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Just hearing his voice on the phone slammed her back to the night she’d spent in his bed in Florence. She felt his heat and strength again, and could picture his head between her thighs, his mouth on her where she was oh, so sensitive, his tongue finding every delicate nerve so that when she came, she came hard, and completely fell apart, dissolving into tears because he made her feel, so very much, and it was actually too much. She might live in California now but underneath she was still quite British and didn’t enjoy being flooded with quite so much emotion. Emotion was wonderful in tidy bites and measured doses, but the emotion Brando made her feel, well... Really, there was no place for it, and no room in her life for dazed, dazzled and befuddled.
Which brought her to this exact moment, where she waited on Brando’s doorstep, her elegant swing coat hiding her secret, a secret she had to share, because there was no hiding it any longer. It was one thing to keep a secret when there was no physical evidence, but her bump was impossible to hide now, so here she was, steeling herself for a conversation she did not think she’d ever have. Because she’d been on the pill, and he’d used a condom, and yet...
And yet...
Charlotte’s heart staggered and she exhaled hard, before drawing in a slower calming breath and ringing the doorbell again, pressing on the bell a little longer, and more insistently, than before.
The last time she was here Brando had almost made her believe in miracles. But there were no miracles, just bruised principles, and broken rules, and heart-wrenching consequences.
The front door suddenly swung open, revealing a tall slender young woman with long, dark tousled hair, red lips, her naked body barely covered by a white silk robe, the fabric so sheer, her dusky nipples shone through.
Charlotte recognized the model immediately. She was an Argentinean beauty taking the fashion world by storm.
“Si?” Louisa drawled as her robe slid off her shoulder and down her slender arm, fabric no longer covering one jutting breast.
Charlotte ignored the nipple. “Brando è disponibile?” she asked, utilizing the Italian she’d learned at her Swiss finishing school.
Louisa looked her up and down, a sly smile curving her full lips. “È un po legato.”
He’s a little tied up, Louisa had said, and from the model’s smug smile, Charlotte had a feeling the words were literal.
“Would you be so kind as to untie him?” she said politely in Italian. “Let him know Charlotte Parks is here. I’ll be waiting for him in the grand salon,” she added, stepping into the house and heading for the formal room halfway down the white marble hall.
Charlotte heard the door close hard, and then footsteps on the curving staircase that led to the second floor. Brando’s bedroom was up there. Charlotte knew, because she’d been there, during that second visit to this house when he’d stripped her naked and turned her into a mass of quivering need. She’d been far too intrigued by him, and she’d been far too confident in her ability to manage him, just the way she managed everything else in the world. But one didn’t easily manage Brando Ricci. He was a force to be reckoned with.
That force, all six foot two inches of him, entered the salon, dressed, thankfully, and looking casually handsome in faded denims that wrapped his muscular thighs, and a silver-gray cashmere V-neck sweater that hugged the hard planes of his chest. The cashmere sweater perfectly matched the color of his silver-gray eyes and paired a little too well with the espresso black of his hair.
He was tall, lean, honed and even more beautiful than she remembered. Her heart jumped, a quick staccato that did nothing for her sense of calm. Just that little glimpse of skin at his throat made her remember what it had felt like to be naked against him. His body didn’t just look magnificent, he knew how to move it, and when he’d been inside her, she’d felt satisfied, more satisfied, more...everything...than she’d ever felt in her life.
Being intimate with him hadn’t been just physical pleasure. She’d experienced a feeling of peace and wholeness, which made no sense since Brando had a history of breaking hearts. He didn’t do long relationships. He didn’t want commitments.
Which was why he should be fine with her proposal, relieved to hear that she would handle everything.
“Charlotte,” he said, approaching her, and leaning down to kiss each of her cheeks. “What brings you to Florence?”
“You do.” She smiled up at him. “I hope I haven’t interrupted anything.”
He gave her an amused smile, indicating he was aware that she was aware she’d obviously interrupted something.
“Shall we sit?” he suggested, gesturing to the chic armchairs in the white room with red and coral accents.
“Yes, thank you.” She took the chair opposite his, the chairs a little closer together than she preferred, but it felt good to be off her feet as her heart had begun to race and all her cool, calm confidence deserted her now that he was here. Brando was larger than life, humming with an energy that she found potent and strangely addictive. Her family was filled with beautiful people, but Brando exuded a physicality and a virility that was all his own.
He’d more than impressed her with his virility six months ago in this very house.
New Year’s Eve. What a life-changing night...
Heat rushed through her at the memory, and her stomach did a wobbly flip. The last thing she wanted to do was relive those intense memories now, here, with Brando within arm’s length and his lover upstairs waiting for him in bed. “I imagine Louisa must be growing impatient,” she said.
He smiled, a lazy, almost indulgent smile. “Louisa is good at entertaining herself.” He was still smiling, but his silver gaze narrowed, expression sharpening. “When did you arrive in Italy?”
“Today actually. I’ve left my bags at the hotel, but haven’t yet checked in.”
“That eager to see me?”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be here, or at the country house. If you were in the countryside already, I was going to rent a car and drive out to meet you.”
“I’m heading to the villa tomorrow.” His gaze skimmed over her, studying her intently. “You look well.”
“Thank you. I feel well.” She hesitated, struggling for words, her carefully rehearsed speech forgotten. She’d convinced herself that he wouldn’t care about her news. She’d convinced herself that he’d be relieved she was going to handle everything and do everything. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure and her heart had begun to race, anxiety pulsing just below the surface. “Do you mind if I take off my coat? It’s very warm.”
“Yes, your cheeks are quite flushed.”
The moment her coat came off, he’d see. He’d know. She hesitated, hands no longer steady, her confidence shaken.
What if it didn’t play out the way she anticipated? What if he—
She stopped herself there, unable to imagine any other scenario than the one she’d planned on. He was a bachelor. A playboy. He wasn’t father material. He wouldn’t be interested in the domestic details.
“Charlotte, are you all right?” he asked.
Tell him. Just tell him now.
Instead, mouth dry, heart racing, she slowly, carefully eased her arms from the sleeves and then allowed the coat to slide off her shoulders and fall back onto the chair.
Her emerald dress was slim fitting, the soft knit clinging to her small frame, highlighting her bump. The baby gave a hard kick just then and she touched her bump, not sure if she was soothing the baby, or herself.
“I’m six months,” she said quietly, steadily. “It’s been an easy pregnancy, and there have been no complications. I didn’t want to say anything until I’d made it out of the first trimester—” She broke off, took a quick breath and plunged on. “I wasn’t showing until recently and then I just popped. I couldn’t hide it any longer, and I didn’t think I should.”
“Should I be offering my congrat
ulations?”
“If you’d like to include yourself in the congratulations.”
There was a beat of silence. “Is this your way of saying it’s mine?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure it’s mine?”
“Yes.”
His gaze held hers, the silver gray piercing. There was no judgment in his eyes, no censure, no shock, not even disappointment. “We took precautions, both of us.”
“It seems we have a child that very much wants to be part of the world,” she answered, sitting tall, shoulders straight.
“A child with determination,” he replied.
She smiled, her most charming smile, aware that they were now both playing the same game. “It’s an admirable trait.”
“Agreed.” He hesitated. “You never considered an abortion?”
“No.” She eyed him cautiously. “Would you have preferred me to end the pregnancy?”
“I’m Italian. Catholic. So, no.”
“I’m neither, but it was never an option.”
