One Way Out (Silhouette Intimate Moments No. 1211) (Silhouette Intimate Moments, 1211) Read online

  “Who’s Jean?”

  “My secretary.”

  “Your secretary does your shopping?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, she’s not going to do mine. I’ll manage with what I brought until either we’re back in Florida or I’m no longer under house arrest.”

  “Niccolo is staying here, Rhea. He’s not going back to Santa Palazzo. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’re going to be.” When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “You’re going to need a winter coat. Niccolo, too. Hats. Gloves. Boots. If you remember, Chicago winters can be colder than a witch’s ti—” His gaze zeroed in on her chest, then he lowered his head and took another bite of eggs.

  “Have you heard from your father?”

  “No. But I expect him today. Unless that hurricane decided to move inland.”

  “He’ll come. And when he does, you’ll agree to send us back. Frank will insist on it.”

  She was definitely trying to piss him off.

  “He won’t let you hurt either one of us.”

  “Are you trying to pick a fight with me this morning?”

  “That would be stupid, Joey. Everyone in this city knows the Masado boys are bullies. What chance do I have against a man who’s never lost a fight? That’s why Frank—”

  He reached out and shoved the last bite of his toast into her mouth. “Basta! Enough about Frank!”

  As she chewed his toast, he took a sip of his coffee, then rested his arms on either side of his plate. “If you lose a fight in this town, darlin’, there’s a good chance you won’t he breathing the next day. I’m not a bully, I just don’t roll over easy.”

  “Is that what you intend to teach Nicci when he’s older?”

  He wasn’t ready for that question, but in his heart he knew the answer. He would teach his son every clean trick he knew, and all of Lucky’s dirty ones twice. Then he’d have him spend some serious time with Jackson. Niccolo would not lack for knowledge, not on any level.

  Aware she was waiting for his answer, he leaned forward and locked eyes with her. “I can’t change who I am, Rhea. And you can’t change the fact that Niccolo is my son. What I intend to do is give him the tools he’ll need to become what he must.”

  “And what must he become, Joey?”

  “A survivor, Rhea. I think you’ll agree that the most basic skill a person needs to learn is how to survive. When you’re backed into a corner, you don’t think about what’s for dinner, or what you look like, or what other people are saying about you. What you’re concerned with is your next breath, and taking it. Nothing else has meaning if you’re not sucking air. Am I right?”

  She turned her head to stare out the window. “Yes. Of course, you’re right. Survival is everything.”

  He’d intentionally reminded her of what she’d lived through when she had been married to Stud. He hadn’t done it to be cruel or insensitive. He’d tossed up the past because he never wanted her to become someone’s victim again.

  As she continued to stare at the sunrise over the lake, Joey studied her. He’d never seen her without a bruise until yesterday, and that fact hadn’t allowed him a moment’s peace. Truthfully, now he couldn’t get his fill of looking at her.

  “Joey, stop.”

  She turned back to face him, resting her hand next to her eye to hide the scar that was more visible today than it had been yesterday.

  “You don’t need to do that, Rhea. Hide the scars.”

  “You keep staring.”

  “I’m used to seeing bruises. Gauze bandages.”

  “Bruises … scars. It’s really all the same, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m inclined to agree with Lucky. He says a person without scars hasn’t lived.” Joey reached out and pulled her hand away, then ran his thumb along the two white lines next to her stormy-blue eye. “He says they trace the past and that instead of running from the memory, you should embrace it. He claims it makes you stronger.”

  “He certainly looks … strong.”

  Joey caught himself smiling, sensing that wasn’t the word she would have liked to use. “Don’t let Lucky fool you. He’s not as ornery as he looks.”

  Her hand slid back to the scar next to her eye. “If you say so.”

  He sobered. “The scars haven’t stolen your beauty, Rhea. If you think so, you’re not looking in the right mirror.”

  She made a big deal of glancing at her watch. Obviously uncomfortable with his compliment, she was anxious to make her escape. “If you’re usually in your office by eight, you’re going to be late.”

  Joey shrugged, then glanced at his untouched cup of coffee. Cold by now, he suspected. “Could you pour me another cup of coffee and bring it to me? I’ll be in my bedroom.”

  * * *

  Rhea stood at Joey’s bedroom door with his suit coat draped across her arm and a fresh cup of coffee. She took a deep breath, then pushed open the half-closed door.

  She had expected his bedroom to be as grand as the rest of his home, but the round bed was definitely a surprise, as was the platform, four steps above the rest of the room, where the bed overlooked the city.

  “Rhea, over here.”

  Rhea blinked, scanned the room and found Joey standing in front of a long glossy black vanity. He was watching her as he straightened his tie in front of a mirror that climbed the wall and reached for the high ceiling.

  She stepped into the room, felt the lushness of the white carpet. Walking past a bloodred fainting couch that looked as if it was from another time and place, she neared the vanity where a crystal bowl sat filled with water, floating three lit black candles. The candies, she decided, were responsible for the marvelous exotic scent that filled the room.

