The Price Of A Dangerous Passion (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Jane Porter

  “That sounds dreadful. You know that, don’t you? Every word you say just sounds dreadful.”

  “Dreadful, how? It’s stability. It’s honorable—”

  “Devoid of passion, energy, excitement—”

  “And yet, you yourself seem to avoid those very things,” he interrupted.

  She drew back. “What?”

  “You deliberately avoid passion and excitement—”

  “If that was true, I wouldn’t be here, in this situation, now.”

  “And yet you’ve admitted more than once that our night together was a mistake.”

  She felt her face heat. “I don’t do one-night stands,” she said stiffly. “You were my first, and I realized belatedly that casual sex wasn’t for me.”

  “I didn’t blow you off, and it didn’t have to be a one-night stand. I phoned you while you were on the way in the cab to the airport. I phoned you again after you landed in Los Angeles. You didn’t return those two calls. Undeterred, I tried to see you again a couple weeks later, but you pushed me away, saying that while you’d enjoyed our night together, it wouldn’t happen again.”

  “It couldn’t, Brando. I’ve never mixed business and pleasure before. You were the first client I ever got...intimate...with.”

  “Why did you?”

  “I liked you. I was drawn to you.”

  “And I liked you, and was very drawn to you, too.”

  “But I don’t sleep with my clients,” she said firmly. “It’s bad business, and incredibly irresponsible of me.”

  “Don’t work with the Ricci family anymore. Problem solved.”

  “It’s not that easy, Brando. The Riccis are important clients. I can’t alienate them.”

  “You can’t alienate them, but you can alienate me?”

  She sighed with frustration. “You’re not helping, especially not when you twist my words. You know what I mean. I didn’t have feelings for any of them... I had feelings for you, and that’s a problem.” And then realizing what she’d just said, she hurriedly added, “And now that I’m pregnant, we really have a problem. How do we raise this baby, and where?”

  Brando was silent, his features shuttered, and then he rolled one thickly muscled shoulder. “Sometimes solutions come when you’re not obsessing about them. Perhaps we need a break from talking and thinking. Perhaps we should go do something and just not think.”

  She arched a brow, curious. “Do what?”

  “We could get in the car and drive to Greve, and then stop in Montefioralle, which is up on a hillside, and actually overlooks Greve. Montefioralle is a village that dates to the early nine hundreds and there are wonderful views of the valley from there. Many tourists like to walk to Montefioralle from Greve, but I wouldn’t suggest it in your condition, but the drive is scenic and Greve has a charming, historic main square, and several nice spots we could stop for lunch.”

  Charlotte glanced at her laptop on the table and then out at the valley, and she knew what she wanted to do—escape. Not think. But being with Brando was incredibly problematic. “Can we really not discuss the baby and the future for the next hour?”

  “I promise we won’t discuss either for the rest of the afternoon. Let’s leave serious discussions until later, and just try to enjoy the day. You’re not in this part of Italy often. Try to enjoy it.”

  They drove to Greve in his low-slung sports car and parked in a small alley behind a creamy stone building, and then entered through the back of the building. It was cool inside, the thick stone walls keeping out the heat, while the interior smelled of oak and wine. “One of our tasting rooms,” he said, guiding her past an office to the public rooms where he gave her a brief overview of the Ricci wines being sampled and sold in the shop.

  After saying a few words to the staff, he escorted her through the front door, where they emerged onto the medieval town square, the square ringed with handsome buildings filled with picturesque cafés, art galleries and more wine tasting rooms. They wandered in and out of the different shops and galleries and visited a church where the stillness and flickering candles filled Charlotte with much-needed peace. Everything would be fine. She didn’t have to panic or worry so much. Brando would be reasonable and they’d find a way through this.

  After an hour and a half of exploring the town, they returned to Brando’s car for the short drive up a steep hill to Montefioralle.

  This time Brando parked at a small restaurant perched on the side of the slope with a breathtaking view of the valley and Greve below. “Hope you’re hungry,” he said as they were seated at a table on the small patio. “The food here is excellent, and the wine, too.”

  “Is it wine from your vineyard?” she asked.

  He flashed a smile that was as sexy as it was sinful. “How did you know?”

  She couldn’t help smiling back. He was irresistible when he turned on the charm. “Just a lucky guess.”

  Brando had been intrigued by Charlotte from the first time he met her in August of last year. She was stylish, stunning, smart and incredibly confident. He was impressed she could hold her own during contentious meetings with his family, and admired her ability to say what needed to be said, even if it wasn’t popular. Brando, himself, tended to be blunt, and it wasn’t often he met a woman who’d go toe-to-toe with him, rather than shy away from tough topics, but she did. And then when the conflict eased, she’d smile one of her smiles, and maybe that’s what had hooked him.

  When Charlotte Parks smiled, she lit up a room. Her smile was brilliant and wide, and her blue eyes gleamed, too.

  It wasn’t until she smiled now that he realized this was the first time he’d seen her smile since their night together New Year’s Eve.

