Romeo for Hire

by Jane Beckenham

  Taking a deep breath, he pushed the car door open and exited the Jaguar, automatically locking it. This wasn’t a neighborhood to leave anything unattended or unlocked for too long. He glanced up and down the dimly lit street. It was a sad place. Upturned rubbish bins, houses needing a coat of paint and dilapidated cars lining both sides of the street. Although most houses had small front lawns, there were no gardens to speak of.

  “Hey, mister, this your car?”

  Marco stared down at the boy. The child had the same intense forest green eyes as Carly.

  He smiled. “Sure is. Maybe one day I’ll give you a ride.”

  “Really?” The boy’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  “Sure thing.” Marco sidestepped and pushed the gate open, grimacing as it lurched back on one hinge and threatened to fall off any second. He strode to the door, knocked once, aware the little boys were right behind him.

  “Who you want to see, mister?”

  “Well, that depends. I’m hoping I’ve got the right place.” Hoping like hell.

  The door was opened by a large woman, a child resting on her hip. Her coloring was so very much like Carly’s. One of the little boys pushed past him. “Ma, he said he’d take me for a ride.”

  “Hush, Bryce. Go inside right now. Tell Auntie Carly to cut you some cake.”

  Carly? Marco’s smile broadened.

  Bingo!

  “Is Carly here?”

  “Who wants to know?” The woman’s assessment was blatant, but he refused to acknowledge it and kept his expression carefully masked.

  “A friend,” he offered as a reply.

  “Really?” Interest washed across the woman’s eyes. She turned and yelled into the house. “Carly. Someone to see ya. A friend.”

  In the background, the raucous cackle of children shouting and arguing increased by the second. It made Marco smile. How different from his childhood.

  “He’s gorgeous, definitely hunk material. Sounds foreign,” he heard Carly’s sister inform the others. But he wasn’t interested in her thoughts, only Carly’s.

  Carly stepped up to the door. “Marco!” Her shock was obvious as she offered him an angry and unwelcoming glare. “What are you doing here?”

  Marco’s practiced speech suddenly disappeared.

  “How did you find me?”

  “I phoned your office, you were gone and your mobile was switched off,” he responded flatly. “Carly…” But one look at her cold expression and he froze.

  “Go away, Marco.”

  “I can’t. This isn’t how I wanted it to be.”

  “So what did you expect? That I’d jump into your arms?”

  He offered a sheepish grin. “That would be nice.”

  But Carly gave him a withering scowl, which he chose to ignore, and continued. “Why did you leave?”

  “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “That much I know.”

  Her lips pursed into a reproving line. “How did you find me? Why, Marco?”

  “I was concerned.” He saw her tense again at his endearment and cursed himself. He needed to go slower. He needed control.

  “There’s no need to be. I’m fine.”

  “Really? You look pale. Perhaps you need a holiday.”

  Carly’s head shot up. “I’m fine,” she reiterated. “No holiday is required. I’ve had enough holidays to last a lifetime.”

  An older woman’s head popped around the corner. “Carly, don’t be rude, invite your man in.”

  “He’s not my man.” She shuffled on the balls of her feet, folding her arms across her chest.

  Marco took his opportunity. “Hello, I’m Marco Valente.” He held out his hand.

  The older woman was clearly impressed, which was just the way he wanted it. He wanted to get Carly’s family on his side. She took his hand as if she was inspecting it for dirt and grime.

  “I’m Carly’s mother, but you can call me Mabel. So, you’re the one,” she accused.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “So you should, young man.”

  Carly’s horrified gaze swiveled from her mother to him and back to her mother. “Mum, don’t,” she pleaded. She had gone deathly white and leaned against the doorway.

  “Don’t what?” Marco interjected. His gaze flicked from Mabel to Carly, and back again.

  “You mean you haven’t told him yet?”

  “Haven’t told me what?”

  “Baby. That’s what. You got my daughter pregnant.”

  Marco gasped.

  A baby. His.

  He was going to be a daddy.

  Carly directed her gaze anywhere but at him.

  “Is this true? Are you pregnant with our child?” he demanded.

  “My child. I’m pregnant.”

  “Yes, but it is mine?”

  “You think so little of me, Marco, that I sleep around?”

  “Dio.” Marco slapped his forehead with the flat of his palm as an icy cold chill took hold of him. “I apologize. I…we may know very little about each other, but I do know you would not act this way. When were you going to inform me?”

  “I’ve only just found out.”

  “But you knew when you were at the office?”

  Carly nodded again.

  Marco felt himself pale. He looked directly at Carly’s mother. The woman would have once been gorgeous, he acknowledged, but now her gray hair hung in scraggy, uncut tendrils around her lined face; a face that had seen too many late nights, too many bars and, more than likely, he reasoned, too many men. Then there was the acrid stench that clung to only those who were heavy smokers and the red-rimmed eyes, dulled from years of sitting amidst the pall of cigarette smoke.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Mason, but your daughter and I need to talk.”

  “Go right ahead,” she answered, but remained where she was.

  “Alone.” Wrapping his fingers firmly around Carly’s arm, he pulled her away from the door.

  “Stop, you can’t do this. Where are you taking me?” Carly struggled against him, but Marco’s determination was stronger.

  “The car,” he said curtly. “We’re going to talk in the car, Carly.”

  Marco unlocked his car. He opened the passenger door, and she got in without further protest. That surprised him. He’d expected a fight.

