Needing a distraction from her escalating thoughts, Georgia fixed coffee for Niccolo. Once the machine was working its magic and the kitchen filled with the gorgeous scent of fresh coffee, she rooted through the cupboards for something non-caffeinated she could drink. Peppermint tea. That would do.
She put the kettle on and, finally, turned her attention to the paraphernalia they’d left strewn over the kitchen table when exhaustion had driven them to bed. Her stomach turned at the bowl of cold, red water. Red from all the blood she’d washed off Niccolo’s torso. Blood from the knife wound she’d inflicted on him.
How could she ever forgive herself for that?
She’d just finished cleaning up when he appeared like an apparition in the doorway.
He’d put his trousers on, but his magnificent torso and feet were bare. The bandage above his hip was dotted with red where his wound had bled. It gave little solace that most of the bandage remained white.
She caught his stare. Caught the tightness of his jaw. It was the only visible sign of his fury, and she felt her own anger ignite and swirl into the mix of emotions that were already only a heartbeat away from overwhelming her… And felt the guilt rise up with it.
Damn him for making her feel guilty. She’d never denied that he deserved to know, but she’d been trying to protect him. Even after everything he’d put her through, she’d been trying to protect the bastard.
Before he could speak, she swallowed her emotions and steadily said, “I know you’re angry with me, but please sit down and take some painkillers before you start shouting at me again.”
Dark brown eyes narrowing to slits, he treaded to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair and sat on it.
Feeling his baleful stare penetrating her, she poured his coffee, trying her best to act nonchalant when her heart was thrashing wildly and her hands were shaking. She could feel his loathing; taste it in the air thickening around them, and she pulled in a long breath for courage before placing the mug and two paracetamol in front of him, saying, “I’m going to have a look around and see if there’s anything stronger in the house that you can take for the…”
Her words cut off with a gasp as he came to life, snatching hold of her wrist and deftly twisting her around to trap her between his thighs.
“Nic…” His expressionless stare silenced her. Expressionless, but there was something underlying it, a something so far removed from hate that it made her chest fill with all the emotion she’d been so desperately trying to smother.
His ankles hooked around hers, trapping her even more effectively.
He didn’t utter a word. His dark, inscrutable eyes boring into hers, he lifted his hands to the top button of the shirt she was wearing.
His nostrils flared. Slowly, methodically, he undid the buttons of the shirt. Georgia offered not a word of protest. She couldn’t. She was frozen in his stare, her thrashing heart caught in her throat.
When he’d unbuttoned the final one, he pulled the shirt apart. Only then did he drop his stare. Only then did a flicker of emotion spasm over his features.
How had he missed it, Niccolo wondered bleakly. Even with everything that had gone on since he’d crept into the Bayswater apartment in the dead of night, he should have noticed. Should have seen.
The curves he’d worshipped had grown. The breasts were, impossible though he’d have believed it to be, fuller. The hips wider. But it was the gently rounded stomach where the change was most pronounced. Georgia’s stomach had always been flat in comparison to her other curves, a result of daily Pilates sessions in her living room, but now there was a definable roundedness to it which only someone who knew her intimately would notice.
That definable roundness contained their baby.
His baby.
A long breath of air expelled from his lungs, and he lifted his chin to gaze back into the big blue eyes he’d once had the fleeting, foolish notion of spending the rest of his life staring into.
He was met with defiance. Angry defiance laced with apprehension.
A strange mixture of wonder, anger, compassion and lust surged through his veins, and he spread his fingers over the rounded belly his child lived within, hating Georgia more than he’d ever hated anyone. She’d deliberately kept this miracle from him.
Her bottom lip trembled.
Good. Let her see his rage. Let her feel it.
“This is why your sister came to Naples, yes?” he said, still gazing into her defiant eyes as his fingers explored her stomach. If she’d conceived in Paris, that meant she was four months pregnant. He’d missed nearly half the pregnancy.
She jerked a nod.
“She was going to tell me?”
Another nod.
“You lied to me.” Lied about her sister’s reasons for flying to Naples. Callie hadn’t been seeking to stop the wedding, or humiliate him or the Espositos with intimate pictures thatbelonged only to him and Georgia. She’d been trying to reach him with the truth about Georgia being pregnant with his child.
