The Ranieri Bride Page 4

  ‘I hope I would not be quite so crass as to say that to any woman,’ he fed to her like vile-tasting poison.

  It hit its spot, too, sank into her flesh and hurt.

  Freya straightened up, quivering like crazy. ‘Stand where I’m standing, Enrico,’ she responded huskily. ‘Believe me, from this side of the desk you are as crass as they come.’

  With that she turned, arms folding around her as she slumped down against the edge of the desk, feeling weak and shaky now because it had all become so heated when she’d been determined to—

  He moved behind her. The fine hairs across her nape tingled as she waited in the thrumming, drumming silence that had fallen to find out what he was going to do or say next.

  It was annoying to feel it, but tears began pricking at her backs of her eyes and her throat. She had loved this man once, and so thoroughly she’d believed nothing he could ever do would kill that love.

  Maybe it wasn’t dead, she thought then as her silly, dipping, thumping heart gave a squeeze to remind her that some feeling for him was still there—like a desperately hurt and wounded love that was suddenly threatening to strangle her breath.

  Bleakly she stared fixedly down at her feet. Her shoes were scuffed, she noticed inconsequentially. She’d forgotten to buff them up this morning before she left the flat. And her skirt was creased.

  Unclipping a hand from beneath her other arm, she tried to smooth out the creases with fingers that trembled so badly she gave up and shoved the hand back where it had been.

  He appeared on the periphery of her lowered vision. A pair of long masculine legs wrapped in the finest silk-wool mix striding with long grace across the office. His shoes weren’t scuffed, she saw. That almost black suit wouldn’t dare to show a crease.

  ‘Want something?’ he offered.

  She heard the chink of glass and shook her head. ‘I have to get back…’

  ‘To the riveting job scanning hard copy?’

  That brought her head up, dignity firing up her green eyes. ‘It pays my wages, Enrico.’

  ‘Meagre wages,’ he derided. ‘You earned ten times that amount when you worked for me. Josh Hannard did not know what a gem he had hiding in his basement. You could have run this place more efficiently than he did standing on your head with your hands tied behind your back.’

  ‘You sacked me—’

  ‘For colluding with my cousin to rob me.’ He nodded. ‘I remember it so well. Luca made some big mistakes in his life but that one got him caught and thrown out of the family. You were only thrown out of a job.’

  And your life, Freya tagged on silently. ‘Without a good reference from you I was virtually unemployable.’

  He just lifted his drink to his mouth and drank. Indifferent, uncaring, cold, arrogant…

  She was back to those adjectives, she realised and heaved in a deep breath. ‘I didn’t do it. He set me up. I caught him with his fingers in your safe and threatened to tell the police.’

  ‘Only threatened?’ A sleek eyebrow arched cynically.

  And that, Freya thought, had been her downfall. Luca was family. She’d worked and lived with Enrico long enough to know that you did not shop family to anyone, especially to the police.

  Or thought she knew it.

  ‘I decided that it was up to you to make that decision. So I went back to the apartment to wait for you to get home. He arrived drunk as a skunk. I’d just got out of the bath. He had a key he said you’d given him so he could let himself in. He was standing there in our bedroom stark naked and l-laughing at me, telling me that you’d handed me over to him because—’

  ‘You know I don’t want to hear this, so why are you saying it?’ Enrico cut in coldly.

  ‘One reason,’ she said, cramming the rest of that ugly scene back down inside her. ‘I have as much right as the next person to defend myself against the slur you Ranieris placed on my character.’

  ‘But I did not listen to you then, so why do you think I will listen now?’

  ‘Because you want something from me that you are not going to get without giving me a fair hearing and then reparation for what you and your rotten cousin did to me.’

  ‘Are we talking about my son?’

  ‘He isn’t your son.’

  The tension was heating up again. Enrico stiffened infinitesimally. ‘He is my son,’ he insisted.

  ‘I want proof of that.’

  ‘Perdono?’ He stared at her. ‘Isn’t that my line?’

  Freya crossed her arms more tightly and refused to rise to his sarcasm. ‘I don’t need to prove anything,’ she bluffed. ‘And since I don’t want you to be Nicky’s father I am contesting your claim. If you’re that sure of yourself then prove it,’ she challenged. ‘I want DNA proof.’

  ‘Is this your idea of a joke?’ he demanded.

  Not so she’d noticed. Freya gave a small shrug. ‘I’m the woman you believe tripped like a butterfly from Ranieri to Ranieri—’

  ‘Will you stop saying my name as if it is an insult?’ he ground out.

  But the name was an insult to her. ‘If what you believe about me is true, then even this man-tripping butterfly would not know if you are my son’s father. So I demand proof before I let you near Nicky,’ she repeated.

  ‘But anyone with eyes can tell that he belongs to me!’ Enrico bit out.

