CHAPTER TWO
L ARK IMMEDIATELY RELAXED at the sight of Maya’s smile on her screen. It was fine; of course it was fine. Emily had only sent her a happy photo, making it clear that Maya was feeling better.
Lark’s central nervous system could stand down. Everything was okay.
Completely forgetting that she’d just broken off in midconversation, she began to type a reply, only for a large male hand to reach over her shoulder and pluck the phone from her grasp.
She gasped and turned round sharply to find Signor Donati staring down at her phone’s screen, the expression on his handsome face almost frightening in its intensity.
Lark’s stomach tightened. Why had he grabbed her phone? And why was he looking at the picture of Maya as if he was...angry? She should have been paying attention, she knew that, and answering texts in the middle of a professional conversation was very rude. But it was her daughter. Surely he’d understand?
She plastered a smile on her face. ‘I’m so sorry about that text, but—’
‘This is your daughter?’ He looked up from the phone, the blue of his eyes piercing her right through, the expression in them stealing her breath.
She didn’t want to answer, an inexplicable unease sitting deep in her gut. Yet she couldn’t think of a good reason not to. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘That’s Maya.’
He glanced back at the photo. ‘Maya,’ he repeated, his accent making her name sound like music.
Lark swallowed, her unease deepening. ‘Can I have my phone back, please?’
He ignored her. ‘When was she born?’
The uneasiness turned over inside her. Why was he asking her questions about her child? She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.
‘She just turned one a few months ago,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but why are you asking so many questions about—’
‘And her father?’
Anger, heavy and unfamiliar, stirred to life in her gut. She tried never to get angry, it was such a depressing, useless emotion, but strange men asking her questions—deeply personal questions—about her and her daughter was a subject that she had no humour about.
‘What about her father?’ She kept her tone polite, because he was still a potential client, no matter his strange behaviour. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t see how that is any of your—’
‘Her father.’ He looked up from the phone, his gaze all sharp blue edges. ‘Who is he?’
He expected her to answer instantly, she could see that, and her usual reaction would be to soothe whatever was bothering him, because something clearly was. You caught more flies with honey than you did with vinegar, and Lark was an expert with honey.
But his line of questioning was deeply disquieting, not to mention that something about him had worked its way under her skin. His male beauty, the force of his presence, the air of authority that cloaked him, the way her heart suddenly seemed to beat out of rhythm when she looked at him... She wasn’t sure which it was. Maybe all three. Whatever the reason, she didn’t want to soothe him. Didn’t want to give him her smile, smooth over all those sharp edges. So she didn’t.
She gave him a cool look instead and said, still polite, ‘I’m very sorry, but as I said, that’s none of your business. I’m here to talk about the antiques you want to sell, not my daughter.’
His perfect features had hardened and the knuckles of his long-fingered hands were white where they held her phone. His gaze glittered and she was sure it was fury she saw there. He looked...dangerous and she was conscious that they were in the room together, alone. And he was a stranger, tall and powerful and so much bigger than she was. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him exactly—or at least it wasn’t only fear that wound through her. There was something else, something hotter...
‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ he said.
Lark took a breath, her disquiet turning into a kernel of ice sitting in her gut.
No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t...
‘Should I remember you?’ she asked carefully. ‘I think I’d remember if we met.’
‘We did meet,’ he said. ‘One night in Rome. You had your handbag stolen.’
The ice inside her froze her all the way through.
That night in Rome, the night she’d lost all memory of. The night she’d chosen to view through rose-coloured glasses because it had given her Maya. She’d thought she’d worked through all her fears about it, how her pregnancy could have been the result of rape or some kind of coercion, because she’d never had much to do with men and that was by choice. And after she’d seen the psychologist, she’d made a conscious decision not to keep revisiting that night, because how she’d got pregnant wasn’t as important as its eventual outcome: Maya.
Her daughter was the most important person in Lark’s life and she was all that mattered. Lark had told herself that it was even a good thing she didn’t remember, because then it meant she didn’t have to track down Maya’s father and inform him of what had happened. She didn’t have to deal with him or any demands he might make, and having witnessed that with her mother, it wasn’t an experience she’d ever wanted for herself or for any children she might have.
