Pregnancy Of Passion. Lucy Monroe
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as a pawn in procurement of the jewels.”
She sighed, knowing that in the most extreme scenario he could be right, but she was unwilling to believe the risk was all that great. “Please move.” She dug for her door key in her purse. “I want to go inside.”
“Have you heard nothing I have said?”
“I heard. I just don’t believe.” Aha. She’d found it. She withdrew the key and looked pointedly at the door behind him.
“Tough.” Then in another one of those moves that always took her by surprise, he took her key. It was like the first time he’d kissed her. She hadn’t been expecting that either.
She grabbed for the key ring, but he was already unlocking the door. Stepping back, he ushered her inside, her keys still firmly in his hand.
She stepped just over the threshold and then put her hand out. “Give it to me.”
He ignored her outstretched hand and followed her inside, forcing her to move backward or be in the unenviable position of touching him again.
“It’s a secured building, for goodness’ sake.”
“A locked entryway is not secure. Particularly one with a lock as old and easy to pick as that one.”
The whole building was old and she liked it. Her apartment had character and the rent was cheap. She refused to live off of either of her parents, and Signor di Adamo could not afford to pay her what she was worth.
“Stop showing off your security-guard skills and give me back my key. I’m hungry and tired. I want to get to my apartment, make my dinner and go to bed.”
“I am a security specialist, not a guard.”
Not to mention being heir apparent to the whole company when his father decided to abdicate the throne.
“Whatever.” She wasn’t going to ask for the key again.
It was a good thing she didn’t because it would have been wasting her breath. He started down the hall, his long-legged stride eating the distance to her apartment quickly.
When he stopped in front of her door, she looked at him askance. “How did you know my number?”
She had moved shortly after their breakup, unable to stand the memories the other apartment had elicited.
He rolled his dark brown eyes. “It’s not that hard to find your address. In fact, give me fifteen seconds on a computer and I can find pretty much anyone’s. However, in this case, I simply asked your father.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t told her father about her brief affair and its disastrous end.
He would have gone ballistic and she had not been emotionally prepared to deal with any more at the time.
“You did not tell him about us,” Salvatore said, mirroring her thoughts.
She shrugged and watched with a feeling of inevitability as he unlocked the apartment door with the other key on the ring.
“I didn’t tell him about the baby either.” She didn’t know why she admitted that.
“Neither did I.”
“I know.”
Her father was ignorant of her pregnancy and miscarriage. Just as he was ignorant of what a rat his best friend’s son really was. Her mother didn’t know either. In fact, the only other person in the world who knew about the precious baby she had lost was this man. And she could hardly expect compassionate understanding from her worst enemy.
He pushed into her apartment and she had no choice but to follow.
“This is nice.”
She looked around at the smallish apartment, which was almost a bedsit. It had its own bathroom, but the main area doubled as her daily living space and her bedroom when she pulled the ancient trundle bed down from the wall.
“It’s bright, like you.”
Like she used to be, maybe. She’d tried to make her home cheery and inviting with lots of yellow, white and rose-pink, but the décor had done little to improve her sense of loss and loneliness. Even the sunlight currently filtering through the window of the kitchenette seemed muted by the emotions that weighted her insides.
“Thank you,” she replied stiffly to his compliment when the silence had stretched on.
He made an impatient sound. “Change your clothes and I’ll take you to dinner.”
“What is the matter with what I’m wearing?” she demanded, immediately on the defensive.
“Nothing. Let’s go.” He took her arm and the contact seared her just as she knew touching him again would do.
“I didn’t say I was going with you,” she said, trying to pull her arm from his grasp.
“Would you prefer to fix me dinner here?” He smiled as he’d used to and she felt a twinge in the region of her heart. “It has been a long time since you cooked for me, but I remember what a wonderful cook you are. I would enjoy the experience.”
The sheer arrogance of that statement blew her away. “I would prefer you left.” She glared up at him, carefully avoiding actual eye contact. “You’ve seen me safely home. There’s no reason for us to prolong our time together.”
“You seem to be under a misapprehension.”
“What do you mean?” She gave up the struggle for possession of her arm. He wasn’t letting go and every movement, even infinitesimal, increased her awareness of his closeness.
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
Shards of fearful premonition sliced through her. “What exactly are you saying?”
“Until the auction is over, I am your faithful sidekick.”
“You, faithful?” she scoffed, trying very hard to come to terms with his grimly delivered assurance.
The grip on her arm tightened. “I was never unfaithful to you.”
She believed him, but she didn’t want to. Not when he’d refused to believe her similar claim when she told him about the baby. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of saying so, however. Instead she focused on the issue at hand.
“No.”
His fingers uncurled from her arm and began a light caress. “No, what, dolcezza?”
“You are not staying with me.” Her voice broke as his hand moved up to her collarbone. She felt like a bird being mesmerized by a snake. She couldn’t move, but she knew to let him touch her was disastrous.
“I made a promise to your father. I will keep it.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“That is not what he believes.”
“My father does not dictate my life either.”
“This is true. Unlike your sister, you have a disconcerting tendency to go your own way, but I would have thought that even so, your love for your father would not allow you to put him in a place of constantly worrying for your safety.”
She wasn’t going to be manipulated with that line. “According to him, he does that anyway.”
“He had an episode with his heart last month. Did he tell you?”
She felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room. “No.” Her voice came out a whisper. “He said nothing.”
Why hadn’t he called her? Why hadn’t his wife, Therese, told her? As she thought it, she said it.
“I do not know, but perhaps he did not wish to worry you.”
“I should have known!” The anguish she felt reminded her