Claiming His One-Night Child Read online

  An expression he couldn’t name rippled briefly over her lovely face before she turned away, draining what was left of her orange juice. Her hand shook as she raised the glass—just a small tremble, but he noted it all the same.

  Interesting. Did she really think she was a killer? Perhaps she’d had to tell herself that in order to go through with that first attempt on his life, and perhaps she had to keep telling herself that in order to finish the job.

  Curiosity pulled tight inside him in a way he normally didn’t allow.

  How could this small, lovely woman, who seemed so delicate and vulnerable, who’d been nothing but softness and heat on top of him, think she was capable of taking a life?

  Yes, she had a hard shell that she was clinging to for all she was worth, the veneer of the stone-cold killer. But that was breaking—even he could see that.

  Was it he who was making it shatter? Or was it the baby?

  An ache he didn’t want to acknowledge tightened inside him, which he ignored.

  ‘And I suppose you’re fine with being called a selfish playboy?’ she said eventually, putting her glass down on the table with a click.

  ‘That’s not an answer.’

  ‘Why should I give you one?’

  ‘You don’t have to.’ He held her gaze. ‘But I’ve seen your soul, kitten. You showed it to me that night you climbed on top of me and rode us both to heaven. And there’s nothing dark in it.’

  Why should it matter to you what she thinks about herself?

  He wasn’t quite sure. Maybe self-interest? After all, he didn’t want her entertaining any further designs on his life. Then again, if he was so sure she wouldn’t go through with it anyway, then what did it matter?

  Perhaps this time it’s not self-interest. Perhaps you care about her feelings.

  Ridiculous. He barely even knew her let alone cared about her feelings.

  Stella’s cheeks had gone a deep pink, making the blue of her eyes more intense. And this time she didn’t look away. ‘If you think I’m not going to kill you then why am I still here?’

  ‘You know why. The baby.’

  ‘Strange that a selfish playboy famous for not settling down would suddenly be more than happy with an unexpected baby.’

  There was a hot current of anger running through her voice, though she was clearly trying to keep it cool.

  Yes, there was passion in her. Anger, stubborn will and fire enough to crack apart the fragile armour she was trying to hide behind.

  What would it take to make it shatter entirely? And what would happen if it did?

  The unwelcome pulse of desire that hadn’t gone away no matter how hard he tried to ignore it beat harder, faster. Along with the tight coil of anticipation.

  He shouldn’t be thinking such things and he knew it. Temptation was something he’d never been very good at resisting, but he should be resisting it now.

  Yet somehow he couldn’t stop himself from baiting her.

  ‘And I’m sure a killer such as yourself isn’t best pleased to find herself pregnant either,’ he commented. ‘Surely it doesn’t matter to you whether I claim my baby or not? After all, that’ll leave you with more time to get on with killing and such.’

  Silver flashed in her eyes, her jaw tight, tension in the line of her narrow shoulders.

  It’s wrong to push her and you know it.

  Maybe he did. And maybe baiting her like this was a mistake. Then again, he’d made so many mistakes already, what was one more? Temptation had always been his downfall.

  No, hunger for what you know you cannot have has always been your downfall.

  The thought didn’t make any sense to him so he ignored it.

  ‘I will be a mother regardless of whether I’m happy about it or not,’ Stella said fiercely. ‘And, since I am, I will not shirk my responsibilities.’ Her chin lifted slightly. ‘This is my fault, after all.’

  She looked so proud and serious and there was a certain kind of dignity to her. Like a queen nobly taking responsibility for the war she’d just started.

  Ridiculous kitten.

  This wasn’t a war. This was a child.

  ‘Really?’ He swirled his wine in his glass, tilting his head and staring at her. ‘So, in between drugging me and handcuffing me and pointing a gun at my head, then taking off your clothes and seducing me—while a virgin, I may add—you somehow should also have remembered to get a condom?’

