CHAPTER TWELVE
PEPE COVERED CARA’S HAND, his eyes boring into her. ‘Do you think you’re falling in love with me?’
‘No!’ Her denial was immediate. Snatching her hand away, she wrung her fingers together on her lap and looked away.
‘Good.’
She flinched.
He placed a finger under her chin and forced her to look up at him. ‘I say “good” because there is a way to get through this without screwing either of us up. And without screwing up our child. I have never cheated on anyone in my life. After what Luisa did to me, it is not something I would ever put anyone else through. I like my affairs short and sweet. I admit, there are occasions when I will sleep with an ex, but never if either of us are involved with someone else.’
Pepe watched as she bit into her bottom lip. Learning the full truth of Cara’s past explained so many things about her. His complaints about his own childhood seemed unbelievably petty in comparison. He’d never doubted his family’s love for him.
‘I have a proposal for you,’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘Will you hear me out?’
With obvious apprehension, she jerked her head.
‘Let’s see if we can make this work. We don’t love each other but we do have a serious case of lust. Eventually it will work its way out of our systems.’
‘Do you think?’ She looked so hopeful he felt an incomprehensible stab of pain in his chest.
He nodded. ‘For as long as we’re together I can promise you exclusivity. Your mother lived in a vicious cycle of high emotion and denial, neither of which applies to us. We’ll take it all one day at a time. When our desire for each other reaches its natural conclusion, we can go our separate ways—and hopefully we can go our separate ways as friends. We both want what’s best for our child and that’s for him or her to have parents who respect each other and can work together for their child’s happiness. Our child will have two parents who are happy in themselves and have no antagonism towards the other.’
‘So you do believe the baby is yours?’
He closed his eyes before inclining his head. ‘Yes, cucciola mia. I believe the baby is mine.’
Pepe waited for a beat, just in case the world did come crashing down.
‘Forgive me. Not trusting people is so hardwired into me that when you told me you were pregnant I went into denial. I think maybe I lost my head a little.’
‘Make that a lot,’ she said with a smile that lightened her features and lifted his spirits.
Cara was not Luisa. If there was one thing he knew about his flame-haired lover it was that she didn’t have a selfish bone in her body. He could not in all good conscience make her continue to pay for Luisa’s sins. And nor could he allow his child to pay.
His child.
He really was going to be a father.
His chest swelled with an emotion so pure it pushed all the oxygen from his lungs.
His child.
Their child.
‘I think we should both promise to give this...thing a minimum of a fortnight to at least try and make it work.’
‘No more being kept as a prisoner?’
‘You are free to come and go as you please—I’ll even give you your own set of keys. See, I am trying.’
‘Very,’ she agreed with a straight face.
He tapped her snub nose playfully, his spirits lifting even further. This could really work...
‘If you give me your bank details I will deposit a sum of money into it which should go some way to recompensing you for your future loss of earnings with the auction house.’
‘You do believe I’m not after your money?’ she asked, suddenly looking anxious. ‘All I want is for our child to be provided for.’
‘And it will be,’ he promised. Now that he had openly acknowledged his paternity it felt as if a great weight had lifted from him.
Deep inside, he had always known the truth. Cara was too...straight to tell anything but the most innocuous of lies. It was his own damaged pride that had refused to believe it.
A wave of something that felt suspiciously like guilt rolled into his guts.
He’d done the best he could, he told himself defiantly. Anyone who walked in his shoes would have reacted in the same way.
All the same, he knew he would have to go a long way to make it up to her.
And he knew the best way to start.
Reaching for her hips, he pulled her so she was sitting astride him.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked with a gasp.
‘Celebrating our agreement.’ Thus said, he tilted his head and kissed her.
‘So this is how we celebrate?’ she said when they finally came up for air.
He nuzzled into her neck, marvelling at the softness and the oh-so-heady scent. He was reminded of the way she had tasted on his tongue, could almost taste it anew. ‘Can you think of a better way?’
