Chapter Eleven
Gio paced the large salon, as stirred up as when he’d seen Stella at the altar, marrying another man.
He should have his emotions under control. That was his specialty, working hard and living life to the full but never getting entangled in sentiment or deep feelings.
Today he was nothing but feelings. He didn’t know what to do with himself, or how to master his conflicting impulses.
There was a rustle of sound and he swung around. Stella stood in the doorway, the long veil discarded and her hair pulled back in a tight, sleek arrangement that emphasised her bone structure and the softness of her lips.
Or perhaps that was simply his unruly libido noticing. She might have seemed fragile if it weren’t for the aggressive set of her chin and her eyes’ hard glitter. Obviously she’d used the time in the bathroom to shore up her defences. In the chopper she’d looked disturbingly unguarded.
He gestured to the comfortable chairs and the refreshments his housekeeper had brought. ‘Come in. Take a seat.’
Wordlessly Stella crossed the room, her bearing as haughty as a duchess’s. Gio admired her panache. Apart from a hint of fatigue around the eyes she looked indomitable.
He could imagine her coping with any emergency. No wonder she was building a professional reputation as a force to be reckoned with. His investigators’ findings painted an impressive picture.
She’s not here for a job interview.
Once she settled in an armchair he sat opposite. ‘There’s something we need to clear up.’
Her eyebrows rose as she reached for a plate of biscotti, languidly choosing one then taking a bite. ‘Only one thing?’
Gio tamped down impatience. ‘Why pretend you’re pregnant?’
She swallowed and coughed, as if the food had gone down the wrong way. ‘It doesn’t matter. You knew better than to believe it. I’d rather discuss why you took it upon yourself to make a mockery of my wedding. What do you want?’
Her scornful tone was designed to rile him.
Rile and distract?
He watched Stella reach for water and sip slowly. But she put the biscotto down rather than nibble it again and she avoided his eyes.
As if she had something to hide?
A knot formed in Gio’s belly, his senses hyperalert as a warning premonition skated down his spine.
‘Stella?’ Her mouth flattened as she met his gaze. ‘Are you pregnant?’
For the longest moment she didn’t respond, just stared back stonily. Then her chin lifted. ‘You didn’t bring me all this way to talk about something you’ve already said is impossible.’
Her prevarication felt like an admission. Something fizzed in Gio’s blood, something he had no name for. His heartbeat quickened and his breath stalled.
He leaned closer. ‘Is it mine?’
Her expression tightened and he caught a flash of emotion before she hid it. ‘In Sicily you didn’t believe there was a baby. Nothing’s changed since then.’
But it had. His gaze dropped from her face to her hands, protectively clasped over her abdomen. He’d swear it was an unconscious gesture, all her effort going into maintaining that defiant stare.
And just like that something cracked open inside him, letting in a rush of feelings. Astonishment, fear and, confusingly, a sense of wonder.
‘I know you’re pregnant, Stella.’
It should have been a guess but suddenly he’d never been so certain of anything. Even her pulse, throbbing out of control, betrayed her.
He watched her realise she’d given herself away. Now one shaky hand lifted again to her throat in a gesture of defencelessness.
That was a slap to the face. Her body language screamed that she felt threatened. He hated that, wanted to reassure her, but above all he had to know.
‘You’re safe with me, Stella, whatever the truth.’ His voice was an urgent rasp, his throat raw as an unnerving mix of hope and stark terror engulfed him. ‘Is it mine?’
A child of your own. A family. How many years since you’ve had family? Since you loved anyone or felt love back?
The momentary glow in his belly disappeared as the memory of eviscerating pain skewered him. Family meant warmth and belonging but also unspeakable loss and anguish.
Gio drew a slow breath then forced himself to exhale.
Since reaching adulthood he’d been almost grateful to be alone, unencumbered by close ties. He’d seen the hell his father suffered when intense love turned to unendurable grief for his wife and daughter, lost together on that dreadful day.
Gio had grieved too, devastated by their loss. He hadn’t been able to comprehend life without them. But eventually, slowly, he’d discovered life moved on, one step at a time. But his father hadn’t moved on, instead remaining mired in grief, driven almost mad by bereavement.
After seeing and experiencing what love and loss had done to his father, Gio kept his relationships light, not deep. He’d become the master of the short-term affair, mutually exclusive while it lasted but never impinging on his autonomy. He was a loner.
