Reckless Nights in Rome (27 page)

He barked a
laugh of disbelief.

“You fucking
kill me, Bronte. But, you...” He pulled off his sweater, revealing
a torso the consistency of fresh tripe and jabbed a finger at her
as bile rose into her throat and her heart beat even faster. “You
need taught a lesson and I’m just the man to give you one. Take off
the kiddie pyjamas. Let’s see if you’re a natural blonde. Or is
that as fake as the goody goody act?”

With absolute
clarity Bronte knew he was going to rape her.

A strange
calmness washed through her.

Her mind seemed
to split into two separate parts.

One part
remained petrified, cowering in a corner in disbelief, while the
other looked at the situation objectively.

She was going
to fight.

Even though she
knew that the advice given to women in her situation was to give
in, get out of it alive and live to see another day.

His word
against hers? No way, if he thought he could prove sex was
consensual then it was up to her to make sure there would be plenty
of evidence to the contrary.

But by God, she
would put up a fight, scratch and claw and bite.

Because even if
she died, the world would know who did it.

No way was she
going to cower and whimper for him and give him even more power,
more control.

But, oh God,
she hadn’t told Nico she loved him. And now it was too late.

No, she
couldn’t think like that.

She lifted her
chin and took a step towards the door leading to the main part of
the house.

“Jonathan lied.
But you’re too delusional to realise that aren’t you? And you need
to get high or drunk to get your rocks off. You’re a pathetic
excuse for a real man!”

The hot flash
in his eye alerted her as he lunged.

She spun,
grabbing the heavy fruit bowl from the table and threw it with all
of her might.

Her aim was
off, but luckily he ducked, it caught him on the temple and she
raced out the kitchen, through the hall towards the front door.

His howl of
outrage followed her. The thud of heavy boots had her screaming at
the top of her lungs as she slapped her hand on the alarm. Shocked
for a split second by the ear-piercing siren, her frantic fingers
fumbled with the deadbolts at the top and bottom of the door.

Christ, why was
it locked?

Then his hands
were on her, tearing at her pyjamas.

He slapped her
across the face and she screamed and screamed and screamed as her
nails tore into his hands, his face.

There was a
searing pain in her head and she couldn’t see, couldn’t hear as
panic and horror overwhelmed her.

The world went
dark.

Nico couldn’t
believe it had been a whole month since he’d been here.

The car entered
her drive and he automatically drove to the rear of The Dower
House. Would she be happy to see him? Probably not, Nico decided,
but he needed to swallow his damned pride and tell her how much he
loved her. If there was one thing he tried never to do, it was to
live with regrets.

He’d found his
family and it was thanks to her. His brother was happily married to
an American girl, Julie. And he had two kids, Carmen who was five
and Giancarlo who was six months. Although his father was
terminally ill, he’d rallied. Thanks, Gabriel said, to Nico.

Perhaps Bronte
would agree to meet them? If they couldn’t be lovers, perhaps she
would agree to be friends? The thought squeezed his lungs as he
took a shuddering breath.

He switched off
the engine and opened the door.

With his hand raised to
knock the door, the scream of a woman terrified for her life
pierced the still winter night. Bronte!

He tried the
handle, the door was locked.

The house alarm
screeching a high keening sound stunned him for a split second.

But he heaved a
metal plant pot filled with happy pansies through the door
window.

All the while,
his heart pounded in his ears as he groped for the lock.

Turning the
key, he was through the door, racing towards desperate screams that
stopped abruptly.

Tearing
through the kitchen over broken glass, remains of the smashed fruit
bowl and into the hall, all Nico saw was the man who straddled her,
one hand squeezing her neck while the other dug hard fingers into a
bare breast.

Her clothes
torn and bloody, Bronte lay under him like a rag doll.

A howl of
terrified rage roared from his throat as he grabbed Anthony by the
hair planting a heavy fist in his face.