She tilted her head back to give him better access and sighed. ‘No. Nothing better. This is perfect.’
* * *
A fortnight came and went. It didn’t even cross Cara’s mind to leave.
Now that she was no longer a prisoner, life in general improved considerably. She could come and go as she pleased. She spent hours wandering around Paris’s famous museums and galleries, including three days back-to-back at the Louvre, and spent many a happy lunch doing nothing but hanging out in Parisian cafés drinking hot chocolate.
Her personal belongings, including all her beloved art and history books, had finally been shipped over from Dublin and she had a marvellous time going through all her stuff. Most of it was put back in the boxes—she reminded herself on a daily basis that this was only a temporary arrangement and that it would not do to start thinking of it as permanent.
All the same, life with Pepe was good. More than good. Now that they had reached an understanding, all the antagonism had died. She knew that whatever happened between them, their child would not suffer for it.
He treated her like a princess. They’d gone for her twenty-week scan together, and to witness the adoration on his face was almost as thrilling as seeing her baby for herself. The money he’d put into her account—an amount that, if she were a cartoon character, would have made her eyes pop out of her head—had been happily spent that morning on baby furniture and other paraphernalia, with more than a little change left over. It was all now being stored in Pepe’s humongous garage alongside his fleet of sports cars.
And now, back at the house, they were having a swim together in Pepe’s underground luxury pool. Or, rather, she was lazing in the shallow end watching him swim lengths. He sped through the water like a porpoise, his strokes long and practised. There was something rather hypnotic about watching him, she mused. Who needed a book when one could watch Pepe?
After she’d counted him do approximately fifty lengths, he waded over to her, a large grin on his face. ‘You should swim, lazybones.’
‘I was admiring the view.’
His grin broadened and he swooped in for a kiss.
‘Hmm,’ she sighed, greedily kissing him back. It never ceased to amaze her how much Pepe wanted her. Or how much she wanted him. Already she could feel the stir of an erection in his swimming shorts, rubbing against her thigh.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said as he nuzzled into her neck, ‘that I should really look at getting a driver’s licence for when the baby’s born.’
He stilled a touch. ‘I can provide you with a car and a driver.’
‘I’m sure you can,’ she agreed drily. ‘But it would be nice to have the freedom to just...go, when the mood takes me.’
She had to think practically. She just had to. Thinking in detail about her and their baby’s future kept her silly emotions in check. And if ever her stomach rolled at the thought of their future being without Pepe, she quashed it. After all, Pepe would always be an enormous part of their lives; they’d just be living under different roofs.
For the time being, things between them were magical, but she would not allow herself to think it could last for ever. Pepe didn’t do for ever.
‘Have you thought about where you’ll want to live with the baby?’ he asked, reading her mind.
‘I was thinking maybe here in Paris,’ she admitted. In the month they’d been together she’d travelled with him to his homes in Portugal and Spain. Of all the places Pepe called home, Paris was her favourite. There was something so wonderful about the city, the bustle, the chic women, the architecture, the art. Wandering the streets always evoked a feeling of contentment that was only surpassed at night when she would lie sated, wrapped in his arms, drifting off to sleep.
‘Really? That’s a great idea.’ And it was a great idea, Pepe told himself. His stomach hadn’t really cramped at the thought of Cara and their baby living away from him.
‘It just makes sense, especially as this house is going to become your main base. It’ll make it easier for the baby to be living in the same city as her mam and dad.’
He forced a smile. ‘I was thinking of turning your old room into a nursery.’
‘An excellent idea. You’ll be right next to him or her then.’ Her face scrunched. ‘You’ll have to move my boxes into another room though, at least until I move out.’
‘Not a problem.’ For practicality, they’d moved her clothes and toiletries into his room, but all her other stuff was still in her old room, still in boxes from when he’d had it flown over from Dublin.
Cara was saying words that should have been balm to his ears. She’d not developed feelings for him that ran beyond a sexual level, and nor had she dropped any hints, subtle or otherwise, about making things between them permanent. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned. He was positive that any day soon his lust for her would start to abate. Any day.
