The Italian's Pregnant Mistress

by Cathy Williams

  He finished the phone call at roughly the same time as the taxi pulled up in front of an elegant Georgian house set in a crescent of identical houses—gleaming, beautifully proportioned white façades, black wrought iron railings and, lining the pavement outside, sleek, fast cars.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘My place. You want to talk? We’ll talk in total privacy.’ And those cool, dark eyes on her, melting her in places she didn’t want, stirring up all kinds of things she could do without, because of the sickening realisation that whatever he had once felt for her had been stripped back to the barest bones, leaving only a searing passion that would never destroy him but very well might destroy her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HIS house was larger inside than it appeared on the outside. Three floors, each of them compactly and efficiently laid out. The front door opened into a hall with sepia-coloured marble tiles, from which she glimpsed a door leading to a small sitting room. She followed him away from that towards the kitchen which dipped down three stairs and which was a functional blend of chrome and wood.

  He made straight for the coffee percolator and began brewing some coffee while Francesca maintained a fuming presence at the door.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, without bothering to turn around and look at her. ‘You know you will eventually, anyway.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you had broken off your engagement with Georgina when you came around to my house?’

  Angelo turned round slowly and looked at her, arms folded. ‘Because I wanted you to make love with me thinking that I was still engaged. I wanted you to be so blinded by desire that your well-structured sense of morality would not have been able to overcome your physical craving.’

  ‘You…you…’ Francesca looked at him and struggled to find the right words to convey the depth of her disgust.

  ‘Arrogant bastard?’ he interjected helpfully.

  ‘How could you?’

  ‘Oh, don’t think that it was passionless curiosity on my part. It wasn’t. I wanted you every bit as much as you wanted me.’

  ‘But you had a bruised ego to take into account and what better way to apply some balm to it than by proving to yourself that you still had sufficient power over me to have me against the odds?’

  ‘Something like that.’ He shrugged and returned to the business of making them some coffee, some very strong coffee. She looked as though she could do with it and, frankly, he couldn’t blame her. He had reduced their night of passion to a game with a winner and a loser. His bruised ego, as she had put it, should have been feeling considerably less bruised, bearing in mind that he had been the winner in the game, but it wasn’t. Not that he was about to share this with her. No, he had learnt that emotional revelations were the first steps to vulnerability and vulnerable was not a place he intended to occupy again.

  He handed her the cup of coffee, noting how her hand shook as she took it.

  ‘I never thought…’ Francesca managed to make it unsteadily to one of the kitchen chairs and sank into it. ‘I never thought that you could…use me like that, Angelo.’ Of course she did! The minute she had learnt of the broken engagement, of the timing of it, she had known in her heart that he had used her. It was her own fault that she felt sickened by the fact. Was she now going to give him the further satisfaction of seeing her break down in front of him, all her emotions displayed like lines on a page waiting to be read? She realised how much her hands were shaking, enough to make her spill the coffee if she wasn’t careful. She sat on them and took a few steadying breaths, not looking at him, although she knew that he was looking at her, coolly and dispassionately.

  ‘I’m not the man you used to know,’ Angelo commented neutrally. ‘Nor are you the same woman I used to know.’

  ‘Why did you break off your engagement?’ This time she did look at him and was proud that she met his unwavering gaze steadily. In fact, he was the first to break eye contact, pushing himself away from the counter and moving to straddle one of the chairs facing her.

  ‘It wasn’t fair on her,’ he said. ‘On either of us. A business arrangement is fine but it depends on both partners playing by the rules.’

  ‘And your rules didn’t include emotions.’

  ‘I also discovered that what passed for sexual attraction to Georgina wasn’t quite as…satisfactory as it could have been…’ This time she was the one to look away as his stare became unbearable to hold.

  ‘Well, now that you’ve explained things to me, I think I’ll leave.’ Her legs felt much steadier now. She felt that she might actually be able to balance herself on them.

  It had been a good decision to confront him. He had been truthful with her and, sure, the truth was hurting her all over, even in places that were too deep to access, but at least there were no unanswered questions in her head. She remembered the way she had left him—had left him with swarms of unanswered questions—and flinched with guilt.

  ‘Already? Don’t you want to hear what else I have to say?’

  No, because I know it’ll hurt. But then walking away from him for ever would hurt too. What harm in delaying the inevitable by just a few more minutes? She sat back down and attempted to drink some of the coffee.

  ‘What else could there be to say, Angelo? You can congratulate yourself on taking away my pride. Now the scores are finally even.’

  Angelo flushed darkly, not liking the way that sounded, but knowing that she had every right to level the accusation.

  ‘Poor Georgina. No wonder she came storming into my house. You took away hers as well, Angelo. Does that make you feel good?’

  ‘No. No, it doesn’t,’ he said grimly. ‘Her consolation is that she is well rid of me. She would have had a miserable marriage.’

  ‘Big of you. I’m sure she’s feeling very consoled already when she thinks about that.’

  ‘Dammit, Francesca!’ He ran his hands through his hair and stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back.

