Baby By Accident: International Billionaires III: The Italians (17 page)

Vico snapped forward, catching his breath.

Eighteen hours.

Eighteen hours he’d spent pacing the hallways, waiting. Then trying to console her fretting friends and frantic mother as they waited for news. Then sitting in this damnably uncomfortable chair waiting for her. Waiting for her…

To forgive him? Forgive the unforgivable?

He’d almost killed his
bambino
even before the birth. He’d imagined he’d do the damage after the baby was born, not before. But no, his power for destruction appeared to have no bounds.

Lise stilled. Slept on.

Striding to the window, he pushed back the curtains. The sun was setting now, the bright rays catching the last line of trees, turning the green into gold. Two cars went by, a nurse bustled from the parking lot, a child hopped beside his mother as they walked out of the hospital.

Another child whispered into his mind. His child.

A son.

Closing his eyes, he pinched the top of his nose, stopping the tears. A son. His son. Still alive, by the grace of God.

The brilliant ecstasy had flooded through him like a swift river of blessing. He’d nearly burst into tears at the news that not only the child lived, but he was to have a son. He was Italian enough to relish the news and modern enough to feel slightly ashamed.

Yet he could not help the elation.

A son.

Still, there were months to go before he would hold his son in his hands. Months to get his fragile wife and his unborn child through.

Rest
. The doctor had said.
Complete rest
.

Relaxation
. He’d added.
Total relaxation
.

Relief from any stress
. He’d stressed.
Relief from
…

The father’s presence.

The doctor hadn’t said the words. But Vico had thought them.

Dropping his hand to the window, he traced the child’s progress across the lot. Touched the glass where the little boy’s body was silhouetted. Watched as the child was lifted into the car seat by his mother and buckled in.

It was no use. He couldn’t relieve Lise of his presence.

However, he would do what he could.

He’d had eighteen hours to think and plan. Eighteen hours to make promises to himself and to her silent, sleeping soul. He’d laid his hand on her stomach as she slept and made promises to his son also.

He’d been able to do it in Paris. He’d find a way to do it in Italy.

No work. No temper. No sex.

For these last four months, nothing would stand in the way of his determination to take care of his wife and make sure his child arrived safely into this world. He’d worry about his inevitable screw-ups later. For now, this was enough of a goal.

A rustle of sheets jerked his attention back to the bed.

His wife was finally awakening.

A joyful leap of something jumped from his gut into his heart and then his throat. He strode to the bed on shaky legs and leaned down.

To encounter hazy, dreamy eyes of shot-glass blue.

This was exactly the same look she gave him the two times they’d had sex. For a few amazing moments, she would look at him with acceptance, with wanting. This look always elicited a sweet slip of something in him. Now he knew what to name it—joy. The sweet joy pumped and dropped down to his groin. Guilt twisted the inevitable lust into submission.

“Lise,” he croaked.

“Vico?” Her hand lifted and touched his cheek with soft acceptance.

Could a man’s soul twist and tighten into nothingness? Could a man’s heart break into a million pieces and still keep pumping? Could a man’s love for his wife blast through him, leaving behind only tatters of soul and heart?

Love.

He lurched away from the bed, dizzy with the slam of certainty.

He’d fallen in love with her bright brain and her elegant body. And her courage, her spine, her commitment to their baby. He’d fallen headlong into love with a woman he was not worthy of and not willing to let go of.

Love.

He loved her.

With a deep abiding love that would never die, even when she rejected him, as she surely would. Even when she walked away from him after he screwed things up, which he surely would. Even when he knew he wasn’t worthy of her, which he surely was not.

Her gasp of horror yanked his attention back to her face.

Her eyes widened, showing the white around the blue. “The baby!”

“Is fine.” He reached for her hand, wishing his wasn’t damp with distress. “The
bambino
is fine,
mia dolce
.”

Her gaze met his, searching. What she saw must have given her some comfort, because her body slowly relaxed on the bed. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” He sat on the bed beside her and managed a smile of assurance. But his heart beat like a drum in his chest and his brain flew in a flurry of endless circles around the realization he’d just made about his love for this woman. “The baby is fine and we will make sure he stays that way.”

His wife stared at him. “He?”

