The Italian's Doorstep Surprise Page 3

  It annoyed her. Why was it that everyone seemed to think that just because Honora was pregnant, she was desperate for a husband? They didn’t seem to realize, as Nico had said earlier, that it was the twenty-first century!

  But at least Benny’s proposal had been real. Unlike Nico’s. Setting her jaw, she tossed a glare at her baby’s father.

  “Please take Granddad home, Benny. I want to stay and have a little chat with my future husband here.”

  “Honora,” her grandfather said quietly, “be nice.”

  Be nice.

  He rarely spoke those words to her, but they always made her shrink back in shame. Had she been unkind? Rude? Selfish? Had she acted in a way that meant she didn’t deserve to be loved—didn’t even deserve a home? Be nice made her try harder to be good, to be helpful, to be no trouble to anyone.

  But this time, the unfairness of it made her catch her breath.

  Turning in amazement, she glanced pointedly at the old hunting rifle. Patrick had the grace to blush.

  “That’s different,” he said with dignity. “I was just doing a grandfather’s duty.”

  “You’re right. We do have a great deal to discuss.” Nico gave her a calm smile. “It’s late. I’ll take you back to the city first thing in the morning.”

  “Honora?” Benny demanded.

  “Go. I’ll be fine.” Her eyes narrowed. But she wouldn’t say as much for Nico.

  Nico gave the rifle back to Patrick, who pointed the muzzle at the ground, looking a little embarrassed.

  “Oh, Benny.” She suddenly remembered. “Your car broke down a few miles up the road.”

  “Then how did you get here?”

  She shrugged beneath the rain. “I ran.” She felt, rather than saw, all three men look at her belly, as if judging her ability to run by her condition, and felt irritated. “It was fine. I’m fine.”

  “You need to be careful,” her grandfather began.

  “I’m so sorry,” Benny said at the same time. “I thought the engine was okay. I’ll have it towed tomorrow.”

  “My men will handle it,” Nico said coolly. “I’ll have it repaired and brought to you. No charge of course.” He glanced at Honora. “Not when your car brought me such happy news.”

  Benny ground his teeth into a smile at his boss. Then he turned and said reluctantly, “All right, Mr. Burke. I’ll take you home.”

  “Great.” Her grandfather turned and leaped back to the Bentley like a teenager running a hundred-meter dash. Honora’s throat caught. So much for him being exhausted. She’d spent her whole life trying to be helpful and sweet and no trouble at all, either to her parents or, later, to her grandfather. Was she really such a burden that Granddad seemed so eager to be free of her?

  “And this time, take the interstate,” the old man called to Benny. “I have no idea where you thought you were going, driving in loops all over Long Island. I’d expect a chauffeur to have a better sense of direction.”

  Honora watched as the Bentley pulled away into the stormy night. Then she exhaled and turned to her grandfather’s boss.

  “You have some nerve.”

  “Say it inside.”

  Taking her hand, Nico pulled her toward the house, out of the rain. She felt the warmth and strength of his palm against hers, and even hating him as she did, she shivered a little.

  Once inside the grand foyer, as the front door closed behind them with a bang, she felt how much warmer it was, and realized that she was soaked to the bone.

  “You need to warm up.” He glanced at his butler. “Where’s her cocoa?”

  She had her anger to keep her warm. “I don’t need cocoa.”

  “Cook had to send out for chocolate, sir. She’s warming the milk—”

  “Tell her to hurry,” Nico said. “But first take Miss Callahan upstairs to the rose room. She’ll be staying the night.”

  Was no one listening to her? Honora lifted her chin. “I have not agreed to—”

  “Make sure she has everything she might require for her stay,” Nico said, ignoring her as he seemed to ignore anything contrary to his will.

  “Of course,” the butler intoned. “Miss Callahan, if you’ll just come this way...”

  “I can’t sleep here,” she said to Nico. “Unless you expect me to sleep naked.”

  All four men in the foyer stared at her, startled. It took several seconds before any of them recovered. The butler was the first to clear his throat.

  “We have ladies’ pajamas,” he ventured, “clean and never worn that I believe might fit.” Honora looked incredulously at Nico. Ladies’ pajamas! Did he bring lovers here on a regular basis? The butler continued, “And if you’ll just leave your clothes outside your door tonight, they’ll be washed, pressed and ready in the morning.”

  “You don’t need to fuss over me,” she told the butler. “My grandfather’s a member of staff. I can catch a train back later tonight.”

  Nico said sharply, “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re cold and wet, and clearly you’ve had a difficult night. If you’re the mother of my unborn child—”

  “If?”

  “Then I must insist you take care of yourself. Go take a hot shower. We can speak after you’re warm.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Nico growled, moving closer. “I would. And if you don’t go with Sebastian right now, I’ll take you upstairs myself.”

  Honora’s eyes went wide at his threat. The two of them, alone in a bedroom? Even if he couldn’t remember their night together, she did. Every moment of shocking pleasure would be forever burned on her skin, on her body, on her soul. Even if the secret sensual dreams she still had of him made her hate herself. She’d never forget. Especially not now that she was carrying his baby inside her.

