ABBY BARELY TASTED the scampi, though she was sure they were delicious. Everything looked to have been prepared with care and using only the finest ingredients, but her mind was reeling.
It shouldn’t have surprised her. She knew that what Gabe said was true. And yet her own visceral sense of despondency forced her to look deeper and acknowledge what she’d probably known all along.
Why had she been willing—no, desperate!—to go to bed with him? Because the connection she’d felt was that mythical, much talked about love at first sight. She’d looked at Gabe and known that they were meant to be together. That there was more to their meeting than a random happenstance and her father’s financially motivated manipulations.
It was him and her.
Fate had conspired to give them a baby, linking them for ever. Surely there had been something predestined and magical at work there, for now that she knew the story of his parentage she didn’t doubt that Gabe would always take great care not to conceive a child.
‘I’m sorry you have been worried about money,’ he said, apparently having no idea that Abby was still brooding over his revelations.
‘Yeah, well, working in a kitchen doesn’t pay very well.’
‘I don’t mean in New York,’ he said. ‘I’m talking about here in Italy.’ His frown was grim, self-condemnatory. ‘I overlooked this detail, and I truly regret that.’ He reached into the bag beside him and pulled out a black wallet, slender and long.
‘I’ve had cards drawn in your name.’ He passed the wallet to Abby and she opened it reflexively. ‘You’ll have no spending limit, of course. Buy whatever you need.’
The words were said without any expectation of a response but Abby sharply rejected the sentiment.
‘There’s cash too.’ He nodded, indicating a huge wad of hundred euro bills. ‘And I’ll have one of my assistants take on your workload. Anything you need—money, holidays booked, cars, if you wish to go back to America and see...your father, or anyone, she will arrange.’
A shiver ran down Abby’s spine. The delineation was clear—she was his wife in name only. Oh, and in his bed. But when it came to troubling himself with her concerns, he was washing his hands of it.
Abby folded the wallet and placed it in the centre of the table. ‘I don’t need any of that.’
He leaned forward. ‘You have already proved to me that you are not mercenary, but think this through, Abigail. Do you want to come and ask me for money any time you want to book a trip? To go on holiday?’
She swept her eyes shut. She had thought, of course, stupidly, that they would do such trips together. But of course Gabe was setting out a life that was far more private. Separate.
A loner in this life.
Her heart twisted. Just like that, the difficulty of her position became glaringly obvious. She had fought it, she had resisted, but such efforts had proved impossible. She was in love with him and he felt nothing for her, beyond responsibility. He was trying to right the wrongs of the past, to prove to himself that he was different to his father, Lorenzo.
Her future yawned before her, long and cold, save for the love of their son. Raf alone could make this bearable for her.
‘I want you to make a life here with me,’ he said gently, so that her heart ached. ‘A real life. You aren’t to feel like a guest. This is your house, your money. Our son binds us, tempesta.’
‘Tempesta,’ she said distractedly. ‘You call me that often. What does it mean?’
‘Storm.’ His lips twisted sardonically. ‘I thought it the first night we met—that you had the power to move through me like a hurricane. I feel that still.’
She wouldn’t let those words come to mean anything. They were insufficient, meaningless.
‘Have you told your father we are to marry?’
Abigail shook her head. ‘I didn’t have time before I left and...’ The words trailed off into nothingness.
‘You don’t want him to know,’ Gabe concluded.
‘He’d hate this,’ she said simply. ‘I’d worry that it would be the last straw for him. You know? Since losing Mom, he’s just been so...caught up in the company and a huge part of that is...’
‘Hating me,’ Gabe supplied with a drawl.
‘Yes.’ No sense denying that. ‘When he found out I was pregnant with Raf, that you were the father, it was like I’d shot him.’
Gabe’s eyes narrowed.
‘Knowing that I’ve moved in with you... I don’t want to do that to him.’
Sheer cold anger met her gaze when she looked at him. He was furious—but why? ‘Do you expect our marriage will be kept out of the public eye? I am a well-known figure, and you are too. At some point the media will discover our union. Isn’t it better for your father to hear it first from us?’
