Waitress...

Neither tall, willowy nor sophisticated, waitress Darcy Denton knew she wasn’t Renzo Sabatini’s usual type. But enthralled by the powerful magnate, unworldly Darcy became addicted to their passionate nights together.

Mistress...

Ensconced in Renzo’s secluded Tuscan villa, Darcy glimpses Renzo’s troubled past and desolate soul. She should end it before she gets in too deep, but then she discovers she’s pregnant!

Wife?

Harboring her own childhood secrets, Darcy dare not tell Renzo, but as the mother of his child it’s only a matter of time—nine months, to be exact—before he claims what’s his...

‘Your being able to hurt me would imply that I cared.’ Darcy’s mouth barely moved as she spoke. ‘And I don’t. At least, not about you—only about our baby.’

Her fingers fluttered over the swell of her belly and Renzo’s heart gave a sudden leap as he allowed his gaze to rest on it. ‘I am prepared to support you both.’ His voice thickened and deepened. ‘But on one condition.’

‘Let me guess. Sole custody for you, I suppose? With the occasional access visit for me, probably accompanied by some ghastly nanny of your choice?’

‘I’m hoping it won’t come to that,’ he said evenly. ‘But I will not have a Sabatini heir growing up illegitimately.’

He walked over to the window and stared out at the heavy winter clouds before turning back again.

‘This child stands to inherit my empire, but only if he or she bears my name. So, yes, I will support you, Darcy—but it will be on my terms. And the first non-negotiable one is that you marry me.’

One Night With Consequences

When one night…leads to pregnancy!

When succumbing to a night of unbridled desire it’s impossible to think past the morning after!

But, with the sheets barely settled, that little blue line appears on the pregnancy test and it doesn’t take long to realise that one night of white-hot passion has turned into a lifetime of consequences!

Only one question remains:

How do you tell a man you’ve just met that you’re about to share more than just his bed?

Find out in:

The Shock Cassano Baby by Andie Brock

An Heir to Make a Marriage by Abby Green

The Greek’s Nine-Month Redemption by Maisey Yates

Crowned for the Prince’s Heir by Sharon Kendrick

The Sheikh’s Baby Scandal by Carol Marinelli

A Ring for Vincenzo’s Heir by Jennie Lucas

Claiming His Christmas Consequence by Michelle Smart

The Guardian’s Virgin Ward by Caitlin Crews

A Child Claimed by Gold by Rachael Thomas

The Consequence of His Vengeance by Jennie Lucas

Look for more One Night With Consequences coming soon!

Secrets of a Billionaire’s Mistress

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring often stubborn but always to die for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

Books by Sharon Kendrick

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

A Royal Vow of Convenience

The Ruthless Greek’s Return

Christmas in Da Conti’s Bed

The Greek’s Marriage Bargain

A Scandal, a Secret, a Baby

The Sheikh’s Undoing

Monarch of the Sands

Too Proud to Be Bought

The Billionaire’s Legacy

Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress

The Bond of Billionaires

Claimed for Makarov’s Baby

The Sheikh’s Christmas Conquest

One Night With Consequences

Carrying the Greek’s Heir

Crowned for the Prince’s Heir

Wedlocked!

The Billionaire’s Defiant Acquisition

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

For three fabulous writers who helped with the Australian detail in my 100th book, A Royal Vow of Convenience.

Helene Young and Margareta Young, for the inspiration and the insight—and Rachael Johns, for the Tim-Tams!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

One Night With Consequences

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

RENZO SABATINI WAS unbuttoning his shirt when the doorbell rang. He felt the beat of expectation. The familiar tug of heat to his groin. He was half-tempted to pull the shirt from his shoulders so Darcy could slide her fingers over his skin, closely followed by those inventive lips of hers. The soft lick of her tongue could help him forget what lay ahead. He thought about Tuscany and the closing of a chapter. About the way some memories could still be raw even when so many years had passed and maybe that was why he never really stopped to think about them.

But why concentrate on darkness when Darcy was all sunshine and light? And why rush at sex when they had the whole night ahead—a smorgasbord of sensuality which he could enjoy at his leisure with his latest and most unexpected lover? A woman who demanded nothing other than that he satisfy her—something which was easy since he had only to touch her pale skin to grow so hard that it hurt. His mouth dried. Four months in and he was as bewitched by her as he had been from the start.

In many ways he was astonished it had continued this long when their two worlds were so different. She was not his usual type of woman and he was very definitely not her type of man. He was into clean lines and minimalism, while Darcy was all voluptuous curves and lingerie which could barely contain her abundant flesh. His mouth curved into a hard smile. In reality it should never have lasted beyond one night but her tight body had been difficult to walk away from. It still was.

The doorbell rang again and the glance he shot at his wristwatch was touched with irritation. Was she daring to be impatient when she wasn’t supposed to be here for another half hour? Surely she knew the rules by now...that she was expected to fit around his schedule, rather than the other way round?

Barefooted, he walked through the spacious rooms of his Belgravia apartment, pulling open the front door to see Darcy Denton standing there—small of stature and impossible to ignore—her magnificent curls misted with rain and tugged back into a ponytail so that only the bright red colour was on show. She wore a light raincoat, tightly belted to emphasise her tiny waist, but underneath she was still in her waitress’s uniform because she lived on the other side of London, an area Renzo had never visited—and he was perfectly content for it to stay that way. They’d established very quickly that if she went home after her shift to change, it wasted several hours—even if he sent his car to collect her. And Renzo was a busy man with an architectural practice which spanned several continents. His time was too precious to waste, which was why she always came straight from work with her overnight bag—though that was a largely unnecessary detail since she was rarely anything other than naked when she was with him.

He stared down into her green eyes, which glittered like emeralds in porcelain-pale skin and, as always, his blood began to fizz with expectation and lust. ‘You’re early,’ he observed softly. ‘Did you time your visit especially because you knew I’d be undressing?’

Darcy answered him with a tight smile as he opened the door to let her in. She was cold and she was wet and it had been the most awful day. A customer had spilt tea over her uniform. Then a child had been sick. She’d looked out the window at the end of her shift to discover that the rain had started and someone must have taken her umbrella. And Renzo Sabatini was standing there in the warmth of his palatial apartment, looking glowing and delectable—making the assumption that she had nothing better to do than to time her visits just so she would find him half-naked. Could she ever have met a man more arrogant?

Yet she’d known what she was letting herself in for when she’d started this crazy affair. When she’d fought a silent battle against everything she’d known to be wrong. Because powerful men who dallied with waitresses only wanted one thing, didn’t they?