  She set down the coffee, then stepped back, her gaze traveling to the steps that led to the round bed covered in black velvet with red satin pillows. The large windows behind it were covered with sheer white drapes. Drapes, that, open or closed, didn’t conceal the city’s skyline.

  It looked like the view was the room’s art focus—a life-size picture that would be forever changing, depending on weather and time of day.

  Self-conscious of how much time she’d spent examining the second level, Rhea headed for the fainting couch and draped the suit coat over the back, then started for the door.

  “I’d like you to arrange for the nanny to come by so you can meet her.”

  His words stopped Rhea. Turning, she said, “I thought we agreed I would care for Nicci.”

  “We did agree. But once you’re no longer under house arrest, as you put it, you’ll feel better about leaving him with someone you can trust, right? You can’t be with him every second of the day.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Joey. I’ve been with Nicci every day since he was born.”

  “I don’t have an ulterior motive here, Rhea. I couldn’t run Masado Towers without help—that doesn’t make it any less mine. Opal Carvino will be your helpmate, not your replacement. That is, not unless you fly back to Florida.”

  The last was said to bait her, Rhea decided.

  “Opal Carvino’s number is in the address book.” He motioned to a black leather-bound book on the table next to the couch. “If and when you want to meet her, give her a call. If not today, then maybe tomorrow.”

  She wasn’t going to call the Carvino woman, but she nodded just the same. “I didn’t bring cream or sugar. You still take it black, don’t you?”

  “Black coffee, one-minute eggs and crisp bacon. You got it. Good memory.”

  He had no idea what all she remembered. Rhea started for the door again. Three steps from escaping him, he called out to her once more.

  “Rhea?”

  She stopped but didn’t turn this time. “What is it, Joey? I should check on Nicci.”

  “I just did. He’s still sleeping. Turn around and face me when I’m talking to you, would you?”

  She did as he asked, and found he was no longer watch
ing her in the mirror. He’d turned around, too.

  “You’ll like Opal Carvino. Trust me on this, Rhea. She has a lot of experience.”

  She wasn’t going to be in Chicago long enough to need Opal Carvino, or to start trusting him. “Just because you’re Nicci’s father and you have me in a tight spot at the moment, Joey, doesn’t mean I’m going to do everything you tell me to do. Not where Nicci is concerned. He’s an innocent child who didn’t ask to be—”

  “Born a Masado.” His dark brows furrowed. “You don’t need to keep reminding me what kind of legacy I’ve handed to my son, Rhea.”

  The heavy regret in his eyes and in his voice gave Rhea pause. She found herself wanting to ease that regret. She shouldn’t … shouldn’t make herself any more vulnerable than she already was. But there was true sadness in his expression, and so she said what she was feeling—what she had felt from the moment she had learned she was pregnant.

  “I’m not sorry Nicci’s your son, Joey. You’re reading me wrong if that’s what you think. He’s perfect in every way. My only regret is that—” Rhea stopped, weighed her confession, weighed what it would cost her if she went further.

  “Your only regret is what, Rhea?”

  “That, instead of Frank, it had been you driving me to the hospital. That it had been you Nicci had walked to when he took his first steps.”

  It was obvious that wasn’t what he had expected her to say. His expression opened up, and in that second Rhea saw that her regret was his own.

  Slowly, he came toward her. Rhea wished he would stay where he was, wished she hadn’t confessed her true feelings. She needed to be able to think clearly, and she had found out yesterday that when he got too close, she had a hard time focusing on anything but the memories of how it felt to be wrapped in his strong arms.

  He kept coming until they were toe to toe, and his masculine scent surrounded her. He said softly, “I wish I had been there, too. You said Frank was there?”

  “Yes.”

  “It should have been me.”

  The strength and depth of his words made Rhea shiver. Softly she said, “Yes, it should have been you.”

  “Rhea…”

  His gaze had softened, and suddenly he was looking at her with a kind of curious expression. As if he had a dozen questions to ask her. Before he got started, she said, “I’d like to go now.”

  “Why? Don’t you like my bedroom?”

  His question sent her gaze back to the bed. “It’s a beautiful … room.”

  Without warning, he wrapped one arm around her and pulled her into the heat of his body. She closed her eyes as he brushed back the hair from her temple. She could feel his eyes studying the scar he’d uncovered. Seconds later, he lowered his head and kissed the marred flesh, then whispered, “You’ve done a good job with our son, Rhea.”

  He had no idea what it meant to hear him say that. It was as pleasurable to hear the compliment as to feel his warm lips against her temple. Eyes closed, she relaxed into him, unable to resist.

  “Children are so vulnerable,” she whispered. “So innocent, and they have so many needs.”

  “Everyone has needs,” he murmured. “Who’s been meeting yours for the past three years, Rhea?”

  His words startled her. She blinked open her eyes. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  She looked up, confronted by his intense dark eyes.

  “Answer the question, darlin’. Who’s been meeting your needs?”

  His tone had changed. It was no longer languorous and easygoing. Once again, he was being very direct and … territorial.

  She tried to step back, but his arm tightened around her.

  “How long, Rhea? How long has it been since you’ve been kissed? Last week? Yesterday? And touched? When were you last touched … here?” His hand slid to her backside, and from there, his long fingers made their way vertically along the seam of her jeans. Curving her backside, he slid them between her legs.