It did mean that Maya wouldn’t ever have a father figure in her life, but that wasn’t a problem. Lark had never had one herself and her life had been all the better for it.
Except now Signor Donati was staring at her with sharp blue eyes, the force of his attention, the fury in it, almost a physical weight crushing her, and she was basically made of icy shock.
‘No,’ she said, her voice a tiny bit hoarse. ‘I...don’t remember.’
He didn’t move and he didn’t look away. ‘I organised a new passport for you and then I took you out for dinner. We talked until the restaurant closed and then I invited you back to my villa. You said yes.’
Her mouth dried, the beat of her heart even louder in her ears. ‘I... I...’
‘We had some very good cognac in my library,’ he went on relentlessly. ‘And around midnight, we decided to move our conversation to my bedroom.’
No, it couldn’t have been him. It couldn’t . She would have remembered him .
‘I told you that one night was all we could have and you agreed. I left you sleeping the next morning, and when I returned home, you’d gone.’
Lark shook her head, the cold shock making her extremities feel numb. She did remember her handbag being stolen and she’d been very upset about it. In fact, her last memory of that night was standing in a Roman street, wondering what on earth she was going to do, and then...nothing. Nothing until she’d opened her eyes and found herself in hospital.
Surely— surely— she would have remembered spending the night with him.
‘I don’t think that’s what happened,’ she said, her voice sounding thin. ‘I’m sure I—’
‘That’s exactly what happened.’ His gaze bored into hers. ‘Why are you pretending you don’t remember? Did you not want me to find out that I had a child?’
She blinked, the shock intensifying. ‘No, of course not. And I’m not—’
‘She has rose-gold hair.’ He took a step towards her, still holding on to her phone, his gaze like a knife. ‘My mother had hair like that, it’s not a common colour. And no one but Donatis have eyes that blue.’
Lark couldn’t help darting a glance at the portrait above the fire, at the woman sitting in the chair. Was that his mother? Because her hair was that colour and yes, if you looked at it in a certain light, it was the same colour as Maya’s. And the man standing beside her with the blue eyes... The same blue as the eyes of the man standing in front of her.
Maya’s eyes.
‘Do you want money?’ His voice was hard and cold and furious. ‘Is that why you’re here? Do you want to blackmail me?’ He took a step closer and she found herself backing away. ‘Did you do it on purpose? Are you planning to use your child to extort money out of me?’
The couch pressed against the backs of her legs, stopping her from going any further, and he was very close, towering over her, all six foot three of masculine fury. She could feel his heat, smell his aftershave, something warm and woody, like a cedar forest. And again she felt that tug inside her, her skin tightening. Not fear, and yet not unlike it. Anticipation, maybe or excitement, as if she relished that fury of his and wanted to see more of it. Which was crazy, because who wanted to see more masculine anger?
Also, how dare he shout at her? How dare he fling these questions at her, giving her no time to answer or think about what he was saying? And more than anything else, how dare he physically intimidate her in this way?
Lark never got angry and she never shouted. She tried to keep a positive outlook on everything she did. Years on the run from Lark’s father had made her mother fragile and easily prone to depression, and God knew her mother didn’t need Lark being difficult. She’d wanted her mother to be happy and her mother was only happy when Lark was. So she made sure to always be happy. Always be cheerful and optimistic, with never a bad word for anyone, and it hadn’t been hard. Her mother had loved her for it.
So she had no idea where the hot anger that flooded her veins now had come from, or why. Because anger would only make this situation worse. She should be smiling at Signor Donati, soothing him somehow, or charming him out of his rage instead.
Yet she didn’t do any of those things. She’d been worried about Maya and nervous about what Mr Ravenswood had expected of her, and then this horrible man had started throwing questions like daggers at her about a particularly sensitive time in her life, so now she had no interest in soothing him. And apart from anything else, anger was infinitely preferable to the cold fear that was now working its way through her.
So she lifted her chin and glared at him. ‘Get out of my space,’ she said angrily, and without waiting for him to move, she lifted her hands to his chest to push him away.
And froze.
He was very warm, the muscles beneath the wool of his suit jacket hard. That scent of his kept tugging at her, making her breathless. Making her skin prickle and tighten, as if her body knew something or remembered something she didn’t.
