“You and my son will come to live with me, in Italy. A chauffeured car will pick us up in an hour and we’ll be on my private jet and in Naples airport before you know it.”

Her mouth fell open in astonishment, then snapped shut again, this time in anger. “Oh, I see! So that’s what you were doing just now!” She hurled the words at him shakily. “Softening me up! Organizing dinner by candlelight, plenty of wine, half seducing me so I’d eagerly fall in with your plans!”

“Verity, I—”

“And then, presumably, you thought I’d not only be willing to look after Lio, but I’d be a useful little bedmate tucked away in your house! A substitute mother by day and a lover at night! How dare you?” she raged.

“It was not my intention to half seduce you.” His mouth curved wickedly, shooting her nerves into spasm. “It is not my habit to do anything by halves,” he growled sexily.

Mamma Mia!

Harlequin Presents®

ITALIAN HUSBANDS

They’re tall, dark…and ready to marry!

If you love marriage-of-convenience stories that ignite into marriages of passion, then look no further. We’ve got the heroes you love to read about and the women who tame them.

Watch for more exciting tales of romance, Italian-style, coming soon from Harlequin Presents®!

Coming soon:

Marco’s Pride

by

Jane Porter

#2375

The Sicilian Husband

by

Kate Walker

#2381

The Italian’s Demand

Italian Husbands

Sara Wood

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

HE PUT down the phone and for a long time he just stared at his shaking hands, too stunned to react in any way at all. As the news began to sink in, a choking emotion rushed into the void that had been his heart.

His vision was blurred by tears of joy and he brushed them away impatiently, leaping to his feet as if propelled by rocket fuel.

Lio! he thought in amazement, racing for his study door. My son!

He called out, his voice cracking and husky. Then louder, till his staff came running in alarm. And then he set the house alight with orders. He requested a Mercedes to replace his unsuitable Maserati, bookings for flights and hotel accommodation and for a bag to be packed—pronto.

Eyes burning feverishly, Vittore hurried in long, rapid strides down the broad, sweeping steps of the palazzo, wrenched open the door of the car and dived in as though flames licked at his heels and the dogs of Hell were almost upon him. But he was leaving his hell behind at last.

The cream leather enfolded his lithe body. Impatiently discarding his cashmere jacket, he waited till he heard the soft ‘clunk’ of the boot being closed and then hastily revved up, remembering just in time a wave of gratitude to his puzzled staff.

At last. He was on his way. Expertly negotiating the tight curves of the small piazza, with the glorious Amalfi coast disappearing behind him, he eagerly headed up the hill for Naples, for London…

For his son!

He sucked in a lungful of air, barely able to contain himself. Lio, sweet Lio, was probably alive. Alive!

Joyous energy soared into every part of him, lengthening every muscle of his body. His breathing was all over the place: short, sharp, shallow. Every nerve danced and jerked, tuned to maximum alertness.

How could he survive the delay between now and arriving in London? How could he ever contain himself without exploding: shouting, laughing, weeping with relief…?

‘Bambino mio,’ he whispered softly, and the words made a vice of love and pain tighten around his heart. ‘My child. My baby.’

Because soon, God willing, he would see his beloved son again, the baby he had adored with a wild and uncontrollable passion that had come upon him like a thunderclap when he’d first set eyes on his newborn child; a passion so unexpected and total that it had shaken him to his very soul and left him desperately and fatally vulnerable to all the pain that had followed.

He flung a raking hand through his neatly-groomed hair, causing a hank of it to fall, Byron-like, onto his forehead. For once he didn’t care if he looked a mess, only that the love of his heart was waiting in England.

He dragged in his breath sharply, realising he’d stopped breathing. No wonder. Finding Lio again was all he’d dreamed of, night after empty night, for over a year.

He’d filled the interminable months, weeks and hours with a ferocious schedule of work to blot out the agony that had carved harsh lines in his once equable face.

The tragedy had turned him into a recluse; a cold, grim machine instead of a living, breathing man who adored life, valued friends and relatives and cared for them deeply.

But he’d had nothing to give them. No love could emerge from behind the steel cage that had surrounded his wounded heart. Life had lost its joy, its meaning.

But now…! Emotion suddenly overtook him again, a hard and hurting lump swelling in his throat. His son was now seventeen months old. And could soon be safely in his arms again. It would be the miracle he had prayed for in the privacy of his room, night after desperate night.

Shortly after the momentous phone call, he’d opened the nursery door which had been locked since that day fourteen months ago when his English wife Linda had abducted Lio and disappeared off the face of the earth.

Nothing had been touched. There in the middle of the cruelly peaceful room stood the beautifully carved crib in which generations of Mantezzini babies had slept and gurgled for the first few months of their lives. Above it hung the brightly coloured mobile of farm animals. In hand-made wicker baskets nestled the unnaturally neat stacks of toys his son had never seen.

And the thought of his son being there again, once more filling his heart and his life with happiness and laughter, had made him sway on his feet and clutch at the door for support, taking away his very breath and robbing him of the great physical and mental strength for which he was renowned.

Darkness clouded his eyes as he remembered the reason his son would be returning. His estranged wife had died two months ago, the loan company had said on the phone.

And he, apparently was liable for the loan on her London house because she had named him as the guarantor.

He shuddered, suddenly sobered by a thought. If she hadn’t forged his signature, Lio would have been lost to him forever. An ironic twist of fate.

‘Poor Linda,’ he murmured, offering thoughts for her salvation.

Oh, he wasn’t a saint to be so forgiving of his late wife. Initially he had vilified her for depriving him of the son he loved. Yet now he felt unbelievably sad that she had died so young. Thirty years old. A tragedy.

A fear struck him. The line of his perfectly smooth jaw hardened as his white teeth jammed tightly together in an attempt to control a sharp and searing cry of visceral dread that turned his loins to water.

Dio! He didn’t know that Lio was in the London house. He might not be. Anything could have happened to his son on Linda’s death, though she’d stolen enough money to live well, to employ staff. His mother’s jewels had been worth a fortune alone, and Linda had taken her own as well, plus everything in their joint bank account.

Knowing her dislike of motherhood, he assumed she would have employed an au pair or a nanny. With any luck, Lio would still be in the house under suitable care.

Unless his son had been taken away by a lover of Linda’s, or some distant relative of hers. Worse, he thought, his black brows lowering in anger, the unwanted Lio could have been placed in a children’s home!

He banged the steering wheel in frustration and scowled as he negotiated a tight turn in the tortuous road that snaked around the spectacular cliff.

Santo cielo! He could hardly bear it. Wanted to take chances on the slow, murderous bends, though logic curbed such rashness. It would hardly help if he were killed or seriously injured. But he longed for some means of obliterating the terrible waiting and the scouring uncertainty that was ripping his hopes to shreds.

It would be too cruel if Lio was snatched from his grasp again. He didn’t deserve that.

His black eyes blazed with an intense passion. Excitement and fear created a painful chaos in his stomach and knotted his muscles even more tightly till they brought a welcome discomfort to divert his tortured mind.

Nothing, and no one must stop him this time. All his wealth, all his power, were meaningless in the face of his love for Lio.

He shuddered at the frightening intensity of his feelings, knowing that decency and caution would be thrown to the winds in his quest. The way he was feeling now, he knew he’d stop at nothing; would breach any barrier and take any steps necessary—legal or otherwise—to reclaim his beloved son.

Verity creaked her stiff body low over the sleeping child and kissed the achingly soft cheek, all the ghastliness of the past few hours forgotten in a rush of love and compassion.

What a gorgeous child. She grinned ruefully. And what a hell of a day! Amused that one had caused the other, she slowly stretched her aching limbs.

It amazed her that she felt more tired than she’d ever been in the whole of her life—even though she’d never been happier.

‘Dearest Lio. Rascal.’

Her fingertips lightly touched his cute, droopingly relaxed mouth. Tenderly she smiled then lifted his sweetly dimpled arms to tuck each one, floppy and unresisting, under the sheet.

‘Night, sweetheart,’ she murmured lovingly. ‘Little scamp, little limpet, sleep well.’