Nico felt and
heard cartilage break and didn’t give a damn.

Blood spurting,
profanities spewing from his lips, Anthony slipped, sliding through
his own fluids in a vain attempt to clamber to his feet making
ready to run.

The boy from
Rome who’d survived in streets with no law, no justice, leaped
through the veneer of civilised respectability to possess the
man.

He simply
drop-kicked the whimpering coward, then placed his foot, his full
weight, on the scum’s thigh, grabbed his ankle and pulled.

The kneecap
popped like a champagne cork.

The sobbing
scream of agony was music to his ears.

Anthony
wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Nico spun around to
Bronte and dropped to his knees.

A whine, like
an animal in pain, escaped from his throat.

They found him
rocking her limp body in his arms bitter tears pouring down his
face.

They wouldn’t
let him see her.

They’d told him
nothing except she was alive.

She’d still
been unconscious when they’d arrived at the hospital, so fragile,
so pale and so damned vulnerable.

Nico paced to
the door of the waiting room and back again. How could anyone, any
man dream of hurting her? He simply could not get his head around
it.

For over three
relentless hours he’d worn a path in the floor of the hospital
waiting room while the police had taken his statement.

Anthony
Lawrence Brown, to give the piece of shit his full name, had
totally flipped, spewing enough bile about Bronte that the police
would be charging him with assault and attempted rape. He’d
confessed in front of witnesses. The police had had the presence of
mind to take him to another hospital.

Nico could care
less about the bastard.

The night had
been a horror he knew he’d never forget.

Rosie was on
her way and, since she’d phoned him, so was Carl Terlezki. And if
that wasn’t proof of how much the man meant to Bronte, Nico didn’t
know what was.

It wasn’t
Bronte’s fault that she couldn’t love him. It wasn’t as if he’d
given her much of a reason to love him. He had handled their
relationship so badly, so stupidly, he could not believe it.

Reflection had
given him the luxury of time to realise that he only wanted what
was best for her.

He’d thought he
had plenty of time to win her back. The truth of his situation was
like a fist to the throat. He’d wasted a whole month, held back by
fear of failure. To lose her would kill a part of him. Destroy him
in ways he daren’t contemplate.

The door flew
open and Rosie’s scared wide eyes scanned the room until they found
him. She was closely followed by a too pale looking Carl
Terlezki.

“How is she?”
She demanded and burst into tears.

“They won’t
tell me ...” His voice broke as Rosie hugged him very hard and he
held on tight.

“Thank God you
found her,” Carl said in a voice that shook and extended his hand.
“I will never be able to repay you.”

Nico took his
hand, realisation dawning that the man loved Bronte
desperately.

A tired looking
nurse appeared at the door.

“I’m looking
for the family of Bronte Ludlow?”

Carl looked at
Rosie and she gave him a gentle push towards the nurse.

Well, that said
it all didn’t it?

Heart breaking
in his chest, defeated, Nico moved to sit as the nurse asked
Carl.

“And you
are?”

Carl glanced at
Rosie who gave him a nod of encouragement.

“Ah, I am her
father.”

“Great, come
with me. She’s been very distressed and is still little bit out of
it, but the doctor will give you an update.”

Stunned, Nico simply
stared at the door after they left and then turned to Rosie who was
watching him like a hawk.

With care he
sank into the chair with the bizarre feeling he was living in a
crazy parallel word.

One minute his
life was over, the next he had a glimmer of hope.

“Her father?”
He stared at Rosie.

She patted his
knee. “Yep, it’s a long story. Thing is, Alexander hasn’t met him
yet. They’ll only go public with it once he agrees. The family’s
reputation will take a hit. And the press already have the bit
between their teeth.”

Nico held his
head in his hands as everything Bronte had told him in Rome,
something her mother should have told her and how words unspoken
caused heartache washed through his mind. “
Madre di
Dio
!”

She rubbed his
knee. “I don’t know what it is about men, but if anything can be
fucked up, you’ll do it every time.”

