Page 16 of The Housekeeper's One-Night Baby
‘Not at all.’ He held up his palms in mock appeal. ‘I was simply being factual.’
His contrition seemed genuine but Lizzie didn’t trust herself to say another word as she left the room and made her way to the accommodation he’d pointed out to her a few minutes ago. It was difficult to take in just how arrogant he could be. All that stuff about women finding him irresistible—what an ego!
But you found him irresistible, didn’t you?taunted the voice of her conscience.You let him have sex with you within an hour of meeting.
She had gasped out her disbelieving pleasure in a broom-cupboard and then led him upstairs to bed. She had behaved in a way she hadn’t thought herself capable of and the worst thing was that she didn’t seem to have moved on from that position.
She shut her bedroom door, barely registering the enormous room or clever lighting, which made the whole place glow like a carefully staged department-store window. The expensive furniture in the adjoining sitting room was equally wasted on her because all she could see was the bed, looming up like a great monolith. The biggest bed she had ever seen. The snowy linen seemed to mock her and she found herself wondering why she had come here, and what she’d thought might happen. The practical aspects of accepting Niccolò’s offer had made perfect sense but she saw now that she had been naïve about the emotional ones. Had she imagined she would suddenly acquire a miraculous immunity to his sizzling sex appeal? Or that he might override his terse assurance that he wouldn’t be inviting her to share his bedroom? Because, given the current way she was feeling, she would find that very difficult to turn down.
It had never even occurred to her that she would react like this, even though she’d read plenty of books full of advice for pregnant women. They’d said that sexual desire was perfectly normal when you were expecting a baby, but she’d thought that had been aimed at prospective parents who were in a loving and committed relationship. Living with a man who had gone out of his way to cut you out of his life should have been enough to have killed her desire for him stone-dead. But nobody could predict what would happen until you were actually in the situation yourself. And the truth was that she still wanted him. Despite his overriding arrogance and egotism, deep down she wanted him to sweep her into his arms and make her tremble again.
How stupid was that?
Very stupid indeed.
Clicking open her case, she stared at her paints and brushes and thought how long it had been since she’d had a chance to use them, but her pregnancy had pushed all thoughts of painting dogs out of her mind. After she’d placed them neatly on the dressing table, she surveyed the remaining contents of her suitcase with a gloomy eye. It was disconcerting how out of place she felt in these luxurious surroundings, in the thrift-store outfits she’d accumulated. Like a muddy boot dropped onto a white carpet. Everything was sparkly clean and she felt dingy and faded in comparison. Scooting off to the en-suite bathroom, she turned on the taps and squirted in some geranium-scented oil before stripping off her clothes.
Unfortunately, her reflection bounced back at her from every available wall as she waited for the giant tub to fill. It was the first time she’d viewed her naked pregnant body in a full-length mirror—there had only been a tiny one in her attic room at Lady Cameron’s—and Lizzie was unable to hold back her instinctive flinch when she saw herself. Her petite frame was dominated by the curve of her belly, making her limbs look positively scrawny in comparison. Her breasts were big and swollen—the nipples two large, dark rosy discs—and surely her hips were far curvier than they used to be. It was a sobering vision to witness the physicality of her condition and see how much she had changed.
How shocked Niccolò Macario must have been to see her like this when he’d turned up the other day. He’d only had sex with her because she’d been dressed like a toff and had been giving him the green light in her borrowed designer dress. It had been a moment of madness and one which he clearly regretted.
But he was doing the right thing by her, wasn’t he? He had offered her shelter. He had flown her to America on his private jet and installed her in a penthouse suite which probably cost more per month than most people paid for their accommodation in an entire year. He’d made an offer it would have been insane to turn down, but she needed to keep it real. She had been right to ask the difficult questions, even if the answers had been difficult to hear. And that was what she must continue to do. To confront the truth, no matter how painful.
