She’d been terrified her boss would find out who the father of her unborn child was—because having sex with your most prestigious client was definitely a sacking offence. He’d offered her a job back in the workshop, but she had no desire to slide underneath a car and get oil all over her hands, not when such a precious bundle was growing inside her. Eventually she’d accepted a mind-numbingly dull job behind the reception desk, becoming increasingly aware that on the kind of wages she was being paid, she’d never be able to afford childcare after the birth. She’d saved every penny she could and been as frugal as she knew how, but gradually all her funds were running out and now she was in real trouble.
‘Yes, I knew,’ she said slowly. ‘Just like I knew I ought to tell you that you were going to be a father. But every time I picked up the phone to call you, something held me back. Can’t you understand?’
‘Frankly, no. I can’t.’
She looked him straight in the eye. ‘You think those cruel words you said to me last time we spoke wouldn’t matter? That you could say what you liked and it wouldn’t hurt, or have consequences?’
His voice grew hard. ‘I haven’t come here to argue the rights and wrongs of your secrecy. I’ve come to see my son.’
‘He’s sleeping.’
‘I won’t wake him.’ His voice grew harsh. ‘You’ve denied me all this time and you will deny me no longer. I want to see my son, Keira, and if I have to search every room in the house to find him, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’
It was a demand Keira couldn’t ignore and not just because she didn’t doubt his threat to search the small house from top to bottom. She’d seen the brief tightening of his face when she’d mentioned his child and another wave of guilt had washed over her. Because she of all people knew what it was like to grow up without a father. She knew about the gaping hole it left—a hole which could never be filled. And yet she had sought to subject her own child to that.
‘Come with me,’ she said huskily.
He followed her up the narrow staircase and Keira was acutely aware of his presence behind her. You couldn’t ignore him, even when you couldn’t see him, she thought despairingly. She could detect the heat from his body and the subtle sandalwood which was all his and, stupidly, she remembered the way that scent had clung to her skin the morning after he’d made love to her. Her heart was thundering by the time they reached the box-room she shared with Santino and she held her breath as Matteo stood frozen for a moment before moving soundlessly towards the crib. His shoulders were stiff with tension as he reached it and he was silent for so long that she started to get nervous.
‘Matteo?’ she said.
Matteo didn’t answer. Not then. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to speak because his thoughts were in such disarray. He looked down at the baby expecting to feel the instant bolt of love people talked about when they first set eyes on their own flesh and blood, but there was nothing. He stared down at the dark fringe of eyelashes which curved on the infant’s olive-hued cheeks and the shock of black hair. Tiny hands were curled into two tiny fists and he found himself leaning forward to count all the fingers, nodding his head with satisfaction as he registered each one. He felt as if he were observing himself and his reaction from a distance and realised it was possession he felt, not love. The sense that this was someone who belonged to him in a way that nobody ever had before.
His son.
He swallowed.
His son.
He waited for a moment before turning to Keira and he saw her dark blue eyes widen, as if she’d read something in his face she would prefer not to have seen.
‘So you played God with all our futures,’ he observed softly. ‘By keeping him from me.’
Her gaze became laced with defiance.
‘You paid me for sex.’
‘I did not pay you for sex,’ he gritted out. ‘I explained my motivation in my note. You spoke of a luxury you weren’t used to and I thought I would make it possible. Was that so very wrong?’
‘You know very well it was!’ she burst out. ‘Because offering me cash was insulting. Any man would know that.’
‘Was that why you tried to sell your story to the journalist, because you felt “insulted”?’
‘I did not sell my story to anyone,’ she shot back. ‘Can’t you imagine what it was like? I’d had sex for the first time and woke to find you gone, leaving that wretched pile of money. I walked into a charity shop to get rid of it because it felt...well, it felt tainted, if you must know.’
He grew very still. ‘You gave it away?’
‘Yes, I gave it away. To a worthy cause—to children living in care. Not realising I was pregnant at the time and could have used the money myself. The journalist just happened to be in the shop and overheard—and naturally she was interested. She bought me a drink and I hadn’t eaten anything all day and...’ She shrugged. ‘I guess I told her more than I meant to.’
Matteo’s eyes narrowed. If her story was true it meant she hadn’t tried to grab some seedy publicity from their brief liaison. If it was true. Yet even if it was—did it really change anything? He was here only because her back was up against the wall and she had nowhere else to turn. His gaze swept over the too-tight jeans and baggy jumper. And this was the mother of his child, he thought, his lips curving with distaste.
He opened his mouth to speak but Santino chose that moment to start to whimper and Keira bent over the crib to scoop him up, whispering her lips against his hair and rocking him in her arms until he had grown quiet again. She looked over his head, straight into Matteo’s eyes. ‘Would you...would you like to hold him?’
Matteo went very still. He knew he should want that, but although he thought it, he still couldn’t feel it. There was nothing but an icy lump where his heart should have been and as he looked at his son he couldn’t shift that strange air of detachment.
His lack of emotional empathy had never mattered to him before—only his frustrated lovers had complained about it and that had never been reason enough to change, or even want to change. But now he felt like someone on a beach who had inadvertently stepped onto quicksand. As if matters were spinning beyond his control.
And he needed to assert control, just as he always did.
Of course he would hold his son when he’d got his head round the fact that he actually had a son. But it would be in conditions favourable to them both—not in some tiny bedroom of a strange house while Keira stood studying him with those big blue eyes.
‘Not now,’ he said abruptly. ‘There isn’t time. You need to pack your things while I call ahead and prepare for your arrival in Italy.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. He isn’t staying here. And since a child needs a mother, then I guess you will have to come, too.’
‘What are you talking about?’ She rocked the child against her breast. ‘I know it’s not perfect here but I can’t just walk out without making any plans. We can’t just go to Italy.’
‘You can’t put out a call for help and then ignore help when it comes. You telephoned me and now you must accept the consequences,’ he added grimly. ‘You’ve already implied that the atmosphere here is intolerable so I’m offering you an alternative. The only sensible alternative.’ He pulled a mobile phone from the pocket of his cashmere overcoat and began to scroll down the numbers. ‘For a start, you need a nursery nurse to help you.’
‘I don’t need a nurse,’ she contradicted fiercely. ‘Women like me don’t have nurses. They look after their babies themselves.’
‘Have you looked in the mirror recently?’
It was an underhand blow to someone who was