One Night: Sizzling Attraction. Annie West

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СКАЧАТЬ is no question who has the upper hand.”

      She sighed and turned away from the mirror.

      She didn’t know how she was going to get out of this, but she would be damned if she betrayed herself to him.

      She opened the door to the bedroom, running a countdown in her mind as she walked slowly down the hallway that led to the sweeping curved staircase. She put her hand on the polished wooden banister and let her fingers glide across the smooth, cool surface as she made her way down to the opulent entryway.

      Ten. Nine. Eight.

      She was strong. She would hold her own.

      Seven. Six. Five.

      He might have brought her here, but he did not control her.

      Four. Three. Two.

      All of the vulnerability he had made her feel back in the hotel room was over now. She was impervious to it. Impervious to him.

      One.

      She stepped off the bottom stair and looked up. Rocco was there, his dark eyes clashing with hers, his hand extended toward her.

      She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart hammering hard, her stomach twisting.

      “So pleased you could join me,” he said, appraising her slowly. “I knew that color would suit you.”

      “You can’t imagine how relieved I am that you approve of my appearance. I was deeply concerned.”

      “Come now, must everything be a fight?” He kept his hand extended. “Take my hand.”

      “No thank you, I can walk just fine. Probably better without you leading me off a cliff. Oh, look. I suppose everything does have to be a fight.”

      He arched a brow and lowered his hand. “Dinner is back this way on the terrace. And while it does overlook a cliff, I have no desire to walk you off it.”

      “You expect me to trust you? I don’t trust anyone,” she said, following him through the expensive living area, her shoes loud on the marble floor.

      “I see. And why is it that you don’t trust anyone? Because I find that a curious stance for someone like yourself. I could understand a victim of yours no longer trusting people.”

      “I don’t have victims,” she said, her tone crisp. “They’re called marks.”

      “Admitting something?”

      “No,” she said, looking away, her heart beating a bit faster, “I’m not.”

      “You will not convince me of your innocence. You might as well drop the denial.”

      She rolled her eyes. “So I should give you a full, signed confession?”

      “You could start by simply answering my question.”

      “Why don’t I trust people? Because I see what happens when you trust people. My father is a con man. He always has been. The quality time I remember with my dad consisted of running scams that required playing on people’s sympathy for children. Not exactly a weekend at the ballpark. Why would I trust people?”

      He pushed open the double doors that led outside to an expansive terrace that overlooked the ocean. He turned to face her, his lean figure backlit by the sun. “You shouldn’t trust people. At least not in my experience. Certainly don’t trust me.”

      She followed him outside, to a table that was set for two. There was a Mediterranean platter including olives and various other Italian delights, a basket of bread, a glass of wine for him and water for her.

      “Oh, I don’t trust you.”

      He pulled her chair out and indicated that he wanted her to sit. “Good. I don’t need you to trust me. I simply need you to stay with me. Sit.”

      She kept her eyes on his and she obeyed his command, deciding that in this instance, it wouldn’t do any good to push against him. “What do you mean you want to keep me?”

      “I have done some thinking. I want to be in my child’s life. And I want you to be in the child’s life. You see, I was denied both my parents at a very early age. I cannot knowingly do the same to my own flesh and blood.”

      “Well, I...I feel the same way. At least as far as I’m concerned.” It was the truth. Growing up without a mother, it had never been an option for her to give her child up. Knowing that her mother had left her with a con artist for a father and never bothered to contact her again, had caused Charity pain all of her life. Doing the same to her own child was unthinkable.

      “Then it is decided. Shall we set a wedding date?”

      “I am not marrying you.”

      He waved a hand. “Marriage is not necessary. I’m flexible on that score. But I do think we should share a household, don’t you? It would only be jarring for the child to bounce back and forth between your tiny apartment and one of my homes.”

      “Are you suggesting we live together?”

      “If you refuse to marry me, cohabitation works just as well.”

      “But...I don’t understand. You can’t possibly want a relationship with me.”

      “Of course I don’t.” He tossed the words out casually, no venom in his tone at all. “I don’t care about you at all. Except in the context of what you mean to our baby. Even if we were to marry we would continue to conduct our lives separately.”

      “I don’t want to marry you.”

      “I did not say I wanted to marry you,” he said, taking a seat across from her. “Only that I feel it is an option.”

      She studied him hard. “You believe me. About the baby?”

      “Yes.”

      “And you want the baby. You want to be a father.”

      “I am going to be a father. That means I...have to be one,” he said, sounding slightly less confident than he typically did.

      “Why did you change your mind?”

      “I lived in Rome when I was a boy.” He leaned back in his chair and picked up his glass of wine, swirling the liquid inside slowly. “We lived in a very poor neighborhood. I never knew my father. I woke up one morning and the house was empty. Everything had been taken. And there were strangers there. My mother was gone. And I kept asking them where she was, but no one would answer me. I found out later that she was killed on her way home from work. I assume the landlord took all of our possessions and left me alone. But I don’t know the details, and things like that are always difficult to sort through. Childhood memories. The recollections of a five-year-old are not always clear. But I know what it means to be alone. I know what it is like to feel lost.” There was a faraway look in his dark eyes, a deep well that she could not see the bottom of. So different to the flatness that was usually there. “I do not wish that for our child. I wish for them to have a full house. I wish for them to have СКАЧАТЬ