‘And me,’ he added, wanting her to remember that she’d just promised to tutor him in the arts of fatherhood.
She stared down at her cake and bit her lip. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a riot of dark waves, and it suddenly struck him how young she looked. He pushed his plate further away and glanced at her again. ‘How old are you, Marianna?’
‘Twenty-four.’
She was so young!
‘And you?’
‘Twenty-nine.’ It was one of the many pieces of information they hadn’t exchanged during their week in Thailand.
‘If you researched me on the Internet, then you know what I do for a living.’ As a specialist freelance consultant brought in, usually at the last moment, to turn the fortunes of ailing companies around, he enjoyed the adrenaline surge, the high-stakes pressure, and the tight deadlines. He shifted on his seat. ‘What about you? What’s your role at the vineyard? Are you a winemaker?’
She shook her head and those glorious curls performed a gentle dance around her face and shoulders. ‘Nico is the vintner. I’m a viticulturist. I grow the grapes, look after the health of the vines.’ She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘The art of grape growing is a science.’
He knew she had a brain. It shouldn’t surprise him that she used it. ‘Sounds...technical.’
‘I grew up on the vineyard. It’s in my blood.’
The smile she sent him tightened his skin. He tried to ignore the pulse of sexual awareness coursing through him. That was not going to happen. No matter how much he might want her, he wasn’t messing with her emotions.
‘What?’ she said.
He shook himself. ‘So your job is stable? Financially you’re...secure?’
He could’ve groaned when her face turned stormy.
He raised both hands. ‘No offence meant. Difficult conversations, remember?’
She blew out a breath and slumped back, offered him a tiny smile that speared straight into the centre of him. ‘I feel as if you’re quizzing me to make sure I’m suitable mother material.’
‘Not what I’m doing.’ He’d be the least qualified person on earth to do that.
She kinked an eyebrow. ‘No?’
He shook his head. ‘When I said I wanted to make things easier for you, I meant in every way.’
He saw the moment his meaning reached her. The hand she rested on the table—small like the rest of her—clenched. He waited with an internal grimace and a kind of fatalistic inevitability for her to throw something at him.
In amazement he watched as her hand unclenched again. ‘I keep forgetting that you don’t really know me.’
He knew the shape of her legs, the dip of her waist and the curves of her breasts. He knew the feel of her skin and how she tasted. Hunger rushed through him. He closed his eyes. He had to stop this.
‘One thing you ought to know is that I do have my pride.’ She pulled in a breath and let it out slowly. ‘I have both the means and the wherewithal to take care of myself and—’ her hand moved to cover her still-flat stomach ‘—whoever else comes along. I have a share in Vigneto Calanetti, I’m a qualified viticulturist, I work hard and I draw a good salary. It may not be in the same league as what you earn, Ryan, but it’s more than sufficient for both my and the baby’s needs. I think you ought to know that if you were to offer me money it would seriously offend me.’
Right. That was good to know, but... ‘What if I weren’t offering it to you, but to the baby?’
She frowned and gestured to his plate. ‘Are you finished?’ At his nod she glanced across the room and caught the maître d’s eye, wordlessly asking for the bill.
He let her distract herself with these things, but this money issue wasn’t something he’d let her ignore indefinitely. He had a financial responsibility to this child—a responsibility he was determined to meet. He left a generous tip and followed Marianna to the cobbled street outside. He glanced at her and then glanced around. ‘Your village is charming.’
It did what it was supposed to do—it cleared the frown from her face and perked her up. ‘This was a stronghold back in medieval times. Many of the stones from the wall have since been used to build the houses that came after, but sections of the wall still stand. Would you like to walk for a bit?’
‘I’d like that a lot. If you’re not feeling too tired.’
She scoffed at that and set about leading him through cool cobbled streets that wound through the town with a grace that seemed to belong to a bygone age. He found himself entranced with houses made from stone that had mellowed to every shade of rose and gold, with archways leading down quaint alleys that curved intriguingly out of view. There were walled gardens, quirky turrets and fountains in the oddest places. And all the while Marianna pointed out architectural curiosities and regaled him with stories from local folklore. Her skill on the subject surprised him.