  Never before had a car space seemed so claustrophobic. Carly hugged her body to the door, wishing she could put more space between her and Marco. Preferably a hundred kilometers.

  She stole a glance at him. His expression was grim and determined which only exacerbated her defensiveness. Then she began to shake and clasped her hands across her chest. She needed to stand up to Marco, yet with him so close, her body remembered too much. The aroma of his aftershave filled every nook, setting her on a precipice. Valiantly, she battled the urge to bolt, swallowing back a sob as she roughly brushed at the single tear that trailed down her cheek. She knew she had to face him, but couldn’t bear to look him in the eye.

  “When exactly were you going to tell me?”

  “I don’t know. Sometime, I suppose.”

  “You suppose?” Marco shouted.

  Carly flinched and edged closer to the door as if the metallic hardness offered reassurance. “You’re being unreasonable. I had no idea where you lived or how to find you prior to this morning. And besides, what did you expect me to do, slip it in during the middle of the presentation with Mr. Burns sitting there? Or tell you afterward when you were so angry, so hostile to me? Or maybe between throwing up and trying not to…” She inhaled deeply. “No, I couldn’t tell you in the office, it wasn’t the right time, or place. And it would have been completely unprofessional.”

  “Unprofessional?” Marco’s fist hit the steering wheel. “This is my baby we’re talking about.”

  “So?”

  “So!” He muttered a few oaths in Italian, words she was quite certain his mother wouldn’t want to hear.

  “Look, Marco, we met, we had sex and we par
ted.”

  “Sex. Is that it?”

  “Yes,” she lied and looked away for a moment. “It was a shock. I hadn’t gotten as far as figuring out how to try to find you. I was still trying to get used to the idea, trying to figure out what to do…”

  “I see,” Marco agreed quietly. “So what now?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know how I’m going to care for a baby and run my business…”

  “You’re not getting rid of my child, Carly.”

  “No, I’m…”

  “I’m telling you here and now. No way. Never. That’s my child you’re carrying.” His lips twisted with vehemence, an expression of desperation and fierce anger reflecting in the depths of his darkened eyes. Suddenly, he started the engine, and a stark, unbridled fear sprinted down Carly’s spine.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Home.”

  “Home? You don’t know where I live.”

  “Not your home. Mine. Ours. We’re having this baby…and we’re getting married.”

  “Married?” Carly’s heart raced, and the roar in her ears escalated to supersonic proportions, drowning out every other sound around them. “Married? We’re not getting married. No way. Absolutely not.”

  But Marco wasn’t listening and, with a squeal of tires, he steered the car away at breakneck speed, forcing Carly to clutch the armrest, nails digging into the luxuriously soft leather.

  She tried again. “I won’t marry you, Marco Valente. This is a joke isn’t it?”

  But Marco’s dour expression remained unchanged as he drove them toward his home, wherever that was. Which precisely reiterated the fact that she knew very little about him whatsoever—still.

  “This baby is mine. It needs a father.”

  “You can be its father. But marriage? Forget it. I’m not the marrying kind. Neither are you, if I remember correctly.”

  “I remember what I said. I remember everything,” Marco responded when they stopped at a traffic light. He turned to her, and his lingering gaze slid over her face, down her breasts, and came to rest on her stomach. The look of heated desire reflected in his eyes told her he remembered just as much as she did.

  “A baby changes everything. Irretrievably,” he said, lowering his tone.

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  “You telling me you’re one of these modern women who goes around having baby after baby, not caring whether the father is around or not?”

  Carly blanched. “You make me sound cheap.” Though what he had done was make her sound exactly like her sisters. She loved her family, but it didn’t mean she had to like their way of life. Wasn’t that why she’d chosen a different life? Chosen work over babies. Work over love.

  “Not cheap, cara.” Marco’s voice softened. “Perhaps misguided.”

  “Misguided, hell. I choose my life. Not you, not my family. You can’t make me marry you.”

  “Perhaps not. But think of our child. Isn’t it better to have two parents than one?”

  He may not have realized it, but those words were a cruel blow. Carly sank back on the seat. She felt as if she’d been hit square on the jaw, his comment forcing her to think of her own childhood and draining her of any energy to fight.

  With those few words, he’d hit her right where it hurt.

  Round one to Marco.

  Her mind 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 as 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.

  Her breath caught. “So why are you making me?”

  “We need to talk.”

  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 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 onto. And that was hope.

  “You’re having my baby, Carly. We need to at least discuss this.” With that, as if she was breakable glass, Marco took her hand and placed it on his arm and guided her toward the lifts that would, she reasoned with silent acceptance, lead her life in a very different direction.

  As the elevator whisked them to his penthouse apartment, she pushed her 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.

  And still 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’d reached out and grabbed exactly what she wanted. Hard work had paid off.

  “Excited?” Marco asked.

  “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 said.

  So where did that leave her?

  Such a hollow victory. Marco would give her the contract only 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. I know they’re good. Excellent, in fact.”

  “Absolutely,” he agreed.

  “Yet you blackmail me to assuage your desire. How dare you.”

  “Oh, I dare. 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’d 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 b
row 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 she halted.

  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.

  “Please don’t.” 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 brick 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.

  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 on the spot, but held her ground.

  Spinning on his expensively shod heels, he strode to the open kitchen. He flicked the switch on the kettle. When he finally spoke, he seemed to soften. “How could I forget?” He riffled through the cupboards, a frown creasing his brows. “I’m sure my housekeeper has some stored somewhere.”