MELANIE MILBURNE – Cinderella's Scandalous Secret (страница 3)

‘That was rather sudden, was it not?’ His voice contained a note of scepticism that matched the piercing focus of his gaze. ‘I thought you liked living in London?’

Isla sucked in her tummy to her backbone. She straightened the toiletries on the marble counter for something to do with her hands, annoyed they weren’t as steady as she would have liked. ‘I felt ready for a change of scene. Anyway, I could no longer afford living in London.’

His top lip curled and his glittering eyes pulsated with barely controlled anger. ‘Is there someone else? Is that why you called time on us?’

Isla met his gaze in the mirror, her stomach freefalling at the bitterness shining in his eyes. ‘Us? We weren’t an “us” and you know it. It was a fling, that’s all, and I wanted it to end.’

‘Liar.’ The word came out like a bullet. Hard. Direct. Bullseye. ‘At least have the decency to be honest with me.’

Honest? How could she be honest about anything about herself? About her background. About her shame. It didn’t matter if she was wearing haute couture or hand-me-downs, the shame burned like a flame inside her. ‘There’s no one else. I told you in my note—I simply wanted out.’

Finding out she was carrying Rafe’s baby had thrown Isla into a terrifying world of uncertainty. The thought of him rejecting her, throwing her and their baby out of his life like her father had done to her had been too painful. She couldn’t think of any way she could tell him about her pregnancy that wouldn’t cause irreversible destruction in his life. She hadn’t known him long enough or well enough to trust he wouldn’t try and pressure her into having an abortion. Not that she would have allowed him or anyone to do that. She had enough doubts about her own mothering ability. She had been in and out of foster care since she was seven; her memories of her own mother were patchy at best, painful at worst. What sort of mother would she make? It was a constant nagging toothache type of worry that kept her awake at night. The doubts and fears throbbed on the inside of her skull like miniature hammers.

‘Ah, yes. Your note.’ There was a disparaging bite to Rafe’s tone.

Isla forced herself to hold his searing gaze. She put on her game face, the one she had perfected over the years. The face that had helped her survive yet another placement with strangers. The mask of cool indifference that belied the churning, burning, yearning emotions fighting for room in her chest.

‘You’re the one who needs to be honest. You’re only angry because I was the one to leave you. But you would’ve called time sooner rather than later. None of your flings last longer than a month at the most. I was already on borrowed time.’

A muscle worked in the lower quadrant of his jaw, his eyes still brewing and boiling with bitterness. ‘Couldn’t you have waited until I got home from New York to speak to me face to face? Or is that why you didn’t come with me on that trip while I negotiated that deal? Because you’d always planned to leave while I was away. You didn’t want to risk having me try to change your mind.’

Isla pressed her lips together, struggling to keep her own temper in check. She had known how important that deal was to him. The biggest of his career. The man he was negotiating the deal with was a deeply religious family man who might not have signed off on the deal if news broke about Rafe’s pregnant lover with the salacious background. She had started to feel nauseous just before he’d suggested she come with him to New York. Thinking at first it was a mild stomach bug, she had decided to stay at his villa in Sicily while he went abroad. She had gone everywhere else with him during their two months together, slotting into his life without giving too much thought as to why she shouldn’t be subsuming her life so readily, so recklessly into his. But then a wriggling worm of suspicion about the possibility of pregnancy had tunnelled into her brain to such a degree it was all she could think about. She’d had to know one way or the other. And she’d wanted to be alone when she did. She hadn’t wanted him finding her with a test wand in her hand, or finding her bent over the toilet heaving her insides out.

Once she’d seen the test was positive, she’d known what she had to do.

End it.

End their fling and get the hell out of his life before more harm was done. Because she would have brought him harm. Great harm. Harm from which there would be no easy recovery. The Pandora’s Box of her past would have created havoc and mayhem in his well-to-do circles. The New York deal would have been compromised—the deal he had worked on for months and months. One leaked photo of her in lingerie, dancing in that sleazy gentlemen’s supper club, and Rafe’s desire to chair a prominent children’s charity would be destroyed. Future business deals of his would be jeopardised from the stain of her background.

