he asked.
Sabrina could feel her hatred of him simmering in her veins. It was pulsing through the intricate, narrow network in her body, threatening to burst out at any moment. She knew what he was doing; he was going to sideline her right from the start. She would be more than useful to him during the next two or three years while Molly was a baby and toddler, but after that she would be dismissed, just like any other servant in his employ.
‘Of course I develop great affection for the children in my care, but Molly is my godchild, the daughter of my best friend. It’s an entirely different relationship, especially given the circumstances now.’
‘Your marriage to me will not be permanent,’ he said. ‘As long as you understand that, there will not be a problem if you wish to continue to see Molly once our marriage is brought to an end.’
Sabrina stood and lifted the baby against her chest to wind her, gently patting the tiny back, her eyes still tussling with his. ‘You think you’ve got this all worked out, haven’t you? I know what you are doing, Mario. You want a cheap babysitter while you continue to live your playboy lifestyle.’
He gave her a smile, his eyes reflecting its mockery. ‘Cheap, Sabrina?’ he said. ‘Is that how you would describe yourself? Certainly the press called you such, and a whole lot more, if I recall.’
She gave him a flinty glare. ‘I am not going to be dismissed from Molly’s life at your say-so. I want to remain a part of her life no matter what happens between us.’
‘Nothing is going to happen between us, Sabrina,’ he said. ‘Or have you got other ideas, hmm? A little affair with me to pass the time, just like you did with Mr Roebourne, sì?’
This time her look was withering. ‘I have met some creeps in my time, and up until now Howard Roebourne was at the top of that list. But you, Mario Marcolini, have just bumped him off.’
His smile was still mocking as he came up close and stroked a long finger down the baby’s cheek. Sabrina sucked in a breath; he was so close she could see the sandpapery stubble on his jaw, and the unfathomable black holes of his pupils in the deep, dark chocolate of his eyes. The air around her face carried a trace of his scent, a mixture of aftershave and male pheromones, making her heart give a funny, out-of-time beat.
She quickly lowered her eyes and encountered the flat plane of his chest and stomach; she could almost imagine the six pack of ridged muscle lying beneath his designer shirt. She daren’t look any lower; she had spent too many nights as it was thinking about how he was made. The hardened length of him in full arousal as he had taken control of her amateur kiss at Molly’s christening had made the blood race frantically in her veins both then and since.
She felt his finger beneath her chin as he lifted her face upwards. ‘Is that how you did it?’ he asked with a curl of his lip and a hard glint in his eyes. ‘Is that how you lured a respectable married man away from his wife, by looking at him with those smoky, grey come-to-bed eyes of yours?’
Sabrina would have pulled away from his touch but she didn’t want to disturb Molly, who had drifted off to sleep against her shoulder. ‘I did not seduce him, or anyone,’ she said, glaring back at him.
His finger moved from beneath her chin and came to her mouth, tracing a pathway over the fullness of her bottom lip, barely touching, making every sensitive nerve begin to leap and dance beneath the skin. ‘Ah, but that is not quite true, is it, Sabrina?’ he said in a low spine-loosening murmur. ‘It is not hard to see why so many men would find it hard to resist a taste of its sweetness. I have not forgotten how tempting it was to taste it myself when you so very kindly offered it to me.’
Sabrina stood very still, barely able to breathe in case she betrayed herself. She wanted to taste his finger, to draw it into her mouth, to suck on it, to see if his pupils would flare with desire the way she suspected hers were currently flaring. Her gaze flicked to his mouth, the sensual contours of it pulling on the secret strings of desire deep and low in her belly. It was like torture to stand so close and not touch him. She had blamed the champagne the day of the christening, but she was stone-cold sober now, and still she wanted his mouth to set hers alight. What was wrong with her? Was she somehow turning into the raunchy Jezebel the press had made her out to be?
His hand dropped from her face. ‘I need to get going,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘I will come by your apartment this evening with some papers for you to sign.’
Sabrina could feel the walls of her prison starting to close in on her. When Mario Marcolini wanted something done, he was like a freight train going at full speed. This was the time to say, no, I won’t be a part of this. Why then wasn’t she saying it? The words were on the tip of her tongue, hovering there, but somehow she couldn’t utter them out loud. Saying no to Mario would be saying no to Molly; she was sure of it.
He had already demonstrated how ruthless he could be in his dealings with Laura’s stepmother earlier. What was to stop him doing the same to her? If she refused to marry him he was quite likely to use her sullied reputation against her. He would apply for full custody of Molly, and with his wealth and status there wouldn’t be a judge in the country who wouldn’t give it to him. With his pedigree and fortune he had so much to offer a little orphaned child. And Sabrina knew full well if he didn’t marry her to secure his claim he would simply marry someone else, and then she would never see Molly again. She was lucky he had offered her a compromise, although why he had done so was anyone’s guess. Stripped down, it was nothing more than blackmail, and yet she had no choice but to agree to the terms. What else could she do? Other women before her had made sacrifices for those they loved. She would do the same.
Sabrina bit her lip as she gently tucked Molly back into the pram. If Mario thought she would be shunted aside some time in the future, he had better rethink his plans. She wasn’t going to desert little Molly, no matter what the cost to her personally.
Mario escorted Sabrina out past the other mourners, one or two of them stopping to look in on the sleeping baby, murmuring their condolences; others, like Ingrid and Stanley Knowles, carried on with their drinking and chatting as if they were at a garden party.
Once Molly was safely strapped into the baby carrier in her car, Sabrina turned to look at Mario. ‘Do you have my address?’ she asked.
‘I looked it up in the phone book,’ he said. ‘I will be round about eight or so.’
Sabrina’s gaze flicked back to the house, her brow pleating with worry. ‘What if Ingrid comes round before then?’ she asked, swinging her gaze back to Mario. ‘She’s come round each day since Social Services released Molly into my care. The last time she was quite abusive. It was embarrassing for me, not to mention for the neighbours, most of whom are elderly. I was sure someone was going to call the police. I considered doing it myself, except I didn’t want the press to get wind of it.’
He drummed his fingers on the roof of her rusty car for a moment. ‘Then it will be best if you and Molly are not there if she should take it upon herself to drop round.’
Sabrina felt another frown pull at her brow. ‘But where will we be?’
‘You will be at my hotel with me,’ he said.
‘I-is that such a good idea?’ she said, her frown deepening, her heart stuttering in panic. ‘I mean…will there be room for us?’
The look in his eyes was inscrutable, but there was a hint of amusement lurking around his mouth. ‘Molly can sleep in her pram, and you can sleep in my bed.’
Sabrina’s