Now, unaccountably, the prospect of Stella having his child made him feel things he had no words for. Feelings so vast and momentous he could barely take them in. Directly conflicting feelings of triumph and despair.
A discordant laugh dragged him from his thoughts, the harsh sound jarring. ‘That’s rich, coming from you. “You’re safe with me, Stella.”’ She mimicked his words in a high, derisive tone. ‘You can’t honestly think I’d fall for that.’
He folded his arms, roping in bruising pain. He couldn’t work out how it was that this one woman could inflict such hurt.
‘Yet here you are. It was your choice to come, not once but twice, in the limo then the helicopter.’ He leaned back, projecting an air of ease he didn’t feel. ‘You want to be with me.’ Easier to concentrate on that for now. Later, alone, he’d come to grips with the idea of a child.
She shot to her feet in a flurry of satin and lace, wide skirts brushing his legs as she swung around and marched away.
He was about to follow then realised she was going to the full-length windows, not the door. She stalked the length of the room, hands fisted in her skirt, uncaring when her train caught on a piece of furniture and ripped as she turned and swept back the other way.
Electricity jagged the air. He felt it in the prickling of his skin and the weight in his groin.
Her breasts heaved against her tight bodice and Gio rubbed his hands against his trousers, trying to eradicate the phantom sensation teasing his palms. The sense memory of fondling her breasts.
She was furious, magnificent, and he wanted her.
Still. More.
It drove him mad that he couldn’t talk himself out of this attraction. She’d bewitched him in Rome and every hour in her company he’d fallen further under her spell.
How she’d laugh if he admitted the reason he’d intervened today, virtually kidnapping her, was simply that he couldn’t bear the thought of her giving herself to another man.
It made no sense. It wasn’t as if Gio had plans to marry anyone, much less Barbieri’s daughter.
But something utterly elemental and unstoppable had risen inside him at the thought of her as another man’s wife, in another man’s bed, sharing her body, her thoughts and laughter with someone other than Gio Valenti.
What he wanted, needed, was to get her out of his system so she didn’t haunt him any more.
He rose and moved closer, riveted to the sight of her storming past the row of French windows that framed the view of gardens, lake and mountains. Visitors raved about that view but it sank into insignificance before Stella’s vitality.
‘I want a paternity test.’
That stopped her in her tracks. The long skirts swirled around her as she pivoted towards him. ‘Go to hell, Valenti.’
He considered admitting that was how it had felt in his empty bed, his thoughts churning fruitlessly, his body craving hers.
‘I have a right to know if the baby’s mine.’
Even as he said it, he couldn’t bring himself to countenance the idea her unborn child had been fathered by anyone else. How was that for contrary? The thought of fathering a child left him utterly undone, yet he didn’t want it to be another man’s.
Gio had never been jealous of any man in his life. Until he’d seen photos of Eduardo Morosi in an investigator’s report. The man was suave and handsome if you admired bland good looks and aristocratic breeding.
The thought of Morosi dining alone with Stella, much less getting her pregnant, was like poison in Gio’s veins.
She planted her hands on her hips. ‘If I were pregnant, that would be my business. Not yours.’
Gio prowled closer, unable to stay back. ‘Unless I’m the father.’ Instinct told him she carried his child but he wanted certainty.
She shook her head, her mouth flat. ‘You can be sure that if I ever have a baby I’d never turn to you for help. I’d look after my own child.’
He ground his teeth. Even now she refused to admit she was pregnant. ‘You can’t leave me hanging like that, Stella.’
She blinked as if surprised. ‘Can’t I? Why not? You lied to me, used me. I owe you nothing.’
He stalked nearer. ‘I used you? I remember it differently.’
‘How convenient for you.’
He was so near now that her sweet lilac scent curled around him and he saw the embroidered flowers shiver on her dress with every quick inhalation. He wanted to touch them, stroke her, hold her and take her in against his needy body.
Her chin angled up as he moved to stand right in front of her. Another couple of centimetres and her heaving breasts would brush his torso. His skin was taut, sensing her so close. His heart pounded and he felt the adrenaline rush in his blood.
She was breathless and her mouth was dry like his. He saw her moisten her lips before repeating, ‘I don’t owe you anything. You’re my enemy.’
‘Is that your excuse for the way you behaved? Lying to me then running away?’
‘The way I behaved? Don’t pretend this is my fault.’ Her fingers poked his breastbone. ‘You kidnapped me from my wedding. You made a laughing stock of me and Eduardo in front of hundreds of people.’