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  His features darkened. He snatched at her wrist before she could take another step away from him. ‘Then let’s go somewhere private—this is a conversation we should have had four years ago. You have kept my son in the dark about me for long enough. Finn doesn’t have a daddy? He damn well does and he deserves to know it.’

  ‘I agree but take a look at him. Look,’ she insisted when his now blazing eyes stayed locked on hers. ‘You must see he’s not a well boy. He’s looked forward to this day for ages and looked forward to dancing and playing with other children. Let him enjoy the party for another hour and then I’ll put him to bed. Give him time to fall asleep and then come to my suite. Please? We can talk then.’

  He turned his head to the direction of their son. His chest rose and fell heavily.

  Eventually he inclined his head sharply, dropped his loose hold on her wrist and faced her again. ‘Two hours, Orla, and then I come to your suite.’ He bowed his head to whisper in her ear, ‘And if you have thoughts of running away, know I have put measures in place to prevent it. You will never escape from me again.’

  * * *

  The nurse helped Orla get Finn into his pyjamas and put him to bed before Orla told her to go and join the party for a few hours.

  Alone, she stripped off her bridesmaid dress, avoiding the reflection of her bare figure in the mirror. Her scars were itching but she didn’t dare apply the topical lotion her doctor had prescribed for it, not when the knock on the suite door could come at any moment. Instead, she dressed hastily, donning a pair of checked trousers and a long-sleeved black top.

  When Tonino came she wanted to be ready.

  Could she ever be ready for this?

  She’d spent three years trying desperately to remember who Finn’s father was and unearth the memories of their time together. Now that many of them had popped out of the box they’d been contained in, part of her wished she could shove them back in and nail the lid back down while, contrarily, her search for the still-hidden memories became more frantic.

  Much of the time they’d shared together had come back to her, but she still didn’t remember what had happened with her father. Her return to Ireland was still a blur too.

  When the loud rap on her suite’s door finally came, it took more effort than she could believe to drag her legs to it.

  Tonino loomed at the threshold looking exactly as she imagined a vampire would in the moments before it swooped to strike its helpless victim.

  A vampire should not send her pulses soaring with just one look. That was dangerous by any stretch of the imagination.

  Without a word being exchanged, he stepped into the suite and closed the door. Folding his arms across his broad chest, he slowly looked her up and down.

  The intensity of his scrutiny sent something thick and warm trickling through her feverish veins. Shaken, Orla hastily sat herself on one of the suite’s plush sofas.

  She didn’t want to look at him but found herself helpless to do anything else. Tonino had such presence, a magnetic energy he carried with him. All the words she’d prepared stuck on her tongue as she gazed into the dark brown eyes of the man who’d swept her off her feet and then broken her heart in the space of ten days. That same broken heart thundered in her chest. Its thuds pounded in her head. Her thoughts, like her words and memories, were a messed-up jumble.

  She had no idea how to play this. The man she’d had the time of her life with had been a lie, but he was still Finn’s father. He might have all the wealth and power, but he was still Finn’s father. When all was said and done, that was the one inescapable fact. Finn deserved to know his father and Tonino deserved to know his son.

  After a long period of charged silence, he dragged his fingers through his hair and headed to the minibar. ‘I don’t know about you but I need a drink. Do you still drink gin?’

  Startled that he remembered something so innocuous, she shook her head.

  He arched an eyebrow then opened the bar door and pulled out a bottle of red wine.

  He took a corkscrew from a drawer and opened the bottle effortlessly. ‘Will you have one?’

  This time she managed to croak, ‘No, thank you.’

  Since the accident, Orla had lost all tolerance for alcohol, which was a great shame. Before the pregnancy, she’d loved nothing more than going out with her friends, drinking way too much and dancing until the sun came up. She’d been free. No responsibilities, no pain, no dependency on anyone else. No one dependent on her.

  Those days belonged to another woman.

  He poured himself a hefty glass, swirled the red liquid, put the rim under his nose then took a sip. It must have pleased his palate for he then took a much larger sip.

  Tonino, she suddenly remembered, loved good wine.

  When his eyes locked on to hers, a shiver ran down her spine. He looked murderously cold.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she suggested quietly.

  Tonino, propped against the bar, took another drink as he looked at Orla, dwarfed by the sofa she’d sat herself on, fingers twisting together. She reminded him of a newborn deer that had come face-to-face with its first predator.

  ‘I’m fine where I am,’ he answered.

  She raised a shoulder and breathed in through her nose. ‘Then would you mind not glowering at me?’

  That voice...

  Orla was the only woman who’d turned him on with nothing but her voice. The husky timbre and lyrical brogue were pure alchemy to the senses. It coiled through his veins like the finest of wines and came dangerously close to muffling out her actual words.

  ‘Glowering?’ It was an unfamiliar word.

  Her lips curled into a brief smile. ‘You know—looking like you want to rip my head from my neck. It’s making me feel all itchy.’

