by Penny Jordan
‘I’ll make arrangements for the divorce.’ He had almost reached the door. Another moment and he’d be gone, and still India didn’t know what to say, how to convince him how she felt. She tried to speak, her throat tight, as she thrust back the bedclothes and padded after him.
‘Simon…’
He turned and saw her, pain darkening his eyes, as he warned, ‘India…’
‘Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?’ India knew she was playing with fire, but she could think of no other way; there was no other way. She walked towards him. He was as motionless as a statue carved from stone, only his eyes alive and full of a pain which made her heart ache in response.
‘India, for God’s sake don’t do this,’ he warned hoarsely, and then he was touching her, running his hands over her body like a blind man seeking to impress its image into his perpetual darkness, and India was drowning in the waves of pleasure shuddering through her, her lips against his throat, feeling the pain with which he drew breath into tortured lungs, only to expel it in a protest which turned to a smothered groan as she ran her fingers lightly over his chest, lifting his hand to the aching fullness of her breast, her breath catching in her throat as she said huskily, ‘Please, Simon, don’t leave me. I need you. I love you…’
For a few seconds she thought he wasn’t going to believe her. Tears shimmered in her eyes as a fear that she had imagined his declaration of love for her filled her, and then she was gathered against him, his mouth coaxing her lips to part with a sweet urgency that compelled her to lock her hands behind his neck and give herself up completely to his kiss.
It was a long time before he released her.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ he demanded huskily at last.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ India countered. ‘I didn’t know you loved me. I hoped we might be able to build a life together, but then you accused me of wanting to take Mel as my lover…’
‘Sheer jealously,’ Simon admitted ruefully. ‘I’d gone from thinking you completely lost to me as Mel’s mistress, to disbelieving hope that as you were nothing of the kind I might have a chance of winning your love, only to be plunged down into abject despair by discovering you both in what, you have to admit, were unencouraging circumstances. I masked my fear that I’d lost you by telling myself that you’d deceived me all along and that you really wanted Mel… in fact I think I went a little mad with jealousy.’
‘I wanted you,’ India admitted softly, blushing slightly. ‘Right from the start.’ She frowned suddenly, remembering something. ‘But you left me…’
‘Because I couldn’t endure staying with you and not being able to do this… and this,’ Simon told her, tracing a line of tender kisses from her throat to her lips. ‘Can’t you understand, India, I had to leave you or completely lose my self-respect; I couldn’t stay in the same house as you and not make love to you,’ he finished simply.
‘But Ursula told me you loved her, that you wanted me to leave… that was why…’
‘Ursula!’ Simon’s eyes darkened. ‘She seems to have very busy lately. I ran into her in London one day and she told me that she’d seen you in Gloucester and that you’d told her that you were returning to London—leaving me. That was why I didn’t go down to Meadow’s End the moment the weather turned bad. It wasn’t until Jenny rang me to ask if I knew where you were because she hadn’t been able to get in touch with you that I realised the truth. I tried to ring the house and when I discovered that the line was out of order, I came down as fast as I could, only to find you almost on the point of death.’
In order to banish the tense, haunted expression from his eyes, India raised herself on tiptoe, running her tongue lightly over his lips, her eyes coaxing him to forget what was past.
‘You were so cold, so clinical and uncaring,’ she told him softly. ‘I couldn’t endure it when you held me in your arms as though I were simply a stranger in need of care and attention. You were so distant.’
‘Distant!’ Simon grimaced slightly. ‘Have you any idea of what it cost me in willpower to behave as though you were a stranger? Of what it was like trying to sleep with your body next to mine, knowing that I had only to reach out to touch you?’
‘I felt the same,’ India admitted. ‘When I woke up you were still asleep, and then you woke up and…’
‘And I had the devil’s own job not to take you in my arms and make love to you there and then,’ Simon finished grimly. ‘That’s what I’d descended to; even knowing how dangerously close you’d come to succumbing to hypothermia, how weak you still were, I still wanted you—desperately.’
There was a moment’s silence while each remembered their separate pain, and then India said softly, ‘I’m not suffering from hypothermia now, but I do need to feel you close to me, Simon.’
‘You do?’ He was smiling as he spoke, lifting her high in his arms, his heart thudding rapidly against her cheek as he carried her across to the bed.
She reached up for him, her heart in her eyes, as she saw the love shining out of his.
‘Love me,’ he whispered as his lips claimed hers. ‘Love me, India, because I don’t think I could bear it if you didn’t.’
‘I do,’ she told him huskily, letting her body tell him, without the necessity of words, the intensity of her love for him, and receiving in return reaffirmation of his softly spoken words of love.
The past and all its unhappiness slid away. The future stretched gloriously before them, but for now India was more than content with the present, here in Simon’s arms, his body teaching her the true meaning of the pledges he had just given her.
