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The Italian Boss's Secret Child(19)

By:Trish Morey

       
           



       

What force magnified mere touch to make it so bold, so all-consuming  that it carried her away on its tide? Whatever it was, it was beyond  comprehension, beyond dispute. Instead she let herself go with it as his  tongue dipped lower, unable to fight the onslaught of heat and  sensation on her skin and deeper, much deeper, inside.

She wanted more of this. She wanted more of him.

She wanted so much more …

Nothing would ease this delicious torture but having him deep inside her.

'Please … ' she begged, the agony of her need rendering her powerless in  his hands. And he gave something like a low growl and pulled away from  her so abruptly that she felt his absence like a snapshot of grief. Her  eyes fluttered open to see him looking down at her as his shoes and  clothes came off, a flurry of leather and fabric until only air  separated their naked skin. And then even the air was gone.

He lay down next to her, pulling her close, his smouldering eyes fixed on hers as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

'You are so beautiful,' he said. 'I've dreamed of having you again ever since that night.'

And before her heart had a chance to swell he rolled her beneath him and entered her in one swift, deep movement.

And then it was his turn to cry out, something guttural and indiscernible, but which spoke of his hunger and need.

She clutched his shoulders, momentarily relishing the feeling of  completion with him deep inside, pulsing with life and heat before he  moved, easing back, teetering on the edge before stretching her full  again.

She responded to him, meeting his rhythm, joining him in the dance as he  repeated the movement, again and again, slowly, then faster, building  the pace and her anticipation until he slowed again, driving her to the  edge of need and desperation as her hips urged him home.

She felt his need peaking with hers and spurred him on, angling her hips  to meet him as he drove himself deeper with every plunge, building her  higher and higher with the magic of his rhythm until his whole body  powered into hers with one final shuddering thrust. She went with him,  her senses exploding in a thousand directions that started and ended at  the place he now pulsed within.

For a while they lay there, bodies slick with limbs entwined as their  breathing returned to something like normal and their bodies cooled,  their craving and desire burned up in the fire of their passion-burned  up yet far from extinguished. He shifted so his head was lying across  her stomach and with his hand he traced circles over her abdomen, his  light touch hypnotising her skin at the same time that it stirred her  nerve endings.

'So somewhere inside here-there's a baby growing.'

His words took her by surprise. He'd hardly reacted to her news that she  was pregnant to him-it certainly hadn't seemed to have had any  impact-until now. Did he have no concept of what a child meant? Was the  idea of family that foreign to him?

'What happened to your family?'

His hand stopped and dropped back to his side as he swung his gaze up to the ceiling.

For a while she didn't think he was going to answer, his steady breathing the only sound in the spare masculine room.

She touched her hand to his head, stroking his hair with her fingers.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I didn't mean to pry.'

He caught her hand in his, brought it to his mouth, and pressed her open  palm against his lips with a half kiss, half sigh. 'It's okay. I don't  think about it too much.'

'It must have been awful.' She knew loss. The death of her brother and  his family had been bad enough. She didn't have to know the details to  understand that losing his parents and possibly other members of his  family too at such a young age must have been devastating.

'They had a market garden near Adelaide, where they'd settled after  coming out from Italy. It was only small to start, but they built it up  and when they could they did picking work as well-apples or pears-before  the tomato season really kicked in. I was the youngest so I stayed home  but they took my two older brothers-Santo and Jo. Before the tomato  crop ripened they could make more in one day picking than the market  garden could make in a week. It was my job to look after the garden.'

'How old were your brothers then?'

'Thirteen and fourteen. Santo was the image of Dad; he was so proud of him.'

'What happened?'

He made a sound, a sigh mixed with a note of despair, and she noticed  his whole body tense. 'The orchard they were working on was up in the  hills. They hitched a ride in the back of a pick-up truck with a bunch  of others from the city. The access road was narrow, a steep dirt track  with no safety rail. A car came round a bend the other way. The truck  swerved to miss it but too far, too close to the edge. Once the front  wheel went over there was no hope … '                       
       
           



       

Her breath caught as she imagined the horror of the accident and its impact on a young child. 'You lost everyone?'

