Her Husband's Christmas Bargain Page 4

  ‘Because you were secretly hoping that one day we’d get back together?’ he suggested.

  ‘You know that’s not true,’ Megan thrust. ‘And, while we’re on the subject, let me make it quite clear that I shall never come back to you. Never! So we might as well start divorce proceedings as soon as Christmas is over.’

  Stunned by Megan’s statement, Luigi sat forward in his chair and looked at her in consternation. ‘Divorce? Now! When we’ve found each other again? When we have Charlotte to consider?’ Despite the warmth from the blazing logs a chill radiated out from his heart until his whole body felt as though it were packed in ice. This was the last thing he’d expected—or wanted! She couldn’t have given him a crueller Christmas gift.

  ‘I’m perfectly serious,’ she retorted. ‘We’re not compatible, you and I. We each want different things in life.’

  ‘I want Charlotte.’ He was adamant on that point. Whether Megan came with her was her problem, but he wasn’t letting the child go. She meant more to him than any amount of money. The thought surprised him because previously the state of his bank balance was the most important thing in his life.

  ‘Charlotte doesn’t come without me,’ she announced. ‘And as I have no—’

  ‘You’re not being given a choice,’ he warned her testily. ‘I’ve got you here now and you’re staying whether you like it or not.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘IS THAT a warning?’ asked Megan, the air constricting in her throat as it closed tightly over Luigi’s words. He sounded deadly serious.

  ‘It’s not a warning, it’s a fact,’ he announced. ‘And if you dare to defy me I’ll have every court in the country on your back. You’ve denied me my daughter all these years; you can no longer be allowed to get away with it.’

  Panic struck in Megan’s heart. Could he do it? Had he the right? Surely the courts would find in her favour? Could she afford to take the risk? Was she stuck in this situation? She felt the colour drain from her face and sank back into the chair. ‘I can’t believe you’d do this to me.’

  ‘You can’t? After what you’ve done to me?’ he countered harshly. ‘I think you’ve got away with too much for too long.’

  ‘What if Charlotte doesn’t want to stay here? What if Charlotte doesn’t like you after she’s seen what a bad father you’ll be to her? Don’t forget I know how much time you spend away from home. She won’t like it, she won’t be very forgiving.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to spend more time here, won’t I?’ Dark brown eyes seared steadily into hers. He had beautiful eyes; she had always thought that. The whites were very clear and if you looked closely there was a black line around the brown iris. It gave them extra definition, and as he looked at her now she felt that he was seeing right into her mind.

  And he was seeing the doubt, the unhappiness, the fear. And he was waiting for her to speak. ‘You know you won’t,’ she flared. ‘Maybe for a while, but you’d soon fall back into your old ways. It’s a way of life. You wouldn’t know what it was like to spend every evening and weekend with your wife and child. You’d be itching to get back to work, to check that things were running smoothly in your absence. You don’t know how to delegate. As a matter of fact you don’t even know how to play with Charlotte.’

  Her rebuke hit home. A dark red flush swept across his face and the air suddenly went chill. ‘If I’d been given a chance then maybe I would,’ he shot back. ‘You’re the one who’s being unfair here, not me.’

  ‘I like that,’ she tossed fiercely. ‘You’ve more or less said that you’re going to hold us prisoner—yet I’m the one who’s being unfair? I don’t think so.’

  Luigi jumped to his feet. ‘I’m sure that by the time Christmas is over you’ll have had the chance to see for yourself that it makes sense. It’s time for us to eat. Come, we mustn’t keep Cook waiting.’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ protested Megan.

  ‘You will be when you see what culinary delights Edwina has managed to conjure up. She’s a marvel in the kitchen.’

  Megan reluctantly allowed herself to follow him into the smallest of the two dining rooms where a walnut table had been set for the two of them. It looked very festive with a holly table decoration and red napkins tucked into gold rings, but Megan guessed that there would have been none of these seasonal trimmings if he were eating alone. He probably wouldn’t even have been home yet. He would dine out, or make do with a sandwich at around midnight. That used to be his normal practice.