  ‘Or Luca,’ she said, and watched with grim satisfaction as his handsome face locked up. ‘Unless, of course, what you believe about me is just a pack of wicked lies you enjoyed swallowing…’

  ‘I did not enjoy it,’ he answered stiffly.

  ‘Then in my place,’ she continued, undeterred by the interruption, ‘no caring mother would want a man who can believe such bad things about her to have anything to do with her child. Your cynical view of me would inevitably rub off on him and poison his mind about the mother he loves.’

  ‘I would not do that.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. So I repeat, you prove Nicky is your son because I am not going to help you.’

  He turned on her then, slamming the glass down. ‘But you know he’s my son!’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Stop playing this game, Freya.’ He frowned impatiently. ‘This is stupid. I know he is mine, even if you cannot be sure.’

  ‘Oh, that was good, Enrico.’ She smiled. ‘I turn the tables on you and you’re turning them back again—but that was a mistake,’ she declared. ‘Because all you’ve just managed to do is to confirm what a truly uncaring and cynical bastard you are. So let me put it bluntly…’ Freya straightened from the desk. ‘I don’t want you having any influence in my son’s life, therefore I will do whatever it takes to keep you out of it. I’ll fight you with medical science if you make me, then I’ll fight you in court.’

  ‘You have the cash handy to back that up?’

  ‘There is such a thing as legal aid in this country,’ she pointed out. And on that she turned for the door. ‘Call Fredo off,’ she added as she started walking. ‘Or I will inform the authorities that we have a child-stalker in the building.’

  ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’

  Freya’s head went back. ‘I’m walking out of here—’

  ‘Out of your job—?’

  The challenge landed like a barb to hit dead centre of its target, acting like a lead weight that dropped at her feet and pulled her to a stop.

  ‘No,’ she whispered.

  ‘Need it, do you, Jenson?’ he drawled. ‘Need the meagre wages it pays into your bank?’

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed.

  ‘Need the day care it gives to your son, also? Now, just how would you manage if it wasn’t there…?’

  Freya’s insides began trembling, the meaning behind each single taunt making her feel suddenly very sick. Cold defiance was only effective as a weapon when you had the resources to back it up.

  Enrico had just shown her that she had none.

  She turned slowly. It was the only way to do it if she didn�
�t want to collapse in a heap on the floor. He was still standing by the drinks cabinet, lounging there now like some super-arrogant modern sculptured Italian god, with his long legs crossed at the ankles and his casual air of sartorial elegance, his power and confidence knocking the spots off her attempt to gain the upper hand. The afternoon sun was pouring in through the windows, catching hold of his lean, golden features and glinting, hard eyes, and his even harder-looking mouth clipped by a tight, taunting smile.

  She’d gone quite nicely pale, Enrico noted with grim satisfaction. Toss your head at me now if you dare.

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ she husked out.

  ‘Why not?’ he countered. ‘I am the crass bastard who hands you over to his cousin for a bit of good sex, remember? I am capable of doing anything.’

  He didn’t mean it, Freya told herself anxiously. He was just getting his own back on her for calling him crass. ‘But it would hurt so many other mothers with—’

  ‘Oh, come on, Freya,’ he cut in, ‘you worked with me for a year so you know the score. If you wanted to cut costs at Hannard’s, where would you begin—?’

  ‘Not with the crèche!’ she cried out.

  ‘Because you have a vested interest there?’ Her eyes were flashing with fear, not defiance now, Enrico noted. ‘Whereas I do not.’

  ‘You—you…’ The words trailed off, bitten back before she could say them.

  Enrico leant forward slightly. ‘Yes?’ he prompted. ‘Were you about to say something important then, cara? Were you about to tell me that I do have a vested interest there?’

  ‘No,’ she choked out.

  He relaxed back again. ‘Your own job, then,’ he moved on with a zealous, razor-like slice. ‘If you had to sit on my side of the desk, what other cost-cutting exercise would you be looking at? The filing department, perhaps?’ he suggested. ‘That vast paper storeroom in the basement of this building that uses up expensive workspace that could be leased out to some other business for a damn good return?’

  ‘Every business has files to store.’ Her arms were back round her body again, trying to defend the panic erupting beneath their tight clasp.

  ‘All the efficiently run businesses I know do not employ a clutch of mindless people for the exclusive task of feeding paper into a couple of ancient scanning machines,’ he responded with contempt. ‘I could contract out—bring in fifty people with fifty state-of-the-art machines and clear that whole basement of paper in a week. It would cost me maximum—’ He named a figure that made Freya blench. ‘That makes your job and the jobs of your fellow paper-scanners redundant. Now, where do I turn next to cut costs?’

  Freya was really trembling now—no, shivering, her skin as cold as ice. In one easy shift of his brain he’d threatened to relieve her of her job, plus those of the dozen others who worked in the basement with her. And if that wasn’t enough, he was also threatening to relieve thirty-four other mothers of their child-care facility, thereby making the staff that ran the crèche redundant, too.

