A Hunger for the Forbidden

It was the hurt on her face that surprised him, and more than that, his response to it.

Damn Alessia Battaglia and those dark, soulful eyes. Eyes that had led him to ruin on more than one occasion.

“Because you won’t allow your child to carry my name?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

“And what of my role in raising my child?”

“You will, of course, be present.”

“And what else? Because more than mere presence is required to raise a child.”

“Nannies are also required, in my experience.”

“In your experience raising children, or being raised?”

“Being raised. I’m supremely responsible in my sexual encounters so I’ve never been in this situation before.”

“Supremely responsible?” she asked, cheeks flushing a gorgeous shade of rose that reminded him of the blooms in his Sicilian palazzo. “Is that what you call having sex with your cousin’s fiancée with no condom?”

Her words, so stark and angry, shocked him. Alessia had always seemed fragile to him. Sweet. But tangling with her today was forcing him to recognize that she was also a woman capable of supreme ruthlessness if the situation required it.

Something he had to reluctantly respect.

“I didn’t know you were engaged to be married, as you withheld the information from me. As to the other issue, that has never happened to me before.”

“So you say.”

“It has not,” he said.

“Well, it’s not like you were overly conscious of it at the time.”

Shame cracked over his insides like a whip. He had thought himself immune to shame at this point. He was wrong. “I knew. After.”

“You remembered and you still didn’t think to contact me?”

“I did not think it possible.” The thought hadn’t occurred to him because he’d been too wrapped up in simply trying to avoid her. Alessia was bad for him, a conclusion he’d come to years ago and reaffirmed the day he’d decided not to go after her.

And now he was bound to her. Bound to a woman who dug down far too deep inside of him. Who disturbed his grasp on his control. He could not afford the interruption. Could not afford to take the chance that he might lose his grip.

“Why, because only other people have the kind of sex that makes babies?”

“Do you always say what comes to your mind?”

“No. I never do. I never speak or act impulsively, I only think about it. It’s just you that seems to bring it out.”

“Aren’t I lucky?” Her admission gripped him, held him. That there was something about him that brought about a change in her … that the thing between them didn’t only shatter his well-ordered existence but hers, too, was not a comfort. Not in the least.

“Clearly, neither of us are in possession of much luck, Alessia.”

“Clearly,” she said.

“There is no way I will let my child be a bastard. I’ve seen what happens to bastards. You can ask my cousin Angelo about that.” A cousin who was becoming quite the problem. It was part of why Matteo had come to New York, why he was making his way back into circulation. In his absence, Angelo had gone and bought himself a hefty amount of shares for Corretti Enterprises and at this very moment, he was sitting in Matteo’s office, the new head of Corretti Hotels. He’d been about to go back and make the other man pay. Wrench the power right back from him.

Now, it seemed there was a more pressing matter.

“So, you’re doing this to save face?”

“For what other reason? Do you want our child to be sneered at? Disgraced? The product of an illicit affair between two of Sicily’s great warring families?”

“No.”

Matteo tried not to read the emotion in her dark eyes, tried not to let them pull him in. Always, from the moment he’d seen her, he’d been fascinated. A young girl with flowers tangled in her dark hair, running around the garden of her father’s home, a smile on her lips. He could remember her dancing in the grass in her bare feet, while her siblings played around her.

And he had been transfixed. Amazed by this girl who, from all he had been told, should have been visibly evil in some way. But she was a light. She held a brightness and joy like he had never seen. Watching it, being close enough to touch it, helped him pretend it was something he could feel, too.

She made him not so afraid of feeling.

She’d had a hold on him from day one. She was a sorceress. There was no other explanation. Her grip on him defied logic, defied every defense he’d built inside of himself.

And no matter how hard he tried, he could read her. Easily. She was hurt. He had hurt her.

“What is it?” he asked.

She looked away. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you hurt?”

“You’ve just told me how unlucky we both are that I’m pregnant—was I supposed to look happy?”

“Don’t tell me you’re pleased about this. Unless it was your plan.”

“How could I have … planned this? That doesn’t make any sense.”

He pushed his fingers through his hair and turned away from her. “I know. Che cavolo, Alessia, I know that.” He turned back to her.

“I just wanted to tell you about the baby.”

He felt like he was drowning, like every breath was suffocating him. A baby. She was having his baby. And he was just about the last man on earth who should ever be a father. He should walk away. But he couldn’t.

“And this was the only way?”

Her eyes glittered with rage. “You know damn well it was!”

He did. He’d avoided her every attempt at contacting him. Had let his anger fuel the need for distance between them. Had let the very existence of the emotion serve as a reminder. And he had come back frozen again. So he’d thought. Because now Alessia was here again, pushing against that control.

“Why didn’t you meet me at the airport?” she asked, her words a whisper.