  William, the butler, served their meal and Megan found with surprise that she was hungry, very much so.

  They started with mango and lobster on a green salad, a combination Megan had never had before, and she found it truly delicious and complementary. ‘Is your cook always this inventive?’ she asked between mouthfuls.

  ‘Always,’ he agreed. ‘She keeps urging me to have dinner parties so that she can show off her prowess.’

  ‘And do you?’ Megan dabbed a drop of French dressing from her lip with her napkin, an action Luigi watched closely. His eyes on her mouth reminded her of the time on their honeymoon when they’d shared a bowl of strawberries. He had dipped each one in cream and then held it between his teeth for her to take half. And any cream that was left on her lips he had licked off. It had been a truly sexually exciting experience and she dashed the memory away quickly. It was dangerous allowing such thoughts. Besides, such sensual activities had stopped once they were home and work consumed his every waking hour.

  The whole meal was a gastronomic experience, making Megan wonder what Christmas Day itself would be like. Her own cooking skills were limited to plain cooking. She ensured Charlotte had a well-balanced diet, they had no takeaway meals or fast food and they ate plenty of fruit, but she wasn’t into this type of cookery.

  ‘You’re enjoying your meal?’ Luigi had hardly taken his eyes off Megan all the time they were eating.

  ‘Very much so,’ she said. ‘You’ve found a treasure in Edwina.’

  ‘You could eat her food all the time if you—’

  ‘And I’d end up piling on weight. No, thank you. I prefer my own simple cooking.’

  ‘Maybe I should give Edwina her marching orders?’

  ‘Maybe you ought to get the message that we’re not staying,’ Megan retorted coolly.

  Luigi’s lips compressed and he said no more, but even when their meal was finished he wasn’t ready to let her go. ‘Where do you normally put Charlotte’s presents?’

  ‘I fill a stocking from Santa which I put by the fireplace, and a couple under the tree from me.’

  ‘Then we’d better start,’ he said.

  Megan frowned. ‘It won’t take a minute; it’s too soon. What if she wakes and comes down?’

  ‘If she wakes we’ll hear the monitor. I thought it a wise precaution in a house of this size. We don’t want her getting lost and upset.’

  We, thought Megan, as though he was already of the opinion that they were back together as husband and wife. But maybe it was a good idea to put the presents out because then she could go to bed early and escape him for a few hours. She really wasn’t looking forward to Christmas Day, which was a shame because it was normally the highlight of their year.

  It wasn’t that easy to get away from him, though. After they’d placed their presents—and she was pleased to note that there was only one from Luigi for his daughter—he invited her to join him for a nightcap. Megan wasn’t really in the mood but Luigi was insistent, and she knew he wouldn’t let her go until she’d agreed.

  She couldn’t help wondering how things would have been if she hadn’t run out on him. Would he be where he was today or would he have become a doting father and spent a lot more time at home? She would never know and, surprisingly, she felt a faint pang of regret that she’d never stopped to find out.

  ‘Would you have ever told me?’ he asked, his eyes steady on hers now as he sipped his Scotch.

  ‘About Charlotte?’ How had he known what s
he was thinking?

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered honestly. ‘Maybe one day, if Charlotte began asking about you. Not simply, Why haven’t I got a daddy?’

  ‘Then I can thank my lucky stars that I was in the right place at the right time. I could have waited a long, long time to meet my daughter.’ And with a swift change of subject, ‘You’re more beautiful than ever, do you know that? Motherhood suits you.’

  ‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ Megan assured him tartly.

  His lips curved upwards into a gentle smile. ‘It’s not flattery for the sake of it, it’s the truth.’

  They were back in his den, sitting in companion armchairs, the lights turned low, the fire flickering in the grate. The whole house was centrally heated, and she’d never thought Luigi the type to like old-fashioned comforts, but even so it was very welcome. Maybe the fire was in honour of Christmas. There was one already laid in the drawing room fireplace where the tree had been set up. Tomorrow she could imagine it roaring up the chimney, adding to the magic of Christmas for Charlotte.

