‘I am going to be one hundred per cent committed to our child. Do I make myself clear?’

Isobel swallowed.

‘And one more thing.’ He set his jaw determinedly. ‘We will need to get married.’

Orlando coldly watched the look of panic sweep over Isobel’s face, the irony of the situation striking him. Never had he expected his marriage proposal to be met with such a reaction. But then, never had he expected to make one. Life as a single man suited him just fine—he believed in working hard and taking his pleasures when and where he chose…usually in the form of a beautiful woman and always, always on his terms.

But circumstances had changed dramatically, the unimaginable had happened, and now he was going to make Isobel his wife—no matter how distasteful she might find it. Because no way was he going to have his child growing up illegitimate, as he had. No way was he going to follow the pattern of his father in any shape or form.

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:

Prince Nadir’s Secret Heir by Michelle Conder March 2015

Carrying the Greek’s Heir by Sharon Kendrick April 2015

Married for Amari’s Heir by Maisey Yates July 2015

Bound by the Billionaire’s Baby by Cathy Williams July 2015

From One Night to Wife by Rachael Thomas September 2015

Her Nine Month Confession by Kim Lawrence September 2015

An Heir Fit for a King by Abby Green October 2015

Larenzo’s Christmas Baby by Kate Hewitt November 2015

An Illicit Night with the Greek by Susanna Carr February 2016

A Vow to Secure His Legacy by Annie West March 2016

Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire by Susan Stephens March 2016

Look for more One Night With Consequences coming soon!

If you missed any of these fabulous stories, they can be found at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Shock
Cassano Baby
Andie Brock

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANDIE BROCK started inventing imaginary friends around the age of four and is still doing that today—only now the sparkly fairies have made way for spirited heroines and sexy heroes. Thankfully she now has some real friends, as well as a husband and three children, plus a grumpy but lovable cat. Andie lives in Bristol, and when not actually writing might well be plotting her next passionate romance story.

To my daughter Betsy.

For being an enthusiastic reader of my books and encouraging her friends to be too!

Love you, Bets.

Contents

Cover

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

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

ISOBEL STARED AT the figures on the screen one last time. The initial stages of the business plan had been implemented successfully; target forecasts were all on course. Yes, she was confident that the board of Cassano Holdings would be satisfied with the progress she had made so far. More than satisfied, even.

After closing the lid of her laptop Isobel zipped it into its case. She was ready. She glanced at her watch. There was just one more thing she had to do before she could leave for the board meeting in the city.

Rising to her feet, she smoothed down the skirt of her navy business suit and crossed the few steps to the sofa to pick up her handbag. Her heart was thumping now, her hand shaky as she slid it inside to retrieve the small packet in its chemist’s bag.

Giving herself no more time to think she headed for the bathroom. There really was no going back.

* * *

‘Any other business?’

Orlando Cassano leant back in his chair, the gold pen in his hand catching the light as it was slowly rotated by strong, olive-skinned fingers.

With a negative murmur the board members started to gather together their papers, opening briefcases and stowing away their electronic devices.

‘Isobel?’ The dark sweep of his eyes now focussed directly on the young woman seated on the opposite side of the wide glass table. ‘Is there anything else you want to add?’

‘No.’ Isobel shook her head. ‘I think we have covered everything.’

If only that were true. Looking around, she forced herself to smile brightly at the assembled group of directors, accountants and marketing officers that comprised the UK division of Cassano Holdings. But there was no way she could meet the eye of the company CEO himself, whose piercing dark stare had been all over her ever since she had entered this boardroom and now, two hours later, still scorched across her skin. As if this wasn’t hard enough, it seemed Orlando Cassano was intent on making it a whole lot worse.

‘Bene. Then I think we can wrap this up for today.’

Orlando offered her a smile that knifed into her guts.

‘You have done well, Isobel. I’m confident that this will be a rewarding partnership.’ He paused, his brows knotting together as he watched the colour drain from her face.

‘You’ve made a sound start, Ms Spicer, no doubt about that.’ The chief financial officer gave a nod of agreement. ‘It’s early days, but if you can replicate this performance I can see us renegotiating your contract sooner than anticipated.’

‘That’s good to know.’ Isobel held on to her smile with grim tenacity. Six weeks ago, when she had signed the contract with Cassano Holdings, this news would have seen her skipping down the street. But now... Now it felt as if the world had tipped sideways and she was left clinging on to the edge.

Six weeks ago it had felt like a real gamble, signing over sixty per cent of her business to this massive corporate enterprise. But Spicer Shoes was expanding so rapidly it desperately needed a large injection of cash—and fast—and this was the only way Isobel had been able to think to do it.

She had been proud of her negotiating skills—securing the right to buy back twenty per cent of the shares and regain the all-important majority shareholding once the profit margins showed they could sustain it. In fact it had been easier than she’d thought.

But then so had falling into bed with the stunning Orlando Cassano.

Now, as she stared through the glass tabletop at the red suede ankle boot jiggling on her foot, she knew what a massive mistake that had been.

‘Well, thank you, everybody.’ Pushing himself away from the table with the palms of his hands, Orlando waited, chivalry preventing him from standing before Isobel and the only other female present—a scarily efficient PA called Astrid—had done the same.

Finally the board members were filing out of the room, shaking Isobel’s hand and politely congratulating her, their thoughts no doubt already turning to lunch.

And suddenly they were alone. Isobel’s heart took up a thundering beat.

Orlando, tall and silent, stood with his back to the wall of windows, silhouetted against the London skyline. He looked dark and brooding and impossibly handsome, the elegant cut of his suit accentuating his considerable height and broad shoulders, the shirt white against his tanned skin. Isobel felt her throat go dry, her skin tighten against his imagined touch.

This was Orlando Cassano—a formidable businessman, a harder, colder, altogether more dangerous man than the one she had first met on the island of Jacamar. This was the man she had been prepared to meet when she had flown to his private Caribbean island to make her pitch for his company’s investment in her business.

She had been such a bag of nerves then, but excited too, full of enthusiasm and ideas. Her business plan had been honed until it shone, her speech practised to perfection. Orlando Cassano was a tough nut to crack—everybody knew that. Legend had it that beneath his urbane good looks there lurked a heart of steel. But having secured the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to meet him, through a client who happened to know him, there had been no way Isobel was going to mess it up.

Then she had met him...and all those preconceptions had vanished in a skyward-soaring heartbeat. Because the man she’d discovered on Jacamar had not been what she had been expecting at all. Arrestingly handsome, yes. But also relaxed, charming, funny. Not to mention deeply, bone-meltingly sexy.