Outside the room she was forced to pause, swaying from a tide of exhaustion that rushed over her like an express train. All her energy had drained away. It felt as if she couldn’t move even if her life had depended on it.

Not surprising. Her little limpet clung to her all day every day, not leaving her alone for a second. But how could she complain or push him away? It was understandable. His mother had died only two months ago. Poor Lio. Poor Linda.

Verity’s expressive face folded into sorrowful lines. She thought sadly of her late, adoptive parents John and Sue Fox, who’d picked Linda and herself from the Children’s Home so many years ago. She sighed. They couldn’t have found two more dissimilar kiddies if they’d tried.

Life in the beautiful—and favoured—Linda’s shadow had been tough. Not surprisingly, she hadn’t seen her adoptive sister for ten years, their only communication being catch-up letters with their annual Christmas cards.

Nevertheless, Linda’s death was tragic and Lio had suffered badly as a consequence, poor lamb.

She grimaced. So had her job, her social life and her sanity since Linda had left that note asking her to be his guardian. But she had never regretted one second of her time with Lio. The grimace became an amused smile.

It had been a moment of amazing contradictions when she’d held her orphaned nephew in her arms: joy and sheer terror had combined to confuse her. Joy because she had someone of her own at last to love. Terror because Lio wouldn’t stop screaming and she knew nothing about toddlers at all.

But her mothering instincts had been awoken from that very moment and knew instantly that she would surrender everything for him. He needed her desperately—even more than she needed him, though her tender heart was still bruised from when she’d been unloved and ugly as a child and yet with vast, untapped reserves of love to give.

Lio could have every scrap of that love, she thought. And as vacant as a zombie, she dragged herself downstairs and staggered out onto the pool terrace.

Hitching up her long, floaty white sundress, Verity collapsed weakly into a welcoming sun lounger, her bones apparently non-existent amidst a mass of complaining muscle.

How could a toddler do so much damage to a grown woman? she wondered ruefully.

Her feet throbbed, her head throbbed, everything—including parts she’d never known existed—warned her not to move for hours or they’d give her hell.

She did giggle, though, when a couple of daisies fell onto her chest. Her hair must still be scattered with them after she and Lio had de-flowered the lawn and he’d solemnly stuffed every single daisy into her thick, gypsy curls. A lovely moment, she thought tenderly.

In a while, when she’d found a muscle that hadn’t gone on strike, she’d have a lovely long soak in the bath. For now, she’d admire the sunset and build her strength up for the next day.

Despite a whole raft of friends, her life had been empty and meaningless. Now it was complete because of the arrival of one small baby. She sighed contentedly.

With Lio’s dreadful father dead and no family to claim her nephew, it was obvious that she must adopt him. It would be only a matter of time before they were officially mother and son. She quivered with delight.

‘My son,’ she practised. ‘Hello, I’m Verity and this is my son, Lio.’

She hugged herself. Could there be any words more wonderful than those? Could there be anything better than the slow, sweet smile of a child who adores you?

Well, perhaps it equalled a loyal, kind, tender man who smiled at her with love in his eyes and heart, she conceded. But she was all of twenty-nine and hadn’t found one of those yet. Despite a huge circle of friends pushing men at her as if they were in danger of going out of fashion.

Turning her head to one side, she checked the video link with the nursery and beamed dotingly at Lio’s small face.

‘See you at six a.m., sweetheart,’ she murmured warmly.

Soon, with the dire financial situation she faced, they wouldn’t have the luxury of video links and swimming pools with palms around them, she mused. More like a cardboard box under the railway arches. If she couldn’t resurrect her landscape garden business and earn some money, they’d be eating the darn daisies instead of decorating themselves with them.

‘Help!’ she muttered faintly. ‘How can I ever work when Lio treats me like the north face of Everest and hangs on to me all day?’

Her stomach churning with worry, she hauled herself up and stood on the edge of the pool, fretfully dabbling first one bare foot and then the other in the dark turquoise water. It looked inviting, with the sunset staining the far end a glorious poppy red, but she just didn’t have the energy to stay afloat, let alone swim.

On the slender cord around her waist, the entry phone buzzed intrusively. She looked at it in deep reproach. Her friends had flocked to see the incomparably beautiful Lio, vastly amused that she’d abandoned her love of freedom and independence for a child who kept superglueing himself to her.

‘I’m not in,’ she muttered firmly, leaving the answer button firmly switched off. It was gone nine o’clock. Too late for visitors.

The buzzing became more insistent and she silently cursed all mod cons and hi-tech appliances. Doorknockers could be ignored. Gadgets, however, had an arrogance all of their own.

‘Oh, all right!’ she grumbled, flicking on the switch. ‘Yes? Who is it?’ she demanded grumpily into the receiver.

‘Vittore Mantezzini,’ silked a foreign voice, declaiming the name as if it were a lyrical poem set to music.

But it was far from music to Verity’s ears. It took her a moment to realise where she’d heard that name before, and then the shock made her gasp out loud.

‘Vittore!’ she exclaimed in horror. ‘You’re dead!’

Whirling around in dismay to face the house, she lost her balance on the wet tiles. One foot shot out sideways, her arms flailed like windmills, and before she knew it she’d gone over backwards and hit the water with a painful ‘thwack’ that took all the breath from her enfeebled body.

The waters closed over her head and she was in a silent world where the weakness of her attempts to surface did nothing to allay her panic. Briefly she surfaced, yelling for help, before she went down again.

The remote control for the entry phone bobbed on its cord and caught her on the temple with a sharp blow.

Lio! she thought in panic. Can’t drown! He needs me!

Spurred on, she kicked strongly, feeling the sudden warmth of the dying sun on her head, and managing to grab the side of the pool and haul herself out of the water onto her stomach, dripping, choking, gasping.

Somewhere in the distance a man was shouting. Linda’s husband presumably.

‘Oh, my good grief!’ she groaned. ‘Linda’s husband!’

Widower, she corrected, shivering with apprehension as the penny dropped. And her hand flew to her mouth to contain her appalled groan.

Of course, she thought shakily. It might be an impostor. But…if it was him, then somehow he’d found out about Linda’s death. And that meant…

He’d come to take Lio away!

The world spun around and she clung to the ground as though she were in danger of falling off.

He couldn’t take her baby, the person she most cherished in the whole, wide world, who needed her desperately and who cried piteously if she ever seemed likely to be moving more than a yard away!

Gasping for breath, she knelt up, rigid with horror. Lio screamed at strangers. He was a scared, desperately insecure little kiddie who’d been through hell and was only just learning to play.

He wasn’t ready to trust anyone else. What could she do? Where did she stand in law? Would blood be the deciding factor, over and above Linda’s request that he should never take charge of his child?

Verity felt sick. Vittore might be rotten all the way through, but he was Lio’s father. He had a legal claim to his son.

‘Hellfire!’ she breathed, her mouth drying with a stupefying fear. It could be that she had no rights at all!

CHAPTER TWO

HALF-SOBBING with panic, Verity flung back her dripping hair out of her eyes and scrambled awkwardly to her feet, praying that this was an impostor. Perhaps someone who’d read the obituaries and thought Linda had been rich. If so, she’d tear strips off him for scaring her witless!

The buzzer made her jump. Hoping to open the gate, she grabbed the remote control that was still dangling from her waist, but it didn’t work.

‘I’m coming!’ she yelled, her nerves perching on a knife edge.

And with her dress clinging to her like a food wrap and badly impeding her movements, she began to stumble towards the formal front garden on legs that didn’t want to take her there.

If this was Vittore, she decided—somehow risen from the dead—then her deeply disturbed nephew must be protected at all costs, father or no father, whatever the law.

She’d run away with Lio, disappear, hide on a remote island, if it meant that his sanity was preserved.

She had a duty to the sad little baby—and was not going to hand him over to a womanising rat who’d callously ignored his son’s existence—and worse.

Her teeth ground together. Vittore’s infidelity had ruined the marriage and caused Linda to end her life. As a result, Lio was now an emotional mess and in no fit state to be whisked away by a strange man to a strange land where they didn’t even speak English!