He gave a weary
groan of agreement in response.

Almost an hour later,
Carl entered the waiting room with a decided glint in his eye, his
mouth a tight white line.

Nico literally
felt the saliva dry in his mouth as he stood to face him.

In his Savile
Row cashmere coat and handmade shoes, Bronte’s father looked the
impressive financier he was. He had a reputation as a man who took
no prisoners and Nico felt the full force of an iron will.

He braced
himself.

Carl stood in
front of him, tall and still a dynamic man even though he was in
his sixties.

He placed a
deliberately heavy hand on Nico’s shoulder.

“Son? Want a
piece of advice?”

Nico knew when
to fold.

He ran a hand
over his jaw and met the man’s beady eye.

“Please.”

“Do you love my
daughter?”

“
Si
, yes
sir, I do.”

“Then you walk
into that room and tell her.”

Carl checked
the time on his watch and turned to Rosie.

“I need to book
into Ludlow Hall, you can keep me company for breakfast while you
tell me every single thing you know about my daughter’s
ex-fiancé.”

Rosie beamed up
at him and took his arm. “It will be my pleasure.”

Nico followed the nurse
to a private room.

Lying on the
bed, curled up on her side with her back to him, the love of his
life wore a cotton hospital gown the colour of fresh mint.

The nurse
trundled out an ECG machine and closed the door.

For a long
moment, he simply stood there looking at her with words racing
through his mind.

Deciding her
father was right. Nico picked a black plastic chair and carried it
around to the other side of the bed.

Eyes stinging
his gaze lingered on the livid fingerprints on her neck and her
split lip.

A fragile hand
with bruised knuckles and torn and bloody fingernails clutched the
remains of a tissue.

His baby had
got her licks in and had fought like a warrior, God he adored
her.

Her nose and
eyes were red and swollen.

“
Cara
...”

She opened her
eyes and the single flick of fury in them stopped him dead.

Her utter
loathing for him crystal clear.

“Shut up!” Her
voice was raw as her eyes pooled and her lips trembled. “This is
your entire fault and so bloody typical!” She spat the last word
and he winced as he sat on the chair pulling it close.

“But, Bronte, I
... Ow!” She punched him hard on the shoulder as tears tipped
over.

“I don’t want
to love you. I don’t even want to like you!”

He hauled her
into his arms, uncaring if she was naked under the gown except for
a pair of tiny panties and totally ignored her yelp of outrage.

She punched him
again.

And he took it
like a man.

“It’s so
typical of you,” she spoke into his throat as he stroked her hair
and begged her to shush. “No I won’t bloody shush. I’ve read about
men like you!”

His finger
lifted her chin and he studied her face.

“Men like
me?”

Giving in to
temptation, he kissed her.

She made a
valiant attempt to thrust him away, but he held her close.

“Men with super
sperm that can penetrate latex. You find them in romance novels.
Trust me to find the genuine article.”

His chest felt
too tight as his lungs deflated and he blinked at her.

“You mean?”

“I’m pregnant.”
The last word was a long heartfelt wail.

Nico shut his eyes and
held her close as she wept into his chest.

And he bit his
lip as he recalled one occasion when he’d made love to her without
protection.

He pressed his
cheek to her hair and simply rocked her back and forth.

And thanked
God, Baby Jesus, Buddha and the Universe for bringing this woman
into his life.

Once she’d
cried herself out, he refused to release her even when she
struggled.

“Let me
go.”

“Never.”

He stared into
her eyes and felt as if he could drown in their emerald depths and
asked the question that would break his heart if she said no.

“Do you want a
baby?”

Tears pooled in
her eyes as her breath hitched.

“I’m not
supposed to be able to get pregnant. I have a medical condition,
endometriosis and I was told I might never conceive. But trust you
to ride roughshod over Mother Nature.”

He bit his lip
at the dazed expression on her face.