She had noticed him straight away—how could she not have? From her seat on the little motorboat full of chattering staff she had watched the tall, commanding figure on the rickety landing stage coming closer into view. He’d been wearing faded board shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, the breeze ruffling his dark curls, his feet bare on the sun-bleached wood. But even though he’d appeared to be someone who could undoubtedly rock the beach-bum look, Isobel had known immediately who he was. The confidence in his stance, the easy grace as he had stretched to catch the rope, the twinkle in his eye as it had caught hers—all had told her that this had to be the man she had come to see: billionaire businessman Orlando Cassano.

Isobel had waited as the other passengers disembarked, listening to their warm greetings as Orlando had helped them ashore, had assisted them with their parcels and packages, until finally it had been her turn. As she had wobbled to stand he had reached forward to take her hand, and the feel of that warm, firm grip against her skin had spread through her body like a bush fire. And it had burned there ever since...

‘So, Ms Spicer.’ Now, folding his arms across his broad chest, Orlando spoke. ‘You are a surprisingly difficult woman to get hold of.’

His voice was low and deep, with just enough of an Italian accent to reveal his heritage and curl around Isobel’s heart. But today there was no warmth to it.

‘Why do I get the impression you have been avoiding me?’

‘Not avoiding you.’ Lifting her chin, Isobel took a second to bite down hard on her lip to stop it giving her away. ‘I’ve just been busy, that’s all. I thought that was what you wanted.’

‘Busy is good. Too busy to answer my calls and emails, less so.’ Moving away from the window Orlando strode over to the door to the outer office, closing it with a soft click before returning to stand a few feet in front of Isobel. ‘I was beginning to worry.’

Isobel scanned his self-assured face for signs of this so-called worry. Nothing. But she was about to change all that.

‘Well, I hope the figures have shown you that everything is on track.’ The slight tilt of his head, coupled with his narrowed eyes, suggested this was not the answer he was looking for, but Isobel pressed on. ‘Full production is due to start in the factory in Le Marche very soon, and...’

‘I’m not talking about the factory, Isobel, or the business—as well you know.’ He closed the gap between them, his voice lethally calm. ‘I’m talking about things on a more personal level. How about we start with my invitation to dinner that you have totally ignored?’

Isobel flinched. He was too close now, and she was faced with a besuited wall of taut muscle and towering height. He was messing with her ability to think clearly, to form sensible sentences.

It was true that she had ignored the email he had sent her last week. Well, ignored was hardly the right word—she had stared at it long and hard, trying to formulate a suitable reply, before eventually giving up. In any case, she strongly suspected that after she’d told him her news he would have a severe loss of appetite. She knew she did.

But it seemed that by failing to leap at the chance of spending an evening with him she had ruffled his feathers. In front of the board members he had been polite, professionally charming. Now that politeness had turned to interrogation, and a cold stillness had settled over his handsome features—nothing like the impish devilment and sexy grin of the man she had known on Jacamar. No doubt somewhere there was a dent in that pristine pride of his—not that he would ever let her see it.

‘I didn’t reply to that email because I didn’t think there was any point.’

Orlando’s eyes narrowed further as he took a step closer to her. ‘Go on.’

Isobel swallowed down the knot in her throat. ‘I think that what happened on Jacamar...what we did... I mean...’ She faltered beneath the mocking innocence of his gaze. ‘I think from now on we should keep our relationship strictly professional.’

‘Do you, indeed?’

Another step closer and the small space between them had vanished completely. Isobel felt her knees start to wobble.

‘Yes—yes, I do.’

‘And why is that, Ms Spicer?’

He placed his hands on her shoulders, warm and firm, nailing her to the ground. Now there was no escaping the physical, sexual tidal wave that was Orlando Cassano. No mistaking the raw throb of desire that pulsed between them, nor the answering roar of blood in her ears.

Isobel held herself very still, her arms by her sides, determined to fight the intense feelings that were sweeping through her body. It would be so easy to raise her arms, link them around his neck, let herself be pulled against the taut strength of his body and satisfy the hunger she felt for him. But that way disaster lay—in fact it already had. No, she would take a second to compose herself, and then she would move away, do what she had to do.

But Orlando had other ideas about how to spend that second, and before she knew it his hands had moved to the back of her head, his fingers plundering the softness of her hair as he tipped her face up to his, seeking her lips with his own. His face blurred out of focus as he lowered his head to claim her, and suddenly he was kissing her, wasting no time before increasing the pressure and using the heated, erotic slide of his tongue to open her up to him.

It was a kiss full of heat and possessiveness and deep sexual need. A kiss that left no doubt as to where it would lead, if circumstances would let it. Isobel felt her eyes close against its force, her body instantly surrender to its power.

Orlando altered his position, sliding his leg against her thigh, pressing his arousal to her groin. ‘I’ve missed you, Isobel.’ He pulled his mouth away just far enough to groan the words against her swollen lips before angling his head in order to kiss her more deeply. Then, drawing in a deep breath he continued hoarsely, ‘And I hope you have missed me too.’

‘No!’

That split second of space was enough to bring Isobel to her senses and, bracing her hands against Orlando’s chest, she used its rock-hard strength to push herself away. The look of surprise that flashed in his eyes cut through her like a blade.

‘We have to stop this.’

Taking a step back, and then another, she fought to control the heaving of her chest, to stem the river of lust that was snaking its way to every part of her body.

‘I mean, it’s over—finished...’ Her voice tailed off with the effort of dragging the reluctant words up from her body. From the absurdity of trying to reject the only man she had ever truly desired. ‘We can’t do this any more.’

* * *

Orlando tugged loose the tie that was suddenly unbearably tight around his neck and, shrugging off his jacket, hurled it behind him where it hooked limply over the back of a chair. It seemed nothing was going his way at the moment.

He had been looking forward to seeing Isobel again today—had been surprised, actually, just how much. Reacquainting himself with the lovely Ms Spicer was supposed to have been the one bright spot in what he knew was going to be a frustrating and depressing few days. Now it seemed even that pleasure was going to be denied him.

He’d allowed himself an extra day in London before he had to fly to Italy to sort out his late father’s affairs. His business in the UK could be concluded pretty quickly, and the thought of spending some free time with Isobel had been a very attractive one. But, judging by the look on her face now, it was time that wasn’t going to be needed. He might as well fly to Italy this evening, get it over with, then head back to New York as fast as his private jet would take him.

But it was a grim prospect. If he had his way he would never set foot in his home town of Trevente ever again. The ancient Italian town, sited between the turquoise waters of the Adriatic and the snow-capped Sibillini Mountains, had all the picture-postcard beauty you could ask for, but it certainly held no charm for Orlando. And as for the castello that looked down on the town, and the estate and the wretched title that went with it—Marchese di Trevente—well, he wanted none of it. Even if it was his rightful inheritance.

Some inheritance. Orlando felt a fresh wave of anger roll over him. Passed to him on the recent death of the miserable lowlife of a creature who had called himself his father, the once noble and profitable estate that had been in the Cassano family for countless generations had been brought to its knees, the vineyards neglected, the farms uncared for and the many properties virtually in ruins. And that included the majestic Castello Trevente.

