Betrayal

  Her heart started a slow, thunderous beat.

  The first time, she hadn’t looked at him. She’d been too busy trying to get her own clothes off. But now… here he was, powerful, muscular, compelling. As he put one knee on the bed, his body flexed and moved with a fighter’s grace. Her gaze danced over him, appreciating the broad shoulders, the narrow waist, the thighs that looked as if he could ride her forever.… “Take off your shirt.” She tugged on the hem, shrunk by too many washings and slightly yellowed by bleach. “I want to see the whole”—she looked from his toes to his hairline—“package.”

  He hesitated as if… as if he had something to hide. Then, quickly, he reached down and stripped off his shirt.

  The black studded collar he wore made her stop and stare. “What’s that?”

  “I have to wear it. I lost a bet.”

  “You’re someone’s bitch?”

  “Only yours, darling.” He lowered his face to hers and kissed her lips. “If you want me.”

  He was so relaxed, so leisurely… every touch of his mouth was a lifetime.

  That was why she had always taken care not to remember Noah and the past. Because Noah was the kind of lover every woman dreamed of. He behaved as if he lived to kiss her long, slowly, and passionately. He lingered over her body as if he had never tasted anything so delectable. He touched her as if he couldn’t get enough. He loved her as if he never wanted this moment to end.

  When he lifted his lips from hers, she was limp with desire. With her lids half-open, she trailed her fingers along the edge of his foolish dog collar. “As long as you perform like that, Fido, I’ll keep you.”

  He opened a condom, started to don it… and she helped him by making sure he was as hard as a man could be.

  “Keep it up. The second time’s going to be faster than the first.” But he was smiling, a smile so saturated with sex that Penelope could have used it to scent candles.

  “I don’t know.” Even to her, her voice sounded vibrant and seductive, and she smiled up at him as she placed her palm flat on his thigh and stroked upward. “I think last time we set a land speed record.”

  He caught her wrist and pulled it away. “You are asking for trouble.”

  “And here you are.”

  He laughed and tumbled her back onto the pillows. “Stop that. I have things I want to do to you.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Slow things. Naughty things. Things that shouldn’t be said out loud, like…” His lips came close to her ear.

  She thought he was going to murmur something… wicked.

  Instead his tongue slid around in a slow, wet, sensuous glide.

  Such a small thing, yet his action acted as a cue to her body. Suddenly she was airborne once more, chilled by the heights, warmed by the sun, barely able to breathe at such a high altitude.

  His hand slid under her tank to caress her ribs, to hold her breasts, and then to turn the tank inside out as he pulled it over her head. “Pretty,” he said.

  “You, too,” she whispered.

  His laughter vibrated through her. He kissed her eyes shut and whispered, “Concentrate on nothing but the feeling.”

  Without her vision, each of his movements was a surprise: the soft touch of his lips against her mouth, his thumbs circling the sensitive shells of her ears, his wet, warm mouth against first one nipple, then the other. She slid her hands through his hair and experienced his vitality as it curled around her fingers. And experienced, too, a growing delight as he took her hand and kissed her palm, then each finger, and finally her wrist, pressing his lips hard against the pulse that beat with ever-increasing excitement. Still holding her hand, he nuzzled the soft, sensitive skin where her belly and her thigh met.

  She whimpered, an open admission of the passion that grew and flourished in the darkness behind her eyelids. Her legs moved restlessly, wanting more, wanting it soon, but contrary to his threat of speed, he was relaxed as he explored her, admiring her with his fingertips, his lips, his tongue, his teeth.

  When she was with Noah, the past was gone; the future did not exist. She had his complete attention for this moment.

  He turned her onto her stomach, moved her hair aside, and feasted on the nape of her neck. He massaged her shoulders until she purred, kissed his way down her spine, explored… everywhere. He rubbed her thighs, praising their taut shape, suggesting in his dark velvet voice that he could not wait until she crushed him in her ecstasy. He tickled the backs of her knees, kissed her toes until she squirmed.

