The Italian's One-Night Love-Child (16 page)

Cristiano gave her a slashing smile and sat on the side of the bed so that he could half lean over her. He smoothed some of her damp hair away from her face. ‘Two minutes out of the country and look what happens.’

Bethany reminded herself that this touching outpouring of concern for her welfare was just gift-wrapping around the more basic reality that he was only concerned for her because she was carrying his child but, lacking the energy for a fight, she contented herself with saying sourly, ‘Like I told you, Cristiano, you’re not Superman and you’re not a miracle worker either. I would have got this cold whether you’d been in the country or not. I think I caught it when we were at the supermarket a couple of days ago. I stopped to chat to that little girl and she had a streaming nose. It happens.’

‘You should be staying as far away as possible from anyone carrying germs!’

‘What do you suggest? Maybe you could keep me locked up for the next couple of months.’

Cristiano was interrupted from informing her that it was
not an unreasonable idea by the sound of the doorbell and the arrival of his friend, who he introduced as Dr Giorgio Tommasso, a man in his late thirties who, Bethany translated from the rapidly spoken Italian, was then unfairly subjected to an irate cross-examination on the lateness of his arrival.

‘Just ignore him,’ Bethany murmured as he sat on the bed next to her, which elicited a grin of wicked delight.

‘At last,’ Dr. Tommasso said, ‘a woman who is capable of standing up to this brute of a friend of mine. Now, I’m going to have a listen to the baby, make sure that everything is all right…’

Like a brooding sentinel, Cristiano stood by the door and watched as his friend asked questions in a low voice, said something apparently amusing because Bethany smiled, which nearly made him remind the good doctor that he was here to examine her and not play the stand-up comic and, finally, when the examination was over, he walked towards the bed.

‘Well? Diagnosis?’

‘The baby’s fine, Cristiano.’ Dr Tommasso smiled and patted his friend gently on the arm. ‘No need to get frantic.’

‘I think you’re confusing
being concerned
with
getting frantic
,’ Cristiano said coldly. It was obvious that, even in a state of pregnancy, she was still able to charm the birds from the trees. Giorgio had a grin on his face a mile wide. What the hell was so hilarious?

‘My mistake, in that case.’ He struggled not to laugh as they moved towards the door. ‘Bethany’s got a simple case of a miserable cold. She’ll feel rough for a couple of days but she’s young, she’s strong and she’ll be fine. Her blood pressure is good and the baby’s heartbeat is strong. Nothing to worry about. How are you at making soup?’ His eyebrows shot up in astonishment at Cristiano’s grudging reply that he
saw no reason why he couldn’t do that, considering his skills in the kitchen were getting better by the day.

‘I might be tempted to relay that back to your mother, Cristiano. She won’t believe that her son is finally becoming domesticated!’

Spoken in jest but a salutary wake-up call for Cristiano. One step forward had, without him really noticing, entailed two steps back as far as Bethany was concerned. No more.

He found her in the bedroom sitting up, having just taken some mild medication which Giorgio had told her would make her feel better and would not affect the baby.

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ she said, setting the glass of water down and folding her arms. ‘A simple cold. Bed rest for a couple of days. Everything back to normal.’

Cristiano didn’t reply. Instead, he went across to her wardrobe, opened it up and cast his eye over the range of clothes hanging up. On a shelf at the top of the wardrobe, she had stashed her suitcase and he proceeded to remove it in silence while Bethany watched him, open-mouthed.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ He looked at her briefly over his shoulder. ‘Don’t even think of getting up. Bed rest.’

‘You can’t just start packing my case!’

‘Watch me.’ He strolled over to her chest of drawers and scooped up a handful of underwear, which he proceeded to pile on top of the clothes in the suitcase. This was followed by some random jars from her dressing table and unidentifiable make-up, not that there was much as she used precious little of the stuff. Task completed, he turned around and faced her with folded arms.

‘Now listen to me very carefully,’ Cristiano said in a voice as hard as granite. ‘I’ve given this arrangement a go and it’s not working.’

