‘By all means, Cara, play with me. It’ll help to spice things up. And when I’m good and ready to let you go, when you’ve delivered my heir, then you can take this ring off and throw it in the sea for all I care.’
‘That won’t happen. Because I’m not going to leave my baby,’ she said shakily, finally looking at him. His eyes were so cold she felt a shiver run through her.
He arched a disbelieving brow. ‘No? I’ve seen first-hand just how easy it is for a woman to walk away from her family, so I don’t believe in the illusion of the maternal bond. You’ll walk away with enough of an enticement in your pocket.’
His brutal words reached down inside her, stunning her with their stark cofirmation of his monumental lack of trust, with the questions they raised. Who was he talking about? His mother? Her heart skittered away from wanting to know anything…anything that might make her feel something.
‘Believe what you will, Vicenzo. You’ll see when the time comes.’
She finally jerked her hand out of his and forced herself to walk and not run to the door, throwing the cloth she still held into the sink as she passed. She turned as if she could somehow warn him off, and backed away from his all too triumphantly mocking expression.
She managed to get out, ‘I’m going to go to bed. On my own.’
She heard his softly spoken words, saw the look in his eye. ‘You know where I am when you wake aching in the middle of the night, Cara.’ They resonated deep within her, and then the stark realisation of something rendered her dumb, especially when her wedding ring lay on her finger like a brand: despite his cruel words, and what had just happened, she still yearned not just for the intimacy of his kisses but also for the right to know what had made him so mistrustful.
With a strangled cry that she couldn’t hold in any more, as the true extent of her own weakness hit home, she turned and fled to her room, any previous appetite for dinner long gone.
Vicenzo braced his hands on the counter where only a short time before he’d been extracting glass from Cara’s foot. Where they’d gone up in flames because of a kiss. He cursed himself for letting her goad him into saying what he had. He’d given away too much. But, he comforted himself, she would be under no illusion now about the future he envisaged.
Vicenzo looked up but saw nothing. His taunt to her about waking up aching in the night was laughable—because he was already aching to have her beneath him again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CARA had watched the shadow of the small plane dancing over the sparkling Mediterranean below them as they’d approached and then landed on the island of Sardinia, in the north-west airport of Alghero.
Vicenzo’s words the previous evening, the stark reality of his cold ambivalence to this baby and her own vulnerability to him, had made her close in on herself in protection. He had given her the bare details, telling her that his family villa was located near the ancient ruins of Tharros, on the western coast.
A Jeep and driver was waiting for them at the airport, and the afternoon sun beat down on Cara’s head.
After driving for about forty minutes, the driver, who had been introduced as Tommaso, turned onto a narrow road with tall trees swaying on either side, making it shady and mysterious. They turned right, towards the coast. A huge set of iron gates appeared and opened smoothly as if by magic, almost hidden by the dense foliage and colourful bougainvillaea. They emerged through low-hanging branches into a massive forecourt complete with a fountain, its clear water jumping high and falling burbling into a low pool. Lotus flowers drifted on calmer water.
The house appeared then, surprising Cara with its discreet elegance. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Her experience of millionaires was confined to those who competed to live as flashily as possible. They stopped, and she got out before Vicenzo could stride around and open her door. She’d been skittish around him all day, jumping if he came too near. Her belly seemed to be in a constant knot of anxiety now, and she’d ignored his dark looks.
It was a classic Mediterranean terracotta flat-roofed villa. But, with a tantalising hint of another style, it had huge floor-to-ceiling windows, with white curtains billowing gently in the warm breeze. A delicate latticed veranda hugged the exterior and snaked around both sides of the villa, and Cara caught a glimpse of lush lawns falling away and down either side, to where she imagined the sea lay. She could hear waves breaking gently nearby, and a well of emotion rose up at the sound.
It was one of the things she’d missed most about living in London. Their family home in Dublin had been to the south of the city, on the coast, but Cormac had lost no time in selling it off as soon as their parents had died. Cara had grown up with the sound of the sea on her doorstep, and it had been so long since she’d heard it like this that bittersweet nostalgia gripped her.
Vicenzo looked at her taking it all in, the lingering traces of the passion that had seemed to explode out of nowhere yesterday evening making him slightly wary. His eyes dropped to her mouth. She was avoiding his gaze, but he knew she was aware of him. It was stamped all over her, and she was behaving like a nervous filly. She’d been avoiding looking at him all day, and it made irritation prickle under his skin. He wasn’t used to women ignoring him. The banal grey of her top and her black shorts also annoyed him intensely, demonstrating as they did that she was utterly determined to act out this charade.
He could see where she’d clenched her jaw, the delicate line becoming more pronounced. Saw how her hand gripped the door of the Jeep. No doubt she was finally realising how remote she was going to be from civilisation. Satisfaction coursed through him—but then suddenly their attention was taken by a huge white sheepdog racing around the corner of the house.
Cara saw the dog come to a panting standstill a few feet away. Acting on pure delighted instinct, she dropped to one knee, patting the ground with her hand. The dog bounded over to her and she petted him luxuriously, revelling in his shaggy thick coat, unable to keep the smile off her face.
‘Who are you? Aren’t you beautiful?’
‘His name is Doppo. He was Allegra’s dog. He doesn’t normally take to strangers.’
She looked up reluctantly to see Vicenzo towering over her with a harsh expression on his face. His mention of Allegra caused a sharp pain in her chest. She’d obviously displeased him by bonding with the dog immediately—perhaps he’d have preferred it if Doppo had taken one look at her and ripped her limb from limb? Silently she thanked the dog for accepting her.
She ignored Vicenzo and ruffled the dog’s hair, saying sotto voce, ‘Ciao, Doppo. I think you and I are going to be friends.’
Vicenzo watched as Cara stood, obviously waiting for him to show her into the house. He had to quell a surge of something dark and constrictive. Cara Brosnan was throwing up a few too many contradictions for his liking, and the sooner he could put her back in a place where he knew what to expect, the better. Before they went anywhere he’d taken her arm. Immediately she tensed, and her eyes grew round and wary. He fought against that vulnerable image she projected so well.
‘You’ll meet my father at dinner. I’ve told him that we met through Allegra in London.’ His mouth twisted briefly. ‘Which in a way is true. I’ve also told him that this was a very…impetuous affair and that we hadn’t planned on you getting pregnant so soon. He won’t be expecting us to act like besotted newlyweds around him, but still, a certain amount of acting will be required. He doesn’t know of your brother’s connection to Allegra. I don’t want him to be upset in any way. He’s had enough to dea
l with since the funeral and his stroke.’
All the weight of her own conscience struck Cara—but not for the reasons he would believe. ‘That’s the last thing I want.’