The Italian Boss's Secret Child(13)

Damien battled with the urge to rearrange one smug face, but he wasn't  about to undo all the goodwill they'd built up today. Then again, he  wasn't about to be out-manoeuvred either.

He dredged up a laugh, as if he was enjoying the banter, and schooled  his voice to sound civilised while inside him his heartbeat pounded like  jungle drums. 'Another time, perhaps. Sorry to disappoint you, but Ms  Summers and I have some important details to go over tonight. I'm sure  you understand.'

With that he placed a firm hand under her elbow and levered her from her  chair. Stuart was left with no choice but to remove his hand from her  arm though he made no pretence that he was happy about it.

'Good night, gentlemen. I look forward to furthering our discussions in the morning.'

He steered Philly out of the restaurant and into a waiting taxi without saying another word.





'What was that all about?'

She was sick of the silent treatment, sick of the brooding male who had  sprawled over the taxi seat like a despot, arrogant limbs taking up  space as if he owned it, sick of the way he'd frog-marched her to her  door like a prisoner to be locked in for the night.

As his silence continued her anger grew and grew, simmering away, fuelled by the heat he was giving off with his black mood.

'What was what all about?'

'Don't give me that,' she said as she inserted her card key into the  reader. 'You acted like some caveman back there at the restaurant.'

Down the corridor the lift doors binged open, spilling a load of camera-wielding tourists into the hallway.

The lock clicked open. Damien grabbed the handle and turned. 'Inside,'  he said, half shoving her across the threshold, closing the door behind  them.

'Excuse me,' she said, wheeling around to face him, hands on hips. 'What the hell do you think you're doing now?'

'Keeping our private business just that. Private. There's no need to share it with a busload of tourists.'

'Well, don't make yourself comfortable then because what I have to say  to you will only take a moment. You had no right to come on like that  back there.'

'I'm your boss. I had every right.'

'Is that so? Then where's this important work we need to go over then?  You never said anything about it before. You made that up.'

'We have important meetings tomorrow and you know it.'

'Yes, with people you did your best to completely alienate tonight. What on earth were you thinking?'

'I was thinking I brought you up here to work with me, not to flirt with the customers.'

Her mouth fell open in disbelief. 'I wasn't flirting!'

'Come on. You had Stu-baby draped all over you like a gorilla.'

'He was being sympathetic, that's all.'

'Sympathetic? Is that what you call it when someone's angling to get into your pants?'

'How dare you?' The crack of her palm against his cheek was as loud as  it was satisfying. Her victory was short-lived though as he snared her  still open hand in one swift-moving fist. His other hand stroked the  region, a red weal already brightening under his fingers.

'You deserved that.' She spat the words out over a gasping breath, refusing to give in to her first instinct to apologise.

He looked down at her, dark fire burning in his eyes, his breathing  strangely calm under the circumstances. 'And this,' he said, pulling on  her wrist so that she collided full length with him, 'is what you  deserve.'

Still half off balance, she felt his arm surround her and haul her  tightly against him as his head dipped lower. Panic, outrage and sheer  bliss all welled within her as his lips meshed with hers; panic that he  would somehow recognise her as the woman he'd made love to on Saturday  night; outrage that he could treat her this way, and sheer unadulterated  bliss that he had.

Since their encounter at the ball she'd dreamed of nothing else but to  be in Damien's arms once more. Those dreams had ended in disappointed  awakenings and frustrated tomorrows. But now he was here, really here,  holding her, kissing her and it was no dream.

Her thin sand-washed satin dress might not have been there. She could  feel all of him, the length of him, the heat of him, searing her through  the fine fabric.

He let go of her wrist and his hand went behind her head, drawing her  closer, holding her firm and somewhere his anger turned into something  else. It was desire she could feel from him now, a hot, urgent thing  that was as tangible as the flesh beneath her hands and it called to  her, tempting her, insisting she give herself up to it.                       
       