So why did the thought of her living under a different roof from him make his chest feel so tight? Why did the thought of living without her make it hard to breathe?
* * *
After a long weekend in Sicily with Pepe’s family, spent hanging out with Grace and deflecting her friend’s worries about Cara and Pepe’s relationship, Pepe left for a week-long trip to Chile, a distance they’d agreed was too far for her pregnant self to accompany him.
Alone in the house, Cara’s mind kept drifting back to the talk she’d had with Grace, when her friend had tentatively voiced her concerns.
‘Cara, you do know Pepe isn’t a man for the long term? It’s just that there’s been no mention of marriage or anything—’
‘Of course it’s not permanent,’ Cara had interrupted. ‘We’re just taking it a day at a time until it runs its course.’
‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ Grace had asked with a furrowed brow.
‘Of course I do,’ she’d said defiantly. ‘I’m getting to know my child’s father properly. We’re not going to have some fake marriage for the sake of the baby which only ends in misery for everyone. When our relationship runs its course we’ll still be friends, which will only benefit our child. We don’t want him or her being born into a war zone.’
She’d ignored her friend’s worried face, pushed the image away now as she cast her eye around the huge space that was Pepe’s living room.
Before leaving for Chile he had taken her to the huge vault storing his infamous art collection. ‘I’m putting the hanging and placement of my collection in your hands,’ he’d said solemnly.
Cara had been incredibly touched.
Pepe had left his multimillion-euro art collection in her hands, giving her carte blanche to hang and place them in his home as she saw fit. Trusting her.
Deciding where to place it all, overseeing the hanging—he’d insisted on getting professionals in because he didn’t want her having to climb up and down stepladders when she was six months pregnant—had fulfilled her more than she had thought possible. It had been a project and a half, and one she had embraced with all the Irish enthusiasm that flowed in her blood.
Pepe had such an amazing and eclectic eye for art. Among the Old Masters were more modern pieces, including several by Georges Ramirez, one of which was a nude bronze whose torso she would recognise with her eyes closed using only her hands. The face was a blank but she would bet Pepe had been the model for it.
The only piece she disliked was the Canaletto. It brought back too many bad memories, serving as a reminder that Pepe could be ruthless when it came to getting what he wanted. She’d stuck that particular painting in a small guest room, all two million euros of it.
‘Cara?’
Pepe’s deep voice rang out from downstairs.
Quashing the urge to skip down the stairs to greet him, Cara forced her legs to move in a more sedate fashion.
‘I’m right here,’ she said, unable to hide the beam that spread over her face at the sight of him. It was the longest they had been apart and, despite the task he’d set her, she’d missed him dreadfully. Especially at night. The bed had felt empty without him. She would never admit it, lest he read too much into it, but on the second night she had given in and borrowed one of his shirts to sleep in.
After a long, knee-trembling kiss from him, she took his hand to give him the tour.
‘Wow,’ he said with open admiration as they stood in the main living area. ‘You really know your stuff.’
Pepe was the first to admit he didn’t know the first thing about art. The pieces he bought were never about investment—although that played a part in it—but were simply pieces that caught his eye and pulled at him.
Cara’s own eye had placed them all exactly where they should be, the items selected for each room complementing the feel and décor of that particular room.
He’d smiled to see the portrait his sister-in-law had done of him hanging on the wall of his office. Grace had painted him as a Greek god but with a definite touch of irony and not a little humour.
‘Are you happy to have that there, where anyone can see it?’ Cara said, indicating the bronze by Georges Ramirez, which she had placed in the corner of the living room.
‘You recognise it?’ he asked wickedly.
‘Of course I do,’ she said with a frown.
With a jolt he realised she’d been living with him for two months. She knew him far more intimately than any other living person.
When, he wondered, would her allure no longer affect him?