  The flush in her cheeks deepened even further. ‘I’m not a child. I know about birth control.’

  ‘Not, apparently, that night.’

  Her eyes glittered. She was fragile and lovely sitting there wrapped in the soft cashmere throw, yet he could almost taste the sharpness of her fury. It poured through the cracks in her veneer like lava through the cracks in a volcano.

  ‘Why are you pushing me like this?’ she demanded. ‘What’s the point? You say you want our baby, but what does that mean? That you’ll take it away from me the minute it’s born?’

  Dio, he wanted to see that veneer break apart completely, watch the fire he could see burning inside her leap high, the way it had done that night in Monte Carlo.

  A mistake. Don’t do it.

  Except he couldn’t seem to stop.

  ‘And shouldn’t I?’ he shot back, putting his wine glass back down with a click. ‘Don’t you think that would be the best thing for the child?’

  ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Then give me one good reason, Stella Montefiore.’ He put his palms down on the table and half-rose to his feet. Then, very deliberately, he leaned across the space between them, getting closer to all that heat, to the fire that burned inside her. ‘Give me one good reason why I should trust you with my baby.’

  * * *

  Stella had no idea why she was letting Dante Cardinali get under her skin so badly. It was only that the way he sat there, all lazy arrogance, secure in the power of his own charisma, needled her.

  He seemed so certain of everything about her, firstly with his repeated references to her being a killer, and secondly by mentioning the fact that somehow, because they’d had sex once, he’d seen her soul. And then, to cap it all off, implying that she couldn’t be trusted with their child...

  She shouldn’t let it matter to her, but it did. He might know about her family from what he could find on the web, but he didn’t know her. And did he seriously believe she couldn’t be trusted with a baby? Yes, she might have been prepared to kill him, but she would never hurt a child.

  Why does his opinion matter to you?

  She couldn’t answer that question and right now she didn’t want to. She was too furious.

  And it didn’t help that she was very aware that he was the most phenomenally attractive man she’d ever seen.

  He leaned across the table, the setting sun catching sparks of gold in the dark silk of his hair and outlining the strong lines of his handsome face. Close enough for her to see those very same golden sparks glowing in the darkness of his eyes.

  Heat burned there, anger and a kind of demand that made something deep inside her clench tight with anticipation.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded, when she didn’t say anything immediately. ‘Do you have any answer to that at all?’

  Of course she had an answer, but she didn’t want to give it to him. She shouldn’t have to.

  Are you sure he hasn’t got reason not to trust you?

  Stella ignored that thought. The discussion was pointless anyway because, whatever he might say about the fact that she wasn’t a killer, she still had a job to do. A mistake to correct. Matteo’s death to avenge.

  And everything had to wait until that had been accomplished.

  So why are you arguing with him? You’re not supposed to, remember?

  Stella gripped the soft material of t
he throw draped around her shoulders, staring straight into the hot gaze of the man leaning across the table.

  No, she shouldn’t be arguing with him. She should be cool, calm and collected, ignoring him as if he didn’t matter and nothing he said meant anything.

  Because it didn’t. He wasn’t a person to her. He was barely even a man.

  Except that was the problem, wasn’t it?

  Looking into his hot, dark eyes, feeling the spice of his aftershave and the warmth of his own personal scent wrapping around her, she couldn’t think of him as anything but a man.

  An overwhelmingly attractive man.

  Her mouth dried and she knew she should look away, but she simply couldn’t tear her gaze from his.

  The atmosphere between them changed. Became electric, volatile.

  All it would take was a single spark and the air between them would catch fire.

  Stand up. Walk away. He’s already got to you once. Are you really going to let him get to you again?

  She couldn’t. Yet her heartbeat was loud in her ears and her skin felt tight, prickling all over with the awareness of how close he was.

  ‘Oh, kitten,’ Dante said, a rough thread of heat running through his beautiful voice. ‘You really need to stop me.’