           



       

Why shouldn't she?

It would be so easy.

She knew the pleasure she'd find. She'd only had a sample of what he had  to offer, but there was no doubt there was so much more that she'd like  to experience. Why should it matter if she did?

But how could she?

Things were complicated between them already. Already there were  secrets. Already there was too much to explain. This wasn't going to  help.

Besides, he didn't want her. He'd made that perfectly plain when he'd  set the boundaries for this trip. What was happening now had more to do  with his competitive nature and showing her who was boss than any real  interest he had in Philly Summers. Because he'd made it perfectly clear  that he had none.

And that was the killer punch. If she'd thought for a moment that he  felt something for her other than pure animal lust, if she thought she  had something else going for her in his eyes other than simply being  available, then yes, she'd like nothing more than to give herself up to  the pleasures he promised.

But this was no fancy dress ball where he had no idea of her identity.  This was no masquerade. Here there was no avoidance of the truth. He'd  never wanted her and, whatever his motives, he didn't really want her  now.

This was simply wrong.

His hands slipped to her shoulders, sliding her thin straps away. She  gasped as his hands followed the curve of her shoulders, around to the  front, lower, capturing her breasts, thumbs hooking in her bodice top,  easing it lower.

Her hands found his chest as she dragged her face away from his. She  pushed but his hands caught her and pulled her back. She pushed again,  harder, turning her face so that he couldn't kiss her.

'No,' she said, her breath choppy. 'Stop this.'

His mouth was at her neck, cajoling, insisting and panic gripped her.

'No!' she yelled. 'Just because you bought these clothes don't assume you own what's in them.'

'The clothes are yours,' he muttered, ignoring her jibe, his breath hot and persuasive against her skin. 'Keep them.'

She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for strength.

'You promised!'

His head lifted but he didn't let go. 'What did I promise?'

'Not to maul me. You promised me there was no chance you would seduce me  on this trip. You made it perfectly clear there was not a snowball's  chance in hell-remember? So let me go-now.'

He had promised, he remembered. Why the hell had he done that?

His arms slackened their grip around her and she eased herself away,  hitching up her shoulder straps before flicking back her hair with her  fingers. Her face was flushed, her lips bruised and swollen from his  attention and he ached to take her back into his arms and finish what  he'd begun.

He'd made that promise to someone else, though-someone else who wore  ill-fitting brown suits and glasses that wouldn't be out of place on a  welder. He hadn't made that guarantee to the woman standing in front of  him. He would have been mad to have done that.

'I think you should leave,' she said, not moving, clutching her arms over her chest like a shield. 'Now.'

He took a deep breath. He would go. After all, he had promised.

But he definitely wouldn't make that mistake again.





CHAPTER SIX





CHRISTMAS came early to the Summers' household.

Five mornings before the big day, Philly clutched the white stick, hand  shaking, eyes disbelieving, mind unable to comprehend. She looked again  at the instructions, reading the last section twice over until she was  sure she had it clear in her mind, then she looked back at the stick.

There was no mistake.

She had read it right.

She was pregnant.

Elation zipped through her. She'd done it! She was carrying a child.  Having a baby was no longer just a dream, just a hope. It was now a  reality. And in less than forty weeks, all going well, she would hold  that baby in her arms. And her mother would hold her grandchild.

Please God it wouldn't be too late for it to make a difference.

But it couldn't be too late. It was a miracle. She was having a baby.

Her baby.

Elation suddenly gave way to another emotion.

Dread.

This wasn't just her baby. It was Damien's too.

Guilt gripped her heart, squeezing it as tight as the instructions now  crumpled within her fist as her body swayed into the bathroom vanity  unit, knocking the soap dish to the floor.

This was not some IVF pregnancy, where the sperm had been donated with  the intention and hopes of furnishing someone with a child anonymously.  This child's father was no phantom, no unnamed donor whose chosen part  in conceiving a child was over.