Rounding the side of the house, she saw him at last. Tall and immaculately dressed, he was striding up and down like a man possessed, his powerful voice ringing out as he demanded imperiously that someone come to open the high-security gate at once!

Vittore removed his finger from the bell, suddenly struck dumb. Coming towards him with the ferocity of a heat-seeking missile, was a tall, voluptuous woman with ink-jet hair tumbling about her head in a riot of glistening, wet curls.

And this stunning beauty was in a furious temper, a strap of her long, white dress slipping off one tanned shoulder, the neckline scooping low to the mounds of gleaming, glorious breasts which were in danger of bouncing free of the flimsy material as she careered at full speed to where he stood in silent amazement.

Awed, he drew in a sharp breath. The dress was dripping wet and draped around her body in crinkling folds so that she looked like a living Grecian goddess. Like a Venus rising from the sea.

Something kicked hard in his loins, startling and shocking him. And for a brief moment his body took control until his brain reminded him of his purpose.

‘Let me in,’ he ordered brusquely, short-cutting polite greetings and stamping his authority on the situation because she evidently intended to yell at him for some mad reason. He’d come for Lio, not an argument. ‘I’m Vittore Mantezzini and I demand entry.’

‘Oh, are you? Show me proof of identity first!’ she demanded, her white teeth looking as if they would savage his flesh to shreds if he stepped out of line.

His mouth tightened at the delay and he frowned, not used to being disobeyed or challenged. Slid a hand into the inside pocket of his cashmere jacket and handed over his ID card without further comment.

Though the angry set of his jaw and the black glitter of his hard, cold eyes would have deterred most people from questioning his word.

Scowling, she peered at the photo, then checked that it looked like him. Since it had cost a great deal of money and the efforts of Milan’s top society photographer, there was, indeed, a flattering likeness.

Shock registered on her face. Then undisguised dismay.

‘You’re dead!’ she protested, searching his narrowed eyes in bewilderment, her soft lips parted in a perfect O.

Touch me, find out how alive I am! he almost said to his own astonishment, but stopped himself in time, a curl of heat lazily nevertheless easing his tense muscles.

It was new, this. To live again, to breathe sweet air, to feel emotion and the lure of an attractive woman…

‘Is that what Linda told you?’ he queried, annoyed at being diverted by a pretty face, even for a second. Pretty? No, beautiful. Unique, he corrected before he could help himself. Amazing what happened, he thought, when joy captured your emotions.

Plainly crestfallen that he wasn’t six feet under, she nodded unhappily. ‘Last summer,’ she replied in a hoarse whisper. To his astonishment, he noticed that her hands were trembling. She swallowed, the slender line of her throat oddly vulnerable as she did so. ‘Linda sent a change of address,’ she continued. ‘That’s when she said you were dead and that she had come back to England with Lio.’

‘Linda was lying,’ he said curtly. ‘I’m very much alive. As you see.’

She stared at him hard, as if reassuring herself that he was, indeed, not a mirage. Beneath her solemn gaze, he drew himself up and stared back. Apparently she detected enough life to convince her because she gave a little shudder, almost a sexual response. Her shoulders fell in disappointment. He wondered why and was about to ask when she spoke again.

‘If I’d known you weren’t dead,’ she mumbled, her voice wobbling in distress, ‘I would have contacted you when… Oh!…’ Her hands flew to cover her mouth in alarm. ‘You know,’ she said, somewhat inaudibly, ‘that Linda herself is—?’

‘Dead. Yes.’ He brushed her apology and her tact aside with an impatient gesture. She looked shocked at his dismissal of his late wife’s death but the past was past, the present full of urgency. ‘I want to see my son. Now,’ he announced irritably.

‘Tough!’

He almost reeled back in shock. Something odd was happening here. ‘What did you say?’ he asked menacingly.

‘It’s impossible!’

With her extraordinary violet eyes flashing in challenge, she flung back her head, releasing a shower of water drops from her dripping hair. Intrigued, he noticed that tiny white flowers had been trapped in the tar-slick curls. Daisies. Very bohemian.

Her hands thumped belligerently down to her hips, drawing his gaze there. Incomparable, he thought with a start, his eyes and brain full of delicious curves. In other circumstances it would have been the body of his dreams. But he had something more important on his mind.

‘Because?’ he growled, eyes glittering with shards of white-hot fury.

She glared, as hostile as if he were the devil incarnate. ‘Because you can’t! Because I’m not going to let you!’

He froze, fearing that she’d say his son had disappeared. Drawing in a steadying breath he jerked out a husky, ‘And why the hell not?’

‘Because he’s asleep!’ she declared, defiant and ready for a pitched battle.

But her words were wonderful. The best news he could have had. Vittore’s eyes closed and his heart lurched wildly, every taut muscle unwinding as if by magic.

Lio was there! Thank you. Thank you, he thought fervently.

For a moment he couldn’t speak for emotion, but he knew he must persuade this ill-tempered vision to open the gate before she turned out to be a figment of his fevered imagination.

‘It doesn’t matter if he’s asleep or awake,’ he said shakily, his heart singing for joy. ‘I just want to see him. He’s my son!’ he cried passionately. ‘You can’t stop me. So open the gate at once!’

The curving red lips were bitten, one then the other, by the small, white teeth. Her face was a picture of misery, her entire body slumping in defeat and she shivered pathetically.

‘No. I’ve got to get dry,’ she mumbled, her eyes tragic. ‘I’m absolutely soaked—’

‘I’d noticed,’ he drawled. He wasn’t blind. His iced-over sexual responses had already made themselves known, much to his surprise. ‘Are you all right?’ he enquired, his innate thoughtfulness temporarily overriding his own agenda. ‘I heard a cry—’

‘That was me. I was startled to hear your name because you were dead. Or so I’d thought. I fell in the pool,’ she explained mournfully. ‘Swimming in a long dress when you’re exhausted isn’t the easiest activity in the world.’

There was a breathless silence while he followed her rueful glance at the dress, which seemed to have become an intimate part of her body. Every mound looked alluringly attainable.

Overcome, he pushed a hand over his forehead as his head swam with tiredness from travel, from expectation—or were those the stirrings of sexual desire?

Ruthlessly he restored some semblance of control. ‘I’ll take your word for it. I’ve never tried. So it’s my fault you’re wet?’ he queried, sounding more sardonic than he had intended.

She glared, piercing him with her pansy eyes, thick black lashes wet and spangled with tiny drops of water. He couldn’t stop the heat coursing through his veins. Maledizione! He felt shaken by her, as if he’d been hit by a truck. But of course, she was so vibrant, so alive, and his emotions were at fever pitch…

‘It certainly is!’ she retorted sharply. ‘So you’ll have to stay here while I go and change—’

‘Dio! What are you trying to do to me?’ he cried in astonishment. The thought of waiting a second longer had effectively reined in his wayward hormones. ‘This is ridiculous! Let me in now!’ he ordered indignantly.

‘No. You wait!’ she repeated in agitation.

‘The devil I will!’ he raged. ‘Surely you don’t intend to keep me hanging around out here, prowling up and down like a caged tiger, while you—’

‘I have to!’ she cried, clearly agitated. ‘I can’t risk you snatching Lio while I’m changing!’ she flung.

Vittore flinched with horror at such a barbaric idea. ‘Snatch? Why should I snatch what is mine?’ he demanded in outrage.

‘Yours? Oh, help!’ she muttered. ‘Where do I begin? I’m just protecting Lio—’

‘From his own father?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Yes!’ Her hand swept impatiently over her forehead. ‘Look—you must wait. I promise I’ll let you in as soon as I can. I’m a quick dresser. I just can’t risk…’ She fidgeted in agitation, artistic fingers twisting and writhing together. ‘There’s something you have to know—’

‘What? Why?’ he grated in helpless fury. ‘And what right do you have to deny me? Just who the devil are you?’

‘I’m Verity,’ she replied wearily. ‘Verity Fox. I was adopted by the Foxes, like Linda. I’m Lio’s guardian. Stay there. Won’t be a sec.’