She’d lost that particular battle and ended up in Renzo’s king-size bed—but nobody could say that her eyes hadn’t been open at the time. Well, some of the time at least—the rest of the time they’d fluttered to a quivering close as he had thrust deeply inside her until she was sobbing with pleasure. After resisting him as hard as she could, she’d decided to resist no more. Or maybe the truth was that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from falling into his arms. He’d kissed her and that had been it. She hadn’t known that a kiss could make you feel that way. She hadn’t realised that desire could make you feel as if you were floating. Or flying. She’d surrendered her virginity to him and, after his shocked reaction to discovering he was her first lover, he had introduced her to more pleasure than she’d thought possible, though in a life spectacularly short on the pleasure front that wouldn’t have been difficult, would it?

For a while things had been fine. More than fine. She spent the night with him whenever he was in the country and had a space in his diary—and sometimes she spent the following day there, too. He cooked her eggs and played her music she’d never heard before—dreamy stuff featuring lots of violins—while he pored over the fabulously intricate drawings which would one day be transformed into the glittering and iconic skyscrapers for which he was famous.

But lately something had started to niggle away inside her. Was it her conscience? Her sense that her already precarious self-worth was being eroded by him hiding her away in his palatial apartment, like a guilty secret? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she’d started to analyse what she’d become and hadn’t liked the answer she’d come up with.

She was a wealthy man’s plaything. A woman who dropped her panties whenever he clicked those elegant olive fingers.

But she was here now and it was stupid to let her reservations spoil the evening ahead, so she changed her tight smile into a bright smile as she dumped her overnight bag on the floor and tugged the elastic band from her hair. Shaking her damp curls free, she couldn’t deny the satisfaction it gave her to see the way Renzo’s eyes had darkened in response—although her physical appeal to him had never been in any question. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her and she suspected she knew why. Because she was different. Working class, for a start. She hadn’t been to college—in fact, she’d missed out on more schooling than she should have done and nearly everything she knew had been self-taught. She was curvy and red-headed, when usually he went for slender brunettes—that was if all the photos in the newspapers were to be believed. They were certainly mismatched on just about every level, except when it came to bed.

Because the sex was amazing—it always had been—but it couldn’t continue like this, taking her on an aimless path which was leading nowhere. Darcy knew what she had to do. She knew you could only fool yourself for so long before reality started hurting and forced you to change. She’d noticed Renzo was starting to take her for granted and knew that, if it continued, all the magic they’d shared would just wither away. And she didn’t want that, because memories were powerful things. The bad ones were like heavy burdens you had to carry around with you and she was determined to have some good ones to lighten the load. So when was she going to grab the courage to walk away from him, before Renzo did the walking and left her feeling broken and crushed?

‘I’m early because I sent your driver away and took the Tube instead,’ she explained, brushing excess raindrops from her forest of red curls.

‘You sent the driver away?’ He frowned as he slid the damp raincoat from her shoulders. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’

Darcy sighed, wondering what it must be like to be Renzo Sabatini and live in an enclosed and protected world, where chauffeur-driven cars and private jets shielded you from rain and snow and the worries of most normal folk. Where people did your shopping and picked up your clothes where you’d left them on the bedroom floor the night before. A world where you didn’t have to speak to anyone unless you really wanted to, because there was always some minion who would do the speaking for you.

‘Because the traffic is a nightmare at this time of day and often we’re forced to sit in a queue, moving at a snail’s pace.’ She took the coat from him and gave it a little shake before hanging it in the cupboard. ‘Public transport happens to have a lot going for it during the rush hour. Now, rather than debating my poor timekeeping can I please have a cup of tea? I’m f-f-freezing.’

But he didn’t make any move towards the kitchen as most people might have done after such a wobbly request. He took her in his arms and kissed her instead. His lips were hard as they pressed against hers and his fingers caressed her bottom through her uniform dress as he brought her up close to his body. Close enough for her to feel the hardness of his erection and the warmth of his bare chest as he deepened the kiss. Darcy’s eyelids fluttered to a close as one hard thigh pushed insistently against hers and she could feel her own parting in automatic response. And suddenly her coldness was forgotten and tea was the last thing on her mind. Her questions and insecurities dissolved as he deepened the kiss and all she was aware of was the building heat as her chilled fingers crept up to splay themselves over his bare and hair-roughened torso.

‘Hell, Renzo,’ she breathed.

‘Is it really hell?’ he murmured.

‘No, it’s...’ she brushed her lips over his ‘...heaven, if you must know.’

‘That’s what I thought. Are you trying to warm your hands on my chest?’

‘Trying. I don’t think I’m having very much luck. You do many things very well, but acting as a human hot-water bottle isn’t one of them.’

‘No. You could be right. My skills definitely lie in other directions. Perhaps I could demonstrate some of them to you right now.’ He moved his hand from her bottom and curled his fingers round hers as he guided her hand towards his groin. ‘In which case I think you’d better join me in the shower, don’t you?’

She couldn’t have said no even if she’d wanted to. One touch from Renzo was like lighting the touchpaper. Two seconds in his arms and she went up in flames.

In the bathroom, he unzipped her drab beige uniform, soft words of Italian falling from his lips as her breasts were revealed to him. Disproportionately big breasts which had always been the bane of her life, because she’d spent her life with men’s attention being constantly homed in on them. She’d often thought longingly of a breast reduction—except who could afford an operation like that on the money she earned waiting tables? So she’d made do with wearing restrictive bras, until Renzo had taught her to love her body and told her that her breasts were the most magnificent thing he’d ever seen. To enjoy being suckled or having his teeth tease the sensitive flesh until she was crying out with pleasure. He’d started to buy lingerie for her, too—the only thing she’d ever allowed him to buy for her and only because he’d insisted. He couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t let him spend money on her, but her reasons were raw and painful and she had no intention of letting him in on her secret.

But she let him buy her pretty underclothes, because he insisted that it enhanced their sex play—balcony bras and tiny matching panties, which he said made the most of her curvy hips. And didn’t it make her feel rather decadent when she was at work, knowing she was wearing the finest silk and lace beneath the drab check of her waitress uniform? Hadn’t he told her that he wanted her to think about him when he wasn’t there? That when he was far away on business he liked to imagine her touching herself until she was wet between the legs and her body bucking helplessly as she thought about him. And although his fantasy about how she lived when he wasn’t there was just that—fantasy—she couldn’t deny that it also turned her on. But then, everything about Renzo Sabatini turned her on. His tall and powerful frame. His black hair and black eyes and those dark-rimmed spectacles he wore when he was working on one of his detailed plans. That way he had of watching her as she moved around the room. And stroking her until she was trembling with helpless need for him. Like now.