  ‘Would you have gone to all this trouble if we hadn’t been here?’ asked Megan, preferring to steer the conversation back to safer grounds. ‘I mean the Christmas tree and the log fires.’

  ‘Truthfully?’

  ‘Truthfully.’

  ‘No,’ he answered. ‘What would have been the point? This is going to be the best Christmas ever for me—and for you too, I hope.’

  ‘I’m merely here to make Charlotte happy.’

  ‘You’re making me happy.’

  His voice went down an octave, seeming to vibrate through her bones, and Megan turned her head away, concentrating on her drink, taking large sips of the vodka and orange he had mixed for her. A big mistake; it went straight to her head. Much more of this and she wouldn’t be in charge of her senses. ‘I’ve never seen you as the slippers in front of the fire sort of guy.’

  ‘So how do you see me?’ he asked with a roguish growl, his eyes reflecting the glow of the embers.

  Megan felt them warming her—or was it the fire? Or even the drink? Whichever, she was growing hotter by the second. ‘As the tough businessman who’s feet never hit the ground. What made you buy Gerards? I thought you were in the IT industry.’

  ‘I still am, but I have my finger in lots of pies. I’ll tell you about them some day,’ he added dismissively, ‘but for the moment I want to talk about you. Why didn’t you tell me you were unhappy? Why did you walk out without saying a word?’

  ‘Because I knew you’d stop me,’ she retorted, her eyes condemning as she looked at him over the rim of her glass. Her almost empty glass, she realised. ‘You’d probably have sworn that you’d change, but I knew differently. And I was right, wasn’t I?’

  ‘No one will ever know,’ he answered sadly. ‘It’s hard to accept that I’ve missed the first three years of my daughter’s life—it’s something I shall never forgive you for,’ he finished harshly as he tossed the last of his drink down his throat. ‘Ever!’

  Megan finished her drink also and put her glass firmly down on the table. ‘I don’t want to talk about this. It’s late, I’m going to bed.’

  As she stood, he too got up, and before she could stop him his arms came around her. ‘But you’re still my wife, the mother of my daughter, and I’d like a goodnight kiss.’

  Megan struggled furiously but he refused to let her go. Instead his mouth came down on hers, one hand behind her head effectively cutting off her escape, the other against the small of her back. It was a long, punishing kiss and it sent resentment reeling through every inch of her body.

  There was no escape. The kiss deepened, his arms tightened, and all too soon she felt herself beginning to respond. It was like a replay of when she had met him. She could remember the day very clearly. This handsome, dark-haired, Latin-looking young man had stopped to pick up a bag she’d dropped. Ironically, it had been a few weeks before Christmas and her arms had been full of purchases. When she’d looked into his eyes to thank him she’d been so taken with his good looks that she’d dropped another of her parcels.

  ‘I think,’ he said, with a smile that turned her legs to jelly, ‘that I’d better help you to your car, or the bus, or wherever you’re going. Home, in fact. You’ve got an extraordinary amount of packages.’

  ‘Christmas presents,’ she admitted shyly. ‘And I’m catching the bus.’

  ‘I think not,’ he said with a laugh, ‘not unless you want to lose the lot as you’re jumping on or off. I’ll run you home; my car’s just around the corner.’

  ‘But I don’t know you. I—’

  ‘I assure you you’ll be perfectly safe. My name’s Luigi Costanzo, I live in Mickleover, near Derby.’ He flashed his business card in front of her and then tucked it into one of her bags. And Megan knew instinctively that she could trust him. He had an open, honest face, and he had almost to pass her house to get to his own. It would be silly to refuse.

  But still she hesitated.

  ‘I know how you must feel,’ he said. ‘A complete stranger and all that. The offer’s there if you want it, but I’ll still walk you to the bus stop if that’s what you’d prefer.’

  Megan was eighteen and he was much older than the boys she usually hung around with. Mid twenties, she imagined, maybe even older than that. She was enchanted by him. And she found herself agreeing to let him give her a lift.