With that, she spun around, untwisted her skirts impatiently and gathered them up to reveal long, tanned and bare legs, which suddenly leapt into action and took her around the back of the house again in a flash of shimmering gold and white, all topped off by that night-dark, bobbing hair.

He dragged his mind from this vision, realising he was being left to stew.

‘Come back!’ he shouted angrily. ‘Verity! Come back at once—!’

He was talking to thin air. He felt like bellowing in his frustration. A nanny or au pair would have been easier to deal with than this stunning, feisty woman with a knockout body and a mind of her own!

He pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling as if he’d been standing in the path of a hurricane. He thrummed with life, aroused by Verity’s extraordinary persona, fired too by the tantalising knowledge that his son slept peacefully a hundred metres or so away.

Patience, he told himself, trying to calm his agitated mind. Five minutes, ten, an hour…what did those minutes matter in the long run? Lio was in the house. He’d scoop him up in his arms and never let him go. Soon. Soon.

But logic and sense couldn’t compete with months of deprivation. He wanted his child and had been without him too long.

‘For the love of heaven!’ he groaned contrarily.

How could he wait? How long did it take most women to undress, shower, choose something suitable… Hell. Hours, usually.

Suddenly incapable of remaining still, he began to loose off some of the energy that seemed to be stored in his body by striding up and down. Astonishingly, his mind had leapt away from Lio and had focussed on the woman who’d ignited his consciousness, imagining her in a room upstairs, peeling off that dress…

Per l’amor del cielo! What was he? Some sort of sex maniac that he should be distracted by a fabulous body at a time like this? It was true she was beautiful. Luscious. Perfect skin, incredible eyes, a mouth that had been made for kissing. And she was fiery. Passionate and apparently very caring.

He allowed himself a wry smile. No wonder she’d made such an impression on him! It was because his feelings were all over the place, his needs raw and hungry. He’d be more in control once he’d seen Lio. More tranquil.

‘Avanti!’ He muttered impatiently. Come on!

He had a child to hold and love, bags to pack, a flight to catch. A son to take home.

From the upstairs bedroom, the trembling Verity furtively observed Vittore as he fumed his way up and down beside the burglar-proof railings. Once he stopped and looked up at the spikes at the top and seemed to contemplate climbing over, but he then thought better of it and resumed his furious prowling, for all the world like the caged tiger he’d mentioned.

She gulped, her eyes wide with dismay. Never in the whole of her life had she seen anyone so angry. He simmered like a rumbling volcano about to erupt and devastate the countryside around.

Her heart thudded loudly. Vittore wouldn’t meekly go away when she explained that Lio oughtn’t to leave her. He’d never understand. She knew that he didn’t have an ounce of sensitivity in the whole of his body.

The nausea clawed at her stomach again. It looked horribly likely that she’d lose Lio. This was a situation she hadn’t expected, not in a million years.

She would never have given her heart so completely if she’d thought Vittore might turn up. Wouldn’t have allowed Lio to regard her as the centre of the universe. It would devastate her if Lio left. And how would he ever recover?

‘Oh, God!’ she whispered, appalled by the terrible dilemma.

This was Vittore’s child. But Lio was far too disturbed to be put in his father’s care. Verity held her stomach, willing herself not to be sick. She had to get through this, had to succeed, for Lio’s sake.

Her brain whirled with questions. Linda had lied when she’d said that Vittore was dead. Why? Had she run away? And if so, why? What kind of ogre was Vittore? Or was it his persistent infidelity that had been too painful to bear? Linda had been scathing about his womanising.

Verity took a good, hard look at him. Not that she didn’t know already how sensual he was, the kind of man who’d attract women like flies to his web.

That athletic and muscular body was packed with sexual impulses—which had, she could have sworn, been zapped at her once or twice. She’d certainly found herself reluctantly wilting under the intensity of his hot, sultry eyes. He even moved with a sexy fluidity that had made her knees go weak.

His air of sophisticated, man-of-the-world confidence was very appealing. Vittore’s hair was glossy; smooth and neat, now he’d swept back that poet’s lick back from his forehead. And he probably made good use of those melting chocolate eyes that had expressed several emotions in the short time they’d talked; flashing with tenderness, anger and longing.

She groaned in despair. It seemed that he wanted his child badly. Whether that was just a male need for a son and heir, or for a more profound and worthy reason, she didn’t know.

Linda’s boasts about their lifestyle could have been true. Clearly he was rich and successful, which meant he was used to getting whatever he wanted. She knew he headed the family textile business, with masses of exclusive outlets all over the world. So we’re talking about dynasties, she mused gloomily.

Even if she hadn’t seen the Mantezzini name above adverts for impossibly glamorous and expensive clothes, she could have recognised his wealth in the cut of his quiet, classy, soft-textured suit. It fitted him like a glove and had obviously been hand-made. Shoes, too. Probably the cream shirt and expensive silk tie had been laboured over with loving care as well. Yes, the playboy Italian looked groomed to the last immaculate inch.

Smelling of money. Smelling gorgeous, as a matter of fact, drat him! She scowled. He’d give Lio a fabulous life—far better in material terms than the one she’d envisaged for them. No doubt Lio would take over the business eventually. What a future.

But would her nephew have what truly mattered: total, unconditional love? She went cold, envisaging the kind of loveless existence she’d been subjected to at home. Without her friends at school, she would have been utterly miserable.

And who would offer Lio a mother’s love? Would he find an ever-changing string of women in his father’s bed? And…would he be farmed out to nannies and be visited by his father only at teatime?

Her fists clenched. That wouldn’t be good enough! Bewildered, frightened little Lio needed affection and love like a fish needs water. And he needed Vittore’s rotten kind of fathering like a hole in the head.

But…what was she going to do? Start a siege? And look what a bag of nerves she was! She was trembling all over!

Time she dived into a warm shower. And found the courage to persuade Vittore that he couldn’t take Lio away right now.

She dared not fail. Her stomach lurching uncomfortably, she checked that Lio was all right. Looking down on his sweet face, her heart somersaulted at the thought of the next hour or so which would decide his fate as well as hers. Her finger stroked his fair cheek.

‘Oh, Lio,’ she whispered brokenly. ‘I love you so very much!’

A sob escaped in a wobbly kind of sound through her trembling lips and she hurried to peel off her sopping wet dress. Shakily she stepped into the shower, where tears mingled with the water that poured over her head and where all the daisy petals from that lovely, blissful afternoon were swept away, to sit in a limp and miserable heap blocking the shower drain.

Still only half-dry, her hair wrapped in a virgin white towel, she wriggled into the first pair of briefs that came to hand and yanked what she thought was her cotton turquoise dress from the wardrobe, her fingers shaking so much she could hardly cope with the tiny buttons which ran from neckline to hem.

Too late, she discovered it was a similar one of Linda’s: too late, too short and too tight, she thought moodily, diving for the buttons in order to take it off again. Just then, the gate buzzer rang shrill and loud, and she jumped, fearing that Lio would wake.

‘Damn whoever forgot to make you waterproof!’ she muttered, glaring at the ruined entry phone remote control which she’d flung on the bed. ‘Where were you when I needed you?’ she demanded.

The wretched thing might have let Vittore in without any further risk of awakening the sleeping Lio. As it was, Vittore had apparently decided to lean on the buzzer till she answered and it was screaming through the silence of the house like a banshee.

And so, barefoot and muttering all the rude words she knew, she hitched up the pelmet skirt to hip level and hurtled down the stairs to punch in the code that opened the gates. Remembering, of course, to snuggle the skirt back as far as it would go—which wasn’t far. Not that she cared.

All she could think of was that Vittore could destroy her happiness and turn a bewildered, distressed child into a total wreck. Her heart leapt erratically, her mind focussed only on Lio. His interests came above everything else.

Wiping her clammy hands on her hips, she opened the front door and drew in a horribly shaky breath as the scowling threat to Lio’s welfare came up the drive and strode grimly up the wide steps towards her, his intention crystal clear.

He’d demand to see Lio. Order baby things to be packed.

And there wouldn’t be a thing she could do to stop him.

CHAPTER THREE

‘COME IN,’ she whimpered in an appallingly silly, breathless voice.

