Page 30 of The Housekeeper's One-Night Baby
‘It was the summer holidays and it was unbearably hot in the city, but little Rosina didn’t travel well, so we had been there for the entire school break.’ He remembered feeling invisible. And bored. Nobody had been around. There had been nothing to do and no one to see. And then the invitation had landed on his mat—with all its bright and glimmering possibility.
‘One of my schoolfriends invited me to his birthday party in the mountains. There would be people I hadn’t seen all summer. Girls. One girl in particular. My parents refused to let me go.’ It had seemed unjust to treat him like a child when he had been trying so hard to behave like a grown-up. He remembered the anger which had flared up inside him. ‘So I sneaked out and hitchhiked there.’ He paused. ‘I lost my virginity that night and I lost track of time.’
‘Oh,’ she said, but he couldn’t miss the crumpling of her face.
‘My mother was going out of her mind with worry,’ he continued, words firing from his mouth like bullets. ‘My father was away on business and so she strapped Rosina in the car and set off up the mountains to come and get me. It was a clear night and visibility was good. There were no other cars around and my mother was a brilliant driver. But somehow...’ His tone slowed. ‘Somehow the car left the road and ended up in pieces on the ground, and by the time they found them, my mother and my sister were both...’ The tightness in his chest was making it impossible for him to get the word out—but he had to. ‘Dead.’
‘Niccolò—’
‘Don’t,’he bit out. ‘Don’t say it.’
‘You don’t know what I was going to say.’
‘Yes, I do. That it wasn’t my fault. It was. If I hadn’t gone to that party, it would never have happened. My mother and my sister wouldn’t have died and my—’
She looked at him curiously as his words were severed. ‘What?’ she said softly. ‘What?’
‘Can’t you see it doesn’t matter, Lizzie?’ he ground out bitterly. ‘None of it matters. Not any more. It’s done. Cause and effect, remember? End of story. I have to live with what I have done and it has informed my life ever since. It is why I am the man I am, and why I can never be the man for you. I am cold. I am cruel. So maybe you are right to go back to England and not spend a moment longer here than you need to. You need to find a man who can care for you. Who can love you in a way that I can never do. Who can protect you.’
‘Niccolò—’
‘No!’ he negated furiously. ‘I won’t discuss it any more. There is no point.’
‘Are you quite sure about that?’
He was taken off guard by the soft wash of understanding in her voice and even more by the way she rolled over to face him, so that her belly was touching his. That curved and alien shape he’d been trying so hard to avoid, even when he’d been making love to her. And then he felt it. Faint but unmistakable. Weak but immeasurably strong. The kick of a tiny limb. The tremble of new life. Their eyes met as an iron shackle was tightened around his heart and for a moment he couldn’t speak. But what right did he have to this child, or any child?
‘I’m very sure,’ he said at last. ‘I want to get my old life back. I never wanted to be a father. How many times do I have to tell you that, before you start believing me, Lizzie? I’ll be doing you both a favour,’ he added roughly.
‘It doesn’t feel that way right now.’
The hurt tone of her voice stabbed at his conscience and Niccolò could feel emotional chaos beckoning like an old enemy. She had been right to tell him she was leaving. Better to end this madness now and give them both some much-needed peace of mind. But somehow her arms had entwined themselves around his neck and she was clinging to him and—God help him—he was kissing her again and she was kissing him back. The sexiest, sweetest, yet most womanly kiss he could ever have imagined.
‘Lizzie,’ he said brokenly, against her lips.
‘Shh...’
It seemed that his erstwhile virgin was now in control and required no interruption. She drew her mouth away from his, as if to concentrate fully on his body, and he wondered afterwards if her hands were stroking over his flesh like that because she wanted to demonstrate her power over him, which at that moment was considerable. But then he stopped caring. He was lost in the responses she was inciting. Powerless to do anything other than comply with her sweet ministrations. Maybe it was his body’s need to block out the bitterness of his thoughts which made his physical reaction to her so instant and overwhelming.
‘Lizzie,’ he gasped as her fingertips skated across his sternum—making a slow, sensual foray over each hard nipple. He held his breath as the flat of her hand reached the bony jut of his hip and she brushed her palm tantalisingly over the rigid throb of his erection and then away again. ‘Please,’ he said at last, when she did it again and again, and he thought he could bear no more.
Her fingers encircled him, sliding up and down the rigid shaft to create a light, soft rhythm. Her movements were dextrous and sure and he felt his eyes flutter to a close, helpless to resist the coming storm. And when he was almost there, she wriggled down the bed, her long hair brushing against his groin. Gently, she clamped her mouth around him, that soft imprisonment sending him under. He gripped onto her silken shoulders as he felt the powerful spurt of his seed into her mouth and when the last spasm had died away, he opened his eyes to see her licking her lips, like a satisfied pussycat.
It was possibly the most erotic but certainly the most intimate thing which had ever happened to him, and probably why he pushed back against it and felt the urgent need to escape. He shoved aside the rumpled bedclothes and got out of bed, seeing her look of bewilderment and, yes, hurt, but he shut his mind to it. He didn’t want to be distracted by her nakedness, or her growing sexual confidence, or to have to dodge a stream of soft sympathy he had no right to. He didn’t want to feel a child he had never asked for kicking against him like that. Or to see the woman he had impregnated boldly swallowing his seed. It was too much. He felt as if he’d lost a layer of his skin and she had been instrumental in that loss. As if Lizzie Bailey had somehow clawed it away from him, leaving him raw and exposed.
Turning his back on her, he picked up his discarded shirt and pulled it roughly over his shoulders, thinking he’d use one of the other bathrooms, rather than prolong this unbearable intimacy. He tugged on his trousers and by the time he turned back to her, he had recovered himself. But his brief flirtation with the past was over. She was right. It was the future she needed to negotiate. A future without him—and the sooner that happened, the better. Should he wait until she was dressed, until tempers and passions had cooled? And how long would that be? What if it was another day? A week. Prolonging this sweet torture of wanting her while knowing he needed to push her away, for both their sakes?
Steeling his heart against the crumpling of her lips, he slanted her a gritty smile. ‘We need to think about income.’
‘Income?’she echoed.
‘Don’t look so horrified, Lizzie. I assume you’re not going to turn down a reasonable settlement just because we’re not together? I don’t imagine you’re going to make enough from your dog portraits to live on.’
‘Don’t youdaretrash my work!’
‘I’m not. I happen to think your work is great.’ His voice gentled and he wished she wouldn’t look at him that way. He wished she weren’t flushed and vulnerable beneath the rumpled duvet. He wished for a lot of things, but they were never going to happen. His throat tightened. ‘I’m just being practical, that’s all.’
‘Yes, I know you are,’ she said, a note of bitterness entering her voice. ‘Practicality is something you’re good at, isn’t it, Niccolò?’