  “Fine,” she bit out. Following the butler, Sebastian—she wondered whether it was his first name, or his last—she went up the sweeping staircase and was escorted to an elegant, feminine room all in pink, where she found a brand-new, freshly laundered white silk nightgown and robe, as well as men’s pajamas and a white cotton bathrobe. The soaps and shampoos were Italian and imported.

  This guest room had been meant for someone, she thought. But who?

  The shower warmed her up and made her feel human again, as well as sleepy and comfortable. Suddenly, the idea of sleeping here rather than shivering on a rattling, cold train through all hours of the night seemed like an excellent plan. Which made her mad. She didn’t want Nico to make her feel good. She hated him for what he’d done, for what he was continuing to do.

  I will marry her, indeed! She ground her teeth. Saying that to her grandfather! How could he!

  Going downstairs in the soft silk nightgown and matching white robe that she was amazed fit her pregnant body so well, she found Nico in the grand living room off the stairs, beneath the wall of tall, curved windows overlooking the dark night. He was sitting in a sleek sofa beside a roaring fire.

  For a moment, Honora hesitated, her gaze tracing over him unwillingly. It looked as if he’d had a shower, too. His dark hair was just long enough to be wavy, which looked impossibly sexy and Italian over his high chiseled cheekbones. He’d changed into comfortable clothes. A thin white T-shirt clung to his hard-muscled torso and low-slung sweatpants hung over his powerful thighs. His aquiline profile was facing the fire. His mood seemed pensive, even sad. She felt instinctive sympathy rise inside her.

  She fought it with fury. Nicolo Ferraro feel sad? Not about anything but a dip in the stock market or a sudden drop in commercial rental rates!

  Still. Best to get this conversation over with so they could move on with their lives. And she could go to bed. Striding forward purposefully, Honora sat next to him on the sofa. She was careful not to touch him.

  “Look, I know you were trying to help,” she started,
“but you’ve only made it worse with your lie.”

  Nico looked at her, his handsome face bemused. “What lie?”

  “Telling Granddad you wanted to marry me. Sure, that solved today’s problem, but long term it will be ten times worse. Do you think he won’t notice when you swan through the penthouse a week from now with some Instagram model?”

  “I wasn’t lying,” he said, sipping a glass of amber liquid. “I’m going to marry you.”

  She stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why?” He turned when Sebastian brought in a white ceramic mug on a silver tray.

  “I apologize it took so long, Mr. Ferraro. Apparently the grocer had to be awoken to find and deliver the chocolate.”

  “It’s fine.” But as Nico reached for the mug, he drew his hand back in irritation. “But it’s cold.”

  The man bit his lip. “It was ready some moments ago, but as the young lady was upstairs—”

  “Make another,” Nico said impatiently, leaving the mug on the tray.

  “I don’t actually like cocoa,” Honora said.

  Nico turned to her. “What do you want? Herbal tea? Hot apple cider?”

  She could only imagine how much trouble that would make for the poor cook. Poor woman would probably be forced to go out and pick apples in the rain. “I want you to leave me alone.”

  He said to his butler, “Herbal tea. With organic milk.” Turning to Honora, he confided, “Calcium is good for the baby.”

  “Oh, is it now.” As if she hadn’t just spent the last six months reading every baby book and going to doctor’s appointments, while he’d only known about it for, like, ten minutes and already considered himself the expert. She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice as she added, “Tell me more about what my baby needs.”

  As the butler disappeared, Nico looked at her calmly. The firelight flickered over the hard, handsome planes of his face and the five-o’clock shadow over his square jawline. “A father, for a start. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I did! I told you that I tried. I sent multiple messages to your office in Rome in February.”

  “Saying you were pregnant?”

  “Just saying it was personal, urgently asking you to return my call.”

  He stroked his chin. “I don’t answer desperate messages from women I don’t know. Since I didn’t remember our night together, or your name...”

  Irritated, she set her jaw. “I also left messages with the housekeeper at your new villa, since I heard you’d sold your apartment in Rome. I asked you to call me back as soon as you arrived.”

  “The Amalfi Coast is hours from Rome. I never stayed there. I slept at the office.”

  “What?” That explained why Luisa had sounded so doubtful every time Honora called.

  “I have a sofa in my private office. A shower. There was no need for me to leave.”

  “You slept at the office? For six months?”

  “I was working,” he bit out. His handsome face was full of shadows. “I was fine.”

  It sounded awful. When had Nico become a workaholic without a soul? He’d always been intensely focused on work, but in the past, he’d at least found some time for fun, whether that meant extreme sports or getting himself engaged to world-famous movie star Lana Lee.

  Honora told herself she didn’t care. The state of his soul wasn’t her problem. “The point is, I did try to tell you. When I never heard a response, I realized you weren’t interested in anything I might say to you. So I decided to raise this baby on my own.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Now that I know, I will give you and the baby everything. Including my name.”

  “It’s not necessary. We’re good.”

  “Good? Good how?”

  It was a question Honora had often asked herself in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep for worrying. Her cheeks went hot. “I have a job.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I work in a flower shop. People need flowers,” she added defensively at his incredulous look.