  ‘You don’t deserve a son,’ she breathed thickly. ‘You don’t deserve to be standing there at all! You should be crawling around in some gutter right now, getting your just deserts for being such an outright low-down, no-good excuse for a man!’

  Impervious to insults, Enrico just shrugged a broad shoulder. ‘I am in the business of saving drowning companies, not people,’ he answered. ‘And I can tell you bluntly that this place runs on pure fresh air right now. Everyone working here has been living on borrowed time,’ he added grimly. ‘There is not a single employee I would willingly keep on.’

  ‘And I will be the first one to go,’ she muttered. ‘I h-hate you,’ she added on a driven breath.

  ‘Really? Now, I wonder what incentive I could find that would change your mind about that? More money, perhaps? A safer job? Child care for the bambino to better that which he enjoys now?’

  Her green eyes sparkled at him, face so white Enrico wondered if she was about to faint. ‘He loves the care he gets right here,’ she insisted unsteadily.

  ‘Come and sit down again and we will discuss it…’

  But Freya didn’t want to sit down. She wanted to turn around and run and never look back. Another silence stretched; so did the tension, keening like rusty wire scraping across her bones. She could feel him watching her, waiting, could feel the cold, hard, ruthless cut of his brain calculating what more it was going to take to make her give in.

  ‘I think, Jenson, this might be a good point for me to remind you of exactly who I am…’

  And now he was truly pulling rank. Her spine stiffened tautly. But she still couldn’t get her leaden feet to budge.

  ‘Don’t threaten me, Enrico.’ She made one last husky grab at control here.

  For an answer Enrico straightened up and walked back to his desk. With a smooth reach of his hand he picked up the telephone, his hard black gaze not leaving her wary, pale face.

  ‘Carlo,’ he said smoothly, ‘I am terminating Jenson’s employment with this company, with immediate effect. Have her workstation cleared and her personal possessions brought up here, please.’

  As cool as that, he completely shattered her. As cool as that, he put down the phone. ‘There,’ he drawled lazily, ‘sacked again.’

  Totally impassive, he leant back against the desk and waited for the full weight of what he had just done to sink in.

  Then he said levelly, ‘Now come back here and sit down…’

  Like a ghost on a walkabout, Freya moved towards him. If he’d thought the cheap suit resembled grey tissue paper, then the colour of her face matched it now.

  Had he seriously sacked her? Enrico asked himself. Hell, he did not know if he was serious. Could he be this ruthless to a woman in her situation? Hell, yes, he admitted, so long as he did not know her as intimately as he knew this particular woman.

  Other than for that small detail, Freya knew as well as he did that you did not take personal circumstances into consideration when you worked in his line of business.

  So she believed him, even if he wasn’t sure he believed himself.

  She came to a stop right in front of him. With the chair she’d been sitting on earlier nudging against her right knee, the stretched length of his long legs was blocking her way and preventing her from moving to sit down.

  This close up he could see the fine tremors attacking her slender figure. Her eyes were lowered, her arms wrapped around her body as if they were some kind of protection.

  But they were not.

  ‘Please don’t do this to me,’ she whispered. ‘I need this job.’

  For some inexplicable reason, that shaky little plea made his body stir in a flood of heat.

  Enrico let it happen.

  He could smell her perfume, warm and female and tantalisingly light. The suit was a sack but it did not stop him from building an image of what lay hidden beneath: the pale, firm breasts with their wonderfully sensitive nipples, the slender ribcage that loved to be licked, just like the tiny oval of her navel and the delicate lines of her groin.

  Go any lower and he was in trouble, he mused grimly, so flicked his gaze back to her face. Bella, he thought. Molto bella, even with her too-pale skin and small, trembling mouth and the hidden starkness of her green eyes.

  If he took her hair down, would she resist him? If he leant over and kissed that trembling mouth, would she bite?

  He had her right where he wanted her and she knew it. She was defeated in every way but for that one important confession: yes, he’s your son. It would come sooner or later. He was not that bothered about hearing it right now because this was much more potent, this warm sensation that was seeping nicely into his blood.

  Could he let himself want her like this again? Sure, a lazy voice in his head replied. You’ve learned very well over the last three years how to take physical pleasure without an emotional connection—a great learning curve that you could repeat on the likes of this cheating, lying, robbing, sexy female who, for twel
ve glorious months, once fulfilled your every emotional and sexual need.

  For three long years he’d never been able to achieve quite that level of sexual excitement again—or give anywhere near that much of himself emotionally again.

  She owed him. She owed him in so many ways that it was almost like an orgasm in itself to just stand here relishing the different ways she was about to repay the debt.

  ‘You have something to offer me as incentive to change my mind?’ he prompted softly.

  She gave no answer. Her eyes remained lowered. The heat inside him began to increase.