Her dress fell to the floor and the delicate underwear quickly followed. A master in the art of undressing, her Italian lover was soon as naked as she, and Darcy sucked in an instinctive gasp when she saw how aroused he was.

‘Daunting, isn’t it?’ His sensual lips curved into a mocking smile. ‘Want to touch me?’

‘Not until I’ve got hot water gushing over me. My hands are so cold you might recoil.’

‘I don’t think so,’ he said softly.

His eyes glittered as he picked her up and carried her into the wet room, where steaming water streamed down from a huge showerhead and the sensory impact of the experience threatened to overwhelm her. Hot water on icy skin and a naked Renzo in her arms. In the steamy environment, which made her think of a tropical forest, his lips were hungry, one hand stroking between her legs while the other played with one aching nipple. The warm water relaxed her, made her aware of the fierce pounding of her heart and the sudden rush of warmth at her groin. She ran her hands over the hard planes of his body, enjoying the sensation of honed muscle beneath his silken olive skin. Boldly she reached down to circle his erection, sliding her thumb and forefinger lightly up and down the rocky shaft the way she knew he liked it. He gave a groan. Hell. She liked it, too. She liked everything he did to her...and the longer it went on, the more difficult it was to imagine a life without him.

She closed her eyes as his fingers moved down over her belly until they were tangling in the wet hair at the juncture of her thighs. One finger took a purposeful route farther, until it was deep inside her and she gave a little yelp of pleasure as he strummed the finger against swollen flesh, the rhythmical movement taking her closer to the edge. And now it was her turn to writhe her hips against him, wanting release—and wanting oblivion, too.

‘Now,’ she breathed. ‘Make love to me now.’

‘You are impatient, little one.’

Of course she was impatient. It had been nearly a month since she’d seen him. A month when he’d been hard at work in Japan, before flying to South America to oversee the enormous new hotel complex he’d designed which was creating a lot of waves in the high-octane world of architecture. And yes, there had been the occasional email—an amusing description about a woman who had propositioned him after a boardroom meeting, which Darcy had managed to laugh off and act as if it didn’t hurt. He’d even phoned her once, when his plane had been delayed at the airport in Rio de Janeiro and presumably he must have had time to kill. And even though she’d been battling through the wind on her way back from the discount supermarket at the time, she’d managed to find shelter in a shop doorway and make like it was a normal conversation. She’d tried to tell herself that she didn’t mind his total lack of commitment. That they didn’t have an ordinary relationship and that was what made it so interesting.

He’d told her right from the start what she could expect and what she must not expect, and number one on his list had been commitment, closely followed by love. She remembered turning round as he’d spoken, surprising an unexpectedly bleak look in his gaze—unexpected because those ebony eyes usually gave nothing away. But she hadn’t probed further because she’d sensed he would clam up. Actually, she never probed—because if you asked someone too many questions about themselves, they might just turn around and ask them back and that was the last thing she wanted.

And she had agreed to his emotionally cold terms, hadn’t she? She’d acted as if they were the most reasonable requests in the world. To be honest, she hadn’t been able to think beyond the next kiss—and every kiss had the effect of binding her ever tighter to him. But several months had passed since he’d extracted that agreement from her and time changed everything. It always did. Time made your feelings start to deepen and made you prone to foolish daydreams. And what could be more foolish than imagining some kind of future with the billionaire designer with his jet-set lifestyle and homes all around the world? She, without a single qualification to her name, whose only skill was her ability to multitask in a restaurant?

She pressed her lips against his shoulder, thinking how best to respond to his question—to show him she still had some control left, even if it was slipping away by the second. ‘Impatient?’ she murmured into his wet, bare skin. ‘If I’m going too fast for you, we could always put this on hold and do it later. Have that cup of tea after all. Is that what you’d like, Renzo?’

His answer was swift and unequivocal. Imprisoning her hands, he pushed her up against the granite wall of the wet room, parted her legs and thrust into her, as hot and hard as she’d ever felt him. She gasped as he filled her. She cried out as he began to move. From knowing nothing, he’d taught her everything and she had been his willing pupil. In his arms, she came to life.

‘Renzo,’ she gasped as he rocked against her.

‘Did you miss me, cara?’

She closed her eyes. ‘I missed...this.’

‘But nothing else?’

She wanted to say that there was nothing else, but why spoil a beautiful moment? No man would want to hear something like that, would they—even if it was true? Especially not a man with an ego the size of Renzo’s. ‘Of course,’ she said as he stilled inside her. ‘I missed you.’

Did he sense that her answer was less than the 100 per cent he demanded of everything and everyone? Was that why he slowed the pace down, dragging her back from the brink of her orgasm to tantalise her with nearly there thrusts until she could bear it no more?

‘Renzo—’

‘What is it?’

How could he sound so calm? So totally in control. But control was what he was good at, wasn’t it? He was the master of control. She squirmed. ‘Don’t play with me.’

‘But I thought you liked me playing with you. Perhaps...’ he bent his head to whisper in her water-soaked ear ‘... I shall make you beg.’

‘Oh, no, you won’t!’ Fiercely, she cupped his buttocks and held him against her and he gave an exultant laugh as at last he gave her exactly what she wanted. He worked on her hard and fast, his deep rhythm taking her up and up, until her shuddered cries were blotted out by his kiss and he made that low groaning sound as he came. It was, she thought, about the only time she’d ever heard him sound helpless.

Afterwards he held her until the trembling had subsided and then soaped her body and washed her hair with hands which were almost gentle—as if he was attempting to make up for the almost-brutal way he’d brought her gasping to orgasm. He dried her carefully, then carried her into the bedroom and placed her down on the vast bed which overlooked the whispering treetops of Eaton Square. The crisp, clean linen felt like heaven against her scented skin as he got into bed beside her and slid his arms around her waist. She was sleepy and suspected he was, too, but surely they needed to have some sort of conversation instead of just mating like two animals and then tumbling into oblivion.

But wasn’t that all they were, when it boiled down to it? This affair was all about sex. Nothing except sex.

‘So how was your time away?’ she forced herself to ask.

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘All good.’ He yawned. ‘The hotel is almost complete and I’ve been commissioned to design a new art gallery just outside Tokyo.’

