ago.’
‘I told you before I wouldn’t sleep with you. I’m sorry, but I haven’t changed my mind.’
He took a step closer, the knot in his brows deepening. ‘What kind of game are you playing? It’s obvious you want this as much as I do.’
‘No. I don’t think so. And personally I don’t think you give a damn what I want. All you care about is an easy lay.’
He growled at her coarse words. ‘That’s not true.’
‘It is true! You decided when I landed on this island that you had an easy lay on tap. You didn’t give a damn what I thought then, and you don’t give a damn now. I told you I wanted off this island then and I still want off this island now. But you’re still not listening. You still think you can take whatever you damn well please. Well, let me tell you, you had your chance in Paris and you made your choice crystal clear then.’
He didn’t move, other than the faint tic in his jaw and the dangerous gleam in his eyes. ‘Don’t think you’re going to gain some advantage by holding out. I’m afraid Sebastiano’s shortlist of potential Montvelatte princesses is already complete. There’s a place for you in my bed if you want to take it, but I certainly won’t beg you to change your mind.’
Cold fury at his arrogance skyrocketed her anger into overdrive.
‘You think I want to marry you? Get real! I don’t care that you’re a prince. I wouldn’t care if you were the Beast of Iseo himself. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man left on earth. I told you I wouldn’t sleep with you and I won’t. Get used to it!’
His face was dark and filled with a fury that secretly terrified her. He was a prince. This was his land, his world and she was telling him how it was to be. She must be insane to think she could get away with it. But damn it, nothing gave him the excuse to act the way he did.
Nothing!
He glowered at her again, took a step closer that had her wanting to reel right away, before his tightly drawn lips finally gave way to sound. ‘Have it your way.’
It was a perfect day, the rising sun already high in the sky, dazzling with the promise of heat. The infinity pool set into the gardens below sparkled and merged with the sea beyond, the perfect diamante-set blue, which in turn merged into a perfect azure sky.
A perfect day. And the perfectly wrong day for a foul mood.
Rafe sat on the terrace, holding his coffee, staring out resentfully over the beauty of the surroundings. His plans to seduce her into submission had come unstuck. So be it. If she wanted out so badly, she could have it. It was no real loss.
The chopper waited on the helipad for its pilot. He’d watched its arrival half an hour ago. He was surprised, given her vehemence of last night, that she hadn’t already left.
He took a sip. Dio! Even the coffee tasted bitter today. He put down his cup with a clatter and stood. What was he waiting for? She was leaving. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him watching out for her departure.
Something made him turn then, a noise, a movement, and he saw her, standing in the doorway staring at him like a frightened animal stuck in the glare of oncoming headlights. Memories of last night’s argument bubbled up like boiling mud, and his gut squeezed tight.
The only compensation was that she looked as bad as he felt. Her skin was pale. So pale against the Titian gold framing her face, even though pulled tight into that damned braid she favoured. And her eyes were smudged with dark circles that spoke of a lack of sleep that he could only hope matched his own.
What was she so scared of? Did she think he’d make another move on her? Not a chance!
‘I just wanted to say goodbye,’ she said, in a voice so tiny it almost got lost in the space between them.
He gave a brief nod. ‘Have you eaten?’
Her face seemed to lose even more colour, if that were possible, and as he looked closer, he could see she was clutching at the door beside her for support, her grip so tight that her knuckles were white.
She shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together, her whole face looking pinched and drawn. She’d had a worst night than he had. Good. But as he edged nearer, he noticed for the first time that there was colour in her face after all, a strange shade of grey. ‘Shouldn’t you have breakfast before you go? At least some coffee?’
‘I have to go,’ she squeezed out between barely open lips, her eyes wider than ever as he approached. ‘Thank you for your … Well, thank you.’
He nodded again, determined not to care one way or another how she felt. ‘I’ll have Sebastiano take you down to the helipad.’
She nodded and turned to go then, letting go of the side of the door to melt back into the house, but something about the way she moved, a slight stagger, a waver in her step, had him at her side in a heartbeat.
He reached for her arm, felt the momentary resistance in her slight frame before she sagged against him in a dead faint.
‘Sebastiano,’ he yelled, collecting her into his arms. ‘Get the doctor!’
‘She’s resting now.’
Rafe stopped pretending not to be interested at the sound of the dottore’s voice.
‘Is she all right?’
‘She’s fine, but I’ve advised her to get a complete checkup when she gets home. And to think about avoiding flying while she feels like this, of course. But she’ll feel better a little later on in the day. That’s usually how morning sickness works.’
Clouds of black filled the space behind Rafe’s eyes, an unexpected explosion of red following close behind as his heart pumped loud in his chest. ‘She’s pregnant, then?’
‘Six to eight weeks, at a guess,’ replied the doctor, oblivious to the bombshell he’d just dropped. ‘So if you can do anything to reduce her stress levels, that will probably help her through this period. She does present as being very stressed.’
The doctor continued his diagnosis but Rafe heard nothing. Not while his mind processed the news, peeling back time, trying to remember. Six to eight weeks. Was it possible?
He’d used protection. He would never be that careless.
Except he hadn’t!
He had been that careless.
The details came back in a blinding flash. He’d heard of his half-brothers’ arrests and of their implication in their father’s death. He’d learned that Montvelatte’s existence balanced on a knife edge. And he’d been blind with anger and fury and rage that they could have been so arrogant and so self-absorbed that they had done this with pure greed in mind, and that they hadn’t seen where they were heading. So blind with anger that he hadn’t stopped to think, hadn’t hesitated before burying himself one last time deep inside the woman who’d just happened to be there.
Had that momentary loss of control done this, resulted in a child? Was it his?
She’d