It shouldn’t. Her quick wit and keen intelligence had been evident from their very first meeting.
Her enthusiasm for her subject made her eyes shine. She gestured with her hands as if they were an extension of her mind. His gut tightened as he watched her. Hunger roared through him...
He wrenched his gaze heavenwards. For heaven’s sake, can’t you get your mind off sex for just ten minutes?
‘I’m boring you.’
He swung back to her. ‘On the contrary, I’m finding all of this fascinating.’ He refused to notice the shape of her lips. ‘You obviously love your town.’
‘It’s my home,’ she said simply. ‘I love it. I missed it when I was in Australia.’ She frowned up at him. ‘Don’t you love your home?’
Something inside him froze.
Her frown deepened. ‘Where is your home, Ryan?’
‘Have you heard the saying “Wherever I lay my hat, that’s my home”? That pretty much sums me up.’
She halted, hands on her hips. ‘But you have to live somewhere when you’re between assignments. I mean, where do you keep your belongings?’
‘I have office facilities in Sydney and London, and staff who work for me in both locations, but...’ He shrugged.
Her eyes grew round. ‘What? Are you telling me that you just live out of hotel rooms?’
‘Suites,’ he corrected.
‘But—’ She frowned. ‘What about your car? Where do you keep that?’
‘Whenever I need a car, I hire one.’
‘Then what about the gifts people give you, your books and CDs, photographs, art you’ve gathered and... Oh, I don’t know. The myriad things we collect?’
‘I travel light. All I need is a suitcase and my laptop.’
She eased away from him, those dark eyes surveying him. ‘I wasn’t so wrong about you after all,’ she finally said. ‘You are a kind of gypsy.’
She didn’t look too pleased with her discovery. He shrugged. ‘While we’re on the subject of accommodation, perhaps you could recommend somewhere for me to stay while I’m in Monte Calanetti?’
She folded her arms and frowned at him for a long moment and then tossed her head, eyes flashing. ‘Oh, that’s easy.’ She swung away and led him down an avenue that opened out into a town square. ‘If you’re going to help me get the cottage shipshape then you can stay there.’
His heart stuttered. ‘With you?’
Some of his horror must’ve seeped into his voice because she swung back with narrowed eyes. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’
‘Not at all,’ he assured her hastily. Hell, yes! How on earth was he going to avoid temptation when he was living with her? He rolled his shoulders. Not that he could ask the question out loud. Not when she stood glaring at him like that.
She turned and moved off, sending him a knowing glance over her shoulder. ‘Considering the circumstances of our acquaintance, local traditions of hospitality demand I offer you a place to stay.’
What on earth was she talking about?
‘If you don’t stay at the vineyard, Ryan, tongues will wag.’
<
br /> Ah. He didn’t want to make things here in the village uncomfortable for her.
Her lips suddenly twitched. ‘Of course, you could always stay in the main house with Angelo and Nico if you prefer.’
‘No, no, the cottage will be great.’
She waved to a group of men on the other side of the square before leading Ryan to a bench bathed in warm spring sunshine. The square rose up around them in stone that glowed gold and pink. In the middle of the square stood a stone fountain—a nymph holding aloft a clamshell. It sent a glittering sparkle of water cascading, the fine mist making rainbows in the air. The nearby scent of sautéing onion, garlic and bacon tantalised his nose, reminding him of lunch and the abandoned conversation that he hadn’t forgotten.
‘In my country, Marianna, it’s the law for a man to pay child maintenance to help look after his children. I expect it’s the law here too. I will be giving you money. It’s only right and fair that I contribute financially.’
Her mouth opened but he rushed on before she could speak. ‘This is non-negotiable. I insist on contributing to my child’s upkeep. I have my pride too.’ She tried to butt in but he held up a hand. ‘The money is not for you, it’s for the baby.’