‘But you’re tired?’ she observed.

His voice was mocking. ‘Sì, cara. I’m tired.’

She wriggled her back against him. ‘Ever thought of easing off for a while? Taking a back seat and just enjoying your success?’

‘Not really.’ He yawned again.

‘Why not?’ she said, some rogue inside her making her persist, even though she could sense his growing impatience with her questions.

His voice grew hard. ‘Because men in my position don’t ease off. There are a hundred hot new architects who would love to be where I am. Take your eye off the ball and you’re toast.’ He stroked her nipple. ‘Why don’t you tell me about your week instead?’

‘Oh, mine was nothing to speak about. I just serve the toast,’ she said lightly.

She closed her eyes because she thought that they might sleep but she was wrong because Renzo was cupping her breasts, rubbing his growing erection up against her bottom until she gave an urgent sound of assent and he entered her from behind, where she was slick and ready.

His lips were in her hair and his hands were playing with her nipples as he moved inside her again. Her shuddered capitulation was swift and two orgasms in less than an hour meant she could no longer fight off her fatigue. She fell into a deep sleep and sometime later she felt the bed dip as Renzo got up and when she dragged her eyelids open it was to see that the spring evening was still light. The leaves in the treetops outside the window were golden-green in the fading sunlight and she could hear a distant bird singing.

It felt surreal lying here. The prestigious square on which he lived sometimes seemed like a mirage. All the lush greenery gave the impression of being in the middle of the country—something made possible only by the fact that this was the most expensive real estate in London. But beyond the treetops near his exclusive home lay the London which was her city. Discount stores and tower blocks and garbage fluttering on the pavements. Snarled roads and angry drivers. And somewhere not a million miles from here, but which felt as if it might as well be in a different universe, was the tiny bedsit she called home. Sometimes it seemed like something out of some corny old novel—the billionaire boss and his waitress lover. Because things like this didn’t usually happen to girls like her.

But Renzo hadn’t taken advantage of her, had he? He’d never demanded anything she hadn’t wanted to give. She’d accepted his ride home—even though some part of her had cried out that it was unwise. Yet for once in her life she’d quashed the voice of common sense which was as much a part of her as her bright red hair. For years she had simply kept her head down and toed the line in order to survive. But not this time. Instead of doing what she knew she should do, she’d succumbed to something she’d really wanted and that something was Renzo. Because she’d never wanted anyone the way she’d wanted him.

What she was certain he’d intended to be just one night had become another and then another as their unconventional relationship had developed. It was a relationship which existed only within the walls of his apartment because, as if by some unspoken agreement, they never went out on dates. Renzo’s friends were wealthy and well connected, just like him. Fast-living powerbrokers with influential jobs and nothing in common with someone like her. And anyway, it would be bizarre if they started appearing together in public because they weren’t really a couple, were they?

She knew their relationship could most accurately be described as ‘friends with benefits,’ though the benefits heavily outweighed the friendship side and the arrogant Italian had once told her that he didn’t really have any female friends. Women were for the bedroom and kitchen—he’d actually said that, when he’d been feeling especially uninhibited after one of their marathon sex sessions, which had ended up in the bath. He’d claimed afterwards that he’d been joking but Darcy had recognised a grain of truth behind his words. Even worse was the way his masterful arrogance had thrilled her, even though she’d done her best to wear a disapproving expression.

Because when it boiled down to it, Darcy knew the score. She was sensible enough to know that Renzo Sabatini was like an ice cream cone you ate on a sunny day. It tasted amazing—possibly the most amazing thing you’d ever tasted—but you certainly didn’t expect it to last.

She glanced up as he walked back into the bedroom carrying a tray, a task she performed many times a day—the only difference being that he was completely naked.

‘You’re spoiling me,’ she said.

‘I’m just returning the favour. I’d like to ask where you learned that delicious method of licking your tongue over my thighs but I realise that—’

‘I learned it from you?’

‘Esattamente.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Hungry?’

‘Thirsty.’

‘I expect you are,’ he said, bending over to brush his lips over hers.

She took the tea he gave her and watched as he tugged on a pair of jeans and took his glass of red wine over to his desk, sitting down and putting on dark-framed spectacles before waking his computer from sleep mode and beginning to scroll down. After a couple of minutes he was completely engrossed in something on the screen and suddenly Darcy felt completely excluded. With his back on her, she felt like an insignificant cog in the giant wheel which was his life. They’d just had sex—twice—and now he was burying himself in work, presumably until his body had recovered enough to do it to her all over again. And she would just lie back and let him, or climb on top of him if the mood took her—because that was her role. Up until now it had always been enough but suddenly it didn’t seem like nearly enough.

Did she signal her irritation? Was that why he rattled out a question spoken like someone who was expecting an apologetic denial as an answer?

‘Is something wrong?’

This was her cue to say no, nothing was wrong. To pat the edge of the bed and slant him a compliant smile because that was what she would normally have done. But Darcy wasn’t in a compliant mood today. She’d heard a song on the radio just before leaving work. A song which had taken her back to a place she hadn’t wanted to go to and the mother she’d spent her life trying to forget.

Yet it was funny how a few random chords could pluck at your heartstrings and make you want to screw up your face and cry. Funny how you could still love someone even though they’d let you down, time after time. That had been the real reason she’d sent Renzo’s driver away. She’d wanted to walk to the Tube so that her unexpected tears could mingle with the rain. She’d hoped that by coming here and having her Italian lover take her to bed, it might wipe away her unsettled feelings. But it seemed to have done the opposite. It had awoken a new restlessness in her. It had made her realise that great sex and champagne in the shadows of a powerful man’s life weren’t the recipe for a happy life—and the longer she allowed it to continue, the harder it would be for her to return to the real world. Her world.

She finished her tea and put the cup down, the subtle taste of peppermint and rose petals still lingering on her lips. It was time for the affair to fade out, like the credits at the end of the film. And even though she was going to miss him like crazy, she was the one who needed to start it rolling.

She made her voice sound cool and non-committal. ‘I’m thinking I won’t be able to see you for a while.’

That had his attention. He turned away from the screen and, putting his glasses down on the desk, he frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I have a week’s holiday from work and I’m planning to use it to go to Norfolk.’

She could see he was slightly torn now because he wasn’t usually interested in what she did when she wasn’t with him, even if he sometimes trotted out a polite question because he obviously felt it was expected of him. But he was interested now.

‘What are you doing in Norfolk?’

She shrugged her bare shoulders. ‘Looking for a place to rent. I’m thinking of moving there.’