  His car was smart, black and sleek. Whatever his business he was clearly doing well for himself. And he drove her straight to her door, even helping her with her parcels. Her parents’ eyes goggled when they saw her with a strange, handsome man, but they were clearly impressed.

  Before he left, Luigi asked whether he could see her again. Megan couldn’t refuse. By this time she was completely bowled over. Her insides felt as though they had turned to mush—as they were doing at this moment!

  His kiss was awakening all she’d ever felt, and Megan resented it, struggling even more furiously to free herself, until in the end he let her go. There was a twisted smile on his lips. ‘Something tells me that old emotions were stirred there. You’re not as immune to me as you’d have me believe.’

  ‘Wishful thinking,’ she retorted, her lovely grey eyes glaring icily.

  ‘Mmm, we’ll see.’

  Megan felt a tightening in her stomach. She didn’t like the way he said that. He was going to try again, she knew, and it was the last thing she wanted. Damn! How could she respond to him after all this time? She didn’t want to be involved with him again, not ever. He wasn’t good for Charlotte. A workaholic father was good for no child. She needed two full-time parents.

  ‘Goodnight!’ she tossed stormily and marched out.

  She felt Luigi’s eyes on her but he didn’t call her back, and she ran up the stairs as quickly as she could. It seemed to take an age to reach her room, but finally she found it, and closing the door quietly behind her, she stood a moment reflecting on her reaction to his kiss.

  It had shocked her beyond measure. She’d thought herself over him. For her feelings to rise so quickly after all these years was scary to say the least.

  Perhaps, she tried to convince herself, it wasn’t desire—she refused to use the word love, that had flown out of the window a long time ago—it was pure animal passion. After all, she hadn’t been with any other man since Luigi; it was natural she would feel something if he—or any man for that matter—kissed her. She was a young, passionate woman with all the feelings that went with it.

  Slowly now she walked across the room to check on Charlotte. Her daughter was fast asleep, a faint smile on her lips as though she was dreaming of something nice. Christmas, probably. Or her father. Megan grimaced. Hopefully not! She didn’t want Charlotte getting too attached to him because she had no intention of staying, despite Luigi’s threats.

  Threats! Was that what he was doing, threatening her? It didn’t sound nice, and basically Luigi was a nice guy. She’d found that
out on the day they met. He had been polite and considerate to her parents and they had immediately taken to him, and in the ensuing days a romance had begun that ended in them getting married six months later. In fact her parents had pushed her into it, declaring she would never find anyone else as good.

  She had been the envy of all her friends. Nothing had prepared her for the fact that he put work before everything else. At first she’d been proud of how well he was doing. Before he met her he had written a software program that had taken the computer world by storm, and he had become increasingly busy working on further projects. Sometimes she felt that he thought more of his work than he did her. But then he would come home and their lovemaking reached heights unimaginable. He was every woman’s dream in bed, making up a hundredfold for all the time they spent apart.

  At least that was what she’d thought in the beginning, but as the months and years had rolled by and he’d never showed her any real affection, she had begun to suspect that their acts of love were merely to satisfy his own basic needs, either that or to ease his conscience because he was bedding Serena. The only time he’d ever declared that he loved her was when he asked her to marry him; even then he hadn’t sounded comfortable saying it.

  She had become increasingly dissatisfied but if she complained about the way he was never at home he would say that he was doing it all for her, making her feel that she was being selfish. It wasn’t until she had found herself pregnant that Megan had known she couldn’t bring up her child in a household where there was no love or trust.

  Bending over her daughter, she smoothed her soft blonde hair back from her face and kissed her. Charlotte stirred but didn’t wake. ‘Goodnight, my sweet child,’ she whispered. ‘Happy dreams always.’ And that would only happen if they kept well away from Luigi. Megan wanted Charlotte to grow up in an openly loving family. She was always telling her daughter how much she loved her; Luigi would never do that.

  Admittedly, Charlotte was excited now, but it wouldn’t last. She would soon find out that her father wasn’t the sort of parent she expected and wanted. Not in a million years could Megan imagine Luigi picking up his daughter and swinging her around and telling her how much he loved her. It simply wasn’t in him.