He was looking down at her and there was something hot in his eyes now, a steady, hungry, blue flame and it mesmerised her. Her breath caught.
Men had never been a priority, not even as a teenager. Her mother had made her all too aware of how men could use you, trap you, hurt you if you weren’t careful, so she’d always been careful. Which was why her pregnancy had come as such a shock and why she’d been glad that the accident had taken her memory.
So, she hadn’t been expecting her own physical response to Cesare Donati, not the moment he’d walked into the room, and definitely not now. When she’d wanted to push him away and instead found her hands lingering on his chest, unable to tear her gaze from the hungry glitter in his eyes.
And when he said softly, ‘Perhaps you’ll remember this then,’ and put a finger underneath her chin, tipping her head back, she didn’t protest. And when he lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers, she didn’t avoid it.
Time seemed to stop, her world narrowing to this moment.
His kiss was unexpectedly light, unexpectedly gentle, his lips much softer than she’d thought they’d be. The touch of them on hers was electric, a bolt of white-hot sensation arrowing straight through her. Her nipples hardened against the lace of her bra, a pressure gathering between her thighs.
Sometimes at night she’d wake up aching, her skin sensitised, her head full of dreams of being touched and caressed. Of warm fingers stroking her, of a mouth on hers, of deep physical pleasure. She’d never understood where those dreams had come from and had never connected them with that night she’d forgotten.
But now...it was almost as if the memory was there. As if she could reach out and grab it. As if she even wanted to...
If he’s Maya’s father, he’ll take her away from you and you know it.
The wave of cold fear swamped her, drowning the effects of the kiss and she pushed at him, hard.
He didn’t resist, going back a couple of steps, his broad chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes glittered. ‘You do remember,’ he said, his accent much thicker. ‘You do.’
‘No.’ She tried to still the shaking in her hands. ‘I don’t. I don’t remember anything about you. Yes, I was in Rome and yes, I remember my handbag being stolen. But that’s all.’ She took an uneven breath. ‘I was in an accident. I was knocked over by a car in the street and the next thing I remember is waking up in hospital. My memory of that night is gone.’
His gaze narrowed. ‘An accident?’
‘I was concussed. They told me that my memory of that night would return, but it never did.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m telling you the truth, Mr Donati. I have no memory of that night. But one thing I do know is that Maya is not yours.’
She couldn’t be. She absolutely couldn’t. Maya was no one’s but hers.
He took no notice, the focused look in his eyes unchanging. ‘I’m afraid I must insist on a paternity test.’
‘No,’ she said before she could stop herself. ‘I won’t allow it.’
His jaw tightened. ‘If you know for certain that your daughter isn’t mine, then a paternity test wouldn’t matter would it?’
Lark felt her face get hot, her anger mounting. ‘She’s not yours. And I won’t have my daughter’s privacy invaded.’
‘I see.’ He drew himself up to his full height, authority radiating from him. ‘If that’s how you want to play it then fine. But if you won’t allow a paternity test then I’m afraid I’ll be taking my priceless Renaissance antiques elsewhere.’
Her anger became outrage and she knew it was a mistake to give in to it. That she should be smiling and giving him what he wanted instead, because everything was always easier that way. There was never any point in being difficult.
But he’d casually upended her nice, safe little world, first with his claims of being Maya’s father and then with that kiss. Now there was a part of her that was afraid. Afraid that he was right, that she had in fact slept with him, and her daughter was his. And that he’d take Maya from her the way her father had tried to take her from her mother.
Men did that, didn’t they? They took what they viewed as theirs, including people. And if they didn’t take, then they threatened, which was exactly what he was doing now.
Mr Ravenswood would be very upset with her at losing the Donatis as clients, but her daughter was far more important than any antique. Her daughter was priceless and Lark would fight anyone who dared to take Maya from her. She’d fight them to the death if need be.
‘Fine,’ she snapped before she could think better of it. ‘Take them elsewhere. Because you will not be testing my daughter. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.’
Cesare was utterly furious, yet he found himself almost admiring the way Lark Edwards stood there, with her pointed chin lifted, determination in every line of her small, curvy figure.