'There were fourteen packed into the back of the truck. Only two survived. They didn't stand a chance when it rolled.'

He took a deep breath and raised a hand to rub his temple. 'I didn't  know about it until the next day. It took the police that long to  identify everyone.'

'You spent the night alone?'

He shrugged against her belly. 'You get used to it,' he said, his voice flat.

'That's so unfair,' she said. 'Did you have other family who could take you in?'

'No. Not in Australia and my two remaining grandparents in Italy were  too frail and I didn't want to go back. I'd grown up here. Even though  my roots were Italian, I felt Australian, I belonged here. The market  garden was sold-it barely covered the debts-and I ended up in foster  care-' He gave a brief laugh. 'For a while, anyway. They didn't want me  and I didn't need them. I worked as hard as I could at school and earned  myself a scholarship and then escaped to Melbourne first chance I got.'

'So this child will be your only family,' she said, thinking aloud.

He lifted himself from the bed in one rapid movement and scooped up his  clothes and she cursed herself for provoking his change in mood. This  was a guy who had made it in the world without family. He certainly  wasn't going to be thrilled about having it thrust upon him.

'I have to get back to work. What do you plan to do?'

She laughed, low and brittle. 'I would have thought it's a bit late for  planning. I'm going to have a baby. How's that for a plan?'

'You're keeping it then?'

Something congealed cold and hard in her heart.

He'd just made love to her.

She was carrying his child.

If she'd had any hopes that either one of those meant he'd consider her  as something a trifle more special than plain old Philly-from-marketing,  he'd just smashed those hopes to smithereens. 'I'm disappointed you  could even ask.'

'Oh, don't feel so aggrieved. How am I expected to know what you intend to do? It's not like we really know each other.'

True, she thought, seeking the refuge of her own clothes. But that  doesn't stop you wanting to make love to me. That doesn't stop me  wanting you to.

And it certainly doesn't stop me loving you.

'So what do you expect from me?'

She looked up at him, her hazel eyes focused acutely on his, hoping they  conveyed the sense of cold he'd just doused her with. Much as it would  have been easier never to have let Damien know that he was the father,  she'd done the right thing. He now knew about the baby. Her  responsibility to him ended right there. If he wasn't prepared to have  anything to do with this child, then she'd be more than happy to assume  sole responsibility. It would sure save any complications.

'What do I expect from you? Absolutely nothing.'

His face starkly displayed his disbelief. But then, why would he believe  her? No doubt he'd be expecting her to take full advantage of the  benefits of a rich father for her child.

'It's true,' she said. 'I don't want anything from you.'

'You think you can do this all by yourself?'

'Of course I can.' If I have to. 'It's what I want.' If that's what it takes.

'What about what I want?'

'It's obvious you don't want to be involved. You've made that perfectly  clear by even assuming I could do anything other than keep this child.  You didn't ask for this to happen. You didn't ask for a child.'

'And you did?'

Her eyes dropped to the floor. He'd never understand if she told him.  He'd never understand how much this baby meant, how much it would mean  to her mother and how she'd dreamed so fervently of having a child. But  those reasons had nothing to do with him. He didn't need to know.

'Of course it was a shock,' she said. 'But now that I've accepted it I'm  going to do everything I can to make this child's life worthwhile. This  baby's never going to feel like it's not wanted or that its life is the  result of a mistake. I'm going to make it a home.'

'Very noble sentiments. And just how do you plan on doing all this by yourself?'

'I'll manage.'

'You'll manage,' he echoed hollowly, his voice dry and flat. 'A single  mother, either unable to work or having to put the child into care all  day and scraping by on a pittance if you can work. Is that how you  intend to manage?'