‘You mean you’re leaving London?’

‘You sound surprised, Renzo. People leave London all the time.’

‘I know. But it’s...’ He frowned, as if such an option was outside his realm of understanding. ‘What’s in Norfolk?’

She’d been prepared to let him think that she just wanted a change—which was true—and to leave her real reasons unspoken. But his complete lack of comprehension angered her and when she spoke her voice was low and trembling with an anger which was directed as much at herself as at him.

‘Because there I’ve got the chance of renting somewhere that might have a view of something which isn’t a brick wall. As well as a job that doesn’t just feature commuters who are so rushed they can barely give me the time of day, let alone a please or a thank you. The chance of fresh air and a lower cost of living, plus a pace of life which doesn’t wear me out just thinking about it.’

He frowned. ‘You mean you don’t like where you’re living?’

‘It’s perfectly adequate for my needs,’ she said carefully. ‘Or at least, it has been until now.’

‘That’s a pretty lukewarm endorsement.’ He paused and his frown deepened. ‘Is that why you’ve never invited me round?’

‘I guess.’ She’d actually done it to save his embarrassment—and possibly hers. She’d tried to imagine him in her humble bedsit eating his dinner off a tray or having to squeeze his towering frame into her tiny bathroom or—even worse—lying on her narrow single bed. It was a laughable concept which would have made them both feel awkward and would have emphasised the vast social gulf between them even more. And that was why she never had. ‘Would you really have wanted me to?’

Renzo considered her question. Of course he wouldn’t, but he was surprised not to have got an invite. You wouldn’t need to be a genius to work out that her life was very different from his and perhaps if he’d been confronted by it then his conscience would have forced him to write a cheque, and this time be more forceful in getting her to accept it. He might have told her to buy some new cushions, or a rug or even a new kitchen, if that was what she wanted. That was how these things usually worked. But Darcy was the proudest woman he’d ever encountered and, apart from the sexy lingerie he’d insisted she wear, had stubbornly refused all his offers of gifts. Why, even his heiress lovers hadn’t been averse to accepting diamond necklaces or bracelets or those shoes with the bright red soles. He liked buying women expensive presents—it made him feel he wasn’t in any way beholden to them. It reduced relationships down to what they really were...transactions. And yet his hard-up little waitress hadn’t wanted to know.

‘No, I wasn’t holding out for an invite,’ he said slowly. ‘But I thought you might have discussed your holiday plans with me before you went ahead and booked them.’

‘But you never discuss your plans with me, Renzo. You just do as you please.’

‘You’re saying you want me to run my schedule past you first?’ he questioned incredulously.

‘Of course I don’t. You’ve made it clear that’s not the way you operate and I’ve always accepted that. So you can hardly object if I do the same.’

But she was missing the point and Renzo suspected she knew it. He was the one who called the shots because that was also how these things worked. He was the powerbroker in this affair and she was smart enough to realise that. Yet he could see something implacable in her green gaze, some new sense of determination which had settled over her, and something else occurred to him. ‘You might stay on in Norfolk,’ he said slowly.

‘I might.’

‘In which case, this could be the last time we see one another.’

She shrugged. ‘I guess it could.’

‘Just like that?’

‘What were you expecting? It had to end sometime.’

Renzo’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Up until a couple of hours ago it wouldn’t really have bothered him if he’d been told he would never see her again. Oh, he might have experienced a faint pang of regret and he certainly would have missed her in a physical sense, because he found her enthusiastic lovemaking irresistible. In fact, he would go so far as to say that she was the best lover he’d ever had, probably because he had taught her to be perfectly attuned to the needs of his body. But nothing was for ever. He knew that. In a month—maybe less—he would have replaced her with someone else. Someone cool and presentable, who would blend more easily into his life than Darcy Denton had ever done.

But she was the one who was doing the withdrawing and Renzo didn’t like that. He was a natural predator—proud and fiercely competitive. Perhaps even prouder than Darcy. Women didn’t leave him... He was the one who did the walking away—and at a time of his choosing. And he still wanted her. He had not yet reached the crucial boredom state which would make him direct her calls straight to voicemail or leave a disproportionately long time before replying to texts. Lazily, he flicked through the options available to him.

‘What about if you took a holiday with me, instead of going to Norfolk on your own?’

He could tell from the sudden dilatation of her eyes that the suggestion had surprised her. And the hardening of her nipples above the rumpled bedsheet suggested it had excited her. He felt the sudden beat of blood to his groin and realised it had excited him, too.

Her emerald eyes were wary. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Why not?’

He got up from the chair, perfectly aware of the powerful effect his proximity would have on her as he sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Is that such an abhorrent suggestion—to take my lover on holiday?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s not the type of thing we usually do. We usually stay in and don’t go out.’

‘But life would be very dull if only the expected happened. Are you telling me that the idea of a few days away with me doesn’t appeal to you?’ He splayed his palm possessively over the warm weight of her breast and watched as her swanlike neck constricted in a swallow.

She chewed on her lip. ‘Renzo—’

‘Mmm...?’

‘It’s...it’s quite difficult to think straight when you’re touching my nipple like that.’

‘Thinking in the bedroom can be a very overrated pastime,’ he drawled, subtly increasing the pressure of his fingers. ‘What’s to think about? My proposition is perfectly simple. You could come out to Tuscany with me. I need to make a trip there this weekend. We could spend a few days together and you would still have time to go to Norfolk.’

She leaned back against the pillows and her eyes closed as he continued to massage her breast. ‘You have a house there, don’t you?’ she breathed. ‘In Tuscany.’

‘Not for much longer. That’s why I’m going. I’m selling it.’ The pressure on her breast increased as his voice hardened. ‘And you can keep me company. I have to take an earlier flight via Paris to do some business but you could always fly out separately.’ He paused. ‘Doesn’t the idea tempt you, Darcy?’

His words filtered into her distracted mind as he continued to tease her exquisitely aroused nipple and her lashes fluttered open. His black eyes were as hard as shards of jet but that didn’t affect the magic he was creating with the slow movement of his fingers as she tried to concentrate on his question.

Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. Of course a few days away with him tempted her—but it wasn’t the thought of flying to Tuscany which was making her heart race like a champion stallion. He tempted her. Would it be so wrong to grab a last session of loving with him—but in a very different environment? Because although his apartment was unimaginably big, it had its limitations. Despite the pool in the basement, the heated roof terrace and huge screening room, she was starting to feel like part of the fixtures and fittings. Couldn’t she go out to Italy and, in the anonymous setting of a foreign country, pretend to be his real girlfriend for a change? Someone he really cared about—rather than just someone whose panties he wanted to rip off every time he saw her.