No one had stood up to him like this in a very long time and he had to respect the courage it must have taken her to do so. He was, after all, one of the richest and most important men in Europe and everyone did what he told them to. They certainly didn’t argue with him the way she was doing right now, and most especially not when he was angry.
And he was angry. That little girl on her phone was his, he knew it in his bones, though he’d had no idea how it had happened. He’d always been meticulous when it came to protection and that night had been no different. She’d told him she was on the pill too. Nothing had been left to chance.
So there shouldn’t have been a pregnancy at all and yet there was no denying the colour of the little one’s hair or the blue of her eyes. No denying the instinct that had gripped him, the knowledge that had settled inside him as hard and sure as the earth beneath his feet.
Maya was his daughter. And that meant he had some decisions to make.
It would be easy to agree with Lark, to accept that indeed he wasn’t her father, that he couldn’t be. To let Lark look at these antiques, take her pictures, and then leave Italy. He’d never have to see her again, never have to think about her again, and certainly never have to accept that he even had a daughter.
Yet he’d seen that photo now and he knew he was no longer the only Donati left, that there was another. Nothing could erase that knowledge, nothing could change it. The Donati line would continue, whether he wanted it to or not, and so he had to alter his course of action.
He could never forget what his parents had done to him, how their petty jealousies and pointless grudges, their burning, relentless hatred of each other, had killed them both and nearly ended him. And he’d never wanted to repeat that cycle. Never wanted a family where that might happen.
But now Maya existed, and because she existed, the cycle could repeat itself. And he was almost certain it would. The Donatis were hot-headed grudge holders, not to mention rigid and dictatorial, and compromise had never been in their vocabulary. Their selfishness was innate, he was positive, and Maya had the potential to be the same.
He couldn’t let her. He had to take charge, teach her how to manage the Donati flaws, help her grow up to be a better person, a better person than he was. A better person than either of his parents.
He also had the opportunity to create something new out of the ashes of the old, something different. Something new. A legacy without all the emotional manipulation his parents used, lashing out at each other and using their child as a go-between. A legacy without hatred or rage. Where a child was safe.
In fact, the more he thought about it, the more certain he became. Under his guidance, Maya could be part of a new generation, the start of a healthier legacy that would erase the toxic history of his family.
There was, of course, one small catch. Lark.
She was standing in front of him, that gorgeous smile of hers gone. Her face was pink with anger, her sea-green eyes fierce and determined.
Kissing her had been a mistake and he knew it. He’d hoped it would remind her of their physical chemistry that night, jolt her into admitting she’d been pretending all along. Yet it had backfired on him, reminding him of how good it had been to have her beneath him, and he didn’t need any more memories of that. Especially considering she’d said that she had none.
An accident that had erased her memory...
He wasn’t sure he believed her. It seemed far-fetched and a little too convenient, and made him wonder if she was lying in order to keep her child. He couldn’t blame her for that. He might even do the same thing himself, though it wouldn’t make any difference.
Maya was his and now he knew about her, now he’d made the decision to claim her, he was going to do so immediately and nothing and no one was going to stand in his way. He hadn’t let anyone do so before and he wouldn’t let anyone do so now.
Only your parents.
Ah, but that was different. He’d only been a boy back then, thinking that if he was obedient enough, good enough, they wouldn’t argue about him any more. That they wouldn’t argue, full stop. It had all been in vain, though. Nothing had made them stop hurting each other and him, and after they’d died, after his mother had nearly killed him, the only thing he could think was that if you couldn’t beat them, you joined them.
So he had. People did what he said, jumped through his hoops, or simply jumped when he told them to because that’s what he wanted and what he wanted he got.
He was a Donati through and through, and Donatis were selfish, and he didn’t care.
‘If you don’t want a paternity test, then you don’t want one,’ he said. ‘But I’m claiming my daughter regardless.’
A hot green spark lit in her eyes and perhaps it was perverse of him to enjoy that spark even more than her bright, placating smile. Nevertheless, he did. He liked the angry flush in her cheeks too. That same flush had been there the night he’d lain between her thighs and pleasured her with his tongue, leaving her trembling and crying out his name.
‘You will not,’ she said hotly. ‘She’s not yours. She’s no one’s but mine.’