Vittore obviously thought she was ditzy because he frowned.

‘Lio,’ he stated starkly, not beating about the bush.

‘You mustn’t wake him!’ she declared tremulously.

The rich chocolate eyes hardened. ‘Sweet Madonna—!’ He checked himself, his sultry mouth a thin, angry line. ‘Just point me in his direction. Upstairs, is he?’

Seething with anger, Vittore started striding towards the opulently grand staircase and she had to scurry frantically to catch him up, the towel falling off her hair in the process.

With water dropping onto her bare shoulders, she reached out and grabbed his arm. He stopped dead, gazing at her inscrutably.

It was like gripping tensile steel. Alarmed by the illogical intimacy of what she was doing, Verity snatched her hand away. Tingles were whizzing up and down her arm. The man was electric, she thought in confusion. And, heaven help her, she’d just been switched on.

‘Yes?’ he growled, in a deeply husky voice that somehow made her knees turn to water.

She swallowed, some crazily diverted part of her brain mulling over the fact that he seemed to extend words, savouring them in his mouth and letting them roll out in an unnervingly sexy way. That was Italians for you.

‘You’ve got to promise,’ she breathed, astonishingly still not in full control of her lungs. Or anything else for that matter. Fear did funny things to the body.

‘Promise what?’

Valiantly she pulled the wandering strands of her brain together and licked her dry lips till she could speak again.

‘Promise not to wake him!’ she croaked.

‘So. You care about my son,’ he observed, scrutinising her anxious face as if interested in every detail.

‘Yes! I adore him, every little scrap of him!’ she cried, all the passion in her heart filling that declaration with a fierce intensity. ‘From his little toes to the top of his blond head!’

For a moment his watchful eyes seemed to soften. She did, too. He was mesmeric. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his.

‘I won’t wake him,’ he promised, solemnly gazing deep into her eyes. ‘Just…’ It seemed that emotion had got the better of him. For a second or two she watched wide-eyed while he steadied himself again. ‘You will understand,’ he said softly, ‘that naturally I am anxious to see him after all this time.’

‘But not take him!’ she faltered.

‘That, Verity, is why I’m here,’ he pointed out drily.

She felt faint. ‘You mean you’re just going to pick him up out of his bed and shove him in your car and drive away?’ she cried in horror.

Vittore flinched. ‘Do I look like a barbarian?’ he asked coldly.

‘I don’t know what barbarians look like, do I? I have to protect him!’ she jerked in distress. ‘I am his guardian!’

His brows dipped together alarmingly and she realised she’d insulted him unforgivably by suggesting he was an uncouth savage.

‘Is this a legal guardianship? An official arrangement with signed agreements, ratified by a solicitor?’ he shot at her unfairly.

She shuffled her feet, unable to lie but wishing she could.

‘N-no—’

‘Then you have no right in law where he is concerned,’ he said, crushing any hopes she might have harboured.

‘Law! What does the law matter—?’ she began hotly.

‘Everything!’ he barked. ‘Now listen, Verity. I’ve had enough of your hostility and suspicion. I suppose you’ve had Linda’s version of events. Well, this is mine—’

‘I know all about you!’ she yelled.

‘No, you don’t! You’ve heard nothing but lies. You will listen if I have to tie you up and gag you first!’ he raged.

She cringed back, frightened by his raw anger. She might have to call the police if he got violent. But her best bet would be to humour him, let him see Lio and then give him the facts.

‘I’m listening,’ she said coldly. ‘Go ahead.’

He folded his arms, his eyes dark and brooding and she realised that the bleakness of his expression was actually nothing to do with her, but some pain he’d held within him for a long time. Something in her suddenly sympathetic expression must have soothed him, because he gave a helpless gesture with his hands and muttered a curt, ‘Thank you.’

Then he fixed her with his penetrating eyes and began.

‘Fourteen months ago, Linda abducted Lio from my house,’ he said stiltedly. ‘I had no warning. When I left for work, he was there. When I came home, he and his mother had gone. Linda’s dressing room was empty and all of Lio’s clothes had been taken away. I heard nothing. Knew nothing. My son had vanished off the face of the earth. For all that time, I didn’t know if he was dead or alive. Until this morning—’

Verity felt his pain, her stomach constricting with horror. ‘I can’t believe this!’ she gasped. ‘You thought he might be dead? That’s terrible! How could you bear it? If what you say is true—’

‘True? Of course it’s true!’ he exploded. ‘Why would I pretend otherwise?’ he fumed. ‘Do you think I enjoy tormenting myself with the memory of the suffering I endured at the hands of your adoptive sister?’

She flushed. ‘I don’t know! I have two conflicting stories and I’m confused! It’s just that it was such an extraordinarily cruel thing to do, and…’

‘It was,’ he rasped. ‘How else could Linda deal me a mortal wound?’

‘Oh!’ Verity breathed, wide-eyed with shock. What had happened between him and Linda, she wondered? ‘She must have hated you very much!’

Pain etched lines around his eyes and mouth. ‘I’m not discussing her any further,’ he said tightly.

She knew when not to probe. There were terrible undercurrents here she knew nothing about. To do something so drastic, Linda must have been provoked beyond endurance!

Verity’s eyes grew even larger with apprehension. She leaned against the banister, clutching at it for support, even more determined not to hand her precious, needy Lio over to this deeply flawed man.

‘I didn’t have the full story, obviously.’ Her chin lifted in a stubborn gesture, huge violet eyes flashing in warning. She vowed that she’d get to the bottom of this before she let Vittore touch a hair of Lio’s head! ‘I don’t think I have it now—’

‘Verity,’ he muttered tautly, barely controlling his temper, ‘I am trying to remember my manners, but I am becoming increasingly impatient. Control comes easily to me—except where my passions are fiercely engaged. As they are now. For the last time—are you going to show me where Lio is, or do I search for him myself?’

‘I’m afraid you’ll take him away!’ she jerked.

‘Of course I will!’ he flared. ‘He is my flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone! Sweet heaven, I have held him in my heart and ached for him every hour of every day since he was taken from me!’

His words rang true and touched a chord in her. He wanted his son. Had a right to him. Her head bowed in defeat and drops of water fell from her swinging hair, staining the front of her dress. The painful thought of losing Lio felt like a dozen daggers in her breast. Imagining little Lio’s anguish only added to her pain.

‘Oh, no!’ she groaned. ‘No…’

As her despairing body wilted and it seemed she’d fall, strong hands caught her arms, holding her up as if she were weightless. Dizziness claimed her but she knew she had to stay alert and desperately struggled to focus her mind.

‘Verity!’ he muttered urgently. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

‘Terror!’ she blurted out tearfully.

‘What?’ His perplexed face was close to hers, a blur of golden skin and strong, white teeth. ‘Explain!’ he demanded.

Tipping up her plaintive face to his, she tried not to drown in the dark liquid eyes.

‘I’m t-terrified you’ll walk off with him now. He’s only a baby, Vittore and he’ll be so frightened if you do!’ she cried tremulously. ‘Don’t take him till I’ve talked to you!’ she begged in one last, desperate attempt. ‘Please, Vittore! For Lio’s sake, you need to know everything about him!’

He looked wary, his eyes narrow and glinting with troubled lights as they searched hers.

‘What do you mean? Is he ill? Physically harmed?’ he fired harshly, startling her.

‘No! He’s physically perfect.’ She winced at the pressure of his hands. ‘Please! You’re hurting me!’

‘Forgive me!’ His body, his grip, relaxed. ‘I do apologise. I was upset. Worried. In my anxiety I didn’t realise what I was doing.’

Gently he rubbed her arms where his fingers had clamped so tightly but she could see that his thoughts were elsewhere.

And she was glad, because she had shuddered at his touch. The strain of the moment was making her super-sensitive—just when she wanted to be cool and composed.

‘You unnerved me,’ he said shortly. ‘For a moment, I feared the worst.’

‘Please don’t worry. He’s gorgeous,’ she assured him. ‘But… Look. Go and see him. Then let me talk to you!’ she begged.

He frowned, then shrugged. ‘All right. Anything. We’ll talk. Briefly. I have a flight booked.’