He’d assumed they’d stay together for a few weeks, maybe a month, before he’d get her out of his system. He’d suggested a minimum of a fortnight, more to convey his sincerity in wanting to make things work between them than in any real hope.
Two months on and they were still together and he wanted her every bit as much as he had at the beginning. More so, if that was possible.
‘Have you considered doing this professionally?’ he asked, waving his hands around the room. ‘I know plenty of people who would pay a small fortune to have their art collections displayed to their very best.’
‘Not really,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Before Grace married Luca we often said we’d like to open our own gallery—she’d do all the art and I’d run it. But life takes over. I was very happy at the auction house.’
‘Speaking of galleries, we’ve got a few hours to kill before we go to the exhibition tonight,’ he said, referring to the opening of an up-and-coming new artist’s work he’d promised they would attend. ‘Shall we go for a swim?’
She pulled a face. ‘My bikini line hasn’t been done for weeks.’
‘So? It’s only me who’s going to be looking.’ He would be doing a lot more than looking. He’d be doing a lot more right now but for Monique bustling around in the kitchen, liable to barge into the living room at any moment.
A whole week without Cara had felt interminably long.
‘I’d still feel self-conscious.’
‘I can do it for you.’
Cara didn’t trust the gleam that came into Pepe’s eyes. ‘Do what?’
‘Your bikini line.’
‘No way.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because...’ Because she still wasn’t comfortable with him being down there. Blame it on her Catholic upbringing—which was an irony in itself—or blame it on her reaching the grand old age of twenty-six before getting naked with a man, but, whatever the reason, she had a hang-up about her nether regions. Not Pepe’s though. She adored his nether regions.
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Because?’
She was stumped for a good answer.
She was still stumped for a good answer fifteen minutes later, sitting naked on a towel on the sofa in Pepe’s bedroom.
‘Relax, cucciola mia,’ he purred, kneeling before her, having placed a jug of hot water on the floor beside him. He also carried a couple of razors and a tube of shaving gel. To make her feel less self-conscious he’d stripped off too. Or so he’d said.
‘I need you to spread your legs,’ he said, pouring some gel onto his palm.
Swallowing, she did as she was bid and parted her thighs.
‘Further.’
She took a deep breath and exposed herself to him, resting her head back in a futile attempt to do as he’d suggested and relax.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said with the utmost sincerity, before planting a kiss on her inner thigh. ‘Trust me.’
Mixing the gel on his palm with a couple of droplets of the hot water, he rubbed his hands together to form a lather, then carefully swiped it over her bikini line, taking great care around the delicate area.
She closed her eyes. Happy to wax her legs, she’d always drawn the line at waxing her bikini area, preferring the less painful route of shaving.
Never in a million years would she have believed she’d allow someone else to do it for her.
When she finally dared look, she found his head bowed in concentration.
Trust me, he’d said.
With a jolt of her heart she realised that she did trust him.
She trusted him as she’d never trusted anyone other than Grace.
But this was a different form of trust. This was a deeper, more intimate trust, a trust she’d never expected to find with a man, with anyone.
‘Okay?’ Pepe’s dark blue eyes were looking up at her.
She nodded and gave a half-smile. Her legs and torso were no longer tensed; indeed, her entire body had now relaxed.
‘What do you think about Charlotte for a girl?’ she said.
He looked up briefly, his lips pursing the way they always did when he was considering something. They’d already agreed on Pietro for a boy, in honour of Pepe’s father. Choosing a girl’s name had proved trickier. At first she’d thought he was being deliberately awkward when he dismissed the names she kept coming up with...until the penny dropped that he was, in his own subtle fashion, trying to avoid naming their child after any of his ex-lovers. Not all the names, thank God. A few he dismissed for other reasons, like thinking a particular name was ‘wet’.
She’d now taken to throwing a name at him, watching him purse his lips and then shake his head, all the while hoping she never came across one of his ‘friends’ who shared that particular name.
This time, there was no shake of the head. Instead, a broad grin spread across his handsome face. ‘That is perfect.’ He nodded, still grinning. ‘Charlotte Mastrangelo-Delaney. Sì—perfect.’