‘No.’ She shook her head quickly. ‘Absolutely not. It’s best of all if he never knows.’
‘But I’ve just pointed out how unlikely that is.’
‘Unlikely isn’t definite,’ she said urgently. ‘There’s still a chance.’
The noise was shrill, panicked. He sat bolt upright, rubbing a hand across his face, trying to work out what the hell was going on. He turned around and saw her. Abby, crying out in her sleep. He stared at her and an adrenal response fired in his belly. He reached for her, shaking her shoulder gently. ‘Wake up, Abby.’
She pulled a face in her sleep but didn’t open her eyes.
‘You’re dreaming.’
She mumbled something, words he didn’t hear, so he did the only thing he could. He kissed her, swallowing the panic, tasting it, and returning it as passion. She responded instantly, wrapping her arms around his neck and, when he lifted his head a little, her eyes were open. Groggy and thick with passionate entreaty.
His own body stirred in response, but his curiosity over what had upset her was greater. ‘You were having a nightmare.’
‘Was I?’ Her eyes flicked away from his, a small frown playing about her lips. He dropped a finger to them, touching her gently. ‘That happens sometimes.’
That adrenaline response was back. ‘Does it?’
‘Not for a long time.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It started when my mom died.’
Gabe dropped onto the pillow beside her, propping himself on one elbow so he could see her face. ‘Are the nightmares about your mother?’
‘Yes and no.’ She slid her gaze to him warily. ‘She’s always in them, but out of reach. Like watching me from behind a window or talking to me but when I look for her I can’t find her. Does that make sense?’
He shrugged. ‘Dreams rarely do.’
‘I haven’t had one in a long time.’ She swallowed. ‘But I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. She would have loved Raf, you know.’
He smiled, but inside he felt as if she’d hit him hard. No, not her, it was life. He didn’t want his wife to be miserable; he didn’t want her to be mourning a mother she’d so obviously loved. He couldn’t fix that, though. Death was life’s most final act—what could be done to remedy it?
‘Do you...?’ Abby swallowed. ‘You must miss your mother.’
Gabe shrugged a single shoulder. ‘I miss the role she might have played in my life.’
‘It must have been so hard for you.’ Abby lifted a hand and traced an invisible circle on his shoulder, almost against her will. ‘To have seen your mother so miserable, to have known your father to be the cause...’
‘She was the cause,’ he said softly. ‘She should have seen what he was doing to her and fled. She should have taken whatever money he’d given her and left him, and started a new life.’
‘Starting a new life isn’t easy. And it sounds like your father led her on, like he led her to believe he might love her too.’
‘Yes.’ Gabe’s eyes sparkled with renewed determination. He was nothing like his own father—he had never led Abby on. In this way, they were vitally different.
‘Go to sleep, tempesta. And try to make your dreams sweet.’
And though she had a habit of creeping to her own bed in the middle of the night, he slid his arm beneath her, rolling her onto his chest so he could feel her breathing and hold her tight. He couldn’t bring her mother back to life but, with any luck, he could forestall the nightmares.
That, at least, was within his power.
Gabe stared out of his study window without seeing the vista. He was used to it and, despite the fact he had, once upon a time, thought this to be the most beautiful place on earth, he had grown accustomed to its charms now. Did that diminish it, somehow?
He had also grown accustomed to having Abby in his bed. He was used to all of her belonging to him, utterly and completely, though it had only been days since his return from Rome.
She didn’t hide how much she wanted him, and he was glad for that.
He had worried she would mistake their chemistry and marriage for love, but she seemed to understand that theirs was a transaction and only certain parts of him were on the table.
But at night, oh, how he craved her.
He doubted that need would ever fade, his appreciation for her curves and undulations unlikely to diminish with exposure.
