Pride: Captive At The Sicilian Billionaire's Command. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.
how to hurt her, she recognised. How to sense her weaknesses and use them against her.
Numbly, Julie handed the still-sleeping baby over to him.
It was Josh he wanted—just as it was for Josh’s sake that he had saved her, not her own. And now that he had Josh he was striding up the stairs away from her, leaving her to follow on her own.
Out of nowhere a terrible lethargy rolled over her, accompanied by a bizarre longing to lie down and close her eyes. She looked up to the portico, her heart thumping ever harder. She could not climb the steps. She could not climb even one of them. But she must. Somehow, leaning against the stair wall for support, she managed to drag herself up one step and then another, closing her mind against the ache of pain in her legs.
Rocco took the steps two at a time, driven by the savage bite of his anger. Of all the stupid, irresponsible things to do.
She was a woman with pride.
What if he hadn’t caught her in time?
She had defied him.
She had lain against him like a trapped fawn, too exhausted to flee its hunter, her heartbeat shaking her whole body.
She had risked the child’s safety.
She had looked at the child with such anguish in her eyes that it was as though she had bared her whole heart.
She was a good-time girl—an easy lay who had no appeal for him.
She was a devoted mother who touched some chord deep within him that overran the settings of his moral criteria of what he found desirable in a woman.
Something frightening was overwhelming her. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. The ache in her legs that had become so familiar to her over the last couple of weeks had intensified to such a pitch that it made her want to cry out.
Her heart was thudding so much it frightened her. She desperately wanted to sit—no, to lie down, Julie corrected herself tiredly, even as her fingers curled round the metal handrail, so that she could pull herself up the final few stairs and follow Rocco into the villa.
Normally she would have been entranced by the hallway, with its frescoes and its magnificent return staircase to the upper floors, its walls filled with paintings which Julie suspected were each worth a prince’s ransom. Normally she would have been thrilled by the opportunity to enjoy such a feast of artworks. But right now she longed so much to lie down that she couldn’t think of anything else. She was actually grateful that Rocco was holding Josh.
Rocco was talking to a plump woman whose dark hair was streaked with grey, and who Julie assumed from her demeanour must be the housekeeper. He was handing Josh over to her and she was beaming down at him.
Rocco was turning back to her.
‘A room has been prepared for you,’ he told Julie. ‘Maria will show you to it.’
Julie nodded her head and made to follow Maria, who was already walking up the stairs.
Rocco frowned as he watched Julie. Her face was bonewhite and she was staring at the stairs as though she was terrified of them. She took a step towards them—and then stopped moving, suddenly crumpling to the floor.
Rocco covered the distance between them in three easy strides, catching Julie as she collapsed. She wasn’t, as he had first thought, unconscious. Her eyes were open and dark with confusion.
‘I’m all right. Just a bit tired, that’s all.’
Her face looked as bloodless as the marble steps, and he could feel the frantic tolling thud of her heartbeat through the silk blouse where her trenchcoat had fallen open. She was so slight that carrying her felt like carrying a child—except no child had such magnificent breasts. The sensation of them pressed against his own body as he carried her up the stairs stirred his body as well as his senses.
Rocco headed for the stairs still carrying her, ignoring her frantic demands to be put down, simply telling her tersely, ‘Keep still.’
Through her embarrassment and her exhaustion Julie had a dizzy impression of white marble stairs, ancestral portraits, a long corridor with white walls, and very dark polished and carved wooden doors—one of which was open.
It was heaven to be lying down, even if her heart was pounding so uncomfortably that it was making her feel sick and anxious.
The bed on which she was lying was large and canopied, in a room that looked as though it had come out of an eighteenth-century film set. A fire burned in the marble fireplace beyond the bed, and Maria was placing Josh in what looked like a brand-new cot at the bottom of the bed, fussing over him. Julie wanted to go to him, but she simply felt too weak.
Rocco frowned as he watched her, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the wall. Something was wrong—and, given her lifestyle, it could be drugs. He knew the signs; after all they were easy enough to recognise in these modern times. But, no—this was something other than substance abuse. She was very thin—dieting, then? She hadn’t eaten during the flight, and if celebrities were anything to go by it was the fashion to be skeletally thin—skeletally thin but with such large surgically enhanced breasts that women turned themselves into something close to physical freakery.
Maria spoke to him, telling him that the baby was asleep.
Nodding his head, he turned back to the bed and demanded curtly, ‘When was the last time you ate a proper meal?’
Julie tried to think, but even that was too much for her. What was the truth? Did she even know? Could she remember? Did she care?
These last weeks had been a nightmare jumble of trying to look after Josh whilst worrying about Judy’s debts. Making a meal for herself had been the last thing on her mind, even if she had had the money to buy proper food. And she hadn’t really felt like eating. She had lost James. Not just once, but a second time. Losing him to Judy had hurt dreadfully, but losing him to death had brought another kind of pain—this time not just for herself but for Josh, and for James himself as well. Just the thought of the physical effort it would take to eat had made her feel even worse. She simply had not had the energy.
Her tormentor was still looking at her. Waiting for her to reply. He wouldn’t leave her in peace to sleep as she so longed to do until she had answered him. She knew that.
She struggled to sit up.
‘I would have had a meal at home in my own flat this evening if I hadn’t been virtually hijacked,’ she told him, trying to inject a note of scathing contempt into her voice and wondering if it sounded as thin and frail to him as it did to her.
‘And before that—at lunchtime, for instance? You ate then? What?’
He was asking her too many questions andtoo fast.
‘There wasn’t time. The shop was busy, and Jenny the other girl didn’t come in.’
‘No lunch, then—breakfast?’
‘I had coffee and toast.’
It was a lie. She had made coffee and toast, but all she had had time for was a few sips of the coffee before she’d had to take Josh to nursery.
‘And every day is like that, is it? You deliberately starve yourself, out of some pathetic belief that being thin makes you more desirable to men like my late brother?’
‘No!’
There was real denial as well as outrage in her voice.
‘You say no, but it is obvious that you do not eat.’
Spirit flashed in her eyes as she told him fiercely, ‘We aren’t all rich enough to own private jets and have staff to cook for us, you know.’
Ignoring her attack, Rocco said flatly, ‘If you are not starving yourself out of some self-destructive desire to attract the attention of men who can only be aroused by women who look like children and behave like whores, then why are you