Affairs Of The Heart: The Italian Boss's Secret Child

‘You know. About the b—’

All at once she realised what he’d done. That in order to get rid of Bryce the simplest way had been to turn his accusations back on him and agree that the baby was his. And it had worked. So well that even she’d been convinced he believed it.

‘Oh, my God,’ she said.

He grabbed her then, his hands like iron bands on her arms, wrenching her up from the chair to face him, his eyes dark and menacing and searching for answers.

‘How long have I known what exactly?’

His fingers bit into her flesh even as she tried to form the words. ‘You’re hurting me.’

He let go so suddenly her knees buckled beneath her and she swayed, battling to keep her balance. His large hands caught her before she hit the ground and he swung her up until she crashed against his chest, firm and strong, the clean, masculine smell of him the last thought in her head before everything went blank.

CHAPTER EIGHT (#u4f93203d-362b-520d-9d07-6c75ca30ba3e)

‘WHERE am I?’ She came to with a start on an unfamiliar bed in equally unfamiliar surroundings. Only the city skyline, outlined through the wall of windows to her side, looked vaguely familiar.

‘Relax,’ Damien said, easing her shoulders back down on the soft pillow. ‘You’re in my penthouse apartment. I thought it would be more comfortable than the sofa in my office. Here,’ he said, indicating the tray on the side table next to her, ‘have something to drink. I brought juice and water—your choice.’

Her gaze skidded half-heartedly over the tray. This was his apartment? Then that meant— Her eyes swung around the room, taking in the personal effects on the dresser, the silk robe hanging on a door, and she swallowed.

His bed.

She made a wobbly move to push herself up. ‘I’m sorry. I should get back to work.’

‘No.’ His hand on her shoulder barred her rising. ‘Not until you tell me what’s going on.’

She looked up at him, the underlying menace in his soft words echoed in the shadows in his eyes.

‘I want to know what you meant back then.’

Still she fought it. She’d thought he’d known—it could all have been so simple.

‘I want to know. You made it sound as if your pregnancy had something to do with me.’

Her eyelids fell shut on a deep breath. ‘Damien,’ she said, ‘please let me up. I can’t explain with you standing over me.’

With a sound of impatience he twisted his body up and away from the bed. She followed by slowly swinging her legs over the edge, sitting still for a second, testing whether her legs would give way again before she too pushed herself up and away, her hands smoothing her hair as she walked to the wall of windows on the far side of the room.

‘Well?’ he prompted, the decibels in his voice up a notch. ‘Go ahead and explain then.’

She clutched her arms around her middle, staring at the floor and trying to find words that would make her news more palatable. It would be bad enough for him to realise that he’d slept with her without the double blow that she was pregnant with his child.

But there was no easy way to say it. No way to smooth the impact of the words.

‘It’s true,’ she said at last. ‘I’m carrying your child.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ he said. ‘We’ve never even had sex.’

Her head dipped in a nod. ‘Obviously we have.’

‘Like when? The only time we came anywhere close was at the Gold Coast and you threw me out of your room before I had hardly a chance to kiss you. Remember? So if you’re pregnant from that time, someone else must be the father.’ He stopped for a second, surveying her critically as if he’d just latched on to something significant.

‘What did you do? Go and find good old Stu the moment I left? Is that why you were so upset with me—you had to slink back to meet him? I wondered why he wasn’t too upset the next day—you’d already smoothed his wounded ego. Well, don’t expect a bonus from me for what you’ve done just because you were away on business. It doesn’t work like that.’

She unwrapped her arms from around her and felt her hands ball into fists that pounded into her thighs. ‘What is your problem? Stuart wasn’t upset because he didn’t give a damn. He’d only asked me to go dancing. Yes, you were unnecessarily, unbearably rude that night but it wasn’t exactly as if he’d asked me to marry him.

‘Besides which,’ she continued before he had a chance to respond. ‘You really must have a pretty low opinion of me if you think I’m capable of falling into bed with any guy who crosses my path.’

‘Well—’ he pointedly gazed at her lower abdomen ‘—given your condition, you’ve obviously fallen into bed with somebody.’

‘Maybe not,’ she said, a smile emerging on her lips for the first time in their conversation. ‘Who said this baby had anything to do with bed?’

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? And if you’re saying it didn’t happen while we were at the Gold Coast, when else have we been together long enough for this amazing conception to have taken place?’

She looked right at him, desperate to take the smug look off his face. ‘The office Christmas party.’

‘You weren’t even there. You said—’

‘Sam said I wasn’t there. I told you my mother was ill.’

He looked at her for a moment, his face a tangle of confused emotion. ‘Can’t you think of anything more original than that? Are you that desperate to pin this baby on me? Maybe I should have left you to Bryce, after all. Seems to me you two are made for each other.’

His words stung her deeply but not half as deeply as the realisation that her fears were true. He simply couldn’t abide the thought of having made love to her. Damien DeLuca would never have stooped to such a thing.

Well, damn him! It was the truth. He had to believe her.

‘I didn’t realise it would be so confusing for you. Tell me, exactly how many women did you make love to in the boardroom that night?’

Something in his eyes flared. Disbelief? Panic?

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not possible.’

‘Oh, it’s more than just possible,’ she said with a smile that should have hinted at much more.

‘Then tell me what you were wearing.’

She allowed the corners of her mouth to kick up another notch. Still he was fighting the inevitable. ‘I was dressed as Cleopatra. You were Mark Antony.’

‘And that proves exactly nothing. Other people would have seen us together. How do I know what you are saying is the truth?’

She sighed, remembering the words he’d greeted her with, the words that had warmed her soul deep and fixed her in his spell. ‘You said you’d been waiting two thousand years for me,’ she remembered, her voice barely more than a whisper as she recalled that special moment.

‘You could have overheard that.’

‘True,’ she acknowledged, her good feelings evaporating in the harshness of his desert-dry tone. ‘So maybe I should tell you about how you locked the door behind us and lifted me on to the boardroom table, the way you released my breasts into your hands and mouth. Or maybe I should tell you how you entered me, naked but for the leather on your feet…’

Watching his face, she caught the exact moment he realised there was no escape, caught his eyes darkening, the pupils dilating as if letting in the truth at last, the slideshow of emotions—surprise, shock and outrage moving fast over his features as he digested the news.