Cursing himself inside, he put his head in his hands. “
Mi dispiace un.
I didn’t mean to tell you. I knew you wanted to find out at the birth.”

A short, sharp silence fell.

“It’s all right.” Her hand slid across his back. “I’m just glad he’s okay.”

The gentle touch soothed him and stoked him at the same time. The touch was too much. The combination of forgiveness he didn’t deserve and the lust he couldn’t allow himself to feel overwhelmed him.

He stood with a jerk and gathered his leather jacket. Turning back to her, he met eyes no longer hazy with desire or welling with forgiveness. Iced frost stared at him with grim concentration.

“I’m taking you to Italy,” he stated.

Where there would be no work. No fights.

No sex.

T
he sun’s
rays beamed down, hot and soothing, although it was early October.

Lise ran her hand over the blue nylon bathing suit covering her bump. Which really wasn’t a bump anymore. It was actually a ball. A growing, healthy ball.

A kick whacked her palm and she chuckled.

Her baby, her son, was healthy.

A girlish scream of laughter and the splash of a small body into the pool water caused her to look up. The scene around her still managed to startle her, even after three weeks of exposure.

To Vico’s family.

Her wedding, filled with rejoicing Italians, had provided merely a glimpse of reality.

His pool, looking over Lake Como, was filled with giggling nieces and wrestling nephews. His momma held court under one of the table’s umbrellas, one of half a dozen encircling the Olympic-size pool. The older woman nodded as one of the dozens of cousins waved his hands as he talked. An elderly aunt dozed in a sunny stupor in the heated whirlpool.

Vico’s family was loud. Their voices competed with each other, rising in a cacophony of chatter. Childish chuckles blended with adult discussions in an endless cacophony of human sound. They were also very…colorful. Hands waved in unison to the talk. Faces lit with laughter or anger in a flash. Violent arguments changed to warm hugs so quickly it was hard for Lise to keep pace.

But she’d learned to during the past weeks.

The family was not to be denied.

True, the family had left them alone for the first week. Vico had insisted. Peace and quiet he’d told her, he’d promised her. Even though she didn’t understand the words, she’d understood the tone of his voice as he told his mother his plans over his mobile phone, pacing his elegant office in the center of his villa.

The villa housing ten bedrooms. Twelve bathrooms. A library packed with books—something she had figured out was one of her husband’s obsessions. A theater with every movie known to man ready at a flick of the wrist. A workout area fit for a prestigious country club. A huge game room stocked full of toys ranging from baby rattles to computer consoles made for the big boys. Large public rooms dressed in ageless antiques and priceless art.

Where Vico’s London residence was all funky, colorful comfort, and his Paris flat screamed modern chic, this house stepped onto the stage like a proud Renaissance queen.

The grounds rose to the challenge of matching royalty. They surrounded the queen with even more beauty. Terraces filled with sculpted hedges and trees led down and down to the shores of Lake Como. The boathouse stored an unbelievable number of toys: boats and Jet Skis, a pontoon, a canoe. Along with the pool, there was a tennis court, and a large putting area where her husband and his brothers often played a vicious contest of golf which usually descended into a cheerful fight.

All this, all this grand and glorious house and grounds, were designed for one thing.

Not a bevy of beauties. Not a crowd of jet-setters. Not a retreat to make business deals.

No, it was for his family.

They’d swooped in on them on the second weekend. Piles of cars had pulled onto the long, tree-shaded lane circling around the marble steps of the front door. His momma and the family from Naples. His beloved papa’s family from the nearby town of Varenna. Vico had groaned and gnashed his teeth, yet within seconds they’d been surrounded by a laughing, grinning crowd of happy Italians bent on carrying them into play. When they’d spotted her bump, the loud cries of happiness and congratulations had probably been heard all the way to Rome.

She’d played during the last three weeks.

Play she’d never experienced as a child or as an adult.

Vico had been strict, and she’d been careful. But she’d still found herself on the ski boat, wind whipping her hair while one of the teenagers whooped when he skied over the wake. She’d still been included in a close battle of computer warlords with a grinning cousin counseling her on the best way to win the fight against her husband. She’d also been allowed to laze away the days by the pool, enjoying the heat of the sun and the warmth of the conversation she was always included in.

