‘We’re going to Rome,’ he said clearly, his gaze on the sand-covered car, ‘because that is where we are going to live. Where my child is going to be born...and where you are going to marry me.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
HALINA STARED AT Rico in dawning realisation—and horror.
‘Marry you?’ she squeaked. ‘That’s what you have in mind?’
‘Yes.’
‘But...but we don’t know each other! And we don’t even like each other.’
‘I believe those statements are contradictory. And, in any case, you were prepared to marry more of a stranger to you than I am mere weeks ago.’
Halina flushed, not needing the reminder. ‘I was prepared to do that out of duty,’ she began, but fell silent when Rico gave a decisive shake of his head.
‘And you will marry me out of duty as well. Duty to our unborn child.’
‘We don’t have to be married for our—’
‘Yes.’ Rico cut her off. ‘We do. It is important to me, of paramount importance, that my child grows up in a stable and loving home.’
‘Loving?’ Halina repeated incredulously. ‘But you don’t love me.’
‘I will love my child,’ Rico stated flatly, his voice thrumming with certainly. ‘But now is not the time to discuss this. We have more important matters to attend to.’ He nodded towards the tent. ‘Eat, drink and refresh yourself. We leave in an hour.’
Biting her lip, preferring not to argue with him when he was in such an intractable mood, Halina wordlessly turned and went back into the tent.
She choked down some more pita bread and dried meat, knowing she needed the sustenance, then washed her face with a sparing amount of water and rinsed out her mouth. With her hair tidied and her clothes straightened, she was as presentable as she was going to be, but she didn’t feel at all ready for whatever lay ahead.
Marriage. She shouldn’t have been surprised, she realised. Rico moved people about like pawns on his personal chessboard. Why should she, why should marriage, be any different?
Because he was the classic commitment-phobe who never kept a woman for more than a night. But with a sinking sensation Halina acknowledged that marriage to Rico Falcone was most likely not going to look or feel like a normal marriage. Not that she knew what that felt like. If she married Rico, she would just be exchanging one expedient union for another. One stranger for another. A loving, normal marriage had never been within her grasp, no matter how much she might have wanted it. Her life had never been her own.
Halina rolled up the sleeping bags and repacked their provisions in the canvas rucksack Rico had brought. Then, taking a deep breath, she went in search of her rescuer and captor.
He was hard at work digging out the SUV; he had shucked off his shirt and his tawny skin gleamed like polished bronze under the unforgiving glare of the desert sun. Halina blinked, trying not to let her gaze move slowly over his perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles, the six-pack definition of his taut abdomen. She failed and, even worse, Rico turned and caught her staring openly at his incredible physique.
His mouth quirked and something like satisfaction flashed in his eyes. He jerked his head in a nod towards their vehicle. ‘I should be finished in another half hour.’
‘Can I help...?’
‘No, of course not. You’re pregnant.’
‘Pregnant, not an invalid.’
‘Even so.’ Rico turned back to the car. ‘I do not wish you to tax yourself.’
With a sigh Halina wondered if Rico intended to wrap her in cotton wool for the next seven months. Then, with a jolt, she wondered why she was thinking this way. Was she just going to roll over and do whatever he said, including binding her life to his for ever? Would Rico let her do anything else?
Her choices, as ever, were limited. She’d never known what freedom felt like save, perhaps, for her one night with Rico. And look what had happened then.
Her mind in a ferment of indecision and uncertainty, Halina turned back to the tent. ‘I’ll pack up our things.’
Half an hour later the vehicle was clear and Rico had thrown their things into the back. His expression was grim and determined as he slid into the driver’s seat. ‘We have another two hours’ drive to Arjah.’
‘What if my father’s soldiers are there? What if we’re found?’
‘We won’t be.’