LUCY MONROE - Pregnancy Of Passion

It was a good thing she didn’t because it would have been wasting her breath. He started down the hall, his long-legged stride eating the distance to her apartment quickly.

When he stopped in front of her door, she looked at him askance. “How did you know my number?”

She had moved shortly after their breakup, unable to stand the memories the other apartment had elicited.

He rolled his dark brown eyes. “It’s not that hard to find your address. In fact, give me fifteen seconds on a computer and I can find pretty much anyone’s. However, in this case, I simply asked your father.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t told her father about her brief affair and its disastrous end.

He would have gone ballistic and she had not been emotionally prepared to deal with any more at the time.

“You did not tell him about us,” Salvatore said, mirroring her thoughts.

She shrugged and watched with a feeling of inevitability as he unlocked the apartment door with the other key on the ring.

“I didn’t tell him about the baby either.” She didn’t know why she admitted that.

“Neither did I.”

“I know.”

Her father was ignorant of her pregnancy and miscarriage. Just as he was ignorant of what a rat his best friend’s son really was. Her mother didn’t know either. In fact, the only other person in the world who knew about the precious baby she had lost was this man. And she could hardly expect compassionate understanding from her worst enemy.

He pushed into her apartment and she had no choice but to follow.

“This is nice.”

She looked around at the smallish apartment, which was almost a bedsit. It had its own bathroom, but the main area doubled as her daily living space and her bedroom when she pulled the ancient trundle bed down from the wall.

“It’s bright, like you.”

Like she used to be, maybe. She’d tried to make her home cheery and inviting with lots of yellow, white and rose-pink, but the décor had done little to improve her sense of loss and loneliness. Even the sunlight currently filtering through the window of the kitchenette seemed muted by the emotions that weighted her insides.

“Thank you,” she replied stiffly to his compliment when the silence had stretched on.

He made an impatient sound. “Change your clothes and I’ll take you to dinner.”

“What is the matter with what I’m wearing?” she demanded, immediately on the defensive.

“Nothing. Let’s go.” He took her arm and the contact seared her just as she knew touching him again would do.

“I didn’t say I was going with you,” she said, trying to pull her arm from his grasp.

“Would you prefer to fix me dinner here?” He smiled as he’d used to and she felt a twinge in the region of her heart. “It has been a long time since you cooked for me, but I remember what a wonderful cook you are. I would enjoy the experience.”

The sheer arrogance of that statement blew her away. “I would prefer you left.” She glared up at him, carefully avoiding actual eye contact. “You’ve seen me safely home. There’s no reason for us to prolong our time together.”

“You seem to be under a misapprehension.”

“What do you mean?” She gave up the struggle for possession of her arm. He wasn’t letting go and every movement, even infinitesimal, increased her awareness of his closeness.

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

Shards of fearful premonition sliced through her. “What exactly are you saying?”

“Until the auction is over, I am your faithful sidekick.”

“You, faithful?” she scoffed, trying very hard to come to terms with his grimly delivered assurance.

The grip on her arm tightened. “I was never unfaithful to you.”

She believed him, but she didn’t want to. Not when he’d refused to believe her similar claim when she told him about the baby. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of saying so, however. Instead she focused on the issue at hand.

“No.”

His fingers uncurled from her arm and began a light caress. “No, what, dolcezza?”

“You are not staying with me.” Her voice broke as his hand moved up to her collarbone. She felt like a bird being mesmerized by a snake. She couldn’t move, but she knew to let him touch her was disastrous.

“I made a promise to your father. I will keep it.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“That is not what he believes.”

“My father does not dictate my life either.”

“This is true. Unlike your sister, you have a disconcerting tendency to go your own way, but I would have thought that even so, your love for your father would not allow you to put him in a place of constantly worrying for your safety.”

She wasn’t going to be manipulated with that line. “According to him, he does that anyway.”

“He had an episode with his heart last month. Did he tell you?”

She felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room. “No.” Her voice came out a whisper. “He said nothing.”

Why hadn’t he called her? Why hadn’t his wife, Therese, told her? As she thought it, she said it.

“I do not know, but perhaps he did not wish to worry you.”

“I should have known!” The anguish she felt reminded her what an outsider she was. She belonged intimately to no one.

Salvatore studied her in a way that made her feel exposed. “Now you do. Are you willing to risk putting his heart under further stress?”

A sense of impotency filled her. Despite the fact they were not exactly close, she loved her father very much. And he hadn’t looked well the last time she’d seen him. “No.”

“Then I stay.”

With a tremendous effort of will, she stepped back, away from that insidious touch. “No. If Papa is that worried, I’ll agree to a bodyguard, but not you.”

“It is too important an assignment for me to put it in the hands of another.”

“Me, important?” She couldn’t help deriding.

His jaw went taut and fire rained down on her from those dark chocolate eyes. “Keep pushing, Elisa.”

His tone implied that, for her own sake, she had better do anything but. Only she couldn’t make herself stop. There was too much pain inside her to govern everything that came out of her mouth when she was with him.

He’d hurt her and there was a terrible part of her that wanted to hurt him back, even if it was just with digs that did no more than annoy his sense of masculine pride.

“Get me a different bodyguard.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“I’ll call Papa and tell him I don’t want you around me.”

“And will you tell him why?”

Salvatore’s smooth question stopped her progress toward the phone on the small table beside the one armchair in her apartment.

“I don’t have to tell him why.”

“He wants the best for you and I’m the best. He will expect an explanation.”

The problem was, she knew he was right. Even though several of the Vitale Security operatives were ex-military, none of them had been trained as thoroughly as Salvatore. His father and grandfather had seen to that, going so far as sending him to spend his formative years’ schooling and training in an élite academy that taught a form of hand-to-hand combat second to none in the world.

It had been followed by a technical education at the university level that put him on a par with coordinators in the government’s secret service.

“Then I shall tell him.”

“And prompt a full-on heart attack? Does he mean so little to you?”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “Why are you doing this to me?” She spun to face him, her body vibrating with emotions she would give anything not to feel. “Haven’t you hurt me enough?”