She folded her arms and slumped back against the bench, dark eyes staring towards the centre of the square. He couldn’t help feeling he’d wounded her in some way. It didn’t mean he wanted to unsay it. He had every intention of being financially accountable in this situation, but...
‘None of that is to say that I believe for a single moment that you’re not capable of looking after the baby on your own. Of course you are.’
Those dark eyes met his and he didn’t understand the turmoil in their depths. ‘Imagine for a moment I was one of your brothers. Wouldn’t they want to contribute to the care of their child?’
Very slowly her chin and her shoulders unhitched. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
He let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Being around this woman was like negotiating a minefield. He didn’t know from one moment to the next what would set her off. He dragged a hand back through his hair. What on earth had happened to the sweet sunny girl he’d met in Thailand?
She still had the same sweet curves, and when she smiled—
Stop it!
‘So...’ She pursed those luscious lips of hers and Ryan had to drag his gaze away. ‘We’ve discussed the fact that you want to be involved in the baby’s life, that you want to be a good father. We’ve talked about money, and settled that you’re going to stay here in Monte Calanetti for the next month. We’ve organised where you’re going to stay during that time. Is there anything else we need to tackle today?’
The dark circles beneath her eyes beat at him. He’d put them there. She’d returned here yesterday after their dreadful interview and cried. She’d probably barely slept a wink for worry. His fault.
‘Maybe we should return to the vineyard. You can put your feet up and relax for a bit and—’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ryan, I’m pregnant not an invalid!’
Whoa. Okay. ‘I, um...well, maybe I can put my feet up. I’m kind of beat after the drive from Rome.’
She swung to him, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Of course you’re tired. What a dreadful hostess I’m proving to be.’
He prayed her tears wouldn’t fall. He didn’t want to deal with a sobbing woman. ‘You, uh...you don’t have to assume any role on my account.’ If they were going to make this work then they had to drop pretences.
And he had to make it work. He had to learn how to be a good father to this child so that when Marianna found her true love and had more babies, he’d be there when she no longer had time for the cuckoo in the nest.
There was no doubt in his mind that when she did marry and start a new family, this child could be cast aside. She wasn’t as young as his mother had been when she’d become pregnant with Ryan, but she was still young. Marianna mightn’t see it at the moment, but raising another man’s baby would throw a pall over any life she tried to build with a new man. And Ryan vowed to be there for his child when that happened.
* * *
Marianna directed Ryan to park his car beneath the carport standing to one side of the villa—the villa that was her family home. He switched off the ignition and turned to her. ‘Have you told your brothers about your plan to move?’
His tone told her he thought she’d have a fight on her hands. She bit back a sigh. Tell her something she didn’t know. ‘Not yet.’
‘Would you like me there when you do?’
‘No, thank you.’ His earlier non-negotiable ‘I’m paying for my child’ still stung. Did he think her completely helpless? Did he think her utterly incapable of looking after her baby?
‘When are you planning to move in?’
She lifted her chin. ‘Tomorrow.’ And nobody was going to stop her. But...
Pushing out of the car, she bit back a curse. What on earth had possessed her to offer him a room at the cottage? How relaxing was that going to be? Not.
She passed a hand across her forehead. It was just... She’d been utterly horrified when she’d learned how he lived his life. How could someone have no home? What kind of upbringing had this man had to have him still shunning the idea of a home?
If he wanted to co-parent he would need to create a home for their child, and she wanted him to experience at least a little of the welcoming atmosphere of a real home. If he helped her to create that warm environment perhaps he could emulate it.
Unless he had his heart set on sticking to hotel rooms. Suites. Would a baby mind...or even notice? Heavens, a toddler would have a field day!
When she turned back to face him, however, it wasn’t their child’s welfare that occupied her thoughts. It was his. Her heart burned for him and she couldn’t explain why, but for as long as he stayed here in Monte Calanetti she wanted to wipe away the memories of all of those impersonal anonymous hotel rooms and replace them with warmth and belonging.