  ‘I know. Horrible, isn’t it? Having a woman answer you back. I may have changed in three years, Angelo, but I haven’t changed that much. I still speak my mind. Oh, I forgot, that’s one of the reasons I was so unsuitable.’

  ‘But one of the reasons why you fire me up.’ He came to stand by her and leaned down so that his face was inches away from hers. ‘Georgina never fired me up.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to feel flattered by that?’ She felt her pulses quicken as she breathed him in, that unique, male scent with just the merest hint of aftershave that sent her senses soaring. She gulped and wished that she had left when she had the chance. Now she would have to push him out of the way to get past and she didn’t want to touch him, didn’t trust herself.

  ‘Just like I feel flattered that you slept with me even when you thought that I was engaged to another woman. So you see, the scores are even.’

  ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Twist things around.’

  ‘Is that what I’m doing? Or am I only being utterly truthful? I wanted you, Francesca, even when I was engaged to be married. Against all odds. That’s saying something, isn’t it?’

  ‘What is it saying, Angelo?’ Her breath caught in her throat at the expression in his eyes as they darkened.

  ‘That we’re still attracted to one another after all this time and despite all the water that’s flowed under the bridge.’ He straightened up, giving himself time to get his act together and his raging body time to cool down. ‘Let’s finish this in the sitting room. Kitchen chairs are too uncomfortable for a full and frank discussion about how much we still want each other.’

  Francesca stood up and heard herself mumble a weak refusal which he ignored, taking her hand instead and leading her out of the kitchen and into the sitting room.

  It seemed the most natural thing in the world for her fingers to be entwined in his. Years ago, they used to walk like this, hand in hand, enjoying everything life had to offer. But this was now and it amazed
her to find that it still felt good to be holding his hand, even though so much bad feeling stood between them. It hardly seemed possible but here she was, allowing herself to be led towards the sitting room. Away from the front door.

  Sunshine poured into the sitting room and Angelo went to the windows and half closed the wooden shutters, immediately reducing the bright light to subdued strips that accentuated the deep, warm colours in the room.

  Francesca had moved to the sofa and he joined her there. His fingers still tingled from where hers had been touching them. Crazy, the sexual chemistry that still existed between them.

  ‘I meant what I said about…both of us having changed and I have a proposition for you.’ He leaned forward, arms resting lightly on his thighs, and linked his fingers together.

  ‘What kind of proposition?’

  ‘The kind that acknowledges what we have and what we can’t fight against.’ His voice was calm, cool and controlled. Francesca fought to follow suit. ‘An arrangement of sorts,’ he said conversationally. ‘One of a passionate nature. Passion with no strings attached. I never expected us to run into each other again and I certainly never expected that I would still be attracted to you, but we did and I am and you feel the same way.’

  ‘You don’t know what I feel, Angelo.’

  ‘Oh, but I do.’ He relaxed back and crossed his legs. Sexy, elegant and composed. ‘Actions speak so much louder than words.’

  ‘What would be the point?’ Suddenly she couldn’t sit still any longer. Nor could she withstand the shuttered steadiness of his gaze. She walked jerkily across to the bay window and perched on the ledge, wrapping her arms around her. How could he sit there and discuss them sleeping together as nonchalantly as if he was discussing the weather? ‘You would want it to lead somewhere, wouldn’t you? Isn’t that what you said all those years ago?’

  ‘What happened years ago is an irrelevance. It’s what’s happening now that matters. We want each other. Sufficient for me to break off my engagement, sufficient for you to sleep with me when your head was telling you not to.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m looking for nothing from you and you want nothing from me. Beyond the obvious.’

  ‘It’s crazy.’

  ‘Come and sit back down.’

  ‘What difference will that make?’

  ‘Come and sit back down.’

  She would have made for one of the chairs but that would have looked cowardly, so she stuck her chin up and sat next to him, face averted.

  ‘Look at me. Unless, of course, you’re too scared to do that.’

  ‘Scared? Why should I be scared?’ She faced him with a glare and sank straight into the fathomless depths of his black eyes. It really was a drowning sensation.

  ‘Feel it?’ he murmured, making no move to get closer to her, just watching her.

  ‘No! Feel what?’

  ‘That undercurrent that runs between us. It’s irresistible, Francesca. That’s why I think we should continue seeing one another, sleeping with one another, and this time we’ll both know the boundaries and won’t overstep them.’

  ‘And if I say no? Which,’ she added hurriedly, ‘I will.’

  ‘Then you leave. It’s as simple as that. You know where the front door is. But I hope you don’t.’ He reached out and lazily coiled one finger into her hair, twining it round into a spiral before letting it drop.

  But I hope you don’t. She knew what she ought to do. Faced with a pool of quicksand yawning by her feet, she just had to turn around and walk away across solid land to safety. Nothing could ever come of anything between them.

  But for just a little while she could have some stolen happiness. The past three years had been a wasteland. She had thrown everything into her career and enjoyed it, but the emotional side of her that had needed tending had been allowed to grow into a wilderness through lack of care.

  ‘What you’re proposing is…preposterous, primitive…’

  ‘I’m a primitive man but never preposterous. What I am proposing is a solution.’

  He stroked his finger along her collar-bone and Francesca sighed.