  ‘You’re safe,’ he answered sardonically. ‘If I rip your head off I’ll never get any answers from you. Enough stalling. Tell me what’s wrong with my son and tell me why you have kept him a secret from me for all these years.’

  She dipped her head forwards and put her face in her hands. Her fingers dragged through her thick mane of wavy dark hair, which she’d released from its knot. It was every bit as luscious as he remembered and he suddenly experienced the deepest urge to kneel before her and cradle her face in his hands, stroke the soft skin and run his fingers through the thick mane as he’d done so many times before.

  When she looked back up to meet his stare, everything inside him clenched.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t sit down?’ she said softly. ‘This could take a while.’

  Gritting his teeth tightly, he stared at her. Or glowered, as she called it. He would not allow her soft femininity to weaken him. His height was one of the natural advantages nature had given him, his strength accomplished by his own hard work. If him remaining standing made Orla feel disadvantaged, then great. He saw no reason to put her at ease. On the contrary.

  She chewed her bottom lip then sighed. ‘I always wanted to tell you.’

  He snorted.

  ‘Please, just listen. Finn’s condition and the reason I never told you about him are related. I had a car accident when I was six months pregnant that left my memory shot to pieces. I couldn’t tell you about Finn because I’d forgotten who you were.’

  Her excuse was so outrageous he tightened his grip on the wine glass to stop himself throwing it against the wall. ‘Dio mio, you have got some nerve, lady. You’re claiming you had amnesia?’

  ‘Yes. But it’s not a claim. It’s the truth.’

  ‘And when did your memories return?’

  ‘The ones about you returned today... Well, some of them have...’

  ‘Very convenient,’ he mocked, topping up his glass with more wine. ‘You’ve had hours to come up with a convincing excuse and this is the best you can do? Amnesia?’

  ‘I understand it
sounds far-fetched but it’s the truth. I’ve spent over three years trying to remember you. All I remembered with any clarity until today was your face. Everything else was hazy images. I knew we’d met here in Sicily but that was a deep-rooted knowledge, like knowing my own name—’

  ‘You expect me to believe this?’ he interrupted impatiently.

  ‘It’s the truth and it’s a provable truth.’

  ‘Really?’ he sneered. ‘The only thing provable is that you’re a liar.’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘You booked into my hotel under a false name.’

  Confusion creased her beautiful face. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Four years ago you booked into my hotel under the name of Orla McCarthy. Here, you are booked in under the name of Orla O’Reilly.’

  Around a month after she’d done her disappearing act, Tonino had drunk too much wine and decided to search her name on the Internet. The few articles he’d found with the name Orla McCarthy in them had not been about her.

  Now he understood why Orla had bucked the trend and left no digital footprint. She’d given him a false name.

  The woman he’d experienced the deepest connection of his life with, the woman who’d been the unwitting catalyst of the ongoing rift with his family, the woman who’d had no idea of who he was yet had still treated him like a prince...

  That woman had lied about her name. She’d kept his child a secret from him.

  He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t fighting an urge to throw her out of the suite window into the sea below but was instead fighting the powerful urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her until he’d drawn all the breath from her lungs.

  He couldn’t understand how he could look at her deceitful face and feel all his internal organs swelling and compressing his lungs. These were reactions her cruel duplicity should have killed stone dead.

  ‘When I booked into your hotel four years ago I had to hand my passport over so I used my legal name, which is McCarthy,’ she explained wearily.

  ‘Then why are you here now as O’Reilly? Was it to throw me off the scent? Did you think I wouldn’t recognise you?’

  She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. ‘I genuinely do not know what you’re implying.’

  ‘There is nothing genuine about you,’ he said roughly. ‘You knew you would see me today. Your brother and I are old friends. You’re staying in my hotel. The wedding reception’s in my hotel.’ He squeezed the back of his neck. ‘You took a huge risk in coming here and an even bigger risk bringing Finn with you.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to come without him,’ she protested hotly. ‘Dante never mentioned your name. If he had I would have remembered you sooner, but he didn’t. Aislin organised the wedding—she made the booking and checked me in. Aislin has her father’s surname because our mother married him. Our mum registered me as Orla O’Reilly when I started school, so I had the same surname as them. Most people know me as Orla O’Reilly.’

  ‘Why didn’t you change it legally?’

  ‘That would have been up to my mother and she couldn’t be bothered.’

  He grimaced and took another large drink of his wine, angry with himself for diverting from the only subject that should matter to him. His son. ‘What name have you given Finn?’

  ‘My legal name. McCarthy.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he have my name?’

  ‘Because I’d forgotten it,’ she answered through gritted teeth.

  Anger swelled like a cobra poising to strike. ‘Then who the hell is named as his father?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘Now I know you’re lying,’ he snarled. He’d interrupted his lawyer’s evening meal to demand he look into the legalities of Irish paternity for him. ‘It is illegal not to name the father on an Irish birth certificate.’

  She rubbed her eyes again then fixed them on him with a sigh that sounded more exasperated than defeated. ‘It isn’t if there’s a compelling reason.’