Gingerly, she lowered her heavy body into the scented water and spent ages soaking in it, and for the first time in a long time, she felt properly relaxed. Afterwards, she blow-dried her newly washed hair and wondered what she should wear for dinner. Not that there was a lot of choice. But though second-hand maternity clothes were often frumpy, at least they never got worn much. The dress she pulled out was floaty and black with tiny gold stars embroidered over it. Best of all—it looked almost new. And although she convinced herself that there was no need to make an effort with a man who had stated emphatically that he no longer found her attractive, she still hadsomefeminine pride. So she buffed up her ancient boots, then brushed her hair until it gleamed.
When she walked into the main reception room Niccolò was talking on the phone, his back to her, and for a moment she stared at him, her gaze drinking him in. Against the bright skyscraper backdrop he looked so tall and muscular and his black hair was ruffled—as if he’d been running frantic fingers through it. Yet despite all his wealth and power, which should have made him comfortable in such sumptuous surroundings, there was a strange restlessness about him. She was reminded of an animal she’d once seen at the zoo, before the laws had been changed. A snow leopard, pacing a too-small compound—all that untapped energy failing to cover a deep, underlying sense of sorrow. A caged beast behaving in that way was understandable, but what gave Niccolò Macario such a tangible aura of melancholy? she wondered.
He must have heard her because he turned and his reaction drove every concerned thought straight from her mind as he stared at her, the phone still clamped to his ear. She had tried to dress up to make herself look pretty but it seemed she had fallen at the first hurdle. He was diplomatic enough to try to conceal it, but Lizzie couldn’t miss the flare of disbelief which sparked from his narrowed eyes. And suddenly she saw herself as he must see her. A pregnant woman in a cheap, second-hand dress with a pair of old boots which had been polished to within an inch of their life.
Suddenly, he seemed to remember that he was still in the middle of a phone call, because he started speaking. ‘I’ll have to get back to you, Donna. Yeah. Sure. I will.’
And in a funny sort of way, Lizzie wondered whether she should be grateful to Donna for bringing her to her senses. Whoever Donna was. His latest lover? Why not? He might have been celibate for a year before he’d ravished her in the broom cupboard—maybe that had been why—but there was no reason why he hadn’t started putting himself out there again, making up for lost time. And if that was the case, that was one more thing she needed to accept. And she would do it.
She could do anything she set out to do.
‘Hi,’ she said briskly. ‘Hope I’m not late.’
‘No, you’re not late.’ He raised his dark brows. ‘Find everything you needed?’
‘Put it this way, I certainly won’t be making any complaints to the management,’ she said with a feeble attempt at humour, but he didn’t raise a smile.
‘Shall we go and sit down? We need to talk.’
It was another cool command. He pointed to one of the sofas—a long, low affair, sprinkled with velvet cushions which looked squashy and inviting and Lizzie sank down on it, grateful to take the weight off legs which had become suddenly unsteady. But then he sat down beside her and any sense of stability quickly deserted her.
She wondered if he knew how he was making her feel, just by being this close. Was he aware that her nipples were tightening and all she could think about was the way his tongue had explored their puckered flesh until she had yelped with pleasure? And then the way he had continued to lick his way down over her belly until—shockingly and deliciously—he had reached her thighs, which had parted so eagerly, as if having his face between her legs were the most natural thing in the world. But she didn’t want to remember that. She didn’t want erotic recall to play tricks with her mind and make her grow flushed and restless. It was inappropriate and it was dangerous, too.
‘So.’ She turned her head to fix him with a questioning look. ‘What are we going to talk about? The sandwich filling on tonight’s menu?’
‘Practicalities,’ he said succinctly.
Of course. ‘Such as?’
He shrugged. ‘You need to think about how you’re going to spend your days while you’re here. Obviously, you will see an obstetrician. There’s someone at Lenox Hill Hospital who’s been highly recommended, which the wives of several of my friends have used. I can arrange to have someone drive you to the medical centre. My assistant is currently dealing with that.’ He leaned back, tousled locks of blue-black hair brushing against the collar of his silk shirt. ‘But I run a very big company and work long hours, so I’m afraid I won’t be around much during the day.’
‘Oh, I think I can just about cope with your absence, Niccolò,’ she commented wryly. ‘I’ve managed for all these years on my own. Actually.’ She hesitated, as she thought about the exotically named tubes which were lined up beneath the mirror on her dressing table. ‘I’ve brought my paints with me.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re an artist?’