‘It’s not
my fault
that I picked up a cold!’ Either the tablets she had taken had begun working with supersonic speed or else the adrenaline rushing through her body was powerful enough to disperse all her aches and pains.

Cristiano ignored her interruption. ‘First and foremost, whether you like it or not, you’re in no fit state to look after yourself here. You could barely make it to the front door earlier on. What if you had collapsed here on your own? Think about the consequences.’

‘I would never…never do anything…’ Bethany spluttered, but she paled at the picture he had cleverly painted. He had no key to her front door. She had stubbornly refused to give him one because she wanted to maintain her independence, but what if something
had
happened and he had been unable to enter the apartment? Was she so busy fighting him and fighting herself that she would risk jeopardising this baby? Was she really protecting herself or was she just punishing him because he didn’t love her?

‘I can’t take your word on that.’ He slammed shut the suitcase and yanked the zip around. ‘Instead of getting in touch with me the minute you began feeling ill, you took to bed, pulled the duvet over your head and pretended that the outside world didn’t exist. If you’d called, sure, I might not have been able to get here from New York in minutes, but I would have called Giorgio and he would have come over at a point when you would have been up and able to let him in. Do you see where I’m going with this? Am I spelling it out loudly and clearly enough?’

‘I hate you!’ Tears of bitter frustration filled her eyes. Gone was the warm man who had been worming his way through her defences. Back in his place was the cold-eyed stranger who had showed up on her parents’ doorstep with a truckload of accusations.

‘That’s not the feeling I get when we’re in bed together.’

‘Is sex the only thing that matters to you?’

‘It tells me that you don’t hate me.’ Cristiano shrugged and took out his cellphone.

He was calling his driver. Bethany listened as he directed him to collect them and from there on she would be staying at his apartment. She told herself that her stay was going to be of the minimum duration but not even that bracing thought could still the nerve-racking sensation of a net closing in around her.

‘My driver will be here in an hour. Now, I think you should have a bath. It’ll make you feel better.’

‘I don’t want a bath.’

‘And you can quit sulking. It’s not going to change anything.’ He sauntered off in the direction of the en suite bathroom and Bethany ground her teeth together in frustration as she heard the sound of running water.

He returned a few minutes later and unceremoniously lifted her from the bed, ignoring her angry protests and carried her into the bathroom.

She liked big bathrooms. It was a legacy, she had told him in passing, from having to grow up sharing a bathroom with her sisters which had always seemed to be occupied whenever she had needed it. He had accordingly got her an apartment that had a ridiculously big bathroom, big enough to house a deep padded chair on which he proceeded to sit her down.

‘Your fever’s going and your colour’s returned,’ he said approvingly. ‘But I still don’t trust you to make it to the bath without falling over.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Bethany, still smarting from his appropriation of the decision-making process and his snide reminder that she couldn’t possibly hate him because they were lovers, eyed him with resentment. He ignored it.

Her head was beginning to spin. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as he began to undo the buttons of her voluminous nightie, one of two she possessed which still fit her comfortably. She could smell the fragrance of the lavender bubble bath but she wasn’t going to admit that yes, she really did want a long soak in the bath.

She also told herself that it was crazy to start being coy about her body when he was so intimately acquainted with it. Who would she be kidding? Nevertheless, as he helped her to the bath with a gentleness that was incongruous in a man as big and powerful as he was, she was acutely conscious of the weight of her breasts and the sensitivity of her nipples.

She slid into the beautifully warm water with her eyes still shut and was aware of him pulling the chair across so that he could sit alongside her.

‘I’m fine now,’ Bethany informed him.

‘Thanks, but I’m not willing to take the chance.’ Furthermore, Cristiano was enjoying her acquiescence. With no options on the table, she had been backed into a corner and he felt absolutely no guilt about that because, as far as he was concerned, he was just doing what had to be done.

Her stomach protruded above the level of the water, wet and shiny and unimaginably sexy, and so did the pouting peaks of her nipples, although he was pretty sure that she wasn’t aware of that, with her eyes stubbornly closed and her mouth pursed into a tight line.