This was his father’s legacy—a legacy Orlando couldn’t wait to get shot of. Finding out that he had to go to Trevente in person to do just that had only fuelled his rage. But despite putting his legal team on to it there appeared to be no way of circumnavigating the ancient Italian laws—no getting out of climbing the twisty stairs to the stuffy office of the family solicitor, shaking hands with notary, or the mayor, or whoever else had to witness his signature in this archaic system.

Only then would he be able to arrange for the sale of the whole damned place and finally walk away—wash his hands of his heritage for ever.

Now Orlando’s eyes scanned the defiant figure who stood before him. So he was being dumped. There was a novelty value there, to be sure, but that didn’t compensate for the sharp sting of rejection, the virtual slap on the cheek. Not to mention his disappointment that he was going to be denied a brief period of escapism with this lovely young woman.

The sensible thing would be to take Isobel’s words at face value. Shake her hand and say goodbye. But his body was far from sensible where Ms Spicer was concerned. It had been from the very first moment he had seen her arrive on his Caribbean island, wobbling to stand up in the motor launch. Even now it was refusing to accept what he had been told, and the tightness in his groin was showing no sign of abating. He realised he wanted answers, needed answers, before he could walk away.

Isobel had retreated further from him now, deeper into the room, and she stared at him with something like mutinous rebellion. He watched as she pushed back her shoulders, tucking her glossy chestnut hair behind one ear. Her cheeks were stained with twin streaks of colour, her wide green eyes unnaturally bright. Something was going on here. And she wasn’t leaving until he had damned well found out what it was.

Forcing himself to find some of the legendary calm that he was so famed for, Orlando moved over to the table and pulled out two chairs.

‘Sit down, Isobel.’

Isobel hesitated, then did as she was told, crossing her legs and smoothing the short but sensible pencil skirt over her thighs. Seating himself opposite her, Orlando watched her top leg start to jiggle, and immediately his very male attention was drawn to the jut of her knee through the sheer tights, the graceful sweep of her calves down to those ankle boots with their vertiginously high heels.

He’d noticed them as soon as she had walked into the boardroom—as had every other person sitting around that table. Their vivid red colour had flashed brighter than a robin’s breast in the glass and steel setting of this modern office building.

Immediately his thoughts had flown to how he would remove them, sliding down the zippers at the side and inching them off her feet whilst Isobel was splayed across his bed, waiting for his attentions. That would work. Or maybe leaving them on, removing the rest of the clothes from her luscious body and waiting for those long legs to wrap around him, boots and all, with the suede rubbing against his skin, the scratch of the heels down his back.

Hearing Isobel clear her throat, he forced his way back to the present, his eyes back up to her heated face.

‘So...’ He leant back, stretching long legs out in front of him. ‘Am I allowed to ask why the change of heart?’

Isobel shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘It’s not a change of heart.’

‘What, then?’

He could see her struggling to find the right words. Her lips, he noticed, were still swollen from the force of their kiss—a kiss that had affected them both equally, no matter how much Isobel tried to cover it up.

‘This is just for curiosity’s sake, you understand. I will obviously respect your decision, no matter what the reason.’

‘I know that.’

‘So...?’ he repeated.

Goddammit, why didn’t she have the guts just to come out with it? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t worked it out for himself by now anyway.

Impatience, and a possessiveness he didn’t want to acknowledge, made his voice a growl. ‘Perhaps you would like me to make it easier for you?’

At this, Isobel’s green eyes shot up from where they had been watching her hands twisting in her lap. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve met someone else.’ Orlando was surprised by the way just saying those words made him want to go out and punch something—hard. ‘A new boyfriend?’

‘Ha!’

Isobel’s bitter laugh, coupled with the look of astonishment on her face, told him he’d got that wrong and for a fleeting moment relief washed over him.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Orlando.’

Was that so ridiculous? They hadn’t seen each other for over a month. Plenty of time for some young gun to step in and claim Isobel for his prize. But it would seem that wasn’t the case. Orlando’s clenched fists loosened momentarily, before tightening again as another thought took hold.

‘An old boyfriend, then?’ His eyes narrowed, piercingly intense now as he waited for her answer. ‘Perhaps someone you failed to mention when we were on Jacamar?’

‘Of course not!’ Isobel straightened her spine, tossing back her head so that the mane of hair gleamed richly. ‘I would never have slept with you if I had had a boyfriend. What sort of a person do you take me for?’

Orlando shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Isobel, you tell me. Presumably not the same person I knew on Jacamar. Because she appeared to enjoy my company every bit as much as I did hers.’

‘I did!’ Her reply came out in a burst of anguish before she lowered her voice in soft confession. ‘Of course I did.’

She turned her head to one side, but not before Orlando had caught sight of the flush of heat that had flooded her face. He waited, watching with cold interest as she struggled to find her composure.

‘I’m not denying that what happened between us was...mutual.’ The intensity of his gaze demanded more. ‘Was...good, in fact. But that was in the past. Circumstances have changed.’

‘Evidently.’

He didn’t have time for this. Orlando felt what little patience he’d had march out of the door.

Pushing back his chair, he drew himself up to his full height and looked down on this infuriating woman. ‘Look, Isobel, I’m not here to mess about or to play games. I’ve only got a short time in London and I thought it would be nice to spend some of it with you. Even if it’s just dinner. But I’m certainly not going to force your hand.’

Standing with his feet apart he folded his arms decisively across his chest.

‘If you have other plans, or would rather not, that’s fine too. Just say the word.’

‘Two words, actually, Orlando.’

Orlando narrowed his eyes, something about the tortured expression clouding Isobel’s face halting the pumped up pride in his chest, preventing any sharp retort from escaping. Instead he grew very still.

‘Go on.’

Isobel dragged in a deep breath and he found himself willing her to just damn well come out with it. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared him for the words when they eventually came.

‘I’m pregnant.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘PREGNANT?’

Isobel watched as Orlando’s face turned to stone, his features hardening, his jaw clenching.

‘No.’ Getting to his feet, he stared down at her, his body rigid with tension. ‘You can’t be.’

‘It’s true, Orlando.’ Isobel heard her reply through the roar in her ears—flat, dull, as if spoken by somebody else.

‘And I am the father?’

Pain lanced through her. Did he really know her so little that he had to ask that humiliating question?

She sat up straight, bracing herself, meeting his penetrating gaze with icy contempt. ‘Yes, Orlando, you are the father. Considering you are the only person I have ever had sex with, I think we can take that as definite.’

Orlando’s eyes narrowed with stunned disbelief. ‘The only one? You mean...?’

‘Yes, exactly that. I was a virgin, Orlando.’

Darkness twisted his handsome features. ‘I didn’t know.’ Then, more harshly, ‘Why the hell didn’t you say?’