  ‘And how long until this solution becomes redundant?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Who knows? How long is a piece of string? All we know is that we will be able to satisfy our hunger for one another and then we will move on to find our proper destinies.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m actually sitting here having this conversation with you, Angelo.’ She eyed the door. ‘I thought you were just making time to hear my gripes. Don’t you have important meetings to rush off to?’

  ‘Oh, nothing that I can’t put on hold if I need to. Consider the day yours if you’re brave enough to take the plunge.’

  She stood up and he hooked his fingers around her wrist and with a little tug pulled her back down, in a tangle on his lap, laughing as she stared up at him with affronted eyes, laughing and sure of himself, of her.

  She was clear-headed only for the length of time that it took for his mouth to find hers and, when it did, she sank into the kiss like a drowning man finding land. She felt the thrust of his tongue against hers and groaned when his hands curved beneath the formal white shirt, pushing it up until he was cupping her breast, feeling its weight through the lacy bra.

  Then he was sliding down on the sofa, taking her with him and fumbling with the small buttons of her blouse. Now the shirt was finally off. Getting his own off was considerably quicker, especially as he didn’t give a hoot if he ripped a few buttons off in the process. He just wanted her naked and on top of him.

  Although there was a lot to be said for watching her luscious breasts in that sexy, low-cut lacy bra. As if reading his mind, or maybe reading his mind was just something she could do, she raised herself up, dangling her breasts over him and smiling when, with a little growl of impatience, he scooped them out of their constraints so that he could lower one pouting nipple into his mouth.

  ‘Kinda sexy making love to a semi-clothed business woman,’ he murmured roughly and Francesca made a noise halfway between a laugh and a moan as his mouth continued to circle her tightened bud.

  He sucked on the moistened circle, pulling it deep into his mouth, and ran his hands along her thighs and up her skirt until he could loop his fingers over the elasticated waist of her underwear, which he proceeded to pull down, allowing her to squirm her way out of them completely.

  He was bare-backed but still in his work trousers and he could feel his throbbing erection pushing against the zip. Anticipation soared through him. He pulled down the zip of her neat grey skirt and watched as she stood up and completed the job of divesting herself of the last piece of clothing covering her.

  ‘Shall we go upstairs?’ Francesca glanced back towards the door, then looked at Angelo, comfortably sprawled on the sofa, his eyes fastened on her.

  He had been right. They had been right. Right to acknowledge the power of their mutual sexual attraction, right to eliminate all the frills and fuss of possible emotional ties that would never happen. He wanted her, she wanted him, and his invitation was to indulge their joint desires until such time as they presumably became bored with one another. Of course, he would be the one to grow bored with her. That was just a reality she would have to accept and deal with because without any emotional ties whatsoever boredom followed hard on the heels of predictability and her initial allure would soon become tarnished around the edges. She would deal with that when the time came. She, too, would indulge her desires and her love which could never amount to anything, not with a man like him. It would be better than nothing—which, frankly, was what she had had for the past three long years.

  ‘This sofa is big enough for the both of us,’ Angelo said thickly, devouring her naked body with his eyes and restraining himself from leaping up and dragging her down to the ground like an animal on heat. ‘Unless advancing middle age has made you lose that exploring edge of yours.’

  Francesca laughed, picked up the nearest cushion from one of the chairs and thr
ew it at him. ‘Middle age indeed! I’m twenty-seven!’ She approached him, knelt down by the side of the sofa and cupped his beautiful face in her hands, sighing as he stroked her back. ‘You should be the one to be careful, Angelo. You’re an old man compared to me. No need to prove your virility by pretending that you’re still capable of making love in unusual places.’ She giggled and kissed him on the mouth, stifling his immediate protest. With one hand, she slowly fiddled with his belt, finally unhooking it and setting to work on the button of his trousers and the zip. She could feel the hard bulge that told her how much he wanted her and was fired by a wild, giddy passion.

  ‘Prove my virility? You realise that you’ve laid down a gauntlet and, like any self-respecting red-blooded male, I’m going to have to take it up?’

  He did. On the sofa and, later on, in his massive king-sized bed. It was only when the sunlight began to mellow behind the gauze curtains that Francesca glanced at her watch and let out a little yelp.

  ‘It’s after five!’

  ‘So what?’ So what? He had missed a string of appointments. A first for him. His mobile phone had probably been going mad in the pocket of his jacket downstairs. He didn’t care. For the first time in weeks he felt liberated and in control. He had acknowledged his feelings, acknowledged that the woman lying next to him, rather making a show of getting up, was the woman who still turned him on. He had wanted her and not simply to even scores or salve the ego that had been blasted to hell three years previously. He had just wanted her.

  And now he could have her. He was a free man and he could have her without any uninvited feelings getting in the way of his enjoyment. He had told her just how it was, had left it up to her to decide whether she wanted to have a relationship with a man whose only feelings towards her were ones of lust and desire, had been more than prepared to shrug and walk away if she had turned him down. No questions asked, no blinding rages, no backward glance. Those times were long gone. He was a man utterly in control and it brought a smile of satisfaction to his lips.