The Italian's Love-Child: The Italian's Stolen Bride / The Marchese's Love-Child / The Italian's Marriage Demand

‘I’ve just remembered who you are,’ she answered, not caring if it hurt him, instinctively using shock to give herself room for retreat to a less vulnerable position so she could think straight, not be influenced by the strong sexual connection he was pressing.

‘Don’t give me that!’ He whipped her over onto her back and propped himself up, one arm on either side of her so that she was looking directly into his eyes—eyes blazing with a certainty that poured into passionate words. ‘You knew who was kissing you…knew who brought you to this bed…knew who was—’

‘Screwing me again?’ she fired at him, angered by the physical domination he was exerting when she had made a clear request to be released.

His face tightened, his mouth compressing into a thin line. ‘You wanted this, too, Skye,’ he bit out, shaking his head over her accusation.

He was using it against her—the far too shortsighted surrender to what had probably always been a fantasy—her and Luc together, their love so strong it could ride through anything. It hadn’t. And he’d moved on to other women while she had struggled on by herself. He’d still be moving on, but for Matt.

‘Was it good for you, Luc?’ she asked, resenting all his infidelities.

‘Yes. And you wouldn’t have responded as you did if it wasn’t good for you,’ he retorted, determined on making her admit it.

‘So you think you can capitalise on it, move straight in and take over my life.’

‘We’re good together. We always were,’ he argued.

‘A pity you didn’t remember that when it counted.’

‘It counts now,’ he snapped back, ignoring the past, accentuating the present. ‘We have a son. We should be a family.’

Matt. She was right about what Luc really wanted. ‘There’s more to marriage than having a child. I don’t want you as my husband.’

‘You came to bed with me.’

She couldn’t leave him with that weapon to use against her. ‘I wanted you to remember what you gave up, Luc,’ she said mockingly.

His brows beetled down into a deep frown.

‘How many women have there been since me?’ she asked, hating him for moving on, leaving her behind, then thinking he could turn around and take her as his wife when it suited him.

‘They’re irrelevant.’ It was a fierce mutter, wanting her to forget them.

‘When you shared a bed with them, did you remember me?’

‘Yes, I did. Nothing was ever like what we had together.’

For a moment, his vehement reply rocked Skye out of her bitter train of thought. There had only ever been Luc for her. No one else. If he felt the same way… But he couldn’t. He’d put his brother’s word ahead of hers, his family’s view of her ahead of his own.

‘I don’t believe you!’ she cried, and with all her strength, slammed her hands against his shoulders and thrust him far enough away for her to scramble off the bed, out of reach.

‘It’s true!’ he hurled after her.

‘Be quiet! Matt’s in the next room,’ she hissed at him as she grabbed her houserobe from the one chair in her bedroom, putting it on as fast as she could, determined on shutting out any resumption of intimacy with him.

‘Our son, Skye,’ he swiftly reminded her, his voice lowered but still emphatic in delivery. ‘Don’t you think it would be better for him to have a full-time father as well as mother?’

She wrapped the robe around her and tied the belt savagely as she swung to face him again. ‘That’s what you’re after, isn’t it? Matt. Not me. Get the mother, get the boy.’

‘Wrong! I want both of you.’

He was still stretched out on the bed, propped up on one arm, looking moody and magnificent, every part of him male perfection. No wonder she hadn’t wanted any other man. And maybe never would. Which gave her pause for thought. She could have him. All she had to do was say yes to his marriage proposal.

But could she live with him—live with his family—and be happy? How could she trust any of them to really care about her, given how they’d treated her in the past?

She had to finish this—get him out of her bedroom, out of her house—not let him play on the desires he could so easily tap into. Treacherous feelings! The sense of intimacy still swirling in this darkened room drove her over to the light-switch by the door. She flicked it on, telling herself she would see more clearly now, think more clearly.

But it didn’t help. Luc’s nakedness gathered even more power in the light, vividly reminding her of how every part of him had felt. And his claim of wanting her burned from his eyes, heating her skin all over again, making her toes curl, making her stomach contract, making her breasts ache, her nipples tighten into tell-tale prominence.

Panicking over his effect on her, she folded her arms across the wildly fluttering beat of her heart and rushed into defensive speech. ‘Don’t think having sex with you means anything, Luc.’

‘You can’t make me believe you’d have sex indiscriminately, Skye.’ His mouth curled in bitter irony. ‘I believed it once and made the biggest mistake of my life. No one can sell it to me a second time.’

‘This is different,’ she hotly argued.

‘How is it different?’ he mocked.

She frantically sought a convincing explanation. ‘Being pregnant hardly makes you desirable to other men. And having a baby takes up all your time, not to mention nursing your mother through chemotherapy, losing her, then trying to establish a life while being a single parent. I haven’t had sex since I was with you six years ago and you caught me at a weak moment. That’s all it was.’

‘Because it was me,’ he pointed out with arrogant certainty.

She glared at him, unable to deny a truth which was only too self-evident, anyway.

He stretched out an inviting arm. ‘Come back to bed. Let me show you…’

‘No!’ The physical pleasure she knew he would give could not be allowed to cloud her mind again. ‘I want you to get dressed and go, Luc.’

‘Let me answer your needs, Skye,’ he promised temptingly.

‘You can’t answer all of them,’ she retorted. ‘And please do as I ask. This wasn’t in our agreement. If you have any integrity at all…’

He moved, swinging his legs off the bed. Fear of him coming at her choked off any further speech and drove her into instant recoil. She shrank back against the doorjamb, hugging herself even more tightly.

Luc sat on the edge of the bed, absolutely still, frowning at her. Every nerve in her body screeched with tension as she waited for his next action. The silence was electric with barely contained emotions and challenges she was too frightened to acknowledge, yet the strong sense of them pinned her to the wall, draining her of any further initiative.

‘Integrity…’ The word fell from his lips, heavy with guilt and regret. ‘I lost faith in yours so you have no belief in mine.’ He lifted deeply pained eyes, probing her soul with searing intensity. ‘Did it ever occur to you that I cared too much about integrity, Skye? That seeing you…in bed with my brother…was such a killing blow…’

‘I was never in bed with your brother!’

‘Goddammit!’ He rose to his feet, towering up to his full height, pumping out waves of violent energy as he hurled out his truth. ‘It wasn’t just the photos! You were charmed with Roberto’s wit and you didn’t stop him from flirting with you. Every time the three of us were together, Roberto would claim your attention and you gave it to him. Willingly!’

‘He was nice to me, Luc. Your parents looked at me as though I was trash, treated me with icy politeness. Why wouldn’t I warm to your brother?’ she flung back at him.

‘Warm…’ His hands lifted, fingers outstretched like upturned talons, left empty and frustrated because what he’d wanted to hold on to had been ripped away. ‘Where does warmth turn into heat? Roberto swore it was so…swore I was making a fool of myself for loving you…and there were the photos to prove it, to prove there was no integrity in your love for me…’

‘It wasn’t true,’ Skye cried, deeply agitated by the pain pouring from him and the artful lies that had been woven around her behaviour.

‘He was my brother! We’d shared all our lives together! Why would he confess to such a divisive and destructive truth if it wasn’t the truth?’