‘Why would I?’ Isobel replied, with a calm that threatened to shatter like glass. ‘It was irrelevant. It still is irrelevant.’

‘Not to me, it isn’t.’ Cursing under his breath, Orlando shook his head, then raised a hand to his brow.

‘And this pregnancy... You are quite sure about it?’

‘Quite sure.’

She let her eyes slide to the floor, to the pair of handmade Italian shoes that were planted in front of her.

The shoes moved a couple of steps away and, raising her eyes again, Isobel saw Orlando raking a hand through his hair, his expression one of abject horror.

‘The split condom?’ He fired the question at her as the spinning cogs of his mind whirred to find an explanation.

Isobel gave a small nod. ‘It has to be.’

She had been over it a hundred times, convinced this had to be the only answer. During one of their many mad, passionate, crazy lovemaking sessions on the island of Jacamar she had heard Orlando curse, then reach out for another condom before pulling her back into his arms. She remembered the raw panting of his breath, the pounding of his heart beneath his ribcage as he straddled her once more, intent on finishing where he had left off, taking them both soaring to the heights of ecstasy they’d so badly craved.

As she had fallen asleep in his arms, sweat-sealed and sated, her body still shuddering with the aftershocks of pleasure, it had never occurred to her that the course of her life was about to change for ever.

Cursing again in his native tongue, Orlando turned on his heel, striding over to the wall of windows, where he braced his hands against the glass, resting his forehead between them. Isobel stared at the stark outline of his rear view, his stiffly held posture radiating tension.

‘How long have you known?’ He spoke the words over his shoulder.

‘I just did the test this morning.’

Orlando spun around. ‘So you haven’t had it confirmed by a doctor?’

‘I don’t need to, Orlando.’ Isobel knew she had to extinguish the look of hope in his eyes. ‘These tests are extremely accurate. And, besides, I can already feel the changes in my body. I’ve had my suspicions for a couple of weeks, but I wanted to be absolutely sure before I told you.’

Moving away from the window, Orlando came to sit down again, pulling up his chair so that he was positioned directly opposite Isobel, close enough for his knees to brush hers. Isobel crossed her legs tightly, pulled at the hem of her skirt.

‘Then we must figure out how we are going to proceed.’ Running his hand over his jaw, Orlando cupped his chin, his eyes narrowing with concentration as they searched hers.

How we are going to proceed. The words made Isobel’s skin prickle with alarm as she watched his wall of self-control slide back into place. Because she knew the kind of man Orlando was: powerful, ruthless. One who liked to make all the decisions, to bend others to his will. Who even now looked as if he was about to take command, address the problem of this pregnancy with cool detachment and deal with it as he saw fit.

Well, Isobel would never let that happen. She sure as hell wasn’t going to have him ruling her life, calling the shots. She had done the right thing by telling him she was carrying his child, but as far as she was concerned that was it. From now on the responsibility and the decisions were all hers. She needed to make that very clear.

Leaning forward, Orlando rested his splayed hands on his thighs, his dark gaze holding hers with brooding intensity. Isobel could see his mind racing as he tried to come to terms with this information, tried to shape it into some form he could control. He was so close now she could feel the air move with each steady breath, catch the faint scent of his cologne, see the amber flecks in his eyes.

She took in a breath to try and steady the pounding of her heart. This was what Orlando did to her. He messed with her head, made her feel things she didn’t want to feel. She was still trying to fight off the effects of that earlier kiss, the burning ache that had spread through her body and continued to pulse low down in her abdomen. He shouldn’t have done that—it wasn’t fair...he had broken the rules. Because they both knew that what had happened on Jacamar—that crazy, heady cocktail of wild abandonment and mind-blowing sex—had to stay on Jacamar.

As he had pulled away from their final hug the message in Orlando’s eyes had been loud and clear. That was great. Emphasis on the was. And Isobel had played along, knowing it was the only way, ignoring the hard knot in her throat, covering up the wobble of her chin until she had been chugging away from the sunshine island with the wind in her face and horizontal tears leaking from her eyes.

Because she had known then, as she knew now, that she was going to have to fight against her feelings for Orlando with all her might. Losing her heart to this magnetic, masterful man would mean nothing but misery, that was a certainty.

Over the past couple of weeks—from the first creeping realisation that her period was late to the hideous certainty that she was pregnant—she had given serious thought to keeping the news to herself. That way she just might be able to protect her heart and control her own destiny. If Orlando didn’t know about the child she would be free to raise it as she liked. Financially it would be a struggle, but she could do it. It wasn’t as if she wanted anything from him. She wouldn’t be hounding him for maintenance. And she most certainly didn’t expect him to marry her.

But, tempting though it was to try and keep Orlando out of the equation, practically it would be a nightmare. And, more than that, ultimately she knew that her conscience would never let her go through with it. After all, it was a man’s basic right to know that he was going to be a father.

Which was why she was seated here now, fighting off the sweeping feelings of longing with sweaty palms and a deliberately steely stare.

‘It’s not something you have to figure out, Orlando.’ Edging back into her seat, Isobel concentrated on the job she had to do. ‘I will be the one deciding how to proceed.’

‘Scusi?’ A muscle twitched ominously in his jaw.

‘I mean I am prepared to accept full responsibility.’

‘“Full responsibility”?’ Dark brows drew together.

‘Yes. I don’t expect anything from you.’ Isobel paused to take in a breath, strongly suspecting from Orlando’s chilling calm that this wasn’t going her way. She tried again. ‘Obviously I would never stop you from seeing the child—if you want to, that is—but in terms of raising it, I want to make it clear that I expect that role to be solely down to me.’

‘Do you, indeed?’ Orlando’s voice dropped menacingly low.

‘Yes.’

‘Incredibile.’ Orlando pushed himself back forcibly enough for the chair to rock on its legs. ‘Let me get this straight. First you tell me that I’m going to be a father, and then you hit me with the news that you intend to raise the child alone and without my support. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’ Isobel blinked hard but remained defiant. ‘I told you because I thought you had a right to know—not because I want anything from you.’

‘Very kind of you, I’m sure.’ Sarcasm ripped through his voice. ‘So, having been given this information, what exactly did you expect me to do with it? Say “Thanks for letting me know” and then walk away? Forget all about it?’

‘If that’s what you want, yes.’ Isobel was determined not to buckle under the force of his contemptuous stare. ‘You have that option.’

‘Ha!’ Orlando gave a cruel laugh. ‘Believe me, I don’t. And neither do you, come to that, no matter how much you might want it.’

‘Orlando, look—’

Hearing a tap on the door, Orlando held up his hand to silence her as his PA appeared, framed prettily in the doorway.

‘Not now, Astrid.’

His barked words brought a flash of surprise to Astrid’s face before she quickly pulled down the mask of professionalism.