Isla had pictured the headlines—Exotic dancer pregnant with billionaire Italian hotelier Raffaele Angeliri’s love-child! He would not have come back from that easily, if at all. Scandals stuck to high-profile people, sometimes for the rest of their lives. She couldn’t do it to him; she couldn’t do it to their child. To have it surrounded by shame from the moment it was born, even before it was born.

Isla raised her chin and chilled her gaze to freezing. ‘You wouldn’t have been able to change my mind.’

His eyes went to her mouth and then back to her gaze. ‘Are you sure about that, cara?’ His voice was a deep gravelly burr that was as wickedly sensual as a slow stroke of one of his hands between her legs. And his smouldering gaze threatened to scorch her eyes out of her head and leave two smoking black holes in their place.

Isla swung away from the marble counter, grabbing the used towels from the rack. She had to get away from him before she did or said something she would regret. Like, Guess what I’m hiding underneath this apron? Your baby. Of course, a part of her—a huge part—believed he had a right to know he was to become a father. And if she had come from a similar background to his she would have told him upfront—no question about it.

But they came from different worlds and there was no way she could see to bridge the deep chasm that divided her world from his.

‘Leave that.’ He gestured with his hand at the towels she was carrying, a frown etched between his eyes. ‘Why are you cleaning hotel rooms? Surely you could have picked work more in line with your artistic aspirations?’

Isla kept the towels against her body. She needed whatever armour she could use against his disturbingly potent presence. Damp towels were hardly going to cut it, but still. ‘I’m working for a friend, helping her out. She runs a cleaning agency—Leave It to Layla and Co. You might have heard of it?’ She knew she was rambling, sounding as flustered as she felt. It annoyed her to be so on edge because she had always prided herself on her acting ability. Hadn’t she spent most of her life pretending to be someone she wasn’t?

Rafe’s gaze was unwavering. ‘I haven’t but I’ll keep the name in mind. I’m thinking about buying this hotel. That’s why I’m staying here under an assumed name to see how things work behind the scenes.’

‘Don’t you have enough hotels by now?’ Isla didn’t hold back on the sarcasm in her tone. ‘I mean, you nailed that New York deal, didn’t you? One of your biggest, right?’

If he was proud of his achievements he didn’t show it in his expression. She might as well have been commenting on how many shirts and ties he’d collected since their breakup. One side of his mouth lifted in a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. ‘Nice to know you’ve been taking a keen interest in my business affairs.’

Argh. Why had she made it sound as if she was poring over the newspapers for every little snippet of information about him? Isla affected a bored expression to make up for lost ground, moving past him to go back to the main part of the suite. ‘Look, I really need to finish this suite. My shift ends in a few minutes.’

He caught one of her arms on her way past, his fingers a deceptively gentle bracelet around the fine bones of her wrist. Her skin reacted to his touch, every nerve standing up to take notice—remembering, wanting, needing. ‘Stay and have a drink with me.’ His voice had dropped to that same low deep burr that made the base of her spine fizz like thousands of bubbles in top shelf champagne.

‘No can do.’ Isla pulled her wrist away, pointedly rubbing at her skin. ‘I have another engagement.’ The lie slipped so easily from her lips, but then she had a Master’s degree in face-saving deceit.

Something moved at the back of his gaze as quick as a camera shutter click. Disappointment? Pain? Anger? She couldn’t quite tell. ‘I’m sure they won’t mind waiting.’

Isla lifted her chin, locking her defiant gaze on his. She could feel the tug-of-war between their two strong wills prickling and pulsing in the air like soundwaves. The push and pull of their personalities had more or less defined their whirlwind fling. ‘You can’t force me to do anything any more, Rafe.’