but, I can promise you, our child’s welfare means more to me than anything.’ Her unborn child meant everything to her. Everything. Its well-being was the only reason she was here.
Did Pepe think she wanted to throw herself at his financial mercy?
He shook his head in a chiding fashion and stretched his arms out. ‘My conditions are non-negotiable. If you want me to support you during the rest of the pregnancy then I will. But I will not give you cash. All you have to do is move in with me, travel where I travel, and I will feed and clothe you, and buy anything else you may need. If paternity is established after the birth, then I will buy you a house in your name, anywhere you choose, and give you an allowance so large you will be set up for life.’
He made it sound so reasonable. He made it sound as if it were such a no-brainer she wouldn’t even need to think about it.
And there she’d been, worrying for months against telling him because she’d convinced herself he would demand an abortion.
‘You see, cucciola mia, I am not the baby-aborting monster you thought I would be,’ he said chidingly, reading her mind.
A sharp rap on the main door to the wing provided a moment’s relief for her poor, addled brain.
At Pepe’s invitation, a maid entered the room carrying a tray with a pot of coffee, a pot of tea covered by a tea cosy and two cups.
‘It’s decaf,’ he explained when it had been placed on the glass table and the maid left.
‘I told you I didn’t want anything.’
‘You need to keep your fluid levels up.’
‘Oh, so you’re a doctor now? Or have you an army of illegitimates scattered around the world that’s made you a pregnancy expert?’
He quelled her with a glance.
She refused to bow to its latent warning. ‘Sorry. Am I supposed to believe this is the first time you’ve had a paternity suit thrown at you?’
His eyes were unreadable. ‘I always use protection.’
‘And you’re expecting me to take you at your word for that?’
His features darkened before his lips gave a slight twitch and he bowed his head. ‘A fair comeback.’
He really was ridiculously handsome.
She castigated herself. As far as she was concerned, Pepe’s looks and masculinity were void. She would not let her hormones create any more havoc.
It was unfair that she was the one standing yet it still felt as if he, all chilled and relaxed on the sofa, had all the advantage.
A whorl of black hair poked through the top of his shirt. She remembered how that same hair covered his chest, thickening across his tightly defined pecs and down the middle towards his navel, and further down... She’d always assumed chest hair would be bristly, had been thrilled to find it as soft as silk. It was the only thing soft about him; everything else was hard...
She swallowed and pressed the tops of her thighs together to try to quash the heat bubbling within her.
Her throat had gone dry.
Damn him, she needed a drink.
Lips clamped together, she moved away from the wall and poured herself a cup of the steaming tea before carrying it to the sofa opposite him. She only intended to perch there but it was so soft and squidgy it almost swallowed her whole. She sank straight into it, her legs shooting out, the motion causing her to spill the tea all over her lap.
Cara cried out, kicking her legs as if the movement would stop the hot fluid seeping through her dress.
Immediately Pepe jumped to his feet and hurried over, snatching the cup from her hand. ‘Are you okay?’
In too much pain to do anything more than whimper, Cara grabbed the hem of her dress and bunched it up to her thighs, flapping it to cool her heated skin. Making sure to keep the dress up and away from the scald, she yanked the tops of her black hold-ups down.
‘Are you okay?’ he repeated. For some silly reason, the genuine concern she heard in his voice bothered her far more than the scald.
The milky white of her left thigh had turned a deep pink, as had a couple of patches on her right thigh. She took a deep breath. ‘It hurts.’
‘I’ll bet. Can you walk?’
‘Why?’
‘Because we should run cold water over it.’
Her thighs—especially her left one—were stinging something rotten, so much so she didn’t even think of arguing with him.
‘Come, we’ll run the shower on it.’
Wincing, she let him help her to her feet.
Her legs shook frantically enough that she almost fell back onto the sofa, only Pepe’s grip on her hand keeping her upright.
He frowned and shook his head, then, before she knew what he was doing, lifted her into his arms, taking great care not to touch her thighs.
‘This is unnecessary,’ she complained. She might be in pain but she didn’t need this. Besides, she was vain enough to know she must look ridiculous with her dress bunched around the tops of her thighs, her modesty barely preserved. Her stupid black hold-ups had fallen down to her knees like the socks of a scatty schoolgirl.
‘Probably,’ he agreed, heading through the living area and into a narrow corridor, carrying her as if she weighed little more than a child. ‘But it’s quicker and safer than you trying to walk.’
The position he held her in meant her face was right in the crook of his strong, bronzed neck. A compulsion to press her face into it almost overcame her. Almost. Luckily she still retained some control. But she’d forgotten how delicious he smelt, like sun-ripened fruit. Her position meant her senses were filled with it and she had to use even more restraint not to lick him.
Pepe’s bathroom was twice the size of her bedroom and resembled a miniature black, white and gold palace. She had no time to appreciate its splendour.
‘You’re going to have to take your dress off,’ he said as he carried her down some marble steps and carefully sat her on the edge of the sunken bath.
‘I jolly well am not.’
‘It will get wet.’
‘It’s already wet.’
‘Suit yourself.’ He knelt before her and placed a hand on her knee.
She tried not to yelp. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Taking your stockings off.’ He tugged the first one down to the ankle. While she hated herself for her vanity, Cara could not help feel relief that she’d remembered to wax her legs a few days ago.
‘They’re hold-ups,’ she corrected, breathing deeply. The trail of his fingers