‘My apologies, but I thought you would want to know that your one-thirty appointment has arrived.’

Orlando rubbed his temples. ‘Yes, of course. Tell them I’ll be five minutes.’

‘Certainly.’ Turning on her dainty heel, Astrid left the room, closing the door behind her.

‘We need to talk, Isobel, but not here.’ Pushing back the sleeve of his jacket, Orlando glanced at his watch. ‘I have meetings all afternoon, so it will have to be this evening. I should be free by seven o’clock.’

Isobel hesitated. Part of her—a big part—wanted to decline his less-than-cordial invitation. Tell him that as far as she was concerned there was no point in spending a torturous evening together. Orlando’s cold, calculating reaction to the news of her pregnancy had confirmed her worst fears. He had shown no compassion. Never once had he asked about her, about how she felt.

She had done her duty in telling him about the baby—now she just wanted to be left alone to pick up the pieces and carry on as best she could. But one glance at the determined set of Orlando’s jaw, the hint of steel in his eyes, told her that that was about as likely to happen as holding back the ocean with a wall of sand.

Rising to her feet, she picked up her bag and plastered on the most neutral expression she could muster. ‘Very well, if that’s what you want. I’ll see you this evening. Where do you want to meet?’

‘Leave your address with Astrid.’ Giving her no chance to disagree, Orlando stood before her, all tall, imperious command. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven.’

* * *

Orlando watched as Isobel hurried from the room, those provocative heels clicking accusingly on the polished wooden floor. He could hear her talking to Astrid in the outer office before finally taking her leave. Only then did he allow himself to sink down into a chair and put his head in his hands.

Pregnant.

The reality of what he had done hit him like a ton of rock, the shock firing through his veins. Isobel—a young woman he hardly knew—was pregnant with his baby. And if that wasn’t bad enough she had been a virgin before he had come along and ruined her life. What sort of a brute did that make him? One just like his father, that was what—a man who had swept his teenage mother off her feet, taken what he wanted, then discarded her.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Orlando forced himself to think. Why hadn’t he known that Isobel was a virgin? Would it have made any difference if he had? Their brief relationship had been so sudden, so wildly all-consuming, it had knocked all the normal rules out of the park. The attraction between them had been powerful and overwhelming and impossible to resist. And it had been the same for both of them. Or so he’d thought.

Screwing up his eyes, Orlando let the image of those sultry nights play over in his mind. Yes, Isobel had wanted him—he was sure about that. He remembered them tearing each other’s clothes off, remembered the look of pure sexual longing in Isobel’s eyes as she had reached out to him that first time, arching her naked body against his. But now he also remembered the sharp intake of breath when he had entered her...the fat tears that had leaked from the corners of her eyes when they had finally fallen back against the pillows, gasping for breath.

At the time he had thought nothing of it—or, worse still, had maybe revelled in his potent masculinity, his ability to stir such passion in a beautiful young woman.

Now the thought of what he’d done made him feel sick. But the deed was done—and with the most dramatic of consequences.

Somehow he had to get his head around this. He was going to be a father. The one thing he had always sworn would never, ever happen. Because Orlando had seen first-hand the brutal destruction that came with so-called family life. His own childhood was a chilling testament to that—completely chaotic from the start.

As a young boy he had been shunted from one foster family to the next, whenever his mother’s fragile mental health had left her unable to cope or plunged her into a depression so black that Orlando had been deemed at risk of neglect. He had been twelve years old when she had died, unable to care for herself any better than she had her precious, skinny, vulnerable son.

Too old to be adopted, and too difficult, challenging and downright angry with the world to be suitable for short-term fostering any more, Orlando had been placed in a children’s home. And that forbidding, prison-like building had been his home for more than four years.

It had been during his last few months there that he had made the disastrous decision to track down his father—the man who had had a brief affair with his mother, then abandoned her before he was born. The man who had triggered the mental health issues that had eventually led to his mother’s death. The man who had very nearly destroyed Orlando too.

But all that had been a long time ago—almost half a lifetime, in fact. At just seventeen years old Orlando had bought a one-way ticket to New York and left his wretched past firmly behind him. And the years since then had been good—remarkable, even—with determination, dedication and sheer hard work seeing Orlando rise rapidly from absolutely nothing to be one of the world’s most successful businessmen. A massive achievement in anyone’s book.

Yes, Orlando Cassano was at the top of his game. He’d got his life exactly where he wanted it.

Or so he’d thought.

Now not only had his past come back to haunt him, but his future was being catapulted into the unknown. He was going to have a child. He had no idea exactly what that would mean, but he did know that he would be there for his son or daughter—come what may, whatever it took. No way would he replicate the despicable behaviour of his own father.

And that meant the course of his life was about to change for ever.

* * *

‘I’ll be right down.’

Replacing the intercom receiver, Isobel reached for her coat and slung it over her arm. After checking her reflection in the mirror she hurried out, locking the door behind her before running down the several flights of stairs. She didn’t want to give Orlando the chance to invite himself up.

Not that she was ashamed of her flat—far from it. It might be tiny, but the rent was reasonable and it was nice and central—only a few stops on the underground to the headquarters of Spicer Shoes. However, it was hardly on a par with the sort of grandeur that Orlando Cassano was accustomed to.

He was studying the view when Isobel joined him, taking in the car park, the bike racks and the group of youths sitting on the wall that housed the dustbins. Her dash down the stairs had left her out of breath, and Orlando turned to look at her, coolly objective.

Isobel fought to suppress the familiar lurch in her stomach at the sight of him. He looked ridiculously out of place, standing there in his dark grey cashmere coat, the collar pulled up against the chilly breeze. All urbane, confident authority, he seemed the very antithesis of the crudely graffitied walls of this inner-city tower block.

‘How long have you lived here?’

Having performed a perfunctory kiss on both cheeks, Orlando took a couple of steps back and craned his head to look up, scanning the soulless concrete facade, the uniform rows of windows. Isobel watched his Adam’s apple move beneath the smooth olive skin.

‘A couple of years.’ She focussed on buttoning up her coat. ‘And, before you start, there is nothing wrong with it. We can’t all live on Caribbean islands or in Long Island mansions.’

‘Did I say that?’

‘Well, no, but...’

‘In that case I’ll thank you not to make accusatory assumptions.’ His mouth flattened into a tight line, his eyes narrowing with warning.

Isobel scowled back—this was not a good start. She knew she was being horribly prickly, but her nerves were shot to pieces, her head all over the place. Being in Orlando’s company again was pure torture, and not just because of the pregnancy, nor the fact that he obviously had no intention of letting her raise the child alone, although that was bad enough. Far worse was the realisation that for these past few weeks she had been fooling herself.

Somehow, while they had been apart, Isobel had managed to convince herself that what had happened on Jacamar—the way she had fallen head over heels for Orlando—had been the result of some sort of Caribbean magic...a spell that would be easily broken when she returned to the UK.