Verity suppressed a moan. A flight! Not with Lio in tow, she vowed. She’d make sure of that. But at least he’d agreed to listen to her. She had the chance to persuade him that whisking his son off to Italy would be a terrible mistake.

‘Thank you!’ she whispered.

To her dismay she felt her legs buckle. Vittore drew her close again. For a moment she let her head rest against his solid chest, glorying in the protection of his embrace. Men had held her before, but only because they wanted to kiss her. No one had ever wrapped her in their arms and soothed her with stroking fingers, as Vittore was doing now.

Not even her adoptive mother.

Being cherished—however briefly—was a wonderful revelation. She could get addicted to it. But she knew she had to pull away.

‘I’m a fool. Sorry to be so feeble,’ she mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes. Embarrassed, she pushed back her hair and said jerkily, ‘And now I’ve made your shirt wet.’

‘It’ll dry.’

‘I’m usually strong and positive,’ she hastened to explain, absently taking his handkerchief from his top pocket and dabbing at the shirt aimlessly. Till she felt the warmth of his chest beneath, the strongly beating heart beneath her resting fingers. And stopped suddenly. Tucking the hanky back, her face scarlet with confusion, she added without thinking, ‘But…I’m so worried about Lio!’

Vittore’s eyes narrowed in shock. ‘Why?’

Oh, help! she thought, with a silent groan at her stupidity. She’d meant to tell him in a calm and rational way so that he realised she wasn’t making a drama out of nothing.

‘I don’t know where to start. It’s a long story—’ she began hesitantly.

‘Cielo! All these hints, these warnings… Where is he? Show me at once!’ he ordered grimly, on the edge of another explosion.

Somehow she pulled herself together. Squeezed enough air into her lungs to whisper a ‘follow me’, and to get her up the stairs. Guided him to the open nursery door.

‘There,’ she said shakily.

‘Thank you,’ he grunted.

He inclined his head with a sharp jerk to accompany his thanks but didn’t immediately go in. Wide-eyed and distressed, she stared while he stood as still as a statue, the slight shaking of his hand on the door jamb the only indication that he was under considerable strain. And then, squaring his shoulders, he walked into the half-darkened room.

Shaking like a leaf, Verity watched from the doorway. And her entire body weakened as he slowly moved forwards, his eyes intent on the sleeping Lio, every line of Vittore’s body revealing how deeply he must have yearned for this very moment.

‘Lio!’ he whispered on a zephyr breath. His lips parted, his rapt face showing the bitter-sweetness of anguish and joy. ‘Piccolino,’ he murmured tenderly. ‘My little one. Ecco Papa! Daverro…you are so beautiful!’

Tentatively he reached out and touched the side of the cot as if it were made of beaten gold. She could see that he was studying Lio with the kind of detailed attention that only a doting relative would display.

Her heartbeats thundered in her ears. She knew what he was doing. Many a night she’d done the same—and for him, this was the first time he’d seen his son since…her forehead wrinkled in deep thought. Since Lio was about three months old, she estimated. How awful! What a nightmare he’d suffered.

Yes. She’d been right. Every hair of Lio’s gorgeous white-blond head was being meticulously recorded and mentally stored as if Vittore feared his son might be snatched from his grasp again and he’d have to rely on memory alone.

Now the bold sweep of the baby’s brow and the honey-gold skin which was so flawless and kissable. The heavily lashed eyes—black lashes, extraordinarily, probably inherited from Vittore. That dear little mouth, button nose and stubborn chin—oh, so horribly stubborn!

One dimpled hand had flung itself on the wafer-thin pillow in abandon, the fingers curled loosely. She saw Vittore eyeing it fondly, longingly, swallowing as he pushed back his emotions.

Her eyes filled with tears and hot prickles of heat came with them. He would love Lio. How could he do otherwise? It was a wonderful moment, she told herself. A father bonding with his son.

But a nasty little voice inside her scuttled around, wishing that Vittore hadn’t given a damn, had never come, never been enchanted by the most beautiful baby in the whole wide world.

Because Lio mustn’t be parted from her. Not for a long time. His emotions were too fragile. He needed stability and reassurance, not strangers, strange surroundings, the confusion of the incomprehensible words of another language.

So…what was she to do?

Quietly Vittore sank to his knees and reached out, very delicately, to the half-curled fist. Lio’s fingers instinctively closed around Vittore’s hand and he let out a jerk of breath as if that small and relatively insignificant action had seared his heart and branded him forever as a worshipper at Lio’s feet.

It all but broke her heart, too. Watching Vittore so openly adoring his son was one of the most touching and painful things she’d ever witnessed. And she couldn’t bear to stay any longer.

Out on the landing, she mopped at her tears and tried to organise her wayward lungs again so that she wasn’t having to deal with the huge, irregular sobs that hurtled up into her throat and leapt out, taking her unawares.

‘He’s…more beautiful…than I remember. Has grown…so much…’

Vittore’s strangled sentence and mangled words suggested that he, too, had almost lost the power of speech. Knowing she’d crack up if she looked at him, she nodded and gave a quick jerk of her head to invite him downstairs.

They went down very slowly, in total silence. But she felt overpowered by his tension. It clawed at the air, suffocating her with its electrical charge, crushing what little energy she had left. She wanted to howl.

‘Drink?’ she croaked, when they had fetched up in the drawing room.

‘Whisky,’ he husked back. And then barely recognisable came, ‘Thanks.’

Hardly able to stand, she poured two stiff measures, spilling some on the tray. And felt she could down both drinks. Without a word, without meeting his eyes, she handed him the glass. Her hand was shaking. To her amazement, so was his.

Startled, she looked up and felt every part of her body go into meltdown. She’d never seen a man looking radiant before. It was…utterly irresistible, his smile just heart-wrenchingly blissful. Her head seemed to spin.

He loved Lio desperately. Wanted him more than ever. She felt terrible. This would be so painful.

‘Please. Sit down,’ she whispered.

And took a huge gulp of her drink. At the moment he was in Paradise. She’d ruin that for him. He wasn’t going to like this. Her legs shook. He was powerful. Dominant. A man of power. He wouldn’t take kindly to being thwarted. And he might ride rough-shod over her argument, dismissing her pleas and going his own sweet way.

Liquid slopped over her fingers. She dumped her glass on a small table before it slipped from her boneless fingers.

Dear heaven. She must convince him. Where to start?

In his own happy world, clearly deeply content with life, Vittore folded himself elegantly into the opulent sofa and crossed one long leg over the other.

‘I presume it’s you who has been looking after Lio,’ he murmured. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He produced a dazzling smile, fed by the rapture in his heart. ‘I am eternally grateful to you,’ he said softly, his pleasure all the more poignant because she would be the one who would dash his hopes and turn that smile to tight-lipped fury. ‘You can be assured that I will show my gratitude with a generosity that—’

‘No! I don’t want money! I don’t want your gratitude!’ she cried frantically, her nerves jangling too much for any polite, considered response.

She jerked up her head angrily, staring at him in desperation. Just let me have Lio, she thought hopelessly, knowing that was impossible and wrong, but wanting it just the same.

He shrugged elegantly, his hands palm up in an eloquent gesture. ‘You have my gratitude, whether you want it or not.’

She realised how much he used his hands, how they graphically emphasised his anger, determination and love.

When he’d spoken of Lio, his movements had been gentle and caressing. When he’d soothed her just now, they’d moved sympathetically and with infinite tenderness…

A flurry of heat moved lazily through her body. She was stunned to recognise it as sexual desire. Verity bit her lip, aware she was in danger of becoming dazzled by the handsome, charismatic Vittore. He’d twist her around his little finger if she wasn’t careful, and she’d find herself waving goodbye to a shrieking Lio before she knew it.

‘That’s because you haven’t heard what I have to say, yet,’ she rasped.

His head tilted slightly to one side, his expression puzzled.

‘You’re angry.’

Ripping her gaze from his smiling, arching mouth, she hardened her heart.

‘Scared,’ she amended, sick to her stomach with nerves.

‘Of me?’ he asked, eyebrows arching in eloquent surprise.