‘I guess it does tempt me,’ she said. ‘A little.’

‘Not the most enthusiastic response I’ve ever had,’ he commented. ‘But I take it that’s a yes?’

‘It’s a yes,’ she agreed, relaxing back into the feathery bank of pillows as he turned his attention to her other aching breast.

‘Good.’ There was a pause and the circular movement of his fingers halted. ‘But first you’re going to have to let me buy you some new clothes.’

Her eyes snapped open and she froze—automatically pushing his hand away. ‘When will you get it into your thick skull that I’m not interested in your money, Renzo?’

‘I think I’m getting the general idea,’ he said drily. ‘And although your independence is admirable, I find it a little misguided. Why not just accept gracefully? I like giving presents and most women like receiving them.’

‘It’s a very kind thought and thank you all the same,’ she said stiffly, ‘but I don’t want them.’

‘This isn’t a question of want, more a case of need and I’m afraid that this time I’m going to have to insist,’ he said smoothly. ‘I have a certain...position to maintain in Italy and, as the woman accompanying me, you’ll naturally be the focus of attention. I’d hate you to feel you were being judged negatively because you don’t have the right clothes.’

‘Just as you’re judging me right now, you mean?’ she snapped.

He shook his head, his lips curving into a slow smile and his deep voice dipping. ‘You must have realised by now that I prefer you wearing nothing at all, since nothing looks better than your pale and perfect skin. But although it’s one of my biggest fantasies, I really don’t think we can have you walking around the Tuscan hills stark naked, do you? I’m just looking out for you, Darcy. Buy yourself a few pretty things. Some dresses you can wear in the evenings. It isn’t a big deal.’

She opened her mouth to say that it was a big deal to her but he had risen to his feet and his shadow was falling over her so that she was bathed in darkness as she lay there. She looked up into lash-shuttered eyes which gleamed like ebony and her heart gave a funny twist as she thought about how much she was going to miss him. How was she going to return to a life which was empty of her powerful Italian lover? ‘What are you doing?’ she croaked as he began to unzip his jeans.

‘Oh, come on. Use your imagination,’ he said softly. ‘I’m going to persuade you to take my money.’

CHAPTER TWO

RENZO LOOKED AT his watch and gave a click of impatience. Where the hell was she? She knew he detested lateness, just as she knew he ran his diary like clockwork. In the exclusive lounge at Florence airport he crossed one long leg over the other, aware that the movement had caused the heads of several women instinctively to turn, but he paid them no attention for there was only one woman currently on his mind—and not in a good way.

The flight he had instructed Darcy to catch—in fact, to purchase a first-class ticket for—had discharged its passengers twenty minutes earlier and she had not been among their number. His eyes had narrowed as he’d stared at the hordes of people streaming through the arrivals section, fully expecting to see her eagerly pushing her way through to see him, her pale face alight with excitement and her curvy body resplendent in fine new clothes—but there had been no sight of her. A member of staff had dealt with his irritation and was currently checking the flight list while he was forced to consider the unbelievable...that she might have changed her mind about joining him in Italy.

He frowned. Had her reluctance to take the cash he had insisted she accept gone deeper than he’d imagined? He’d thought she was simply making a gesture—hiding the natural greed which ran through the veins of pretty much every woman—but perhaps he had misjudged her. Perhaps she really was deeply offended by his suggestion that she buy herself some decent clothes.

Or maybe she’d just taken the money and done a runner, not intending to come here and meet him at all.

Renzo’s mouth hardened, because wasn’t there a rogue thought flickering inside his head which almost wished that to be the case? Wouldn’t he have welcomed a sound reason to despise her, instead of this simmering resentment that she was preparing to take her leave of him? That she had been the one to make a decision which was usually his province. He glanced again at his wristwatch. And how ironic that the woman to call time on a relationship should be a busty little red-headed waitress he’d picked up in a cocktail bar rather than one of the many more eligible women he’d dated.

He hadn’t even been intending to go out the night he’d met her. He’d just planned to have a quick drink with a group of bankers he’d known from way back who had been visiting from Argentina and wanted to see some London nightlife. Renzo didn’t particularly like nightclubs and remembered the stir the six men had made as they’d walked into the crowded Starlight Room at the Granchester Hotel, where they’d ordered champagne and decided which of the women sipping cocktails they should ask to dance. But Renzo hadn’t been interested in the svelte women who had been smiling invitingly in his direction. His attention had been caught by the curviest little firecracker he’d ever seen. She’d looked as if she had been poured into the black satin dress which had skimmed her rounded hips, but it had been her breasts which had caused the breath to dry in his throat. Madonna, che bella! What breasts! Luscious and quivering, they had a deep cleavage he wanted to run his tongue over and that first sight of them was something he would remember for as long as he lived.

He had ended up dancing with no one, mainly because he’d been too busy watching her and his erection had been too painful for him to move without embarrassment. He’d ordered drinks only from her, and wondered afterwards if she noticed he left them all. Each time he’d summoned her over to his table he could sense the almost palpable electricity which sizzled in the air—he’d certainly never felt such a powerful attraction towards a total stranger before. He’d expected her to make some acknowledgement of the silent chemistry which pulsed between them, but she hadn’t. In fact the way her eyelids had half shielded her huge green eyes and the cautious looks she’d been directing at him had made him think she must either be the world’s greatest innocent, or its most consummate actress. If he had known it was the former, would he still have pursued her?

Of course he would. Deep down he recognised he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself because hadn’t he been gripped by a powerful hunger which insisted he would never know peace until he had possessed her?

He’d been waiting outside when eventually she had emerged from the club and had thanked the heavens for the heavy downpour of rain which had been showering down on her. She hadn’t looked a bit surprised to see him as she’d opened up her umbrella and for a moment it had crossed his mind that she might take a different man home with her every night, though even that had not been enough to make him order his driver to move on. But when he’d offered her a lift she’d refused, in an emphatic manner which had startled him.

‘No, thanks.’

‘No?’

‘I know what you want,’ she’d said, in a low voice. ‘And you won’t get it from me.’

And with that she’d disappeared into the rain-wet night and Renzo had sat in the back seat of the limousine, watching her retreating form beneath her little black umbrella, his mouth open and his body aching with frustration and unwilling admiration.