  When she could no longer contain her pleasure, and muffled her whimpers in the pillows, he eased her onto her back.

  Now he focused all his attention between her legs. He opened her, tasted her, and made a sound of pleasure that matched her own. With his mouth, he took her apart and put her back together, until she slid smoothly out of time, out of place, held suspended by Noah’s lips on her clit, his hands stroking her skin.

  When she was trembling on the edge of climax, he slid up and into her. He was big and bold, and as he moved, so demanding, she knew then he’d been lying with his unhurried caresses.

  He wanted her. He wanted this. Now.

  Yet he held himself back, taking his time, thrusting surely, steadily, increasing the speed by slow increments until she squirmed beneath him, flushed and frantic, wondering whether she would survive this long, continuous roll of climax that built and built.…

  He murmured her name over and over, his voice caressing the syllables, encouraging her. He gathered her closer, holding her legs around him, lifting her up to meet him, going so fabulously deep she shuddered and begged, on the verge of something so powerful she didn’t dare let herself go.

  Then… he kissed her. Just kissed her, a simple smoothing of his lips against hers…

  And she broke. She came. She spasmed around him, wild and primitive, demanding and giving.

  And he broke, too, thrusting, providing, his voice a deep groan against her chest, his hands clutching her as if he would never let her go.

  What they had between them wasn’t sex.

  It was a glimpse of heaven.

  Chapter 52

  Late that night, when Noah and Penelope sat on the rumpled bed, half-dressed, the open pizza box between them, napkins draped all over the mattress—because neither of them was willing to take a chance of getting pizza sauce on Mrs. Marino’s sheets—he asked, “I was wondering… That is, it seems to me that you may have come to Bella Valley so you wouldn’t be alone on your baby’s birthday?” He watched her almost as if he hoped she had run to him for comfort.

  She didn’t, although for a moment, it was a near thing. Should she tell him? Would he turn away from her? She cleared her throat. “Not really. That was more serendipity than anything. I came to Bella Valley now because I finally discovered why my mother brought me here that summer.”

  Clearly Noah did not expect that answer. With a frown, he lowered his slice of pizza. “Why?”

  “Knowing how you feel, I shouldn’t tell you.” She really shouldn’t. “But no one understands my need to know my father more than you. Because you don’t know your mother, and it’s such a hole in your life, always wondering…”

  “You found out who your father is?” His voice rose enthusiastically. “That’s great!”

  Probably not. But—“He lives here. This is his home.”

  “So I know him?”

  “My father, Noah—he’s Joseph Bianchin.”

  Noah froze in shock. He stared, jaw dropped, eyes wide and unblinking.

  She was right. She shouldn’t have told him.

  But they’d been so close, so connected, and foolishly she’d returned to that time nine years ago when they confided everything in each other. “Noah?” she said tentatively.

  He shook himself lightly. He seemed to breathe again. Took a bite of pizza. Chewed and swallowed. And he said, “So the old fart did one thing right in his life.”

  She half laughed, startled and m
ore thrilled than she had any business being. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. I talked to him.”

  “He’s really in town?”

  “I saw him myself. I took a DNA test in front of him; then I gave him a DNA kit and told him to use it if he wanted to know the truth. I don’t know whether he sent it to the lab or not.” She shrugged. “If he did, the results should be back. But I haven’t heard, and honestly, I don’t expect anything to come of it. He really is a weird old crank, and he did not welcome me with open arms.”

  “It’s Joseph Bianchin.” Noah sneered quite effectively. “He accused you of being after his money, right?”

  “On the nose.” She pointed at her nose.

  “Actually”—Noah started clearing away the napkins—“no one’s seen him around town. We didn’t know he was back. I wonder what he’s up to?”

  “He has company staying with him.”

  “Who?”

  “Friends, I guess.”

  “Friends? He doesn’t have any friends.” Noah dismissed Bianchin with an indifferent wave of his hand. “Are you about done eating?”

