Boss Meets Baby(72)

Suddenly a shuttered look descended over his features and he turned to pick up the peach dress from the bed.

‘You’ve lost weight,’ he said. ‘But this style should be forgiving.’

‘Forgiving?’

His choice of word was like a slap in the face.

At that exact moment she knew he would never forgive her for what he thought she’d done. It made no difference that he was mistaken, that there was no possible proof of her sin against him—her denial would continue to fall on deaf ears.

‘You are the one that needs forgiveness, for the awful way you treated me. For the way you’re still treating me!’ She snatched her clothes up off the floor and held them protectively across her body.

He had never truly planned to make love to her. His intention— that morning had only ever been to humiliate her.

But she’d spoken her mind before she thought about the consequences, and as Vito turned back towards her his fury was almost palpable.

‘Don’t pursue this.’ His words were forced out through gritted teeth, and she could see the monumental effort he was exerting to control his rage. ‘You won’t win. You can’t win. It would be better for everyone if you don’t keep reminding me of your betrayal—of the fact that you are carrying another man’s child inside you.’

‘But—’

Vito didn’t need to speak again to quell Lily’s retort. As his gaze met hers, the tortured look in his eyes cut through her pain, and in a sudden instant of clarity she realised how he was being torn apart by his belief that she had cheated on him.

But it wasn’t her fault that he thought she’d been unfaithful. Was it madness to stay with someone who thought her capable of such a thing? But she’d made her decision—she had to marry him to make a future for her unborn child.

Later, for her own sake, she was going to have to try to discover why he believed what he did. But for now she had to let it rest. From the anger and tension radiating from every ounce of his powerful body, she could tell that now was not the time to keep pushing him. There was no chance of having a reasoned conversation with him while he was so tightly wound and his anger so raw.

‘Put this on,’ Vito said, holding out the dress to her.

She slipped it over her head silently, gathered her long hair to one side, and turned to present him with the zip. She straightened her shoulders consciously, determined— to show him that her will was as strong as his. She wouldn’t fight with him now—but neither would she let herself be quashed by the brute strength of his personality.

He pulled the zip up slowly, not touching her at all. She exhaled quietly, careful not to let him know that she’d been holding her breath in case his fingers brushed against her sensitive spine. Then she turned to look at her reflection in the mirror.

She hardly recognised the girl who gazed back at her. The girl who’d worn that dress and lived in this bedroom—that— girl—belonged to another time. A happier time.

If she was going to survive this marriage, she was going to have to assert herself. Show Vito that, despite his threats and undeniable position of strength, he couldn’t walk all over her.

‘That will do very well,’ Vito said, his patronising tone setting Lily’s nerves on edge. He passed her bag to her and headed towards the door. ‘We must set off to my grandfather’s.’

‘Wait a minute.’ Lily gripped her suede bag tightly and dug in her heels.

‘What is it?’ Vito turned back impatiently.

‘That sweater,’ she said, tossing her bag onto the bed and walking briskly towards him. ‘It’s not right. You can’t wear a depressing black sweater if you’re serious about cheering your grandfather up.’

‘He won’t be looking at me…’ Vito’s words petered out as she gripped the soft cashmere in her hands and started peeling it off his body.

‘You must have something lighter and fresher. Maybe— your pale-blue sweater?’ It was an effort to keep her voice steady, but she was proud of how matter-of-fact she managed to sound. Especially when she discovered he wasn’t wearing anything under the sweater, and an intoxicating waft of his pure, masculine aroma filled her senses, making her legs feel weak all over again.

She took a step back, and for a second let her eyes run over his magnificent form. A shiver of sensual appreciation— ran through her, and she realised her ploy to regain some control was in serious danger of backfiring— on her.

Vito turned and stepped towards his wardrobe. Try as she might, she simply couldn’t tear her gaze away. She’d always loved to watch him without his shirt on—never— failing to be fascinated, and frankly turned on, by the irresistible play of his well-defined muscles beneath his golden-brown skin.