But that theory had vanished like an icicle in a furnace the second their eyes had met in the boardroom this morning, when the attraction Isobel had felt for him had been so powerful, so immediate, it had slammed right into her chest. And that wretched kiss hadn’t helped, opening her up to all sorts of forbidden desires. She could feel them now, stubbornly pumping through her body under the grey skies of London, without a coconut or a palm tree in sight.

‘My car is over here.’

He hardly needed to point it out. If Orlando seemed out of place then his gleaming car looked as if it had been dropped down from another planet. Sleek, black and low, it had certainly caught the eye of the local residents, several of whom had sauntered over to inspect it, peering in through the windows and running their hands over the immaculate paintwork.

Isobel felt familiar panic creep through her veins. Not because of the circling hooded youngsters—she’d lived here long enough to know that they wouldn’t bother her—but because cars, fast cars in particular, terrified her.

She had been seventeen when a horrific car crash had all but decimated her family, killing her father and leaving her mother in a wheelchair. Isobel had received only minor injuries, but the course of her life had changed for ever.

Giving up any idea of going to university, she had determined there and then that she would honour her father by taking on the family business and dedicating herself to making Spicer Shoes a success. She’d hoped the hard work would be cathartic and that a thriving business would mean security for the loyal Spicer employees and for her mother, whose continuing care in a residential home was eye-wateringly expensive.

More than that, she’d hoped to be able to make her mother see that the world hadn’t stopped the day of the accident. That she still had her daughter—alive and well and desperate to have a loving relationship with her, desperate to make amends.

But in the seven years that had passed, even though the business was now poised on the brink of massive success, Isobel’s relationship with her mother had become more strained than ever—something that weighed more heavily on her shoulders than she would even admit to herself.

And then there were the panic attacks. The crippling anxiety that Isobel still battled against whenever she sat in a car. But time and some intensive therapy had helped—plus the determination that she was going to overcome her fear. Now, dragging in a deep breath, she released it slowly, the way she had been shown, and strode with great determination to meet her nemesis.

Opening the door for her, Orlando waited as she slid in. Distracted by the car’s admiring audience, he hadn’t seemed to notice Isobel’s fear, which was just the way she wanted it. She waited as he went round to the driver’s side, her nails digging into the palms of her hands.

‘What can she do?’

Outside, she could hear a conversation starting up.

‘Over two hundred, technically.’

Oh, dear God. Orlando had opened his door and was standing outside it, just the lower half of his body visible to Isobel, one foot resting on the car’s sill.

‘Cool. You ever done that?’

‘I’ve taken her up to one-fifty on the autobahn in Germany and she still seemed to have plenty left.’

‘Wow. That’s cool, man.’

The way Isobel’s anxiety levels were racing, she suspected they would give it a run for its money. Reaching across, she pressed the car horn, meaning to grab Orlando’s attention so that they could get going—get this ordeal over with before she lost her nerve completely. But the jarring sound made her shrink back into her seat, and as Orlando peered in she caught his puzzled look.

‘You okay?’

‘Fine.’ She whispered the word under her breath as she double-checked the clasp of her seat belt. ‘Can we just get out of here, please?’

Swinging himself inside with cat-like agility, Orlando turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared into life. As he pressed his foot on the accelerator it growled throatily. Through the windscreen Isobel could see the look of respect on the young men’s faces.

‘You seem very impatient.’ He glanced at her, his hands gripping the steering wheel. ‘I can’t see that it hurts for me to spend a bit of time with those guys.’

‘You won’t say that when your car is found burnt out on a piece of wasteland.’

‘And you accuse me of prejudice?’ He gave a dismissive snort.

Isobel glared at him. ‘Look, I’m not saying they are bad kids, but a flashy car like this is bound to be a target for joyriders. It’s like asking for trouble.’

‘Ah, so it’s my fault.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘It’s important not to write people off because of their backgrounds, Isobel. I was young once. I remember what it was like.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting we wrote them off.’ How had she dug herself into this hole? ‘I happen to get on fine with my neighbours. But I doubt very much that you have anything in common with them.’

Orlando raised his eyebrows, as if he were about to say something, then clearly changed his mind, turning his eyes back to the front. ‘I’m just saying there’s no harm in treating young people with respect—giving them something to aspire to rather than assuming that the trappings of success will provoke jealousy or criminality.’

Well, that was her told. His sanctimonious conceit was almost enough to goad Isobel out of her terror. Almost. But as the car took off with a sudden burst of speed, its tyres screeching on the tarmac as Orlando spun it around in the opposite direction, Isobel could only shriek.

‘For God’s sake!’

Gripping the sides of her seat, she twisted round to look out of the rear window, convinced she’d see the bodies of her neighbours scattered in their wake. Instead she could just make out grinning faces, arms raised in gestures of respect.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘It’s what they expect of a car like this.’

They had slowed right down now, edging into the traffic of the main road. Isobel stared at his handsome, composed profile.

‘If you dangle a dream in front of someone you don’t want to disappoint them.’

Sinking down into the low leather seat, she willed her racing heart to steady. This was no dream...it was a nightmare.

CHAPTER THREE

‘PLEASE, SIT DOWN.’

Up on his feet, Orlando was gesturing to the chair opposite him, his impatient gaze following Isobel’s every move as she joined him at their table.

Having just about survived the car journey to the restaurant, she had made straight for the restroom to repair her make-up and give her churning stomach some time to calm down. Mercifully, the clogged London traffic had given Orlando no chance to exceed the speed limit, and when his first attempts at conversation had failed he’d accepted her silence and left her to endure the journey in peace.

She’d probably been away no more than five or six minutes, but judging by the scowl on Orlando’s face it was five or six minutes too long.

‘I’ve ordered for you.’

Leaning forward with the wine bottle in his hand, Orlando went to fill Isobel’s glass but she shook her head and reached for the carafe of water.

‘I know the chef here. His recommendations are always excellent.’

‘Right. Thank you.’ It wasn’t the food Isobel was worried about. It was the way Orlando was insidiously taking control.

Taking in a breath, she looked around. They were tucked in a discreet corner of a well-known and very exclusive restaurant—the sort that took bookings for twelve months in advance...or twelve minutes if you were Orlando Cassano. She’d recognised several celebrities seated at the subtly lit, polished wood tables, and ordinarily she would have loved a discreet gawp around to see who was dining with whom. But tonight her attention was on only one person—the darkly handsome man who sat opposite her now.

‘So, obviously we have a lot to discuss.’ Picking up his glass, Orlando swirled the dark red wine around, already coldly businesslike. ‘When exactly is the baby due?’

‘The beginning of December.’

‘So that gives us—what? Seven months?’

Us? Since when had they become an us?