* * * * *
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New York Times bestselling author
PENNY JORDAN,
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And now, read on for a tantalizing excerpt of The Italian’s Pregnant Virgin by New York Times bestselling author Maisey Yates…
CHAPTER ONE
“THE THING IS, Mr. Valenti, I’m pregnant.”
Renzo Valenti, heir to the Valenti family real estate fortune, known womanizer and chronic overindulger, stared down at the stranger standing in his entryway.
He had never seen the woman before in his life. Of that he was nearly one hundred percent certain.
He did not associate with women like this. Women who looked like they had spent a hot, sweaty afternoon traipsing through the streets of Rome, rather than a hot, sweaty afternoon tangled in silk sheets.
She was red-cheeked and disheveled, her face void of makeup, long dark hair half falling out of a bun that looked like an afterthought.
She was dressed the same as many American college students who flooded the city in the summer. She was wearing a form-fitting black tank top and a long, ankle-length skirt that nearly covered her dusty feet and flat, unremarkable sandals that appeared to be falling apart.
Had she been walking by him outside, he would never have paid her any notice. Except she was in his home. And she had just said words to him no woman had said to him since he was sixteen years old.
But they meant nothing, as she meant nothing.
“Congratulations. Or condolences,” he said. “Depending.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No,” he said, his voice cutting through the relative silence of the grand antechamber. “I don’t. You practically burst into my home telling my housekeeper you had to see me, and now here you are, having pushed your way in.”
“I didn’t push my way in. Luciana was more than happy to let me in.”
He would never fire his housekeeper. And the unfortunate thing was, the older woman knew
it. So when she had let a hysterical girl into his home, he had a feeling she considered it punishment for his notorious behavior with the opposite sex.
Which was not fair. This little creature—who looked as though she would be most at home sitting on a sidewalk in the vicinity of Haight-Ashbury, playing an acoustic guitar for coins—might well be some man’s unholy punishment. But she wasn’t his.
“Regardless, you’re not drawing this out and making a show, and I have no patience for either.”
“It’s your baby.”
He laughed. There was absolutely no other response for such an outrageous statement. And there was no other way to remove the strange weight, the strange tension that gripped him when she spoke the words.
He knew why it affected him. But it should not.
He could imagine no circumstance under which he would touch such a ridiculous little hippie. And even so, he had just spent the past six months devoted to the world’s most obscene farce of a marriage.
And though Ashley had been devoted to the pleasure of both herself—and other men—during their union, he had been faithful.
A woman with a small baby bump, barely showing beneath that skin-tight top, claiming to be carrying his child could be absolutely nothing but ridiculous to him.
He’d had nothing at all but six months of fights, dodging vases flung in a rage by his crazy wife—who seemed to do her best to demolish the stereotype that Canadians were a nice and polite people—and then days on end of ridiculous cooing like he was some kind of pet she was trying to tame again after a sound beating.
Little realizing that he was not a man to be tamed, and never had been. He had married Ashley to make a point to his parents, and for no other reason. As of yesterday, he was divorced and free again.
Free to take this little backpacker in any way he wanted to, if he so chose.
Though, she would find the only place he wanted to take her was out the front door, and back onto the streets she had come from.
“That, you will find, is impossible, cara mia.” Her eyes went round, liquid, shock and pain visible. What had she imagined would happen? That he would fall for this ruse? That she would find her salvation in him? “I can see how you would build some strange fantasy around the idea I might be your best bet for help,” he said, attempting to keep his tone calm. “I have a reputation with women. But I have also been married for the past six months. So whatever man is responsible for knocking you up in a bar crawling with tourists and never calling again? He is not me, nor will you ever con me into believing it is. I am divorced now, but in the time I was married I was faithful to my wife.”
“Ashley,” she said, blinking rapidly. “Ashley Bettencourt.”
He was stunned, but only momentarily, by her usage of his wife’s name. It was common knowledge, so of course if she knew about him, she would know about Ashley. But if she knew he was married, why not choose an easier target?
“Yes. Very good,” he said. “You’re up on your tabloid reading, I see.”
“No, I know Ashley. She’s actually the person I met in a bar crawling with tourists. She’s the one who knocked me up.”
Renzo felt like he’d been punched in the chest. “Excuse me? None of what you’re saying makes sense.”
The little woman growled, lifting her hands and gripping her head for a moment before throwing them back down at her sides, curling her fingers into fists. “I am…I am trying. But I thought you would know who I was!”
“Why would I know who you are?” he asked, feeling at a loss.
“I just… Oh, I should never have listened to her. But I was… I am just as stupid as my dad thinks I am!” She was practically wailing now, and he had to admit, this farce was inventive even if it was damned disruptive to his day.
“Right at this moment I’m on your father’s side, cara, and I will remain so until you have offered me an explanation that falls somewhere short of being as stupid as my ex-wife getting you pregnant.”