In fact, the opposite was true. The more that he was with her, the more he wanted her. He woke up aching to pull her close, but with the sun’s rise came the reality of their situation and everything shifted between them. She pulled away from him, presenting him with a cool smile and a terse nod, showering in her own en suite bathroom, away from him, away from his touch and kiss and eyes that were hungry for more glimpses of her beautiful body.
She spent much of her time with Raf, even just reading in his room. He knew because Monique had become worried for Abby.
‘She seems distracted and tired. She doesn’t need to exhaust herself with the baby—she must have more important things to do! Weddings don’t plan themselves.’
But Abby had no interest in planning a wedding.
She had told him outright that she was happy to organise things, but that her preference was for as small a ceremony as possible, just the two of them and Raf, with a couple of domestics as witnesses. No guests, no dinner. When he’d suggested a honeymoon she’d blanched and pointed out in a brittle voice that they were already living as a married couple. Besides, she’d added with a poor attempt at a smile, where in the world could they go more idyllic than the castle?
He’d analysed the feeling low in his abdomen for days, wondering at its root cause, but now he had to admit it. He was ill at ease.
He’d brought Abigail to Italy with the belief that it would be best for her, and him, as well as Raf, and she seemed to be fading away before his eyes. She’d thrown herself into the Christmas spirit, adding little touches throughout the house, like green garlands along the staircase, the Christmas tree she’d decorated with the lone bauble, food that she baked that had an unmistakably Christmas aroma. That had been the only sign she was settling into life in Italy. That she was making her peace with being here, with him.
What had she said the day they’d argued about Hughie? He’s nice to me...
Something uncomfortable shifted inside Gabe. Nice? He wasn’t sure he knew how to be nice. He wasn’t sure he knew how to be anything Abby needed.
A knock at his door roused him from his thoughts. He turned around, expecting to see one of his staff. Only it was Abby and, as always, his body responded instantly to her appearance. His blood began to rush through him, tightening him, making him throb and ache for her anew, and his eyes ran over her hungrily, needily, desperately.
She blushed beneath his inspection.
‘Am I interrupting?’
‘Not at all.’ He indicated the seat opposite him, but she shook her head.
‘This won’t take long.’
‘What is it?’ He came around to the opposite side of the desk and propped his hips against it. He saw the way her eyes darted to his haunches and the way his trousers had strained across the muscles there, and something like relief filled him.
She wanted him.
And she always would. In bed, she wasn’t cold—ever. She begged for him and dragged her nails down his back and nipped at his flesh; in bed she was a fever in his blood, because that same fever raged in her blood.
It wasn’t nice. It was so much better.
‘I know Raf is only little, but this will be his first Christmas and I want it to be special. He won’t remember it, I know,’ she rushed on, countering her sentimentality before he could. That she knew him so well worried him.
‘But he’ll have photos—we can have photos, I mean, get them framed and put them in his room. You want him to have a family—’ now she forced her eyes to his and he felt their defiance ‘—and I do too. I want him to know we’ve been a family since he was born.’
He nodded thoughtfully.
He’d been doing that a lot lately.
Thinking.
Thinking about Abby and the things she’d said. She was like a fever in his blood and he resented her for that, even while knowing it was hardly her fault. He simply had to try harder to regain control of the situation.
‘Anyway—’ she was awkward ‘—I wondered if I could somehow get to Fiamatina today, or tomorrow, to buy him a little gift.’ Colour filled her cheeks, two dots of pink on either side of her lips. ‘I don’t mean anything grand, just a book or a little toy. He doesn’t need much, obviously. It’s more about giving him something we can keep for him.’
Gabe was struck by this—more so by the fact it hadn’t even occurred to him, despite the way she’d turned his house into Santa’s Grotto, that Christmas might mean something to Abby. That, unlike his terrible memories of this time of year, she might actually want to mark the day in a manner that was different to any other.
‘Fiamatina.’ He jerked his head. ‘I’ll take you.’ And if he had any luck he’d find the perfect present for her. She should have something to open, seeing as the day meant so much to her.
‘Oh!’ Her surprise was obvious, so too her dismissal. ‘You don’t have to take me. You’re busy. I can drive.’