  Rhea stifled a moan. “Joey, please…”

  Next to her ear, he asked, “If my father kept his hands off you like you say he did, then who’s been keeping you satisfied, night after night? A guard? The gardener? Did you entertain a lover on the beach after midnight? More than one?”

  Rhea could feel his heart beating next to her ear, feel his lower body come alive. Her breasts began to tingle, and her nipples puckered. Afraid he would notice, she said, “Joey, stop … please.”

  He didn’t back off. Instead, he gripped her chin so she could no longer avoid his eyes. His fingers were still torturing her from behind, still seeking, still moving and making it difficult for her to breathe.

  “I remember, Rhea. I remember how it was. Even a wounded butterfly has needs.”

  Rhea felt her cheeks grow hot. “I’m not wounded any longer, Joey, or needy. Not in the way you mean.”

  “So you don’t need to feel like a woman anymore?”

  He had remembered her words. Those crazy breathless words she’d spoken to him the first night he had made love to her. She shook her head. “No.”

  “Do you expect me to believe you haven’t been touched in three years?”

  “I don’t care what you believe. I haven’t been kissed or with anyone since you—”

  The words had slipped out before Rhea realized what kind of ammunition she had handed him. She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing she’d revealed too much.

  “Say that again.”

  Without looking at his face, she knew he was trying to decide whether to believe her. She’d obviously shocked him. She’d shocked herself. She had never intended to confess such a thing.

  She forced her eyes open and tried to pull away from him. When that didn’t work, she tried to dodge his eyes, but he easily countered that by moving his free hand to the back of her head to force her to look at him.

  His voice was softer when he finally asked, “There’s been no one since me? Is that what you’re saying, Rhea? No kissing? No touching? No sex?”

  She tried to wiggle free, but his hand splayed over her backside and cemented her to him more firmly than before.

  He stared at her wet lips. “Three years is a long time, darlin’.”

  He didn’t need to tell her how long it had been, and that’s why he had to let go of her. As if he read her mind, he gyrated his hips, clearly letting her feel his aroused state.

  Oh God…

  “You remember, don’t you, Rhea? If you remember how I like my eggs and coffee, you sure as hell remember the rest.”

  “No!” She shook her head wildly. “No, I don’t.”

  “Liar. Open your mouth, darlin’.”

  “Joey, no!”

  “Let’s see if you taste as sweet as I remember.”

  “No!”

  “You always liked my tongue. Let’s see if you still do.”

  Slowly he lowered his head, stealing her breath the minute his lips touched hers. Then, like a hot poker, his tongue pushed its way into her mouth.

  Seconds later, as Rhea had expected, the kiss turned into a blazing dance of old memories and reawakened passion. A dance that confirmed she liked his tongue … and remembered everything.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  Her lips were painted bloodred and the color made them look too big. Joey watched Sophia D’Lano glide into his office, wearing half her fortune on her ears and the other half around her neck.

  His gaze traveled back to her lips and, without intending to, he began comparing them to Rhea’s sexy small mouth. From there, Sophia faded into the woodwork.

  It had been the moan that convinced him Rhea was telling the truth. He’d never forget the ache in it, or the way she’d damn near shattered when his tongue entered her mouth. Her response had put the candles on the cake in one damn big huffy, and he’d been ready to carry her to his bed and make love to her all morning long—if Niccolo hadn’t appeared in the doorway rubbing his eyes and declaring he was hungr
y.

  “Joey.”

  His name on Sophia’s too-wide red lips brought Joey to his feet. “I’m glad you could make it.” He motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  “You’ve been a naughty boy, Joey. I should be furious with you, but what would be the point?” She brought her white-gloved hands up, shaming him as if he were a five-year-old, then slipped onto one of the leather chairs.

  Once she was settled, he sat.

  “Men … animals on two legs, my mother used to say. Find one monogamous creature among them and you have to wonder what’s wrong with him.” She pulled off her gloves, one finger at a time. “The important thing is not to let the situation ruin our future.”

  Joey set his jaw.

  She smiled, read his mind. “Did you think I would throw everything away over one little tramp? It’s obvious all she wants is money, Joey. Women can be such manipulative bitches. If last night’s little performance wasn’t planned, I’ll eat my six-carat emerald earrings. So how much does she want?”

  Joey sat back and studied Sophia. Vincent D’Lano should be proud. Sophia had turned out as greedy and ruthless as he was.

  He said, “When a man sleeps with a woman, he knows what can happen.”

  “That’s what I love about you, Joey. You’re a man who doesn’t dodge his responsibilities.”

  Joey knew what she was saying, knew that look. Sophia was suggesting that first and foremost, he had a responsibility toward her. But she was wrong. He had never promised her anything.

  “So you’re suggesting a settlement and a plane ticket.”

  “Perfect. You and I really do think alike, Joey.”

  “But we don’t, Sophia. Not at all. I have a son. I didn’t plan him, but I want him. He’s mine, and I intend to raise him here in Chicago.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Joey. That’s what boarding schools are for.”