Although there were the inevitable school and work obligations, it was rare when there wasn’t some relatives at the gracious estate. Clearly, this was true whenever Vico was in residence, and even when he was not.

This was a family home. A home for love and affection, not sex and business.

Two of his sisters sat at the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the cool water, chattering in fast Italian about a sale going on in a Naples’ fashion house. Lise couldn’t decipher much, but she’d been studying the language since she was forbidden any kind of work other than casual glances at her email.

“No,” he’d said when they’d arrived. “Your precious company will be there after the
bambino
arrives safely.”

Your
precious company.

He’d said the pronouncement with a curl of tease on his lips. She hadn’t been sure if he were teasing or if it was a poke at her pride. So she’d ignored him. Or tried to.

Ignoring him was impossible.

Vico’s laugh came from the pool, deep and filled with joy.

Her heart responded by jumping.

Lise jerked her straw hat down farther to cover her face and forced her gaze to stay on the magazine she’d been trying to read. Every day, she lectured herself. If she let him near her physically, he’d damage her emotionally. He only wanted sex from her, not her heart.

Except apparently, he no longer wanted even that.

His laugh came again, and this time she couldn’t help herself.

She looked.

His teeth flashed white in contrast to his dark skin. His tan had deepened over the days into a golden color that matched the glint in his eyes. His head was thrown back, highlighting the arch of his strong neck.

This time, it wasn’t her heart that jumped. This time, it was her entire body that reacted.

Her nipples peaked. Her skin heated. Her inner core tightened.

She found it impossible to ignore anything about him.

When they’d first arrived here, she’d been too scared and too tired to do much more than follow his directions. The only trip she’d made away from the villa was when Vico had hustled her to the leading obstetrician in Milan. The doctor had agreed the baby was healthy, but she needed to relax and recover.

So she’d relaxed. And slept. And ate.

Yes, yes, she’d eaten.

Vico had a chef.
A chef
. She had never liked cooking and having a chef around had been something close to living in a fantasy. Plus, the chef had an uncanny ability to know exactly what she wanted to eat—morning, noon and night. Delicate broths with white beans and chicken started the temptation. Then had come the sturdier minestrone and hardy beef stews. She’d gobbled down plates of fluffy risotto and crunched on the crusts of endless pizzas. Inevitably, even as she moaned she couldn’t eat another bite, her husband waved in the dessert. And of course, she managed to stuff down the lemon custard tart or sugary struffoli or chocolaty tiramisu.

As the lazy days went by, she relaxed into the warmth of the sun and the warmth of his family. She napped. She read. She dozed. She laughed.

Just like when she’d been in Paris, she bloomed.

Shining eyes. Glowing skin. Silky hair.

She let go of the anger and pain. What was the use in this sunny, happy place? She let go of the misery she’d held in her heart before the crisis. Why think of the worst when she felt her best? And she’d finally decided to stop blaming Vico for something he couldn’t help. Why should she demand an emotion he didn’t feel?

Another screaming body plummeted off the diving board straight into a waiting father’s arms. Vico’s brother smirked at his youngest as he threw him into the air, eliciting another shriek of excitement. The couple of dozen adults rimming the pool paid no attention to all the noise. They were making their own.

Her husband stood in the middle of the pool, grinning. Looking gorgeous. Looking…good enough to eat.

“My brother is a good-looking guy, isn’t he?” The comment came soft and from her side.

Lise glanced over, glad for her sunglasses, hoping the blush was slight enough not to be noticed under her glowing tan.

His sister’s brown eyes sparkled with knowing.

“All of your family is gorgeous,” she replied.

“You’re part of the family too.” Chiara’s smile was wide and welcoming. “And you fit right in with your own gorgeous self.”

She responded with a weak smile of her own and turned back to the magazine lying on her fat stomach. Her breasts were no longer refined and ladylike. They were huge melons. Her hips filled out every skirt she owned and she’d stopped trying to get into any of her pants. His momma had tisked only last night that it was time to take her new daughter-in-law shopping for some real maternity clothes.

Vico had barely glanced at her before nodding his agreement.

She was growing fat. Pregnancy and gorging did that to a girl.

Perhaps this was why he didn’t touch her other than impersonally. Perhaps this was why she never saw a glimpse of lust in those hazel eyes, the lust she’d always seen before. Perhaps he didn’t like fat or pregnant.