  “I suppose.” She flicked her gaze over him from head to toe, noted that he had satisfied one hunger and now another stirred… again. “Do you have something on your mind?”

  He picked up the pizza box. “It is not on my mind.”

  Lifting her hands, she rumpled her hair, then smoothed it back and smiled.

  He dropped everything on the desk and moved with glorious speed to her side, and once more they started the erotic mating dance they performed together so well.

  When Noah looked at Penelope, when he loved her, she felt beautiful, as if she shone from within. She was no longer merely human, but a goddess, worshiped and adored.

  This was why she loved to be with him.

  That was why she loved him.

  The next morning, when Penelope’s alarm went off… Noah was gone. No note. No evidence he’d ever been there. Just crumpled sheets and her own satiated body.

  She’d been dumped by Noah Di Luca again.

  Chapter 53

  On Thursday morning, eight days later, Penelope stood in the attic of the Victorian with Brooke Di Luca, discussing whether or not they could knock out walls and turn the whole, capacious space into a playroom.

  “The walls are merely partitions flung up to give the servants a little privacy.” Penelope moved between one small cubicle to another, opening windows to allow the morning’s cool breeze to sweep away the stale air. “The bathroom is nothing but a toilet and a sink, which is perfect for children at play—”

  “Makes you wonder where the servants bathed, doesn’t it?” Brooke said.

  “Or if they bathed,” Penelope said.

  Both women shuddered.

  But nothing could stop the onslaught of Penelope’s decorating vision. “We could make this bright and airy, with a cupboard color-coded for each child. We could install an intercom with a monitor so you could periodically check on the kids and make sure there’s no blood flowing, and as the kids grow, you could change the environment from lots o’ toys to stuff like a foosball table. You’d be the coolest parents in town.”

  “All the kids would practically live here.” Brooke looked horrified.

  Penelope grinned. “Yes, but at least you’d know where your kids were.”

  Brooke nodded; she could comprehend that logic. “It’s a trade-off, I guess.”

  “Good thing we’re getting the whole house rewired, because you can bet the owners did the cheapest job possible up here. We’ve got the potential for asbestos, but we knew that, and it has to be dealt with before you can move in, anyway. The floor and the walls are the biggest decorating problems. I’d suggest a bamboo floor, something renewable, not too expensive for you to replace, easy to clean, and there’s a little give for when the little ones fall down.” Penelope was in full swing, envisioning the playroom as it could be.

  It wasn’t until Brooke mumbled, “ ’Scuse me,” and ran for the bathroom that Penelope realized she had missed the telltale signs of Brooke’s distress, and morning sickness had struck again.

  Poor Brooke. Her first trimester ranged from difficult to horrendous, and Penelope felt for her.

  For Penelope, the last week had been an interesting roller coaster of emotions. She had been devastated by the anniversary of Mia’s death, then angry, then aroused, then comforted by Noah’s gentle kindness. And then… she’d been dumped. Again.

  It had taken her about an hour before she realized—she didn’t care. She liked that her time with Noah had been a walk on the wild side, where respectability vanished and her dream of settling down and raising a family had been… not replaced, but dismissed, at least for the moment. For the first time in her life, she had no ties, no responsibilities except the ones she chose for herself. If she wished, she could work abroad, live where she wanted, learn to ride a horse, and travel back in time to visit Robin Hood.

  She chuckled. How wonderful to realize Noah had done her a favor.

  When Brooke reappeared, Penelope was making notes and sketches. Penelope gave her a sympathetic grimace. “I’m sorry. I won’t talk about injuries anymore.”

  “I think what you said was the icing on the cake.” Brooke put her hand on her stomach and shook her head at the same time. “I can’t seem to get through one morning without worshiping at the foot of the porcelain god.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Penelope meant it. “It breaks my heart to see what you’re going through.”

