Robyn Grady - Italian Mavericks - New Year Temptation

‘No!’

The boom of his voice sent her eyes fluttering towards Charlotte’s door, fortunately closed. Sometimes she left it open, but tonight she’d been reading and was afraid the light might waken her daughter. She thanked her lucky stars now for her foresight.

‘I’ve told you, I will never let you go.’

‘Unless you change your ways you won’t be able to hold me,’ she declared vehemently. ‘Threats won’t work.’

‘I’ll threaten you all I like,’ he snarled, ‘since you don’t seem to be prepared to even meet me halfway.’

‘Meet you, when you are the one laying down the rules?’ she questioned heatedly. ‘You are the one who insisted I stay here. You are the one who insisted on employing a nanny for Charlotte. You are the one who’s insisting we go away for a few days. My opinion has never counted.’

‘Because I know what’s good for you.’

Megan’s anger boiled over. ‘There you go again. When are you going to get it through your thick skull that a happy marriage means give and take? All you do is take, and I’m heartily fed up with it. Change that attitude and we might get somewhere.’

She watched as his mouth folded into a grim line and his eyes narrowed until she could see nothing through the slits of his lids. A quiver of unease tracked its way through her limbs. It looked as though she’d gone too far. Yet he deserved it. Why shouldn’t she toss him a few home truths?

‘I’d appreciate it if you’d meet me halfway, Megan.’

It was not the response she’d expected and although it was delivered in hard, terse tones she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt. She dismissed it immediately. Guilt had no place to play in this scenario. Not on her part anyway. Luigi was the one at fault—every inch of the way.

She had thought that meeting his daughter would soften him up, but that hadn’t happened. He was no nearer to being a caring husband or father than he had been all those years ago. He was in charge and he expected everyone to jump at his command. Well, not this girl!

‘Why should I?’ she asked with a toss of her head. ‘Why should I subject my daughter to a tyrant of a father?’

‘Tyrant?’ he exploded. ‘Is that how you see me?’

‘All the time.’

He closed his eyes and his fingers curled into tight fists, and Megan had the feeling that it was taking all his self-control not to lash out at her. She was tired of this confrontation. She wanted him to go. He had come here ready for a fight and because she hadn’t caved in and eaten humble pie he was still spoiling for one.

She wouldn’t give him that pleasure.

‘Fortunately Charlotte doesn’t see it that way,’ she added. ‘Perhaps because she hasn’t been here long enough and you’re on your best behaviour in front of her.’

Luigi snorted derisively. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re blinded by hatred. In fact you’re the one with the problem. If you’d jump down off your high horse occasionally you’d see how much I’ve changed.’

Megan gave a tight, brittle laugh. ‘Then I must be blind. Have we finished this conversation? I really would like to get some sleep.’ Not that she expected to drop off now. She was far too uptight.

‘Maybe it is finished, but not satisfactorily,’ he barked, swinging on his heel and heading for the door.

‘You mean that it hurt when I didn’t deny having a fling with Jake?’ she taunted. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. I’m not worrying about the girls you bedded while I was busy bringing up your daughter. We were free agents at the time. Why drag up the past?’

Again his mouth thinned but to give him his due he didn’t retaliate; he simply wrenched open the door and stepped smartly outside. She half-expected him to slam it, was thankful when he didn’t. She didn’t want Charlotte or even Kate wondering why he was storming out of her room.

The thought occurred to her that Kate might not know they slept in separate rooms. Had Luigi told her anything about their circumstances, or did she think they were a normal happily married couple? It could be embarrassing if she ever came in to see to Charlotte and saw that Megan slept alone.

Luigi had been spitting fire when he sought Megan out. He had phoned her friend on the spur of the moment, not really knowing whether she was back from France. Jake had answered. And when Luigi stated his business he had gone into a long tribute to Megan. So much so that Luigi had begun to gain the impression that more had gone on between them than Megan had ever admitted. He’d felt an indescribable jealousy. The very thought of another man touching his wife was sickeningly abhorrent and he’d been prepared to shake the truth out of Megan.

And now when he thought back on their conversation he realised that he hadn’t won at all. Megan was tougher than he’d realised and she had fought back with admirable qualities. He still didn’t know whether she’d actually slept with Jake and the thought drove him crazy.

So much so that he couldn’t sleep. In the end he dragged on a tartan dressing gown over his boxer shorts, went downstairs to his den and sat at his computer. There was work that needed to be done but, dammit, he couldn’t do that either. He kept seeing images of a fired-up Megan as she stood before him.

How he had fought the urge to pull her hard against him he didn’t know. He’d wanted to forget everything Jake had told him and make love to her. With her hair tousled and her face flushed, and nothing on beneath her cotton nightdress, his virulent male hormones had sprung into life. He loved Megan so much that it tore him apart when she rejected him. Was he really as bad as she painted?

It was true that no one ever saw themselves as other people did, but a tyrant? Always taking, never giving? He wasn’t like that. The presents he’d bought both her and Charlotte should have proved it. And she had this huge house to live in, no more worries about rent. He was prepared to give her anything she wanted. He’d even cut down on his working hours; hadn’t she noticed that?

The more he thought about it the more confused he became. He picked up the whisky bottle and poured himself a generous measure, tossing it down his throat in one swallow before refilling it. This time he set it on the desk in front of him, fingering the cut-glass, twisting it absently round and round. But the more he thought about the situation the more he failed to understand it and fury rose once more inside him. He gulped down the rest of the whisky and in a fit of rage threw the glass at the fireplace, shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces.

The next moment his door was pushed open and there stood Megan, pale-faced and questioning, still in her nightdress and dressing gown. With nothing on underneath! This was the first thought that registered. The second was, what was she doing here? Why wasn’t she in bed? And his third, perhaps she’d had a change of heart, realised that she’d been too hard on him, and had come to make amends.

His entire body throbbed in anticipation.

Megan looked from him to the fragments of glass in the hearth and then back again, a faint frown dragging her brows together. ‘So you’re still angry about Jake?’

Damn! She wasn’t supposed to have said that. He felt his sudden hope draining away. ‘What are you doing here?’ he enquired gruffly.

‘I was on my way to the kitchen to heat some milk.’

‘Your conscience troubling you?’ he sneered. He couldn’t help himself. His optimism had been so miserably dashed.