‘Do you really think you can stop me, Miss Edwards? I have governments in my pocket and resources you can’t possibly imagine. If I want her, I’ll take her and there’s nothing you can do about it.’
He expected her to give in. That she’d realise how little power she had in this scenario and that giving him exactly what he wanted was the best course of action.
Except she didn’t.
Instead she took a step forward, getting into his personal space in much the same way as he’d got into hers. As if she wasn’t afraid of him or the fact that he was nearly a full foot taller than she was.
She looked up into his face, her eyes full of fury, and a very male part of him growled in appreciation. She was exceptionally pretty when she was angry.
‘That’s really how you want to play this?’ she demanded. ‘You’d take my daughter away from her home? Rip her away from everything she’s ever known, including her mother just because you feel some kind of strange territorial possessiveness?’
He stiffened at her tone. ‘That’s not what—’
‘How dare you?’ She took another step, her eyes blazing. ‘How dare you think you can take my daughter from me? Men like you are all the same. Just because you’re rich and powerful, you think that can take whatever you want.’ She took yet another step closer, and this time, rather to his own surprise, he found he was the one taking an automatic step back. ‘She’s only a little over a year old,’ Lark continued fiercely. ‘She’s a baby . Don’t you care how that might affect her?’ She stepped forward again and again he stepped back. ‘But no, you don’t care, do you? You don’t care about how that might affect her or me. And God, you kissed me, damn you.’ She continued forward, her hands clenched into fists at her side, her green eyes glittering with outrage. ‘Did you ever think that perhaps that wouldn’t be welcome? That I might not want it? No, of course you didn’t. It never occurred to you because the only thing you care about is yourself, you stupid, selfish, horrible man!’
Cesare found himself backed halfway to the doorway, Lark standing furiously in front of him, her delicate features pink, her eyes full of fire. And he was glad she didn’t actually have a weapon in her possession, because he was pretty sure she might have used it on him. He was surprised she hadn’t lashed out with one of those small, tightly clenched fists.
And while some of him was incensed that she’d had the gall to speak to him like that, most of him was shocked. Because no one did speak to him like that, let alone a woman he barely knew.
Are you surprised? You told her you were going to take her child from her.
Fine. Maybe he’d been hasty with that threat. Maybe he’d let his anger at the situation run away with him, which was always a mistake. The hot Donati temper was a flaw he had to keep in check, and he’d always prided himself on his control over his emotions. Clearly, though, in this instance, his control wasn’t as good as he’d thought. He didn’t give other people’s feelings much thought either, but he had to admit that the fury in Lark’s eyes got to him.
In fact, now that he thought about it, taking his daughter the way he’d threatened to wasn’t the change he’d been hoping to make. Giovanni had taken him away from Bianca, his mother, and he knew how that had ended. He couldn’t do the same thing, especially when he was hoping to start a new legacy.
Yes, he was a selfish man and he owned that. He was exactly as his parents had made him. But he didn’t want that for the next generation, which meant he needed to set a better example. Start as he meant to continue and all that.
Cesare was used to changing his mind quickly. Being adaptable was vital in business, because rigidity meant stagnation and that’s all the Donatis had been doing for centuries. Doing the same thing, going over the same ground. Wasting time killing the competition because that was ‘the Donati way’ instead of changing how they dealt with that competition.
He had to change now. Because while all the accusations Lark had thrown at him were correct, there was one that wasn’t. He might be selfish and horrible, but he wasn’t stupid.
Gritting his teeth, he put a leash on his temper and looked down at her, standing so small and indomitable in front of him. A wisp of golden hair had come out of her ponytail and lay across one pink cheekbone.
She was as lovely as he remembered, all soft and sweet and smelling of vanilla. He could still feel the brush of her mouth against his from that ill-advised kiss...
‘You’re entitled to your opinion of me, little bird.’ He injected as much cool into his tone as he could to drain the heat from the moment. ‘Some of it may even be correct. However, I’m nothing if not an excellent businessman and so I’ll offer you a deal. You allow me a paternity test and if your daughter isn’t mine, you’ll never hear from me again. And if she is, then we’ll sit down like civilised human beings and decide what to do from there.’