  “Everyone’s different, so they tell me.” Brooke clearly wished she were different. “Before this, I hadn’t been sick since I was twenty and got the Asian flu. Or the chicken flu. Or whatever it was called that year.”

  “I don’t like to brag”—Penelope loved to brag—“but when I was pregnant I never felt so good in my life. Right away I knew I had conceived, because all of a sudden I was full of energy. My hair grew inches an hour, and my fingernails were so strong I could hardly trim them. I was running a couple of miles a day, and my work was good. It was like being pregnant turned my mind on, and I was so fabulously creative that—” Penelope stopped in midsentence.

  Without even thinking, she was talking about her pregnancy.

  Since the day she’d held Mia in her arms, she had never mentioned the experience to anyone until Noah. It had been a private tragedy, a time to be remembered only during the darkest hours of the night, when she cried for what she had lost.

  She waited for long seconds. Waited for that grief that tore her apart…

  But while Mia’s small, sweet ghost passed through her memories, Penelope was not in tears.

  She sighed in relief and an odd kind of regret.

  That night with Noah had given her this, too, a kind of peace to cherish.

  One week ago, she had passed through a portal into the next stage of her life.

  Her sorrow at Mia’s death was part of her. It would always be a part of her.

  But it wasn’t all of her, not anymore.

  “You lost your baby?” Brooke asked, then rushed on before Penelope could do more than nod. “Last week when you raced out of the design center, I guessed something like that. I should never have dragged you over to decorate the baby’s room.”

  “It was the anniversary of Mia’s death. You didn’t know. Anyway, I’m better now.” Although Penelope wasn’t about to tell Brooke the reasons why. “I think that having this job and working with you has helped bring me back to life, because actually, I’m overflowing with ideas for decorating. I feel really good, too. Healthier than I’ve felt for…” She stopped.

  She really did feel good. Amazingly good. No… it couldn’t…

  “I haven’t felt this healthy since…” Since the last time she was pregnant.

  The words reverberated in her mind.

  The last time she was pregnant.

  She was pregnant.

  The shock made her stand tall, frozen in place, unmoving, not breathing.


  “Penelope, are you okay?” Brooke grabbed her arm.

  The world faded to black.

  Penelope stumbled backward into the wall, slid down until her butt hit the floor, put her head between her legs.

  Breathe. She had to breathe.

  She was pregnant.

  Brooke knelt beside her. “It was the shock of talking about your ordeal, wasn’t it? I’ll bet you haven’t been to counseling, have you? You should talk to someone who could help you through your grief.”

  Numbly, Penelope nodded.

  Brooke put her arm around Penelope. “Why don’t you get in my recliner and rest for a couple of hours? I’d send you home, but as long as you stay in that awful Sweet Dreams Hotel, that’s more of a punishment.”

  “It’s cheap. Safe,” Penelope mumbled. “Got a monthly rate.”

  “I think you should buy a house right here in Bella Terra and stay.” Brooke sounded as if she were on a crusade. “Prices are down, loan rates are good, you’d have plenty of work, and I know it’s silly, but I keep hoping you and Noah could get back together.”

  “A house in Bella Terra. Might have to do that.” Although not for any reason Brooke could imagine. Slowly, Penelope lifted her head and stared, dazed, into the future. “I have to go to the drugstore.”

  “Now? Why? Oh…” Brooke thought she understood. “You’ve started your period.”

  “Something like that.” It had been seven days—no, eight—since Penelope had been with Noah. A week was the minimal time for a pregnancy test to be accurate. She could buy the test, do the test, find out the results, stare at the stick, and try to comprehend how this could have happened.…

  Not that she needed a positive test.

  She already knew the truth. She was pregnant.

  And Noah, untrustworthy, constantly inconstant Noah, was the father.

  She had been grateful to him for abandoning her, and now… this!

  “No wonder you fainted. I’m sorry. I don’t have supplies here.” Brooke was sympathetic—and clueless.

  Noah couldn’t even stick around until morning.