At first, she hadn’t noticed. She’d been sleeping and recovering. Yet the realization had slowly crept over her. His passive, bland looks when she caught his eye. His lack of attention to her body. His studied indifference to her changing figure.

Her husband didn’t lust after her anymore.

The painful thought clogged her throat, although she kept trying to tell herself it was for the best.

The doctor had been clear at her last appointment. He’d exclaimed about her improved condition and then proceeded to give the okay for many more activities than he’d listed on her first visit. She was to be allowed much more time on her feet. She could resume light workouts and there certainly was no problem with having sex.

No problem having sex
.

Her husband had met the news with complete silence. A silence which had continued on the ride back to the villa. A silence which continued on the subject of sex to this day.

Her body demanded his; it griped and groaned day after day as she watched him move and laugh and talk. Her newly healthy body was in the stern grip of a very fierce lust for Vico. How ironic then, that her always lusty husband no longer wanted anything to do with her body. Not anymore. Over the misgivings of her heart during the last few days, she’d promised herself and her aching body—if he gave her just one solid opening, just one win or smile or jest—she’d take him up on the sex.

If that’s all she could get from him, then she’d take it.

But he hadn’t given her even a sliver of an opening.

Trying to distract herself from her pity party, she grabbed for her ever-present Hasselblad and started clicking. Another pastime that now filled her days with an ever increasing urge to create and to grow. Full days of snapping pictures of the lake, dreamy at dusk. The late-blooming asters, their purple faces lifted to the sun. The dark-green ivy gilding the stone walls of the villa. Endless, endless photos of his family.

His mother, her silver hair tucked behind her ears, smiling her gentle smile as she held her newest grand-baby.

His sister, Chiara, almost due, round tummy lovingly patted by her adoring husband.

His brothers out on the lake, laughing as they Jet Skied across the rolling waves.

And her favorite subject. Her secret subject.

Vico.

He’d organized another game in the pool and was refereeing, tossing a ball between three of his eager nephews. Sunlight graced the water glistening on his shoulders and back, the muscles stretching and glowing in masculine enchantment. His dark hair lay wet, the curls clinging to his olive skin. Once upon a time, she’d thought his hair silly and conceited. She’d thought it was a call for attention, showing his basic immaturity. Now she saw it as his glory, a sign of the passionate rebel lying beneath the successful businessman.

If he ever cut his hair, she’d kill him.

What would his reaction be if she said such a thing? What would he do if she dove into his arms and demanded he take her to bed? What if she revealed the dreams she’d been dreaming about him and his body and her and hers?

Lise managed a shaky grin. He’d probably faint with disbelief.

Or else he’d make a moue of distaste and reject her.

The thought wiped the smile off her face. Her hands shook a little, yet she still took another shot of him.

Thank goodness Vico never went near her laptop. The one with about ten thousand images of him loaded into it. Pictures of him laughing at their dinner table. Photos of his body as he wiped himself off after his nightly swim. Snapshots of him frowning in concentration as he fixed the boat’s motor.

“You take picture after picture, Lise,” Chi remarked with a lazy smile. “How do you keep track of them?”

“It’s easy with the laptop.” Putting the camera down, she turned and smiled back. She’d grown amazingly close to his family in this short amount of time. Her husband might not touch her, but his relatives enveloped her in endless hugs, pats, and kisses. They’d accepted her into the bosom of the family with complete love. Especially Chi. She’d begun to think she’d found as firm of a friend as she had with Tracy and Suz.

The knowledge often brought her to tears in the privacy of her own bedroom. She finally had the large, loving family she’d dreamed of as a girl.

The splash of a big body rising out of the water caught her awareness. Turning her attention back to the pool, she watched as her husband approached. Rivulets of water rolled down his broad chest, catching in the swirl of hair between his pectorals. The muscles of his legs bunched and relaxed as he walked toward her. A grin lit his face. His tawny eyes danced.

Lise’s mouth went dry with a lust so pure and powerful it cut like a hot knife of need.

“
Vene
.” He leaned down and before she could grasp his intention, warm hands had grabbed hers and lifted her off the chair and onto her feet as if she weighed no more than an ounce.