Isobel took a gulp of water. ‘Yes. If my calculations are right, the due date is December the second.’ Just saying it out loud made it somehow seem all the more bewilderingly real.

‘Well, obviously we will need to get that date confirmed by a doctor.’

‘This is a baby, Orlando, not a business deal.’ Isobel heard her own acerbic reply. ‘You can’t threaten it with a penalty clause if it doesn’t deliver on time.’

A warning gleam shone in Orlando’s eyes, but he chose not to challenge her. Clearing his throat, he continued. ‘I’ll make enquiries about the best obstetrician in London.’

‘There’s no need. I can make my own appointments, thank you.’

‘Very well.’ He sighed pointedly. ‘In that case, let’s move on to where we are going to live.’

‘Live?’ Isobel carefully placed her glass down on the table. ‘As in together?’

‘I’ve been thinking maybe New York would be the most practical. I have a large apartment there, and—’

‘Wait a minute, Orlando. I can’t move to New York!’ Isobel gasped with panic. ‘My home, my business—everything is here in London.’

‘Spicer Shoes is a global company now, Isobel. Isn’t that what you’ve been striving for? With the new flagship store on Fifth Avenue opening soon it wouldn’t hurt for you to be seen to be spending some time in the US—charity galas, opening nights...that sort of thing. All good for business.’ He paused, meeting her heated gaze with measured calmness. ‘As for your home—what are you suggesting? That I move into your apartment? I suspect it would be a little crowded for the three of us.’

Isobel scowled. The idea of him moving into her flat was farcical, as well he knew.

She squared her shoulders. ‘I don’t remember agreeing to us living together at all.’

‘We are both going to have to make sacrifices, Isobel.’ Orlando pinned her with his gaze. ‘That’s the fact of the matter.’

Sacrifices. Was that how he saw this? Was that how he viewed their baby?

Because that wasn’t how Isobel felt. She already loved this growing life inside her—already knew that she would do anything to protect it, to provide for it, to keep it safe. That wasn’t sacrifice—that was love. But it wasn’t the same for Orlando—how could it be? He had no emotional attachment to this baby. To him it was just a millstone around his neck, a huge encumbrance that he felt compelled to deal with.

With a spark of hope, Isobel decided to give it one more try—to make him realise that he could walk away if he wanted to, leave her to it. She could cope. In fact she would trade the tumult of living with him for the hollow calmness of raising the child alone a thousand times over.

‘I meant what I said earlier, Orlando,’ she started. ‘I am prepared to raise the child alone, to take full responsibility. There is no need for you to make any sacrifices for this baby.’

‘Let me make something clear, Isobel.’ Orlando’s voice dipped dangerously low. ‘I intend to meet my responsibilities, and that will inevitably involve sacrifices. But I will make them willingly and wholeheartedly. It’s the only way. I assume you feel the same?’

‘Well, yes, obviously.’ It was all very well, him coming over all noble, but he expected her to give up her life in London and fly halfway across the world to share a life with him that he freely admitted would only be for the sake of their child.

Deep down, Isobel knew that was what hurt most of all. And deep down was where that particular misery was going to have to stay. Because she had more than enough to worry about right now.

‘I know that having a baby will radically alter my lifestyle, but not to the extent that I have to leave England and move to another continent.’

‘Do you have a better idea?’

Isobel sucked in a breath, all too aware that Orlando was poised, ready to pounce. Still, she had to try. ‘I don’t see why you can’t successfully be a part of the child’s life even if we live in different places.’

There was a telling pause. Orlando’s eyes were holding hers with an icy sharpness that lowered the temperature by several degrees. Dimly Isobel registered the burble of voices, the throaty laugh of a woman on the table behind them, the ominous drum of Orlando’s fingers on the table.

‘I don’t want to be “a part of the child’s life”, Isobel.’ When finally he spoke his voice was low, but full of intent. ‘I want to be a father.’

The weighting of the word left no room for misunderstanding.

Squaring his shoulders, he gave Isobel the full force of his gaze, those deliciously dark, bitter chocolate eyes piercing her with almost painful intensity.

‘And I mean a father from the get-go—starting now. I will be supporting it financially, emotionally, and any other way that is necessary. I will be involved in all decisions regarding every aspect of its life until it reaches adulthood, and after that too—whenever he or she wishes it or I deem it to be required. I am going to be one hundred per cent committed to our child. Do I make myself clear?’

Isobel swallowed.

‘And one more thing.’ He set his jaw determinedly. ‘We will need to get married.’

Orlando coldly watched the look of panic sweep over Isobel’s face, The irony of the situation was striking a heavy blow to his pride. Never had he expected his marriage proposal to be met with such a reaction. But then never had he expected to make one.

Life for him was all about working hard and taking his pleasures when and where he chose—usually in the form of beautiful women and always, always on his terms. Marriage was for mugs. And as for children... Based on his own upbringing, they brought nothing but misery and heartache.

But circumstances had changed dramatically and the unimaginable had happened. Now he was determined to make Isobel his wife, no matter how distasteful she might find it. Because no way was he going to have his child growing up illegitimate, as he had. No way was he going to follow the pattern of his father in any shape or form.

In the few hours he’d had to get used to the idea of Isobel’s pregnancy, shock had turned to discipline as adrenaline had kicked in, telling him to take charge, control the situation, do what he did best. Now he was intent on working out the practicalities, finding the best way to make a stable home for this child. Because that was how Orlando worked—logically, methodically, with a cool head and a razor-sharp brain that defined and solved problems.

It was a winning combination that had served him well in business, kept him ahead of the game, made him the hugely successful man he was today.

But logic couldn’t account for the tightening in his chest when he looked at Isobel now. Or why her expression—sheer horror just about summed it up—twisted at something inside him. If he had asked her to jump off a cliff she couldn’t have looked more aghast. He had no idea why that look bothered him—it wasn’t as if he was even surprised.

‘Married?’ Finally finding her voice, Isobel used it with chilling authority. ‘No, I’m sorry. I can’t commit to that.’

Orlando felt the blood start to pulse in his veins. ‘I’m afraid you are going to have to.’

‘I don’t have to do anything, Orlando.’

Isobel’s stark words pulled him up short, and as the waiter arrived with their food Orlando was forced to accept that she was right. Right now, Isobel held all the cards. There was absolutely nothing to stop her from digging in those sexy heels and refusing point-blank to agree to any of his demands. Or, worse still, striding off in them and leaving him with nothing but a foul temper and a pending paternity case.

He watched from beneath lowered lashes as she looked at the food being set before her, politely thanking the waiter. If he wasn’t careful he was going to blow this. His every instinct was telling him that he had to win control of this situation, of Isobel—of his whole life, goddammit. Because at the moment he was still in free fall, with no idea of where he might land.