  He realized how much he’d missed that smile, never mind how much he’d flat out missed her.

  Brando hadn’t chased after a woman in years, but he’d wanted to see Charlotte last year, after she’d returned to the States. He’d very much wanted another night with her, although he suspected one more night wouldn’t be enough for him. He’d gone to LA to see her, but she gave excuses about being busy, and in the middle of a tense situation with clients, but she hoped she could say hello the next time she was in Italy.

  She was giving him the brush-off. He’d been equally surprised, and disappointed, because even though she’d said all along it would be one night only, he hadn’t believed she meant it. But she had.

  He admired that, too.

  This wasn’t a game for her, either. She truly valued her independence, and it was a refreshing change from the women he dated who were utterly dependent on him, craving attention, desiring to be spoiled, hungry for gifts, big and small. Brando knew he was as much at fault for cultivating shallow relationships. He preferred giving gifts over giving his heart. It was a tidier transaction. Fewer complications.

  Only now the woman who didn’t want him was here, pregnant with his child, and there would be no tidy transaction. Their situation was enormously complicated.

  He leaned across the table and kissed her, a firm, slow kiss. Her mouth was warm and soft and he felt the quiver in her lips before he drew back.

  Her face was pale with two pink blotches in her cheekbones, which only made her blue eyes brighter. He could see the worry in her eyes, though, as well as a question. She didn’t know why he’d kissed her. He didn’t know, either, other than he wanted her. He’d wanted her from the very beginning, and it crossed his mind that he would probably always be this attracted to her, and not just physically, but intellectually. She held her own with him. She was his equal in every way. She’d make an excellent wife.

  “You’ll make an excellent addition to the family,” he said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a Ricci already.”

  Charlotte stiffened, her shoulders squaring, spine straightening. “We’d agreed we weren’t going to discuss the future,
” she said quietly, flatly, anger washing through her. “Those were your words, too.”

  He gave a casual shrug. “I’m not discussing the future. I’m talking about the present. You fit in. You’re my other half. You belong with me,” he answered.

  “I’m not your other half. You are a whole, and I am a whole and there is no room in our individual lives for each other. We are too independent, too headstrong.”

  “We’re smart enough, successful enough to know how to adjust.”

  She held her breath, unwilling to speak, afraid that whatever she said might be used against her.

  “What other choice do we have?” He’d ordered a glass of wine with his lunch and he gave his goblet a slight spin and watched the ruby-red wine swirl. “Not if we’re putting our child’s needs first, and I don’t know a lot about you, but I’ve heard enough now to understand that your family never put you first. That your fear of families is the fear of being lost, consumed—”

  “That’s putting it a little strong,” she interrupted.

  “But I’m right, aren’t I? You like your space because you can breathe, and be free, something you couldn’t do in your family.”

  Suddenly parched, she reached for her water glass and took a gulp. “I might need a glass of wine, too, if we’re going to be analyzing me over lunch today.”

  His lips lifted faintly. “No one is trying to psychoanalyze you. I’m just slowly starting to understand you. I think it’s important to understand you—”

  “Then let me help you understand exactly what I don’t want. I don’t want to become part of another family. And as much as I enjoyed working with your family, I have no desire to become one of them. I mean no disrespect, and I apologize if I’m phrasing this badly, but your family is every bit as overwhelming as mine—and that doesn’t work for me in any way.”

  “No need to apologize. I agree we are passionate, but there is no malice in any of them.”

  She didn’t immediately reply. Instead she looked away, out across the restaurant’s patio toward the verdant valley filled with orchards and vineyards. A vineyard ran down the hill below them, the afternoon sun shining brightly on the tidy rows of grapes, gilding the green leaves with burnished light.

  “There’s a reason I’m happy in Southern California,” she said after a bit. “I’m on my own. I have my own place, my own identity. I don’t have to answer to my mother, my father, or any of my stepparents. I can just be myself. It’s taken me years to break free and I’ve no desire to give up that space, and independence.”

  “But isn’t your mother still in Los Angeles?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “This isn’t something we discuss, but my mother and Bill have been separated for a couple of years. They may even be divorced by now. I don’t know, and I don’t really want to know. I figure when Mother wants to announce something she will, and until then I’m happy to leave her alone and let her do her thing, and I do my thing.”

  “Where is she living?”

  “South of France at the moment, but I think that’s a temporary thing.”

  “You don’t see your stepfather anymore? I thought you two were once close?”

  “I like Bill. He’s a maverick and colorful and he always invites me to Hollywood parties, as well as his big film premieres. Sometimes I show up because he loves a good red carpet photo with his family all around him, but I haven’t since he and Mom went their different ways. But I’m fine with it. I like Los Angeles because I can be no one there. I’m invisible and I like that. I also like the weather, I like being close to the ocean and I like that no one descends on me in Los Angeles. My father hates LA. My brothers and sisters hate LA, too, which delights me to no end. I’m happy with my little house and career. It suits me.”

  She felt him study her from across the table and it was all she could do to sit still beneath his scrutiny.

