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He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t let the agony in her voice touch him. She was emotional now, but later she’d see that he was right. Later, when she remarried and had a family of her own, she’d be grateful he’d taken Gabriela back. “Forgive me, but you know the expression, once bitten, twice shy.”
She ducked her head but he saw the first tear fall. “Please.”
Don’t think about her, he told himself, don’t look at her. This isn’t about her. It’s about family, his family, the family that didn’t exist anymore. Gabby was all there was left. Gabby was the last Bartolo. He had to have her back. He needed her back. That was all there was to it.
“This isn’t personal,” he said after a moment as another tear fell. “And it’s not a punishment.” He softened his tone, tried to comfort her, if such a thing was possible.
It was silent for a few minutes as Sam stared out the window and he concentrated on the road. There wasn’t heavy traffic, just a few cars and trucks and they were all traveling very slow.
“You said three,” she said as he overtook a car. “You said there were three reasons.”
He glanced at her, saw the bruised softness at her mouth, the terrible sadness in her eyes and it cut him. In the beginning, maybe he had wanted to hurt her. Maybe in the beginning he’d been driven by revenge, but he didn’t know her, had thought she was one thing—a cool, impervious blonde—but that wasn’t Samantha. Beneath the beautiful blond exterior was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman—warmth, tenderness, intelligence and loyalty.
“You’re stunning,” he said bluntly. “And I wanted you for myself.”
CHAPTER SIX
HE TOOK her because he wanted her.
It was inconceivable to Sam that anyone could desire her that much. She didn’t feel desirable. Didn’t feel like a woman should feel.
And yet with him sitting so close, his large, powerful body crowding the car, she couldn’t help but be aware of him, aware of the words he’d just spoken, and the nuances still humming in the air.
The back of Sam’s neck tingled. Her stomach somersaulted. Her body felt odd all over—too sensitive, too aware. She didn’t like the feeling at all, and she didn’t want him to want her. She didn’t want anything to do with him. Not now, not ever.
Reaching into his leather coat pocket, Cristiano retrieved his phone and after pushing a couple of buttons, handed it to her.
“Call Mrs. Bishop,” he said calmly, “her number’s right there. Let her know we’re on our way to pick up Gabriela.”
In no mood to argue, and missing Gabby, Sam dialed the number and Mrs. Bishop answered. They chatted for a moment but when Sam said they were getting close to the house to pick up Gabby, Mrs. Bishop protested. “Oh dear, that’s a shame. The girls are planning a puppet show. I’m helping them with the costumes now.”
Sam felt a pang. At the Rookery she’d played with the same puppets. They were Mrs. Bishop’s, from her own childhood and she used to bring them to the orphanage on wet weekend afternoons so the children could play. “You’re not making new costumes, are you?”
“But of course. New plays need new costumes.”
Sam smiled, remembering Mrs. Bishop’s needle wizardly. Mrs. Bishop was the one who’d taught Sam to cook and sew, which had been very useful skills when Sam reached the nanny college in Manchester. “Gabby must be having a ball.”
“She is, Sam. She’s a lovely thing and the girls are having such a good time together. Do let her stay until dinner. There’s no hurry getting her home, is there?”
“Let me speak with Gabby then.”
Gabby howled when she took the phone from Mrs. Bishop. “You can’t pick me up now! We’ve made up our own play. It’s our own story and we’re making costumes and everything!”
“But you’ve been there for hours, Gabriela.”
“But I don’t want to go! We made cookies and had a tea party and Mrs. Bishop is helping us with the puppets. They have a puppet stage with red velvet curtains and we’re going to do our play in it.”