‘Of what you’ll do.’

She gulped, her eyes filling with tears, and scowled down at her glass so that he didn’t suspect that she was crying like a fool.

‘But you know what I’m going to do,’ he murmured.

Looking up quickly from under her lashes, she saw him smiling to himself as he contemplated his journey with Lio, perhaps his triumphant return and the happiness of being a father again.

But Lio needed someone sensitive to care for him, who’d devote time and patience to his needs—not a Lothario who breezed in and out of Lio’s life merely to show off the evidence of his virility to his admiring friends.

‘You must not take him!’ she blurted out.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why not?’ he asked quietly.

‘You’re not right for him!’ she replied vehemently, her eyes clashing with his.

There was a silence so tense and profound that she could hear her heart beating and the clunk of the pendulum inside the grandfather clock that stood in the hall.

‘Ah. What exactly has Linda told you about me?’ he asked shrewdly.

‘You were unfaithful,’ Verity accused, blunt as ever. ‘Over and over again! You neglected Linda and Lio for your women and for one in particular. Bianca. You were a rotten father and an even worse husband!’ she flung.

‘I see.’ His tone was quiet. Subdued.

He didn’t deny her accusations as she’d expected. She waited for an explanation, excuses, anything, but none came.

‘And that’s why you think I’m unsuitable to care for Lio,’ he went on.

‘Yes!’ She was getting into her stride. ‘But not just that—’

‘Hmm. A category of complaints. I think we’d better start to unravel this. First, I need some information from you. What happened to Linda? How did she die?’

Did he care? she wondered bitterly. He’d been remarkably composed about his late wife’s sudden death. Not a flicker of pain had crossed his face. Not a word of sorrow or regret.

Scornfully she met his piercing eyes, certain now that Vittore’s infidelity had driven Linda to the edge and beyond. He’d effectively killed Linda. Ruined his own son.

‘Her death was rather unpleasant,’ she stated flatly.

She had his full attention. ‘Tell me.’

So she drew in a huge breath and gave it to him cold. It was how she’d heard, after all. And he clearly didn’t care.

‘I was at home, in my flat the other side of London,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘The police rang me. They’d found my name in Linda’s diary which had been in her bag. There was nothing about you.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ he said. ‘Go on.’

Her eyes met his and misery washed through her entire body. ‘They said my sister had taken an overdose,’ she whispered. ‘And that she was dead.’

He started, his face drawn with shock. And then his head bowed low. Verity wondered if he was ashamed because he knew he had been largely responsible for Linda’s state of mind. His hands covered his face and he let out a low groan.

‘Linda!’ he growled on a harsh outbreath.

Amazingly, she felt a surge of compassion for him and almost reached out to touch his arm. But not quite.

He had to know what damage he’d done by playing the field. Had to recognise that by being selfish you hurt people and caused them harm. Vittore should know that he mustn’t play around with people’s emotions and treat marriage so lightly, she thought angrily.

‘There was a note,’ she said, her voice shaking a little.

His eyes flicked up and she winced at the silver slashes of pain in them. ‘Saying what?’ he growled.

‘Not much. That I was to look after Lio.’ Being a witness to his distress was hurting her, and it shouldn’t. Resentfully she muttered, ‘The gist of it was that she couldn’t go on.’

He muttered something in Italian. ‘I can’t believe it!’ he exclaimed tightly. ‘How could she leave her child?’

‘I don’t know,’ Verity said honestly. ‘But she must have been out of her mind with distress. Not only was she upset by your appalling behaviour, but—’

‘My behaviour!’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘Let’s get this straight. She left me over a year before she killed herself. I am not taking responsibility for her death. So what other reason was there? You seemed to be suggesting there was something else troubling her.’

Verity glared at the callous way he’d washed his hands of any blame. If he’d been half decent he would have made sure Linda had money of her own.

‘Well, she was desperately in debt,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I imagine it was hard, living without support. There are hundreds of unpaid bills stuffed in her desk. I had to sort through them and I know that there was a huge loan on this house which had been unpaid for months, bills and demands from masseurs, a manicurist, personal trainer, credit card companies…’ She bit her lip. ‘Everything here was a sham—a lifestyle on borrowed money,’ she said miserably. ‘Poor Linda had got herself into serious financial trouble.’

‘She could have come to me.’ He frowned, his mouth bitter. ‘Though she would have been obliged to let me see my son in return for financial assistance, wouldn’t she?’

The man was impossible. He’d driven Linda away! He’d forced his wife and child into debt and misery! Verity winced, anger welling up within her till she could contain it no longer.

‘You rat! You have no shame, no guilt—’

‘No!’ he cried, eyes blazing with a black fury. ‘None!’

‘At least we know where we stand,’ Verity flared. ‘You’re not going to change your behaviour one iota—’

‘I don’t need to!’

‘Right.’ She folded her arms belligerently. ‘Which brings us to Lio—’

‘Yes! Exactly. Lio! Where the devil was he when Linda was overdosing?’ he demanded. ‘Was he left on his own? Was he afraid, hungry, abandoned?’

Vittore hurled the questions at her like a rocket, his whole body poised on the edge of the sofa as if he was ready to leap up and shake her if she didn’t set his mind at rest.

‘No. Someone was with him,’ Verity said hastily. ‘Linda was out. She was found unconscious in the powder room of a local club. But there was a babysitter in the house. A young girl from nearby. You don’t think she’d leave her child alone, do you?’ she asked indignantly.

‘She has in the past. Nothing would surprise me,’ he muttered.

‘You’re determined to cast Linda as the wicked witch, aren’t you?’ she shot.

‘Just get on with the story.’

Her eyes flashed, her decision about Lio confirmed. She lifted her chin in a belligerent gesture and met his cynically mocking eyes without flinching.

‘When the police rang to tell me what had happened, they were here in the house. I could hear a child screaming in the background. I realised it was Lio and came at once. It took hours before I could calm him down. I’ve not left him since.’

‘He must come back with me at once,’ Vittore said with a frown. ‘Away from this place that reminds him of his mother. He needs to begin a new life with me.’

‘No!’ she cried forcefully, petrified at the prospect. ‘You can’t just take him away! I won’t let you! I won’t!’

Vittore froze. Ruthless, lacerating eyes pinned her in her seat for daring to deny him what he wanted. She cringed. Oh, yes. She’d been right. Under the sexy charm, she thought, lay a will of pure steel.

He rose to his feet, blasting her with the full force of his anger.

‘Can’t I? Watch me!’ he snarled.

She couldn’t move for shock. And to her horror, he strode grim-faced towards the door while she sat there, paralysed, not able to do anything to stop him.

Suddenly, adrenaline rushed into her numbed body and she found herself vaulting awkwardly over the back of the easy chair where she’d been sitting.

Stark fear lent her wings and she managed to reach the door before he did, flinging herself at it and flattening her back against the solid mahogany, her arms spread wide in an attitude of defence.

‘You’ve got to listen to me!’ she pleaded desperately. ‘You have to know why Lio must stay!’

The dark eyes were like chips of black ice. ‘Don’t make me hurt you, Verity,’ he growled menacingly. ‘Stand aside or I swear, I’ll forget everything I ever learned about treating women with courtesy and I will pull you away by force and I won’t care if I hurt you in the process. I’ve waited too long for this moment. Suffered too long. Nursed my hurt and my hatred till I thought I’d go insane, till my mother and my friends pulled me out of my despair and made me realise that I had to be ready for the day if I ever found Lio again.’

His voice grew husky and became so low in pitch that she could hardly hear. It seemed to vibrate through her body at a low and insistent level, reaching her compassionate heart and finding easy entry.

‘You can’t imagine what it’s been like for me all this time,’ he continued throatily. ‘Men aren’t supposed to be enslaved by their children as women are. But I was, from the moment he was born, and neither you nor anyone on earth will keep me from him a moment longer!’

His hands closed around her arms as if to hurl her aside and she quickly grabbed the lapels of his jacket to bind him to her. Vittore’s eyes flashed a warning. The heat of his chest burned into her flesh. The rock-hard solidity of him daunted her. But she meant to cling to him, limpet-like, Lio-like, till he listened.