“Ashley hired me. I was working at a bar down by the Colosseum, and she and I started talking. She was telling me about the issues in your marriage and the trouble you were having conceiving…”
The words made his gut twist. He and Ashley had never attempted to conceive. By the time they’d gotten to a place where they might discuss giving him an heir to his empire, he’d already decided that no amount of shock value made her worth it as a wife.
“I thought it was weird, her talking to me like that. But she came back the next night, and the next. We talked about how I ended up in Italy and how I had no money…” She blinked. “And then she asked me if I would consider being her surrogate.”
Pressure built in Renzo’s chest until it exploded. English deserted him entirely, a string of vulgar Italian flowing from his lips like a foul river. “I don’t believe it. This is some trick that bitch has put you up to.”
“It’s not. I promise you it isn’t. I had no idea that you didn’t know. No idea at all. It was all very… What she said… It made sense. And…and she said it would be easy. Just a quick trip to Santa Firenze, where the procedure is legal, and then I just have to…be the oven. I was supposed to get paid to make the bread, so to speak, and then…well, give it to the person I…baked it for. Someone who wanted the baby desperately enough to ask for help from a stranger.”
Panic tore through Renzo like a wild beast, savaging his chest, his throat. Making it impossible to breathe. What she was saying was impossible. It had to be. Mostly.
Ashley was…unpredictable. And God knew how that might manifest. Especially since she’d been enraged by the divorce—made simple because of their marriage in Canada, which she had felt was calculated on his part. It was, of course.
But she wouldn’t have done this. She couldn’t have. Still, he pressed.
“It made sense to you that a woman pursued surrogacy, and claimed to have a husband whom you never saw?”
“She said that it would be impossible for you to come to the clinic. She could only do it because she wore large sunglasses and a hat. She said that you were far too recognizable. She said you were very tall.” She swept her hand up and down. “You are. Obviously. You don’t blend. Not even sunglasses would disguise… You know what I mean.”
“I know nothing. It has become apparent to me over the past few minutes that I know less than I thought. That snake talked you into this. How much did she pay you?”
“Well, she hasn’t given me everything yet.”
He laughed, the sound bitter. “Is that so? I hope that final price is a high one.”
“Well, the problem is that Ashley said she doesn’t want the baby anymore. Because of the problems that you’re having.”
“Problems?” The question was incredulous. “Does she mean our divorce?”
“I… I guess.”
“So, you did some cursory research on us, and then no more?”
“I don’t have internet at the hostel,” she said flatly.
“You live in a hostel?”
“Yes,” she said, her cheeks turning a darker shade of pink. “I was just passing through. And I ran out of money. Took a job at a bar, and I’ve been here longer than I anticipated. Then I met Ashley about three months ago.”
“How far along are you?”
“Only about eight weeks. I just… Ashley decided she didn’t want the baby anymore. And I don’t want to… I don’t want to end the pregnancy. And I thought that even though she said you didn’t want to handle any of this, because it damaged your view of the whole thing… I wanted to come to you. I needed to make sure.”
“Why is that? Because you fancy that you will raise the baby if I don’t want it?”
It was her turn to laugh. There was no humor in it, only hysteria. “No! I’m not going to raise a baby. Not now. Not ever. I don’t want children. I don’t want a husband. But I was involved in this. I agreed to it. And I feel like… I don’t know. How can I not feel responsible? She became a friend to me almost. I mean, sh
e was one of the first people in forever who talked to me, told me about her life. She made sure I knew how much she wanted this baby and…now she doesn’t. She might have changed her mind, but I can’t change my feelings about it.”
“What will you do?” he asked. “What will you do if I tell you I don’t want the baby?”
“I’ll give it up for adoption,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing. “I was going to give birth anyway. That was part of the agreement.”
“I see.” His thoughts were racing, trying to catch up with everything that the woman in front of him—the woman whose name he still didn’t know—was saying to him. “And was Ashley planning on paying you the rest of the fee if you continued with the pregnancy?”
The woman looked down. “No.”
“So, you had to make sure that you could still collect your fee? Is that why you came to speak to me?”
“No. I came to speak to you because it seemed like the right thing to do. Because I was becoming concerned about your lack of involvement in the whole thing.”
Anger built inside him, reaching its boiling point and bubbling over. “Allow me to paint a clear picture for you of what exactly happened. My ex-wife went behind my back to hire you. I still don’t understand how this happened. I don’t understand how she was able to manipulate both you and the doctor. I don’t understand how she was able to accomplish this without my knowing. I don’t understand what her end game was, as she is now clearly backing out. Perhaps now that she has seen she will get no money from me, and I’m not worth the effort anyway, she does not wish to be saddled with my child for the rest of her shallow existence. Or, perhaps it is simply Ashley. Who decided to do something on a whim, thinking that something of this magnitude would be a delightful surprise she would drop in my lap like the purchase of a new handbag. And much like my ex feels about handbags, she has decided she is bored of this one and moved on to the next shiny thing. Regardless of her motivation, the end result is the same. I didn’t know. I did not want this baby.”