  “I’m sure they do, but I can’t imagine it’s enough to support you and the baby.”

  “I’m also working my way through community college.”

  “Studying what?”

  She looked at the floor. “General education courses.” It was a sore point. Honora still hadn’t figured out what she wanted to do as a long-term career. She’d been unable to convince herself to study something she hated, just because it would pay, as her accountant friend Emmie had. “I’ll figure something out.”

  Nico let that pass. “Does your current job even have maternity leave? Benefits?”

  Honora bit her lip. Her boss, Phyllis Kowalczyk, was a retiree with few employees. The flower shop seemed more like a labor of love than a growing, profitable business. “Um. I’m not sure...”

  “You’re probably still living with your grandfather.”

  Guilt flashed through her. As if she needed to be reminded that she already felt like a burden to him. “So?”

  “You deserve more.” He lifted an arrogant dark eyebrow. “I will take care of you and the baby.”

  His tone got her hackles up. “No, thanks.”

  “Why? Are you in love with someone else? Rossini?”

  “Benny?” Frowning, she shook her head. “We’re friends.”

  He relaxed. “Well, then. Shall we say next week for the ceremony?”

  Ceremony? “But I don’t love you!”

  He shrugged. “Love. A momentary feeling that makes people do things they regret once the madness passes. A make-believe notion. An illusion. I’m grateful that I’m immune.”

  Honora stared at him. Was there no getting through?

  “I’m not going to marry you.” She enunciated the words, trying to drive them into his arrogant brain. “I’d be a horrible wife for you. And you...you would be a disaster.”

  Nico looked at her, his handsome face impassive.

  “Why did you sleep with me, then?” he asked quietly. “Was it so horrible? Was it such a disaster?”

  Everything she’d been about to say got caught in her throat. Yes, she wanted to tell him, it was a mistake. But then that would mean her baby was a mistake, and she wasn’t. She was precious.

  As for that night... Honora remembered the sparkling Christmas lights glowing every color in the frosty night. The scent of pine from the enormous, decorated tree in the penthouse with two-story windows overlooking all of glittering Manhattan.

  And Nico, taking her in his powerful arms. The taste of his kiss, sweetness and Scotch, savage and tender all at once. The feel of his body against hers as he’d made her feel pleasure she’d never imagined.

  Honora couldn’t lie. She took a deep breath. Looking up at him with tears in her eyes, she whispered, “It was the most beautiful night of my life.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  NICO STARED AT HER in the enormous living room, as the warm fire flickered over her lovely face. Outside, he could still dimly hear the wind and rain and the crashing surf. But in his heart, something tight...loosened, and he could breathe again.

  “I wish I could remember.” His voice was quiet. “As you can.”

  Honora gave a smile that seemed sad. “And I wish I could forget. Like you.”

  He looked at her sitting at the other end of the sleek new sofa, wrapped in the white robe. Her dark hair was still damp, tumbling over her shoulders in a way that was much too sexy for comfort. And if she leaned forward, the robe fell open a little, revealing the neckline of the silk nightgown. Modest as it was, her full, pregnancy breasts strained against the silk. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to look only at her eyes. “If it was the best night of your life, why do you want to forget?”

  She looked away. “Because...because it hurts to remember what a fool I was. Imagining I
was in love with you. Imagining I even knew you.”

  Nico had sudden disjointed flashes of memory, the feeling of holding her in his arms in the penthouse, kissing her passionately against the window with all of Manhattan’s skyscrapers sparkling behind her. Taking off her clothes piece by piece, pulling her down on the soft rug beneath the Christmas tree... Later, he’d thought it was a hallucination, a dream of a sexy dark-haired woman whose exact features he could not recall.

  I love you, Nico. I wasn’t brave enough to say it before. I love you.

  Abruptly, he stood up and went to the wet bar. Pulling a crystal lowball glass from the shelf, he dumped in two cubes of ice. He opened a new bottle of Scotch and poured a generous amount over the ice. He swallowed the first sweet sip, trying to control the pounding of his heart.

  Lifting her gaze, Honora said quietly, “You were drunk the night we slept together, weren’t you? That’s why you don’t remember. You were drunk.”

  A thousand excuses poured into his mind. Evade, deny, don’t say anything that could be used against him, either in a court of law or in the much rougher court of public opinion.

  But as Nico looked into her face, he thought how easy it would have been for her to lie and say that their night together had been awful, a tragedy, that she regretted it and hated him. She’d certainly proven that she had no problems insulting him to his face. But she hadn’t.

  She’d been brave enough to tell the truth. He could at least tell her something that wasn’t a lie. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I had...some problems. I hadn’t been sleeping, and I took pills for a...bad headache. Janet—” that was the penthouse’s housekeeper “—found me collapsed on the hallway floor the next morning and called an ambulance,” he said bluntly. “You didn’t know?”

  She shook her head, wide-eyed.

  “Good.” He was relieved his housekeeper was discreet and not spreading rumors. He felt foolish enough to imagine himself insensate and drooling on the floor when she’d discovered him. It was horrible to imagine he’d made a fool of himself in front of Honora, slurring his words or stumbling around. “I didn’t seem...off to you on Christmas Day?”