‘If you care about him you’ll hear what I have to say! I keep trying to tell you! He’s not well!’ she yelled. And thus caught his attention.

‘Very convenient. You said he wasn’t ill just now,’ he observed in an icy, disbelieving drawl.

Her senses were heightened by terror. She could feel the hot flurry of his breath, could inhale his delicious aftershave, found herself dizzy from the magnetic power of his burning eyes. Frantically she fought off the fog that threatened to descend on her brain.

‘It’s not physical. It’s emotional. He’s suffering from separation anxiety,’ she gabbled. ‘And it’s serious.’

He searched her eyes and gradually realised she was telling the truth because a deep pain tautened her face, throwing the scimitar cheekbones into greater relief.

‘Explain,’ he rasped, his eyes bleak.

Thank heavens. Verity’s eyes closed briefly and her hands slid from his lapels, down the hot solidity of his chest. He would listen, she thought, as he took a step back. And, because he cared about Lio, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. Would he?

‘Can we sit down?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘I’m so tired I can barely stand. You’ll understand why when I tell you.’

‘D’accordo,’ he rasped. ‘Agreed.’

His hand slipped beneath her elbow. Carefully he helped her—not to the chair, but to the sofa, which he also occupied. At his raised eyebrow of grim encouragement, she nodded, found her glass and took a gulp of whisky then began.

‘I don’t know what went on here before Linda died,’ she began, her voice shaking. Absently she curled her legs up under her, unconsciously making herself comfortable for the difficult explanation. ‘Maybe Lio was perfectly normal when she was alive, maybe he wasn’t. I’ve not found anyone around here who knew anything about him—’

‘The babysitter?’ he suggested, his expression grim.

Verity shook her head. ‘The night of Linda’s death was the first time the babysitter had been here—and she told me he’d been asleep when she’d arrived and he hadn’t woken. Whatever Lio was like before, he has problems now. You must understand something, Vittore. He has latched on to me and won’t let me out of his sight. A lot of the time he’s physically attached to me in one way or another. If he feels safe, then he’ll play a short distance away. But strangers worry him, and I can’t go anywhere without him running after me.’

‘What happens if you’re out of his sight?’

‘He screams,’ she said simply.

‘Is that all?’ Vittore exclaimed. He shook his head as if her methods left a lot to be desired. ‘If he yells out of sheer obstinacy, or has a tantrum, then the common practice is to ignore such bad behaviour,’ he said firmly. ‘You don’t reward anti-social conduct by giving it your attention.’

‘It’s not a tantrum!’ she cried in exasperation. ‘When you hear him, you’ll realise that. It’s sheer terror. It’s pitiful. It wrenches at my heart. Oh, I know this must not be what you want to hear, and I’m sorry to dash your hopes, but I’m convinced that Lio will go crazy if I disappear out of his life, just like his mother did. Think of it. One day his mother was there, then he woke and found that he was confronted by total strangers.’

‘And just over a year ago, one day his father was there and then Lio found he was in another house, another country,’ Vittore pointed out bitterly.

‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘His life has been fractured, to say the least. But when Linda died he must have felt totally abandoned by the one person he really knew.’

Vittore bit his lip, bleakness deepening the hollows of his face and dulling his eyes. ‘Poor child,’ he growled under his breath. ‘What a mess.’

Verity felt the sympathy return despite her dislike of him. She sighed heavily.

‘It is. If you’d been there, I suppose he would have clung to you, but you weren’t. It happened to be me he turned to. I represent the only security he knows,’ she said earnestly. ‘We can’t take that from him, can we? He’s the important one in this, not us. Our wishes are unimportant. Lio comes first. I’ve no idea what we’re going to do, but that’s the situation. And for Lio’s sake, I beg you to respect his needs. You can’t take him away while he’s like this! It would be too cruel!’

To her astonishment and irritation, Vittore smiled gently, the light returning to his eyes.

‘I don’t think you realise, Verity,’ he said softly. ‘Children respond very well to me—’

‘Not in this case!’ she declared, dismayed that he hadn’t realised the seriousness of Lio’s insecurity.

‘You’ll see,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘I am very fond of children. And of course I love Lio very much. After a short time—an hour or two, he will be at ease with me and everything will be all right. Don’t worry about him. I am sure I can handle him.’

She groaned in exasperation and scrambled to her knees. ‘You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t some little upset he’s had. He’s traumatised. You’re wrong!’ she protested desperately.

‘No! You are!’ His angry tone and the stop sign he made with his hand had a horrible finality about them. ‘Now it is your turn to listen. Lio is my son and I love him. There’s nothing more to say about the matter. Because of what you have said, I will not take him now but I will wait until the morning when he and I can make friends—’

‘But—!’

‘However,’ he rolled on regardless, ‘I will stay here tonight. I, too, cannot risk him being snatched from under my nose—’

‘I wouldn’t do that!’ she flung indignantly.

‘No? You seem very passionate, very determined to prevent me from bonding with my child,’ he observed, dark eyes reproving her.

‘Bond if you can!’ she hurled, knowing he wouldn’t. He’d see the extent of the problem in the morning. Then he’d have to concede defeat. ‘Be my guest,’ she added bitterly.

‘Your guest? This is my house,’ he pointed out sharply. ‘At least, the debt is mine. You are the guest. And in the morning, you will pack his things—and Linda’s bills and papers—and when he and I have played together for a short while, we will then fly to Italy.’

‘And if he won’t play?’

‘We go. That’s final.’

She stared in horror. ‘But…you can’t do that! And…Italy! I—I wouldn’t ever s-see him!’ she stuttered, utterly appalled that Vittore meant to ignore everything she’d said.

She’d be miles away from Lio and he’d be crying his heart out, lost and scared… Her face crumpled, misery welling up to choke her.

‘It’s not that far away. You can visit,’ Vittore said, quite gently as if he recognised the extent of her affection and felt sorry for her. ‘You are his aunt and therefore will always be welcome. My mother would like to meet you, I’m sure. And whatever you say to the contrary, you will be properly thanked for what you have done. Tomorrow you can get on with your life,’ he soothed, patting her bare thigh consolingly, ‘which I am sure has been put on hold for the past two months.’

Words failed her. Numb with disbelief, she gazed blearily up at him, so overwhelmed by tears that she couldn’t argue her case any further.

‘Please don’t cry,’ he said gently.

‘I’m not crying!’ she raged, stupidly denying the obvious and crossly catching up the salty drops with her tongue as if that might hide them.

‘I understand that this is difficult for you,’ he murmured, voice, hands and eyes combining to placate her. ‘You’ve looked after him for many weeks and have become attached to him—’

‘Attached isn’t the right word,’ she muttered miserably. ‘Super-glued is closer.’

‘We both know he has to come back to Italy with me,’ Vittore went on relentlessly. ‘Tomorrow.’

‘No—!’

‘Excuse me,’ he said, his manner short and sharp. ‘I want to look at him again and then I will collect my overnight bag from my hire car and find somewhere to sleep.’

He strode to the door. She opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out other than a choking cry. For a moment she heard his steps falter and then they quickened and faded.

Unbelievably distressed, Verity slumped in a heap, sobbing her heart out for baby Lio and for herself.

In a few hours the light of her life would be gone. All too vividly she could picture the scene tomorrow: Lio, screaming at being parted from her, fear and hysteria in his eyes, his body rigid with terror.

‘No!’ she whispered sickly.

The image was too painful to bear and she pressed her hands against her face in an effort to obliterate it. She felt quite desolate. Vittore’s plan was brutal. Anything could happen to Lio’s fragile emotions. Anything.

She would stop Vittore. She didn’t know how, only that she must. Tormented and racked with misery, she wept uncontrollably for her little nephew, terrified that Vittore’s insensitive handling would be the ruin of little Lio.

CHAPTER FOUR

IN A state of euphoria, Vittore stripped off his clothes and took a shower, then slipped naked into the bed in the nursery, beside Lio’s cot. For a while he lay propped up on one arm, watching his sleeping son with deep love filling his heart.

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