He laughed, a grim rejection of that idea. ‘Do you have any experience of driving on snow or ice, Abigail?’
Her eyes met his, annoyance brimming in their depths. At least that was better than coldness. ‘No, but I’ll be careful.’
‘You must be mad if you think I would let you risk your life like that.’
‘You must be mad if you think I’d ever do anything dangerous, that I wasn’t capable of. I’ll be fine.’
‘I intend to make sure of it.’ He put a hand at the crook of her elbow. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Have I told you how bossy you are?’
‘I think so.’
She glared at him. ‘You’re busy and I have to learn to drive here at some point—’
‘Perhaps. But not today.’
She fired him a fulminating glare and he ignored the jolt of pleasure in his gut. The relief of seeing her emotional response. He’d take her anger over ice-coldness any day of the week.
He liked her being emotional; he liked knowing he’d caused that. He was addicted to it.
With a throaty sound of need, he curved his hand from her elbow to her back, pulling her to him, and when her eyes flew wide in surprise and her lips parted on a gasp he kissed her, pushing her back against the door to his office, his body holding hers.
She was his in an instant, her hands lifting to link behind his head, her hips moving, swaying in time to their kiss and the sensual fog that always pursued them.
She was wearing a dress, thank God, as opposed to her usual jeans, and he lifted it desperately, finding the sweet curve of her bottom, cupping it in his hands and lifting her so that her legs wrapped around his waist and his arousal pressed hard to her, hungry for her as always.
He spoke in Italian, words he couldn’t have recalled later, words that came from deep within him, whispering them in her ear as his fingers pushed her underwear aside and found the heart of her warmth, sliding inside her until she bucked against him.
‘Please,’ she groaned, breaking the kiss to look into his eyes. ‘I need you, Gabe. I need this. Please.’
He understood and it was instinct alone that pushed him, his hands freeing his arousal from his trousers, just enough to take her, to hold her to him, to bind them together.
She was panting against him, kissing him frantically, her hands running over his shoulders and arms, her body trembling until finally they both exploded in unison, one singular, perfect release for the tempesta that had been raging between them—and probably always would.
‘Oh, my God,’ Abby murmured as sanity began to seep back into her passion-addled brain. ‘What just happened?’
Gabe straightened, his smile one of such indulgence that her heart tripped heavily inside her. ‘Well, we’ve done it before. Quite often. I presumed you understood...’
‘We didn’t use protection.’ She dipped her head so that her forehead was pressed to his shoulder. ‘That was so stupid.’
‘Stupid? I can think of other words to describe it.’
‘You don’t understand,’ she groaned. ‘I’m not on any form of contraception.’
Comprehension dawned, but apparently produced a very different reaction for Gabe. ‘So?’ he asked, a brow lifted. ‘Then we have another baby.’
‘Another baby?’ Her words were a sharp rejection of the idea. She pushed away from him, placing her feet on the ground and straightening her dress with fingers that shook. Panic seared her belly.
‘Yes, another baby. Two more. Three more. We already have Raf. We’re getting married. Why not more children?’
‘How can you be so cavalier about this?’
‘Calm down, tempesta. You’re acting as though this is the worst thing in the world. You don’t even know if there will be any...complications...’
‘It would be the worst thing in the world!’ Abby shouted, the stress and the confusion of the last few weeks beginning to mount inside her, so that she was pale, her eyes flashing with emotion.
In contrast, Gabe was completely frozen, his expression like granite. ‘Why, may I ask, is that?’
She bit down on her lip and looked over his shoulder. How could she explain how she felt? How could she put into words the misgivings she had? About this wedding, their marriage, the ability to raise Raf in a way that wouldn’t completely mess him up? Another baby would be heaven on earth if they were a real couple. ‘It’s irresponsible to bring another baby into this environment,’ she said crisply. ‘Raf happened, and we’re getting married to give him a family. But there’s no sense compounding that with any more children. Raf is enough.’