  “Marrying me doesn’t mean you’ll lose your identity, cara. You will always be Charlotte Parks, even if you become Mrs. Charlotte Parks Ricci.”

  “What if I didn’t want to take your last name? What if I simply wanted to be Charlotte Parks?”

  His powerful shoulders shifted easily. “If that is what you preferred, I’d have no objections. You have a career, you have a perfectly lovely name. Marrying you is about giving our baby a home, a family and a family name.” He paused. “Or do you take issue with our baby being named Ricci?”

  She couldn’t believe she was even having this conversation. She wasn’t seriously considering marrying him, was she?

  She sat silent for a moment, processing everything being said, and realizing she maybe had given an indication that she was open to marrying him... But was she?

  Was she even considering this future he suggested?

  As if able to read her mind, he added, “It’s not as if I live in my family’s back pocket. There are family business meetings, as well as periodic family dinners, holidays and birthday celebrations, but my brothers and sister are busy with their own lives and families. They certainly wouldn’t be overly involved in our lives, nor would we be expected to be immersed in theirs, not as newlyweds with a young baby.”

  “You realize I haven’t agreed to marry you, nor is it likely that I will accept your proposal,” she said.

  “Yes, that’s understood,” he answered gravely, and yet she could have sworn his lips twitched, as if amused. “So, let’s just keep moving forward, and discussing options, aware that no commitments are being made, on either side.”

  “Fair enough,” she said before looking him in the eyes. “How important is it for the baby to take your last name? Would it upset your family terribly?”

  His jaw flexed, and he frowned into his wineglass. “I don’t know if it would bother them. It would bother me. I’d very much like my son or daughter to have my name.”

  “I thought you were the rebel.”

  “I’ve been a rebel, but I’m older, and wiser, and appreciate my family, and our history here in Tuscany. Riccis have been making wine for one hundred years—”

  “But you’re the only one still making wine. The others have all shifted to other industries.”

  “All the more reason for me to want a son or daughter to carry on the winemaking tradition.”

  She didn’t immediately reply, because there was nothing she could say. She understood him, and if she were in his position, she’d feel the same way. It was only later, as they drove back to his castello, and passed through the huge gates set in the high stone walls that she said quietly, “We don’t have to be married for our child to take your name. You are the father. The birth certificate will reflect your name.”

  He glanced at her, lips compressing, but that was his only response as they traveled down the private lane lined with tall cypresses.

  Brando parked in front of the castello, turned the ignition off and faced her. “Do you still intend to go to London tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll fly you there. It’ll be easier on you physically. You won’t have to deal with long lines and security.”

  His offer caught her off guard, and yet at the same time, it was a little bit tempting. All London airports were unbearable. You couldn’t escape the crowds and lines. But why would he want to fly her back to England? “I’m not sure how flying me to England benefits you.”

  “Less stress on you is less stress on the baby.”

  Ah, of course. It was about the baby. She didn’t know why she felt a stab of disappointment, but she certainly wasn’t going to analyze the reaction here and now. “And there is no other agenda?” she asked, arching a brow. “You’re not planning on announcing we’re engaged, or something outrageous like that?”

  He matched her arched brow with one of his. “How can I do that, when we’re not engaged? Really, Charlotte, you have so little trust.”

  His smirk was
galling. But then everything about him was frustrating. He was gorgeous and interesting and he made her feel alive and wistful and confused...

  She hated feeling confused. As well as wistful. Both reminded her of being a child, which wasn’t a period in her life she remembered with fondness. Being a child, she was forced to rely on others, and the chief lesson from her childhood seemed to be that people weren’t dependable, that most promises made were never kept. “I don’t trust people very much, no.”

  “You ought to begin trying to trust me, especially if we’re to co-parent.”

  “I haven’t agreed to that, either.”

  “Bella, fortunately for me, that one is out of your jurisdiction. The law gives us both rights as parents. However, if you feel like agreeing to something, you could agree to marry me so when I do meet your family tomorrow, I can be introduced as your fiancé, and the father of your baby.”

  “Maybe I should simply take my flight as scheduled. It would be far less complicated.”

  “Or, I fly you home and meet your family and you can introduce me as the father of your child. I think it would be reassuring for them to know you haven’t been abandoned and won’t be having to raise the child on your own.”

  For a split second she couldn’t breathe, her chest squeezing, her heart suffused with pain. That she hadn’t been abandoned. She blinked hard, clearing the hot sting of tears, trying to suppress the emotions that were threatening to swallow her whole.

  “Surely your father would be reassured by the news,” Brando added, brow creasing. “As well as your brothers and sisters.”

  “Everyone is quite busy,” she said, forcing a smile. “I don’t think my pregnancy will trouble them one way or another, but you suddenly appearing with me would cause a fuss. And we don’t need the fuss, do we?”

  He gave her a long, considering look. “What happens when the gossips discover you’re pregnant with my child? That will get lots of tabloid attention, but if that doesn’t worry you...?”