Why had his reaction hurt? Why had she closed her office door behind him and suddenly burst into tears?
The hormones. Only the hormones.
The meeting went on and on. Lise wiggled in her chair. If it wasn’t a constant need to puke, it was a constant need to pee. This better end soon or she was going to have to excuse herself. She glanced down at the bump of her baby, which was successfully hidden by her endless line of suit jackets. In short order, she would have to stop the silly charade of not being pregnant. She suspected that most of the office had already come to the right conclusion.
Lise rubbed her hand across the bump and smiled.
Hormones, stress, nausea. All of it was nothing compared to the gift she’d soon have.
Looking up, her hand stilled.
Vico Mattare’s gaze rose from her hand and pinned her to the chair. Intense and piercing and determined.
Taking a halting breath in and then out, she tore herself from his scrutiny and stared at the papers in front of her. There wasn’t any threat there in his eyes. There was no reason to be concerned. This worry and speculation was only her imagination. Only the hormones messing with her emotions.
Or perhaps…a mother’s instinct?
Chapter 7
Vico stared at the stately, imposing, regal house in front of him.
He hated the place.
Hated the cold blue of the door with its ostentatious gold trim. Hated the blank windows with the grey shades pulled down. And he especially hated the chilly white paint on the brick face.
This home fit Lise Helton to perfection.
Glancing around the quiet Mayfair street, he noted the plethora of Mercedes, BMWs, and Aston Martins. He gave them all a grim smile. Only the best kind of neighbors for the Princesse, si? Too bad he’d come to spoil the tone of the neighborhood.
Too bad for her. Too bad for him.
No amount of class and aristocratic hauteur was going to stop him from finding out what he wanted to know. Hopefully, it was nothing. Still, the pulse in his gut told him this was not the case.
So, the last two weeks had been busy—very busy.
Vico strode to the damned door and pushed the pretentious doorbell with savage intent.
Two weeks ago he’d thought, for a moment, he’d escaped. When he’d stared into those ice-blue eyes, hate coloring the blue into spears of frost, he’d been relieved at her words. What man would want to tie himself to this kind of a woman? A woman as cold as the farthest star in the galaxy. A woman who hated him, looked down at him, treated him with disrespect. What man would want a woman like this to carry his bambino?
He’d walked back to his office in a daze. Because mixed with the blessed relief, he’d experienced a crushing despair. Which made no sense.
Then it had come.
The twist in his gut telling him something wasn’t right, something wasn’t as it should be.
He’d listened.
His security team was thorough. There was not an ounce of guilt in him for what he’d done. He had to know for sure. Had to build an arsenal of weapons to get what he wanted. Had to make certain…
He stared at the gold door knocker.
Why? Why was he doing this? Even now he argued with his gut, cursed his conscience. He didn’t want to be a father, could never be worthy of the care of an infant. What possible good would come of forcing the issue?
Yet, lurking behind his gut and his conscience was fear. Fear drove him forward. He’d failed once before, failed to follow through, failed to protect. If it was his child in her belly, then he had a duty to make sure it was born. To make sure, somehow, it was loved.
A small life cursed with Lise Helton as a mother. Certainly.
A bambino cursed with him as their father. Possibly.
But a child who needed love. A love his family could give abundantly.
“Maledizione.” He cursed her, himself, and her closed door.
He hated her. He wanted her out of his life. He wanted nothing to do with her or this child. But his conscience and his gut and his past made it impossible to walk away.
Until he knew, knew for sure.
Where the hell was she? He glared at the door and pressed the doorbell again. Eight a.m. on a Saturday meant she’d be at home. He’d picked this exact time and exact location for this reason. He wanted privacy and he wanted to catch her unaware.
No sound came from the residence. No shade lifted. No door opened.
Was she okay? The thought sprang into his brain with alarming sharpness. She’d appeared particularly ghastly at their last meeting yesterday. He’d had an almost uncontrollable urge to bundle her into his limo, drive her back to his home, and demand she go to bed immediately.
He snorted. As if she’d let him do any of those things.
The woman was supremely self-sufficient. He had nothing to worry about. He also knew she was here. He’d overheard her saying to her PA she planned on a quiet Saturday at home.