He’d gone to the club the next night and the weekend when he’d returned from a work trip to New York. Some nights she’d been there and some she hadn’t. He’d discovered she only worked there at weekends and it had only been later he’d found out she had a daytime job as a waitress somewhere else. Extracting information from her had been like trying to get blood from a stone. She was the most private woman he’d ever met as well as the most resistant and perhaps it was those things which made Renzo persist in a way he’d never had to persist before. And just when he’d been wondering if he was wasting his time, she had agreed to let him drive her home.

His voice had been wry as he’d looked at her. ‘Madonna mia! You mean you’ve decided you trust me enough to accept the lift?’

Her narrow shoulders had shrugged, causing her large breasts to jiggle beneath the shiny black satin of her dress and sending a shaft of lust arrowing straight to his groin. ‘I guess so. All the other staff have seen you by now and you’ve been captured on CCTV for all eternity, so if you’re a murderer then you’ll be apprehended soon enough.’

‘Do I look like a murderer?’

She had smiled then, and it had been like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

‘No. Although you look just a little bit dangerous.’

‘Women always tell me that’s a plus.’

‘I’m sure they do, though I’m not sure I agree. Anyway, it’s a filthy night, so I might as well get a lift with you. But I haven’t changed my mind,’ she’d added fiercely. ‘And if you think I’m going to sleep with you, then you’re wrong.’

As it happened, she was the one who’d been wrong. They’d driven through the dark wet streets of London and he’d asked her to come in for coffee, not thinking for a moment she’d accept. But maybe the chemistry had been just as powerful for her. Maybe her throat had also been tight with tension and longing and she’d been finding it as difficult to speak as he had, as she’d sat beside him in the leather-scented car. He’d driven her to his apartment and she’d told him primly that she didn’t really like coffee. So he’d made her tea flavoured with peppermint and rose petals, and for the first time in his life he’d realised he might lose her if he rushed it. He’d wondered afterwards if it was his unfamiliar restraint which had made her relax and sink into one of his huge sofas—so that when at last he’d leaned over to kiss her she’d been all quivering acquiescence. He’d done it to her right there—pulling her panties down and plunging right into her—terrified she might change her mind during the long walk from the sitting room to the bedroom.

And that had been when he’d discovered she was a virgin—and in that moment something had changed. The world had tipped on its axis because he’d never had sex with a virgin before and had been unprepared for the rush of primitive satisfaction which had flooded through him. As they’d lain there afterwards, gasping for breath among all the cushions, he’d pushed a damp curl away from her dewy cheek, demanding to know why she hadn’t told him.

‘Why would I? Would you have stopped?’

‘No, but I could have laid you at the centre of my big bed instead of the sofa if I’d known this was your first sexual adventure.’

‘What, you mean like some sort of medieval sacrifice?’ she’d murmured and that had confused him, too, because he would have expected high emotion at such a moment, not such a cool response.

Had it been her coolness which had made him desire her even more? Possibly. He’d thought it would be one night, but he’d been mistaken. He’d never dated a waitress before and he acknowledged the cold streak of snobbery in his nature which told him it would be unwise to buck that trend. But Darcy had confounded him. She read just as many books as an academic he’d once dated—although admittedly, she preferred novels to molecular biology. And she didn’t follow the predictable path of most women in a sexual relationship. She didn’t bore him with stories of her past, nor weigh him down with questions about his own. Their infrequent yet highly satisfying meetings, which involved a series of mind-blowing orgasms, seemed to meet both their needs. She seemed instinctively to understand that he wasn’t seeking a close or lasting connection with a woman. Not now and not ever.

But sometimes an uncomfortable question strayed into his mind to ask why such a beauty would have so willingly submitted her virginity to a total stranger. And didn’t he keep coming up with the troublesome answer that maybe she had been holding out for the highest bidder—in this case, an Italian billionaire...?

‘Renzo?’

The sound of her voice dragged him away back into the present and Renzo looked up to see a woman walking through the airport lounge towards him, pulling behind her a battered suitcase on wheels. His eyes narrowed. It was Darcy, yes—but not Darcy as he knew her, in her drab waitress uniform or pale and naked against his pristine white sheets. Renzo blinked. This was Darcy in a dress the colour of sunshine, dotted with tiny blue flowers. It was a simple cotton dress but the way she wore it was remarkable. It wasn’t the cut or the label which was making every man in the place stare at her—it was her youthful body and natural beauty. Fresh and glowing, her bare arms and legs were honed by honest hard work rather than mindless sessions in the gym. She looked radiant and the natural bounce of her breasts meant that no man could look at her without thinking about procreation. Renzo’s mouth dried. Procreation had never been on his agenda, but sex most definitely was. He wanted to pull her hungrily into his arms and to kiss her hard on the mouth and feel those soft breasts crushing against him. But Renzo Sabatini would never be seen in any airport—let alone one in his homeland—making such a public demonstration of affection.

And wasn’t it time he reinforced the fact that nobody—nobody—ever kept him waiting?

‘You’re late,’ he said repressively, throwing aside his newspaper and rising to his feet.

Darcy nodded. She could sense his irritation but that didn’t affect her enjoyment of the way he was looking at her—if only to reassure her she hadn’t made a terrible mistake in choosing a cheap cotton dress instead of the clothes he must have been expecting her to wear. Still, since this was going to be the holiday of a lifetime it was important she got it off to a good start and the truth of it was that she was late. In fact, she’d started to worry if she would get here at all because that horrible vomiting bug she’d had at the beginning of the week had really laid her low.

‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry about that.’

He commandeered her wheeled case and winced slightly as he took her hand luggage. ‘What have you got in here? Bricks?’

‘I put in a few books,’ she said as they set off towards the exit. ‘Though I wasn’t sure how much time I’d have for reading.’

Usually he would have made a provocative comment in response to such a remark but he didn’t and the unyielding expression on his face told her he wasn’t ready to forgive her for making him wait. But he didn’t say anything as they emerged into the bright sunshine and Darcy was too overcome by the bluest sky she’d ever seen to care.

‘Oh, Renzo—I can’t believe I’m in Italy. It’s so beautiful,’ she enthused as she looked around, but still he didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t speak until his shiny black car had pulled out of the airport and was heading towards a signpost marked Chiusi.

‘I’ve been waiting at the damned airport for over an hour,’ he snapped. ‘Why weren’t you on the flight I told you to get?’