  She should. She wanted to. And yet...his mouth was very close, the shape of his bottom lip the perfect curve. She’d taken a bite out of it in that hotel room in Monte Carlo, testing the softness of it between her teeth. The taste of him had been delicious, a dark, rich flavour that she’d wanted more of. God, she could still remember it even now.

  Her own mouth watered. All she’d have to do was lean forward and she could taste him again...

  ‘Kitten.’ He sounded even rougher now. ‘You’re playing with fire—you understand that, don’t you?’

  It took effort to drag her attention from his mouth, to meet the molten gold gleaming in his eyes, evidence of a desire he didn’t bother to hide.

  A desire that was just as strong as it had been five weeks ago and just as hot. And against which he was just as helpless as she was.

  You could use that.

  A hot burst of reaction shuddered down her spine.

  And why couldn’t she use it? She had no power here, no weapons of her own. She needed something. She hated the feeling of being powerless and weak. It made her feel like she was ten again, after she’d betrayed her brother to the police and she’d had to watch him be dragged away to prison. Powerless to stop it. Knowing she was the one to blame. Her and her soft heart.

  She wouldn’t be that weak. Not ever again.

  Playing with fire? Dante Cardinali didn’t know the half of it.

  Stella didn’t answer. Instead she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. She didn’t know how to kiss, but that wasn’t really the point. This was a power move, a rattle of the sabre. A declaration of war.

  Her heartbeat thundered, his lips against hers soft and hot. She could almost taste him and it made her tremble, because there was a hunger inside her and it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

  But he didn’t move.

  Wanting a reaction, she touched her tongue to his bottom lip, tracing the shape of it, exploring gently, hesitantly.

  Still, he didn’t move.

  Frustrated, Stella pulled back. Perhaps she’d been mistaken? Perhaps he didn’t want her after all?

  But, no, there was fire blazing in his eyes and it nearly burned her to the ground.

  ‘I told you that you shouldn’t have done that,’ he said.

  Then abruptly he pushed himself away from the table top and straightened, moving around the side of the table with all the fluid, athletic grace of one of the great cats.

  Excitement gripped her, the thump of her out-of-control heartbeat the only thing she could hear.

  This time she was the one who didn’t move, watching him come for her, his searing gaze holding hers. And there were no smiles now, no lazy, arrogant charm. The veneer of the playboy had been stripped away to reveal the predator underneath.

  Perhaps she should have been scared, because he was very big and very strong, and she was far smaller than he was. But she wasn’t scared. No, the opposite. She felt powerful. Because this was her doing. She’d been the one to strip that veneer from him, no one else. Just her. And with only a kiss.

  It was intoxicating. She’d never felt so strong.

  Dante stood in front of her for a second then, very slowly, he leaned down, putting his hands on the table on either side of her, surrounding her with the power of his muscular body and his heat, the heady spice of his scent.

  ‘What,’ he murmured softly, a dark threat in his voice, ‘do you think you’re doing?’

  Stella lifted her chin, wild excitement careening around inside her, every part of her alive and aware of him and how close he was. ‘What do you think I’m doing?’

  His eyes glittered and for a second she saw the extent of his hunger stark in the inky depths, wide and deep and endless. It stole her breath. ‘Don’t you dare play with me,’ he growled low in warning.

  She shouldn’t challenge him, not when it was obvious to her that he was close to some kind of edge. But she couldn’t help herself. There was a hot tide of exhilaration washing through her and she couldn’t shut herself up. ‘Why shouldn’t I play with you? Or can’t you handle it when the boot’s on the other foot?’

  A muscle flicked in the side of his jaw. ‘I can handle it.’ The roughness in his voice was pronounced, a velvet caress that made her shiver. ‘But you can’t.’

  She smiled, half-drunk on her own power over him. ‘Oh, really?’ she challenged, deliberating trying to incite him. ‘Try me.’