She might exude all the outward signs of frosty disapproval and maidenly outrage, but that, he knew, was only skin-deep. He would bet his vast fortune that if he bent over and took one of those tempting pink crests into his mouth she would melt faster than a candle over an open fire.

‘How does that feel?’ he asked, reining in his wayward
thoughts when he felt his body hardening at the delectable sight of her in the bath. She did, after all, have a cold.

‘I’m not going to be staying with you at your place once I’m back on my feet,’ Bethany was constrained to point out and, as she opened her eyes and looked at him, he gave an elegant shrug that signified precisely nothing.

‘Let me soap you. My driver will be here in a minute.’

‘I’d rather not.’

‘Why? Because you don’t like being told what to do? Even though it’s for your own good? Sit up.’

Bethany looked at him with flashing, angry eyes and he raised his eyebrows in mild amusement and reached for the soap. ‘Enjoy the experience,’ he drawled as she dutifully and sulkily sat up, ‘because the next time I soap you it’ll just be a prelude to taking you.’ Did he have time for a cold shower? Probably not, but he would damn well have to have one the minute he got back to his place.

He began soaping her, taking his time as his hands slid over her shoulders and around and under her breasts.

‘That’s the most arrogant thing I’ve…I’ve ever heard in my life…’ Her nostrils flared as his tactile fingers brushed against her nipples, which hardened in immediate response, thereby making a nonsense of her insult.

‘Is it?’ Cristiano murmured, reluctantly surrendering the soap back to its rightful place and standing up so that he could reach for a towel. ‘Don’t you like being taken care of?’ His voice, as he began drying her, was like oozing, melted honey, tempting her senses and turning her brain to mush. ‘I may be a dinosaur but isn’t that most women’s dream?’

‘I don’t know about most women’s dream. I just know about my own and this isn’t it.’ She reached for the large fluffy towel which he had put by the side of the bath and
wrapped it securely and protectively around herself, still keeping her eyes firmly away from him.

Was she being greedy in wanting the dream of being loved for herself? Was that asking too much? She felt that if she released that dream then she would have nothing. Yes, he would be a responsible husband and a diligent father but, for her, it would be a sham. She didn’t want a marriage based on duty or a man who would sooner or later see her as a burden.

‘I refuse to rise to the bait, Bethany.’ Cristiano called upon all his reserves of restraint and reminded himself that she was not feeling well, that her thoughts were probably all over the place. Yet he could feel the frustrated anger rising inside him, wanting to find a way out.

‘Whatever.’ She allowed herself to be helped out of the bath, which was daily becoming more of a chore for her.

‘You,’ he said through even, gritted teeth, ‘can be the most infuriating woman on the face of the earth. I have been accommodating to the point of insanity with you, and yet you insist on throwing it back in my face.’

Bethany felt a twinge of guilt but overriding that was the thought that she didn’t want an
accommodating
guy; she wanted a
doting, adoring guy who would climb the highest mountains and forge the deepest canyons for her
.

But arguing would get neither of them anywhere and she didn’t want to fight with him so she kept her thoughts to herself.

‘Why do you want to marry me if I’m that infuriating?’ she pointed out with, Cristiano thought, an utterly feminine lack of logic. He watched in simmering silence as she dressed with her back to him and then turned and faced him with a defiant expression on her face. ‘Well?’ she pressed, hating herself for persisting in this and yet not wanting to let it go just yet.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘You haven’t answered my question.’

‘And I don’t intend to.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it doesn’t deserve an answer.’ He picked up her suitcase as though it weighed little more than a feather and walked towards the front door. Then he waited for her and gently held her by the arm as they headed down to his waiting driver.

‘Doesn’t it bother you that you’re not my dream come true?’ Bethany felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes. It was a pointless exercise but she wanted to hurt him the way he was, without even knowing it, hurting her.

‘Call me prosaic, but getting hyped up and emotional over romantic dreams has never been my thing.’ He ushered her along to where his car was parked on a double yellow line outside her apartment block. ‘We are faced with situations in life and we deal with them. End of story.’ So who the hell
was
her dream guy? he wondered viciously. He was finding it hard to credit the depth of rage her wholly unjustified criticisms were arousing in him.