Darcy hesitated. She supposed she could come up with some vague story to placate him but hadn’t she already shrouded so much of her life with evasion and secrets, terrified that someone would examine it in the harsh light of day and judge her? Why add yet another to the long list of things she needed to conceal? And this was different. This wasn’t something she was ashamed of—so why not be upfront about the decision she’d made when he had stuffed that enormous wad of cash into her hand and made her feel deeply uncomfortable?

‘Because it was too expensive.’

‘Darcy, I gave you the money to get that flight.’

‘I know you did and it was very generous of you.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘But when I saw how much it cost to fly to Florence first class, I just couldn’t do it.’

‘What do you mean, you couldn’t do it?’

‘It seemed a ludicrous amount of money to spend on a two-hour flight so I bought a seat on a budget airline instead.’

‘You did what?’

‘You should try it sometime. It’s true they ran out of sandwiches and the tea was stone-cold, but I saved absolutely loads of money because the price difference was massive. Just like I did with the clothes.’

‘The clothes,’ he repeated uncomprehendingly.

‘Yes. I went to that department store you recommended on Bond Street but the clothes were stupidly overpriced. I couldn’t believe how much they were asking for a simple T-shirt so I went to the high street and found some cheaper versions, like this dress.’ She smoothed the crisp yellow cotton down over her thighs and her voice wavered a little uncertainly. ‘Which I think looks okay, doesn’t it?’

He flashed a glance to where her hand was resting. ‘Sure,’ he said, his voice sounding thick. ‘It looks okay.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

He slammed the palm of his hand against the steering wheel. ‘The problem is that I don’t like being disobeyed.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, Renzo. You sound like a headmaster. You’re not my teacher, you know—and I’m not your pupil.’

‘Oh, really?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought I’d been responsible for teaching you rather a lot.’

His words made her face grow hot as they zoomed past blue-green mountains, but suddenly Darcy was finding the sight of Renzo’s profile far more appealing than the Tuscan countryside. He was so unbelievably gorgeous. Just the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Would she ever feel this way about anyone again, she wondered—with a chest which became so tight when she looked at him that sometimes it felt as if she could hardly breathe? Probably not. It had never happened before, so what were the chances of it happening again? How had Renzo himself described what had happened when they first met? Colpo di fulmine—that was it. A lightning strike—which everyone knew was extremely rare. It was about the only bit of Italian she knew.

She sneaked another glance at him. His black hair was ruffled and his shirt was open at the neck—olive skin glowing gold and stunningly illuminated by the rich Tuscan light. His thighs looked taut beneath his charcoal trousers and Darcy could feel the sudden increase of her pulse as her gaze travelled along their muscular length. She’d rarely been in a car with him since the night he had seduced her—or rather, when she had fallen greedily into his arms. She’d hardly been anywhere with him other than the bedroom and suddenly she was glad about something which might have bothered other women.

Because with the amazing landscape sliding past like a TV commercial, she thought how easy it would be to get used to this kind of treatment. Not just the obvious luxury of being driven through such beautiful countryside, but the chance to be a bona fide couple like this. And she mustn’t get used to it, because it was a one-off. One last sweet taste of Renzo Sabatini before she began her new life in Norfolk and started to forget him—the man with the cold heart who had taught her the definition of pleasure. The precise and brilliant architect who turned into a tiger in the bedroom.

‘So what exactly are we going to be doing when we get to this place of yours?’ she said.

‘You mean apart from making love?’

‘Apart from that,’ she agreed, almost wishing he hadn’t said it despite the instant spring of her breasts in response. Did he need to keep drumming in her sole purpose in his life? She remembered the hiking shoes she’d packed and wondered if she’d completely misjudged the situation. Was he planning to show her anything of Tuscany, or would they simply be doing the bed thing, only in a more glamorous location? She wondered if he had sensed her sudden discomfiture and if that was the reason for his swift glance as they left the motorway for a quieter road.

‘The man who is buying the estate is coming for dinner,’ he said, by way of explanation.

‘Oh? Is that usual?’

‘Not really, but he’s actually my lawyer and I want to persuade him to keep on the staff who have worked at Vallombrosa for so long. He’s bringing his girlfriend with him, so it’ll be good to have you there to balance the numbers.’

Darcy nodded. To balance the numbers. Of course. She was there to fill an empty chair and warm the tycoon’s bed—there was nothing more to it than that. Stupidly, his remark hurt but she didn’t show it—something in which she’d learned to excel. A childhood of deprivation and fear had taught her to hide her feelings behind a mask and present the best version of herself to the world. The version that prospective foster parents might like if they were looking for a child to fit into their lovely home. And if sometimes she wondered what she might reveal if that mask ever slipped, she didn’t worry about it for too long because she was never going to let that happen.

‘So when were you last abroad?’ he questioned, as they passed a pretty little hilltop village.

‘Oh, not for ages,’ she answered vaguely.

‘How come?’

It was a long time since she’d thought about it and Darcy stared straight ahead as she remembered the charity coach trip to Spain when she’d been fifteen. When the blazing summer sun had burned her fair skin and the mobile home on the campsite had felt like sleeping in a hot tin can. They were supposed to be grateful that the church near the children’s home had raised enough money to send them on the supposed trip of a lifetime and she had really tried to be grateful. Until somebody had drilled a peephole into the wall of the female showers and there had been a huge fuss about it. And someone had definitely stolen two pairs of her knickers when she’d been out swimming in the overcrowded pool. Somehow she didn’t think Renzo Sabatini’s Tuscan villa was going to be anything like that. ‘I went on a school trip when I was a teenager,’ she said. ‘That was the only time I’ve been abroad.’

He frowned. ‘You’re not much of a traveller, then?’

‘You could say that.’

And suddenly Darcy scented danger. On the journey over she’d been worried she might do something stupid. Not something obvious, like using the wrong knife and fork at a fancy dinner, because her waitressing career had taught her everything there was to know about cutlery.

But she realised she’d completely overlooked the fact that proximity might make her careless. Might make her tongue slip and give something away—something which would naturally repulse him. Renzo had told her that one of the things he liked about her was that she didn’t besiege him with questions, or try to dig deep to try to understand him better. But that had been a two-way street and the fact he didn’t ask about her past had suited her just fine. More than fine. She didn’t want to tell any lies but she knew she could never tell him the truth. Because there was no point. There was no future in this liaison of theirs, so why tell him about the junkie mother who had given birth to her? Why endure the pain of seeing his lips curve with shock and contempt as had happened so often in the past? In a world where everyone was striving for perfection and judging you, it hadn’t taken her long to realise that the best way to get on in life was to bury all the darkness just as deep as she could.

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