When he refocused his attention to his current handiwork, Cara tried to shake away the jealousy coursing through her blood, knowing she was being irrational. So what if Pepe had been prepared to marry Luisa so they and their child could all share the same surname? In those days he’d been little older than a child himself with romantic ideals that had no place in the real world.
Cara and Pepe had reached the perfect compromise when it came to naming their child, both reasoning that it wasn’t his baby, or her baby, but their baby, and therefore should share both their names.
At least he was capable of compromise. Most of the time. He still had an unerring ability to get his own way on most things. Like now.
Before much more time elapsed, he leaned back and flashed a grin. ‘See—that wasn’t too bad, was it?’
‘It was fine.’
‘Stay where you are—I need to get some fresh water to clean you up.’
She watched him stride off to the en suite, not in the least bothered about his nudity, with a lump in her throat. No wonder so many artists clamoured to immortalise him in whatever medium they used. Pepe’s strength and poise, mixed with his underlying good humour, were like nectar to a bee.
He returned with a fresh jug of water and a towel.
This time he didn’t have to ask her to part her legs.
‘Have you done this lots of times?’ she asked, then immediately castigated herself. His answer had the potential to lance her.
His eyes met hers, glittering with something she didn’t recognise. ‘Never.’
Her heart hitched.
For long moments neither moved. She wished she could read what was swirling in his eyes, but before she could catch it, he broke the hold.
Bowing his head, he placed a kiss on the area he’d just shaved. Then another kiss. And another.
His movements were so gentle and...reverential, that as he made his way to the very heart of her she forgot to feel embarrassed, lying back to rest her head on the back of the sofa and simply feel.
Pepe was such a wonderful lover, she thought dreamily. So tender yet so fantastically wild, and always wanting her. She remembered how he’d arrived back from an overnight stay in Germany. Within five minutes of getting home he’d had her bent over on the desk in his study. She’d been so desperate for him too that they’d been like a pair of rutting animals.
Heat from these gorgeous memories pooled into her core right at the moment Pepe found her *oris. She moaned.
Her mind drifted off, her body a haze of sensation all circling around what this wonderful man was doing to her.
Oh, how she loved him. With every fibre of her being.
And as this realisation filled her, the pulsations that had been building inside filled too, and, with a cry, she felt the pulsations explode, rippling out of her in one long, continuous wave of sensation.
When she opened her eyes, Pepe was gazing up at her, his eyes hooded and glistening.
‘That’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,’ he said hoarsely, before rising to kiss her. Pulling her into his arms, he lifted her off the sofa and carried her over to his sprawling bed.
His lips fused to hers, his hands gripping hers above her head, he entered her immediately. But, despite his impatience to be inside her, there was nothing hurried about their coupling. This was tender beyond her imagination.
With her body already fizzing from her earlier climax, she didn’t think she was capable of another orgasm, but Pepe knew her so well, knew exactly when to increase the friction to bring her all the way back to the edge.
Clinging to him, she gloried in his fervent control, her heart singing in tune with her body. Pepe might not love her—might never love her—but in this moment he was making love to her as if she meant more to him than just the mother of his child and his lover for the moment. He was making love to her as if she were the most precious thing in his world.
When her climax finally erupted, he was right there with her, his face buried in her shoulder, groaning words in Italian as he drove himself inside her with a final thrust.
‘You are crying?’ he asked, long minutes later when he eventually lifted his head from her neck.
She hadn’t even noticed tears were streaming down her face.
‘Did I hurt you?’
She gave a quick shake of her head. ‘Hormones’ was the most she could utter.
How could she tell him she was crying because she’d done the one thing she’d sworn she would never do?
Far from living together as a couple sating the desire between them, it had shifted it into something deeper.
She had fallen in love with him, and she knew without a shadow of doubt that when the time came for Pepe to call it a day her heart was going to shatter into tiny pieces.