  The look in his eyes seared her. ‘Be sure, kitten. Be very sure you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Oh, I know. But I don’t think you do...’

  But she never got to finish, his lips coming down on hers in a hard kiss that stole the words right out of her mouth and the rest of her breath from her lungs.

  It was hot and desperate, his tongue pushing into her mouth, demanding. Taking. But she didn’t pull away. She lifted her hands and shoved her fingers into the thick silk of his hair, half-rising from the seat to kiss him back, just as demanding, just as hard.

  Then he reached for her, lifting her, and plates were smashing, the sounds of glasses shattering as he shoved the remains of their meal off the table to clear a space. He placed her on the table in front of him, his hips pushing between her thighs, his hands sliding up her back. One hand tangled in her hair, tugging her head back, while the other shoved down the back of her jeans, his hot palm sliding over her bare skin and drawing her right to the edge of the table, pressing the damp heat between her thighs to the hard ridge beneath the wool of his trousers. And then he took control of the kiss and of her, utterly.

  It was as if she’d unleashed a hurricane and she was standing right in the middle of the howling wind and driving rain, letting the fury of it buffet her. There was no fear, only an intense excitement and exhilaration, knowing she was the one who’d called this raging storm into being, that it was here because of her.

  And she didn’t know why that was so damn thrilling, but it was.

  She curled her fingers into his hair, trembling as he took what he wanted, and she let him, her mouth opening beneath his, the heat and fire of his kiss igniting her. Turning her to flame so she was burning too, just as bright, just as hot. And she kissed him back, revelling in the rich taste of him, the wine he’d been drinking a subtle flavour that had her desperate for more.

  He made a harsh sound, a kind of growl, the hand in her hair pulling harder so her head was drawn back, her throat exposed. Then he tore his mouth from hers, moving down to her jaw, raining kisses over her sensitive skin, nipping at the delicate cords of her neck, licking the pulse at the base of her throat that be
at hard and fast for him.

  Stella shivered all over, arching back to give him more access, his hot kisses a shower of sparks on her skin. It made her feel tight and hungry all over, desperate and hollow for something to fill her up.

  Him.

  But he was way ahead of her. He lifted his hands and gripped the thin, cheap material of her T-shirt and, without any effort, ripped the whole thing down the front, exposing her hot skin to the cool air. She gasped, shivering as his palms stroked over her stomach and then up, his fingers gripping the delicate lace of her bra and ripping that apart too.

  ‘Dante.’ His name slipped out on a sigh and then, as he shoved the remains of her clothing off her shoulders and his palms found her bare breasts, ‘Dante...’

  He said nothing, his mouth at her throat, his hands stroking and cupping her, squeezing gently, his thumbs finding the hard buds of her acutely sensitive nipples and teasing them.

  Stella shuddered, her mind going blank as his hot mouth moved further down, finding one nipple and closing around it, sucking hard. Pleasure exploded brightly in her mind, a column of fire lighting her up from the inside, burning away her resistance, burning away all thoughts of power and who had it, who was weak and who wasn’t. Of the revenge she had to take and the baby she was carrying.

  There was only this fire, this intensity, and the pleasure that was burning them both alive.

  It had been so long since she’d touched another person, since she’d been touched herself, and her hands found their way to his suit jacket before she knew what she was doing, shoving it from his shoulders and then scrabbling at the buttons of his business shirt, pulling them apart. Threads ripped, a button or two pinging on the floor of the stone terrace, and then his skin was beneath her fingers, smooth, hot and hard with muscle. His head lifted from her breasts, his mouth on hers again, the hunger in him demanding, and she met it, pushing her tongue into his mouth, exploring him with the same raw demand with which he was exploring her. She shoved at the cotton of his shirt, pushing that off his shoulders too, wanting nothing between her palms and his hot skin. And, God, he felt so good. So smooth and hard, with just the right amount of hair prickling against her palms, his muscles tightening as she stroked him.