  ‘And what compelling reason did you give?’ he demanded. ‘Your amnesia?’

  ‘Keep your voice down or you’ll wake Finn.’ For the first time since he’d entered her suite, a fierceness entered her tone.

  He hadn’t realised he was shouting.

  But, Dio, it was taking all his strength not to grab her by the shoulders and shake all the lies out of her until only the truth remained. What kind of a fool did she take him for? Did she seriously think she could play the amnesia line and that he would fall for it? What did she think? That they were players in one of those over-acted soap operas his grandmother watched?

  Green eyes, wide and wary but unflinching, stayed on him. ‘Aislin registered Finn’s birth. I’d never told her who the father was so she couldn’t name you—’

  ‘You denied my existence?’ he roared.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ she snapped. ‘I’m trying to be sympathetic but you’re not making it easy when you keep interrupting me with all your stupid assumptions. Everything I am telling you is provable—you do not have to take my word for it.’

  ‘Good because I will never take you at your word for anything.’

  ‘Good because now you know how I feel about you.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘That you are in no position to act all holier than thou when you consider all the lies you told me.’

  Her assertion was almost as outrageous as her lies about having amnesia. ‘You dare try to deflect?’

  ‘Deflection? Okay, then, explain this to me, buster. Why did you tell me you were the hotel manager and not the owner?’

  ‘I never told you anything. You assumed it.’ He would not feel guilty about this. He’d intended to tell her the truth about who he was the day she’d run away from Sicily.

  Tired eyes blazed with the same anger as coursed through his veins. ‘You let me assume. I only found out who you really were the day I left Sicily when your fiancée paid me a little visit.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Sophia,’ she spat. ‘The fiancée you forgot to tell me about. She tracked me down when you were in Tuscany.’

  Tonino swirled the wine in his glass and stared hard at her, a rancid feeling forming in his guts. Sophia had taken the ending of their engagement as badly as his parents had taken it. He’d shielded Orla from the fallout. Shielding her had been bliss; the pair of them cocooned in his smallest and plainest apartment, just the two of them, the rest of the world locked out. ‘What did she want?’

  Orla’s skin chilled and a throb pounded in her head to remember the encounter that had broken her heart. ‘To tell me you belonged to her and warn me off you. What else?’

  He nodded in a thoughtful way, but the blackness of his eyes revealed something very different. ‘Let me be clear on this—you are telling me that Sophia Messina, the daughter of one of Sicily’s oldest families, tracked you down and warned you off me?’

  ‘That’s exactly what happened.’

  ‘She threatened you?’

  ‘Not in words but her meaning was very clear. She knew you’d been cheating on her with me. I can’t say I liked the threats she made but I understood where her anger came from. No one likes to be made a fool of.’

  He’d made a fool of her and Sophia both. The other woman’s threats had been almost as sickening as the proof she’d put before her. So sickening had Orla found it that the minute Sophia had left her room, she’d vomited.

  She half feared she could vomit now, from both the memories and the growing ache in her head.

  ‘I ended my engagement with Sophia the day I met you,’ he stated flatly. ‘If you had stuck around and asked, I would have set you straight. Sophia was playing games with you.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that when all the evidence points otherwise and when we both know you�
�re loose with what truth means?’

  He let out a Sicilian word she instinctively knew was a curse but, on a roll, she ignored it.

  ‘You let me believe you were a hotel manager. That was a lie. Everything you told me about yourself was a stinking fat lie. Can you blame me for being scared when I learned I was pregnant? All I knew for sure was that you were a liar and a powerful one at that. I refused to tell anyone about you because I was frightened and ashamed and an emotional wreck, and all I could focus on was delivering my baby safely into the world. I was going to tell you about him after he was born but then I had the accident and it changed everything. I couldn’t amend Finn’s birth certificate after I left hospital because I couldn’t remember your name.’

  When Orla had finished her venomously delivered rebuke, the only sounds in the suite were their ragged breaths. The poison swirling between them was thick enough to taste.

  Something else swirled between them too in that small stretch of silence, something that glittered behind Tonino’s dark, furious eyes. His jaw was clenched so tightly she could see the angry pulse throbbing on it.

  When he finally spoke, every word was elucidated with deliberate slowness. ‘Do you know what I think? I think you have backed yourself into a corner and that every word coming from your pretty little mouth is an excuse to justify what you know is inexcusable. You hoped to get through the day without me noticing or recognising you and hoped you could get through it without me seeing Finn and recognising my own son. You have cruelly and maliciously kept him from me and, for that, you will pay, and pay by having him cruelly and maliciously kept from you.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TONINO’S THREAT RANG loudly in Orla’s ears then became a siren when he slammed his glass on the bar and strolled towards the bedroom door.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she beseeched, trying her hardest not to panic.

  ‘I’m going to see my son.’

  He can’t take him from you, she reminded herself. At this moment, he has no legal rights. Don’t panic. Keep calm.