CHAPTER EIGHT

      STEFANO paced the near empty waiting room and damned the time that seemed to crawl by—unlike this morning which had flown by in a rush. He’d not wanted to leave Gemma’s side. He’d wanted to get lost in her lush body again.

      She’d been a virgin. Virgin!

      If not for his strong will, he’d have shaken her awake at dawn and demanded to know what the hell she and his papa had been doing all those weekends in Milan. But he didn’t have the time to delve into it now.

      And he didn’t trust her to do as he ordered once they reached land. He didn’t want to hear any more of her lies. No, he wanted to hear his papa’s side of this now.

      But he’d gotten to the hospital too late thanks to his reluctance at tearing himself from Gemma and then a traffic snarl after he landed in Viareggio.

      Now he would have to wait for his papa to recover before he could get answers. That wasn’t something he was even marginally good at doing.

      “Stefano, please sit,” his aunt had said, her usually radiant face looking haggard. “You are making me nervous with your endless pacing.”

      Maledizione! He certainly didn’t wish to cause anyone any more grief.

      He plopped on the stiff chair beside her and stretched his long legs out. “My apologies. You know patience isn’t one of my strong suits.”

      “Sì, I know. But I also know my nephew and recognize when something is deeply troubling him.”

      “It has been a long morning without word how Papa is doing.”

      She clamped a hand on his arm and her tension vibrated into him. “Did you expect them to stop the surgery and deliver a report?”

      “No, nothing like that.”

      “What is troubling you, Stefano?” his aunt asked.

      Gemma. She invaded his thoughts. Sweet, beguiling Gemma. Sweet, innocent Gemma.

      But he couldn’t tell his papa’s sister that. Not now when her stress was palpable for she would ask questions that he didn’t wish to address, either. He sure as hell couldn’t tell her he’d blackmailed his papa’s secretary into his bed!

      “There are things at Marinetti that require my attention today,” he said.

      She stared at him through narrowed eyes. “What about the secretary? Have you dismissed her yet?”

      He heaved a sigh, wishing his mamma hadn’t told her sister-in-law about Cesare’s infidelity. Wishing to hell his mamma hadn’t told him her suspicions at all.

      “No. It is more complicated than I thought.”

      The color drained from her face as she pressed a hand to her generous bosom. “Addio! Please tell me this woman is not with child.”

      “Nothing of the sort,” he said, and hoped to hell that proved true.

      Maledizione! He hadn’t used protection.

      He hadn’t thought it was necessary since she was his father’s mistress.

      Except she wasn’t. He only hoped she was on the pill or used some type of birth control. But how likely was a virgin to do that?

      Stefano drove his fingers through his hair and called himself ten kinds of an ass. Taking Gemma’s virginity had robbed him of the vengeance he’d sought. It changed everything that he’d planned to do with her.

      It forced him to reassess her role in his life and his future. He wanted to blame her for lying to him, except in this she’d told the truth. She wasn’t his father’s mistress—she was his by coercion.

       Imbecile!

      He’d never bedded a virgin before. Never wanted to.

      He didn’t want to think that he could have fathered a child with Gemma. He didn’t want to think of her at all.

      But as the day wore on and his worry for his papa increased, his thoughts continued to turn to Gemma. In his bed. Loving her and knowing that he was the first man to introduce her to sex.

      Her sweet scent filled his head. He hungered for another taste of her honeyed mouth. To suckle the pert breasts until the rosy nipples budded on his tongue. To settle between her soft thighs and sup at the erotic essence of her, to drive her wild with ecstasy before covering her and making them one.

      Unbidden came an overwhelming swell of possessiveness. She was his now. His.

      Up until the time he took her virginity, he’d not been tied to her. He could have sent her on her way without repercussions.

      He should never have set out to ruin her for in doing so he’d only tangled their lives together.

      There was no going back.

      He couldn’t walk away. He wouldn’t desert her until he knew if she carried his child.

      What was done was done. If his seed grew in her, he’d accept his responsibility. He’d marry her without hesitation.

      And if there was no child?

      Stefano would honor the agreement they’d made for thirty days. Then he’d let her go.

      By then this fierce possessiveness he felt toward her would have waned. He wouldn’t be filled with rage over the thought of her moving on to a new lover. Of marrying one day. Of having children.

      “I do not like that she is still on the payroll,” his aunt said. “Your mamma’s memory deserves more respect than that.”

      He heaved a sigh, vexed that his aunt was still brooding about Gemma. He certainly couldn’t let his aunt go on believing the worst of Gemma but he did not relish telling her the truth, either.

      “Mamma was mistaken about her,” he said.

      His aunt gaped at him. “Do not tell me she has woven you around her finger as well?”

      He refused to dignify that with a denial and settled on facts instead. “Gemma Cardone wasn’t Papa’s lover.”

      “I suppose she told you that.”

      “She did and I refused to believe her.”

      “So what changed your mind?”

      He shifted uneasily and made a cutting movement with his hand. “I was her first lover.”

      An awful quiet echoed in the waiting room to set his nerves on edge. “When?”

      “This is not the time to discuss such things,” he reminded his aunt when a couple entered the room and crossed to the chairs on the other side.

      “Now is the perfect time,” she said in a voice pitched low. “Tell me how long you’ve known this woman.”

      “We spent last night on the yacht.” And in case his aunt had any doubts what he meant, he added, “In the same bed. She hadn’t known any man before me.”

      She treated him to a long, assessing look before spitting out a torrent of curses directed at the male of the species. “You are sure of this?”

      “Positive,” he said. “She is Papa’s personal secretary. That is all.”

      Yet even as he said it he knew Gemma was more to his father than that. There were the unexplained