One Night in... Milan: The Italian's Future Bride / The Italian's Chosen Wife / The Italian's Captive Virgin. Кейт Хьюит
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engaged to marry this Rachel Carmichael—the same woman who threw herself at you tonight?’
‘Si,’ he confirmed.
‘Just like that—?’ She was almost choking on her disbelief.
‘No, not just like that,’ he sighed out. ‘I have been—courting Rachel over the last few months.’
‘Courting her—?’
Bad choice of word. ‘Seducing her, then.’
Her struck silence made him grimace and he couldn’t make up his mind if she was beginning to swallow the lies or simply being sensible for once and taking on board the grim warning in his voice.
‘Is she pregnant—?’
‘No!’ he bit out, jerking upright from the desk and swinging round as a sting of stark alarm shot down his back.
Dio, he’d used nothing to stop it from happening, and he had not thought to ask her if she was protected!
What kind of crass bloody oversexed fool did that make him? Or her for not thinking about it—?
‘And, since my personal life is no one’s business but my own, cara, can I suggest a simple no comment from you would make me happy? Or, better still, Daniella—take the telephone off the hook!’
He cut the connection and tossed the handset back on its rest, then just stood there, not knowing what to do next.
Sex without protection with a woman he barely knew. Flexing muscles rippled all over him as he took on board the consequences which could result from such a stupidly irresponsible act.
With his luck tonight, she could already be in the process of conceiving his baby. Add all the other risks which came along with unprotected sex and he suddenly felt like a time bomb set to go off!
A growl left his throat as he turned back to the bedroom. Chin set like a vice, he pushed open the door. The room was in darkness. He switched on the overhead light and went to stand at the bottom of the bed.
She was nothing but a curled up mound beneath the duvet. ‘I did not use protection,’ he clipped out.
The mound jerked, then went still for a gut-clenching second. Then it moved again and she emerged, sliding up against the pillows, flush-cheeked—wary, defensive—sensationally delectable.
Dio, he thought.
‘Say that again,’ she shook out.
‘I did not use protection,’ he repeated tautly. ‘I am not promiscuous and I have never taken such risks before in my life,’ he added stiffly. ‘I like to think that I can respect my … partner’s history in the same way that she can respect mine.’
Rachel looked at the way he was standing there like some arrogant autocrat caught with his pants down by his bitch of a wife. Only his pants were up; it was his shirt that was missing and the bitch of a wife in this case was the gift he’d been handed and enjoyed thoroughly—before he’d thought to wonder where she had been before she’d landed in his bed!
As if it wasn’t bad enough that she was sitting in the bed belonging to a man she had only met for the first time tonight, wearing his shirt and his scents and his touch on her skin—she now had to endure the kind of conversation that belonged in a brothel!
Next he would be asking how much he owed her for her services. Give him half a chance and she knew he would love to denounce her out loud as a whore.
Well, what did that make him? Rachel wanted to know.
‘I am a clean-living, careful, healthy person,’ she snapped out indignantly.
‘I am relieved to hear it.’
He didn’t look it. ‘I don’t sleep around! And if you hit me with one more rotten insult, Mr Villani,’ she warned furiously. ‘I think I am going to physically attack you!’
‘My apologies if it sounded as if I was trying to insult you—’
‘You did insult me.’ She went to slide back down the bed.
‘But we don’t know each other.’
‘You can say that again,’ Rachel muttered.
‘And it is an issue we need to address.’
‘Well, you addressed it very eloquently,’ she told him and tugged up the duvet with a now go away kind of shrug.
If he read it he ignored it. ‘We have not finished with this.’
‘Yes, we have.’
‘No, Rachel, we have not … ‘
It was the alteration in his voice from stiff to weary that forced her to take notice. ‘We still have the issue of another kind of protection to discuss.’
Another kind … Rachel froze for a second, then slid back up the pillows again, only this time more slowly as she finally began to catch on.
He put it in simple words for her. ‘I did not protect us against—conception. I need to know if you did.’
It was like being hit with one hard knock too many; she felt all the colour drain from her face. ‘I don’t believe this is happening to me,’ she whispered.
Taut muscles stretched as he pulled himself in like a man trying to field his own hard knock. ‘I presume from your response that it is a problem.’
‘I’ve told you once—I don’t sleep around!’ she cried out.
A nerve flicked at the corner of his hard mouth. ‘You don’t need to sleep around to take oral contraception.’
‘Well, thank you for that reassuring piece of information,’ she said hotly. ‘But, in my case, and because I don’t sleep around, I—don’t take oral contraception either …’ The heat in her voice trailed into a stifled choke.
He cursed.
Rachel covered her face with her hands.
She had just indulged in uninhibited sex with a stranger without any protection; now his millions of sperm were chasing through her body in a race towards their ultimate goal!
Fertilisation. A baby—dear God …
Suddenly she was diving out of the bed and heading at a run for the bathroom. She thought she was going to be sick but then found that she couldn’t. She wanted to wash herself clean inside and out!
Instead she just stood there with her arms wrapped around her middle and shook.
She heard him arrive in the door opening. ‘I h-hate you,’ she whispered. ‘I wish I’d never heard your stupid name.’
Raffaelle shifted his tense stance, relaxing it wearily so he was leaning against the doorframe. He wanted to echo her sentiments but he did not think she was up to hearing him say it while she stood there resembling a skittish pale ghost.
‘It happened, cara. Too late now to trade insults,’ he murmured flatly instead.
She swung round to stare at him, blue eyes bright with anger and the close threat of tears. ‘You think that kind of remark helps the situation?’
Pushing his hands into his trouser pockets, Raffaelle raised a black silk eyebrow. ‘You think that your previous remark helped it?’
No, she supposed that it didn’t.
Losing the will to stand upright any longer she sank down on to the closed toilet seat. ‘I’m so horrified by what we’ve done.’
‘I can see that.’
‘I don’t w-want a baby,’ she whispered starkly.
‘Any man’s or just mine?’
Rachel looked at the way he