a possibility during the surgery he faced and she’d refused to believe it could happen to him.
Take care of Rachel, he’d told her.
That responsibility rested heavier on her now. How could she possibly see to the child’s needs and be Stefano’s willing mistress as well? How could she continue to keep the two worlds apart?
One month. That’s all she had to abide by Stefano’s agreement. Never mind that she’d felt whole and wanted and loved in his arms. Never mind that she hadn’t wanted the moment to end.
Cesare was adamant that Stefano not know about Rachel. He didn’t trust his own son with his love child’s care. But could he have misjudged his son? Could she trust Stefano with the truth?
She wished she knew!
Her head spun just thinking of the needs Rachel still required. The private school and nanny were another matter. Had Cesare made arrangements for Rachel’s future?
She hoped so for she couldn’t turn Rachel down. Not after investing so much of herself in the child’s recovery.
“I’ll take care of Rachel,” she whispered, wishing Cesare was awake and could hear her promise. But it won’t be easy, she silently added.
How could she possibly manage it alone?
The scuff of a shoe behind her snapped her from her dire musings. Someone was very close to her, and the energy crackling in the air could only be generated from one arrogant Italian. Stefano.
Gemma steadied her breathing the best she could and turned, but her chest felt too tight and her stomach knotted with dread as her gaze clashed with Stefano Marinetti’s flashing dark eyes.
He was the embodiment of a Roman sentry garbed in tailored Armani and a glacial scowl. Anger eddied off him in heat waves.
“A word in private with you,” he said, his voice sharp and disapproving.
“Of course,” Gemma said, not wishing to vent her anger in front of the nurses.
But she lifted her chin to let Stefano know she was not sorry she’d defied him. All show, for her insides quaked with uncertainty and fear. Not fear for herself.
No, for Cesare’s recovery and for his child. For her own agreement with Stefano. What would the future hold for them?
She pushed past the man she’d loved to distraction last night and came face-to-face with an older woman. Even if the family resemblance hadn’t been unmistakable, Gemma knew this was Cesare’s sister.
“E’questa la donna?” the woman asked Stefano, her dark eyes as censoring as her nephew’s.
“Sì,” he said, leaving Gemma to wonder what he’d told his aunt about her.
Nothing good she was sure, given he bore no resemblance to the gentle, sensual man she’d made love with last night. And could that have been his goal all along?
Had he set out to break down her defenses with the love she craved so she’d reveal his father’s secrets?
Had he tried to seduce her into trusting him?
If so then he’d misjudged her loyalty to Cesare.
From what she’d learned of him, he disliked being wrong or bested. Right now hard, unyielding Stefano ruled in the light of day, and it was obvious he was furious with her for escaping his yacht and coming here.
So she hurried down the hall with his hand pressed to the small of her back. Thankfully nobody could hear her knees knock with worry.
Nobody but her felt her heart aching with indecision. That small, dominating hold on her was creating havoc within her, reminding her of the passion they’d shared. Of the heat that still flared between them.
Was that all it was? Sex?
It must be. But even as she settled on that reason, she feared that another emotion had begun to take root last night. Love.
Last night he’d made love to her so thoroughly and so deeply that her heart had beat in tandem with his. She’d seen a tenderness in him that he kept hidden, a vulnerability that she’d glimpsed once before when he’d mentioned his sister-in-law’s deceit.
She’d sensed his raw need tinged with fear and her heart had melted then and there. She’d ached to comfort him. To hold him into the night. To love him now and forever.
She’d melded with the soul of the man and knew he was capable of intense compassion as well as passion. She wanted to believe he’d embrace the role of Rachel’s brother. She wanted to trust that Stefano Marinetti would finally put family above business and himself. She wanted to believe all would be right.
And now? Now in the harsh light of day the ruthless, arrogant Stefano was back in control. She slipped into the alcove and whirled on him, breaking the contact that muddled her mind so.
When it came to business, Stefano was brutal.
When it came to family, he’d walked away before without a care. She couldn’t let that happen to Rachel. She couldn’t let him hurt her, either.
He pressed Gemma against the wall and stood over her, his hard, lean body centimeters from hers. It was a pose she’d seen countless times between couples on the street when they wanted a private moment to share a few words.
Innocent in the Italian's Possession Page 11