Which, of course, made no sense at all.
Think with your head, not your heart.
You’re too impulsive.
Those were the voices of her brothers.
She reached up to scratch between her shoulder blades. Maybe it was simply pregnancy hormones making her feel maternal early or something.
Speaking of hormones... She thought back to some of her reactions during lunch and grimaced. She wasn’t exactly doing a great job at holding her emotions in check at the moment, was she?
Do you really think you can blame that on pregnancy hormones?
She flinched. Maybe she was as immature and irresponsible as her brothers seemed to think. Maybe she had no right becoming a mother. Maybe she’d be a terrible mother—
‘What’s wrong?’
She blinked to find Ryan right beside her. How had he known anything was wrong? She hadn’t even been facing him. How could he be so attuned to her when he didn’t really know her?
But he does know you. He knows every inch of your body intimately.
She gulped. Don’t think about that now.
‘Marianna.’ He smoothed her hair back from her face before clasping her shoulders. ‘If you’re afraid of your brothers, then let me inform them of your intentions. I’ll do anything you need me to.’
Except marry me.
That had her jerking out of his grip. She didn’t want to marry him. ‘I’m not afraid of Angelo and Nico, Ryan. It’s just... I...’ She spun away, swore and spun back. ‘I feel as if I have constant PMS—as if some alien has taken over my mind and is making me behave irrationally. And it’s taken over my body too. My breasts hurt. If I cross my arms, it hurts. If I reach up to get something from a shelf, it hurts. Putting a seat belt on is an exercise in agony, and I’m not even going to talk about the torture of putting on a bra. I...it’s making me tetchy. And then I feel like I’m some kind of immature loser who can’t deal with a bit of breast tenderness and some w
hacky hormones, and who’s creating a whole lot of trouble for everyone else.’
She paused, running out of breath and Ryan’s jaw dropped. ‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’
‘Because—’ she ground her teeth together ‘—I should be bigger than it.’
‘Garbage!’ He reached out and cupped her face. ‘I would hug you only I don’t want to hurt you.’ The sweet sincerity in his eyes melted something inside her. ‘But let me tell you now that you’re not a loser. You’re warm and beautiful and brave.’
He thought her beautiful?
So that’s the bit—out of all that he just said—that you latch onto, is it? Very mature.
She tried to ignore that critical inner voice.
‘I don’t feel brave,’ she murmured. She didn’t feel beautiful either, but she left that unsaid.
‘I think you’re wonderfully brave. I also think it understandable for you to be worried about the future. You shouldn’t beat yourself up about that.’
‘Okay,’ she whispered.
With that, he drew away. She missed his touch, the brief connection they’d seemed to share. She shook it off and made herself smile. ‘C’mon, I’ll show you the cottage.’
* * *
‘You want to do what?’ Angelo shouted from where he set the table.
She bit back a sigh. The moment she’d informed her brothers that Ryan was coming to dinner, Angelo had cancelled his date with Kayla, and Nico had returned earlier than normal from the vineyard with a martial light in his eye. She’d figured, In for a penny...
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Angelo slammed down the last knife and fork. ‘Nico, talk sense into the girl.’
Marianna doggedly tossed the salad from her post at the kitchen bench.
‘Mari—’ Nico swung from where he turned steaks on the grill. ‘This is your home. This is where you belong.’
She turned at that. ‘No, Nico, this is your home.’ One day he’d fill it with a wife and children of his own, but his head rocked back at her words and he turned white. Her head bled a little for him. ‘Turn the steaks,’ she ordered and he did as she bid. ‘I don’t mean that as some kind of denial or as an indication that I don’t feel welcome here. This is my childhood home. It will always be a haven for me. If I need it. Currently, though, I don’t need a haven.’
Reunited by a Baby Secret (The Vineyards of Calanetti, Book 3) Page 5