Innocent in the Italian's Possession(21)

And he didn't trust her to do as he ordered once they reached land. He  didn't want to hear any more of her lies. No, he wanted to hear his  papa's side of this now.

But he'd gotten to the hospital too late thanks to his reluctance at  tearing himself from Gemma and then a traffic snarl after he landed in  Viareggio.

Now he would have to wait for his papa to recover before he could get  answers. That wasn't something he was even marginally good at doing.

"Stefano, please sit," his aunt had said, her usually radiant face  looking haggard. "You are making me nervous with your endless pacing."

Maledizione! He certainly didn't wish to cause anyone any more grief.

He plopped on the stiff chair beside her and stretched his long legs  out. "My apologies. You know patience isn't one of my strong suits."

"Sì, I know. But I also know my nephew and recognize when something is deeply troubling him."

"It has been a long morning without word how Papa is doing."

She clamped a hand on his arm and her tension vibrated into him. "Did you expect them to stop the surgery and deliver a report?"

"No, nothing like that."

"What is troubling you, Stefano?" his aunt asked.

Gemma. She invaded his thoughts. Sweet, beguiling Gemma. Sweet, innocent Gemma.

But he couldn't tell his papa's sister that. Not now when her stress was  palpable for she would ask questions that he didn't wish to address,  either. He sure as hell couldn't tell her he'd blackmailed his papa's  secretary into his bed!                       
       
           



       

"There are things at Marinetti that require my attention today," he said.

She stared at him through narrowed eyes. "What about the secretary? Have you dismissed her yet?"

He heaved a sigh, wishing his mamma hadn't told her sister-in-law about  Cesare's infidelity. Wishing to hell his mamma hadn't told him her  suspicions at all.

"No. It is more complicated than I thought."

The color drained from her face as she pressed a hand to her generous  bosom. "Addio! Please tell me this woman is not with child."

"Nothing of the sort," he said, and hoped to hell that proved true.

Maledizione! He hadn't used protection.

He hadn't thought it was necessary since she was his father's mistress.

Except she wasn't. He only hoped she was on the pill or used some type of birth control. But how likely was a virgin to do that?

Stefano drove his fingers through his hair and called himself ten kinds  of an ass. Taking Gemma's virginity had robbed him of the vengeance he'd  sought. It changed everything that he'd planned to do with her.

It forced him to reassess her role in his life and his future. He wanted  to blame her for lying to him, except in this she'd told the truth. She  wasn't his father's mistress-she was his by coercion.

Imbecile!

He'd never bedded a virgin before. Never wanted to.

He didn't want to think that he could have fathered a child with Gemma. He didn't want to think of her at all.

But as the day wore on and his worry for his papa increased, his  thoughts continued to turn to Gemma. In his bed. Loving her and knowing  that he was the first man to introduce her to sex.

Her sweet scent filled his head. He hungered for another taste of her  honeyed mouth. To suckle the pert breasts until the rosy nipples budded  on his tongue. To settle between her soft thighs and sup at the erotic  essence of her, to drive her wild with ecstasy before covering her and  making them one.

Unbidden came an overwhelming swell of possessiveness. She was his now. His.

Up until the time he took her virginity, he'd not been tied to her. He could have sent her on her way without repercussions.

He should never have set out to ruin her for in doing so he'd only tangled their lives together.

There was no going back.

He couldn't walk away. He wouldn't desert her until he knew if she carried his child.

What was done was done. If his seed grew in her, he'd accept his responsibility. He'd marry her without hesitation.

And if there was no child?

Stefano would honor the agreement they'd made for thirty days. Then he'd let her go.

By then this fierce possessiveness he felt toward her would have waned.  He wouldn't be filled with rage over the thought of her moving on to a  new lover. Of marrying one day. Of having children.

"I do not like that she is still on the payroll," his aunt said. "Your mamma's memory deserves more respect than that."

He heaved a sigh, vexed that his aunt was still brooding about Gemma. He  certainly couldn't let his aunt go on believing the worst of Gemma but  he did not relish telling her the truth, either.

"Mamma was mistaken about her," he said.

His aunt gaped at him. "Do not tell me she has woven you around her finger as well?"

He refused to dignify that with a denial and settled on facts instead. "Gemma Cardone wasn't Papa's lover."

"I suppose she told you that."

"She did and I refused to believe her."

"So what changed your mind?"

He shifted uneasily and made a cutting movement with his hand. "I was her first lover."

An awful quiet echoed in the waiting room to set his nerves on edge. "When?"

"This is not the time to discuss such things," he reminded his aunt when  a couple entered the room and crossed to the chairs on the other side.

"Now is the perfect time," she said in a voice pitched low. "Tell me how long you've known this woman."

"We spent last night on the yacht." And in case his aunt had any doubts  what he meant, he added, "In the same bed. She hadn't known any man  before me."

She treated him to a long, assessing look before spitting out a torrent  of curses directed at the male of the species. "You are sure of this?"

"Positive," he said. "She is Papa's personal secretary. That is all."

Yet even as he said it he knew Gemma was more to his father than that.  There were the unexplained weekends spent in Milan and the small fortune  that Cesare had given Gemma.

A man didn't hand over that kind of money to a stranger unless there was  a very good reason. Gemma had never offered an explanation for her good  fortune. She couldn't even look him in the eyes when the subject was  brought up.                       
       
           



       

Stefano knew she was hiding something that involved her and his father. But what?

He'd visited Milan shortly after his mamma had voiced her suspicions  about his papa straying, but all he'd discovered was that his papa and  Gemma had made weekly visits to a lavish hotel that was owned by an old  friend of his papa's. A friend who claimed to have no idea what business  brought Cesare Marinetti and his young secretary to Milan so often.

His father certainly incited loyalty in his friends and employees!

"Cesare was supposed to be in recovery by now," his aunt said as the  dinner hour in the hospital came around and the smells of overcooked  food filled the room. "Why is it taking them so long?"

"I wish I knew."

Unease curdled in his gut. Something must have gone wrong. Stefano knew  it couldn't be good when the doctor strode into the waiting room an hour  later, his scrubs damp with sweat, his expression a mask of concern.

"Signor Marinetti?" he asked.

"Here," he said and rose. "How is my father?"

The doctor motioned to a door. "Please. Let's go in here where we can talk in private."

Stefano took his aunt's arm and guided her into the private room. He'd  faced many situations where he had to keep a cool head, but he'd never  felt this nervous.

The surgeon didn't mince words. "The heart surgery went well. But as we  were closing the graft site on his leg, your father suffered colpo  apoplettico."

His aunt let out a keening sound that mirrored Stefano's fear for his  father's recovery. The doctor's grave expression told Stefano the stroke  was severe.

"How is he now?" Stefano asked.

The doctor's lips thinned a fraction, and Stefano guessed the man was  trying to soften the blow. "Unconscious. We have stabilized him, but we  have no idea of the damage done until he wakes up."

If he woke from the coma. The back of Stefano's throat went dry at the thought.

Time. His father needed time to heal before they could begin to think of any treatment.

"When can we see him?" Stefano asked.

"As soon as he's stable and moved into intensive care. Get some rest."  The doctor left without another word, closing the door behind him to  afford them continued privacy.

Stefano paced the smaller room, his emotions on the razor's edge. He'd never felt as sad and alone as he did now.

"I'm not leaving the hospital tonight, but I'll have my driver return you to your hotel."

"You will call me if you need me?" his aunt asked.

"Yes, of course."