A huge surge of emotion was telling him to get this sorted right now. He would have frog-marched Isobel to a register office there and then if he’d thought he could get away with it. But he knew he had to rein in his domineering attitude before it spooked Isobel completely and she bolted out of his life.

He picked up his knife and fork. ‘I’m sorry you find the idea so abhorrent, Isobel.’ His knife sliced through a scallop with a surgeon’s precision. ‘But I think it’s important that we establish some security for our child as soon as possible. Things can change...who knows what might happen in the future?’

‘Meaning what, exactly?’

‘Meaning you might meet someone else—find a lovely roses-round-the-door family life that I would have no part in.’

‘No, that wouldn’t happen.’

‘It’s possible.’

‘So what are you saying? We have to marry in order for you to have legal rights over the child?’

‘That is one of the reasons.’

‘In that case let me give you my word right now. I would never dispute the child’s parentage nor deny you access.’

‘Not good enough, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, then, have a legal document drawn up. I’ll sign whatever you like to say that I will never keep you from your child.’

‘That’s what I intend to do.’ Orlando’s closed, commanding features held her gaze. ‘It’s called a marriage certificate.’

They stared at each other across the table. A pulse throbbed at the base of Orlando’s throat. He was only just hanging on—to his authority and to his temper.

It didn’t help that Isobel’s every movement seemed to be hot-wired to his libido, firing his lust in a way he could barely keep under control. He could feel it racing through him as he watched her eating now. There was something incredibly sexy about the nip of her teeth, the slight sheen of oil on her pink lips.

Forcing himself to release some of the tension, to allow his features to soften, Orlando tried a different tack. ‘Look, Isobel, there is still a stigma attached to growing up illegitimate—I should know...it happened to me. I don’t want that burden for our child. I won’t allow it.’

He watched Isobel’s expression change, her eyes soften at this crumb of a confession he had tossed her. Which, perversely, made him regret telling her. Because he didn’t want to achieve his aim through weakness. Orlando Cassano got what he wanted through strength, intelligence—cunning, even. Those were the attributes he felt comfortable with—the attributes that had taken him from runaway street urchin to billionaire businessman in the space of a decade.

But his success was of no interest to Isobel. Orlando already knew that much. Aside from funding her precious business, his wealth and fortune meant nothing. No amount of money was going to impress her, and clearly chest-beating was not the way to get her to agree to his terms. But maybe shedding a chink of light on his past life would do it. If that was what it took, he would go there. But a chink was all she was getting...

‘Your parents weren’t married, then?’ Isobel put down her knife and fork.

‘No.’

‘Did they live together? As a couple, I mean?’

‘I was the product of a sordid affair. My father was married to someone else at the time, and when he found out my mother was pregnant he disowned her. There was a protracted paternity case, because my mother was determined that I should bear the Cassano name. I wish to God she hadn’t bothered.’

Reaching for her glass of water, Isobel raised it to her lips, regarding him with interest. ‘So your father was eventually forced to acknowledge you?’

‘Yeah.’ Orlando felt his jaw clench. ‘But that was as far as it went.’

If he’d had his way this would have been the end of the conversation, but with Isobel’s green gaze still searching his he knew he was going to have to give her more.

‘I looked him up when I turned seventeen. We had a brief relationship. It didn’t work out.’

That was the understatement of the millennium. Deciding to acquaint himself with his father had been the single worst decision of his life.

Poised on the brink of manhood, the seventeen-year-old Orlando had decided he wanted to see this man for himself—to look him in the eye even if was just to let him know exactly how contemptible Orlando thought he was.

But it hadn’t turned out like that. Handsome and charismatic, Carlo Cassano hadn’t been the man Orlando had been expecting at all—and neither had he expected the welcome he’d received, the open-armed enthusiasm of Carlo Cassano for his long-lost son. His father had offered him a glimpse of a world of glamour and wealth that bore no resemblance to the austerity of the children’s home or the misery of his early childhood with his mother. As Marchese di Trevente he lived a life of money and power, fast cars and glamorous women.

And Orlando had been hooked.

Choosing to ignore everything his mother had told him over the years—including the hysterical rants and wailing sobs that had accompanied the name Carlo Cassano every time it had been mentioned—he had decided this was the life he wanted. So when his father had offered him a home, told him he should come and work for him, Orlando had jumped at the chance. Little knowing that his mother’s bitterly miserable opinion of him had barely scratched the surface.

For in truth his father had been far more immoral, far more depraved than even she had known, and Orlando’s brief association with him had resulted in the worst possible tragedy—the death of a young woman...Sophia, Orlando’s girlfriend and first love. Orlando would never, ever forgive his father for what had happened. And, what was more, he would never forgive himself.

‘And now?’ Isobel was persisting with her needling questions. ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘I do.’ His voice sounded harsh and he cursed it for betraying him. ‘Buried in the family plot on the Trevente estate.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Well, I’m not.’ He could rot in hell as far as Orlando was concerned.

‘Trevente...’ Isobel narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t that in the Le Marche region of Italy?’

‘Correct.’

A dawning realisation slowly spread across her beautiful face. ‘So you grew up in Le Marche? That’s why you suggested siting the Spicer Shoes factory there? Why you were able to locate the premises so quickly?’

‘I have contacts all over the world.’ Orlando returned to his food. ‘Le Marche is well known for producing luxury leather goods. It was the logical solution.’

‘Logical... Yes, of course.’

Her smug remark stuck in his craw, but Orlando refused to let her see it. ‘Perhaps now you can see why we need to marry. Our child needs the stability of legitimacy and, frankly, so do I.’

There—he had said his piece and that was all she was getting. He looked across the table to see that Isobel had lowered her eyes to her barely touched plate of seafood, her slender fingers fiddling with a lock of chestnut hair. She appeared poised, so elegant, with that graceful style she had, but closer inspection revealed the effort involved in holding that spine so straight, the fact that her shoulders were hitched a bit too high.

‘It is a huge commitment, Orlando.’

‘I know that.’

Finally he could feel her weakening. If his confession had cost him a sliver of pride, he could see that Isobel was hanging on to hers for dear life.

He deliberately softened his voice. ‘But then so is having child.’

‘If I do agree to marry you—and it is if, Orlando—you will have to respect my one condition.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘I want us to wait until after the baby is born.’

Steepling his hands under his chin, Orlando gazed at Isobel’s determined face, weighing up his options.

‘Okay.’

He would accept her decision. For now, at least, that would have to do.

* * *

‘You have a visitor.’

Daisy, a young intern working for Spicer Shoes, came through from the workshop and stuck her head around the door of Isobel’s office. From seeing her flushed cheeks and the exaggerated widening of her eyes Isobel already knew who the visitor was. Orlando Cassano had that kind of effect on women.

Isobel massaged her temples. She really was in no mood this morning to take any more of Orlando’s bullying. The torturous meal last night had been more than enough, thank you. That meal during which...oh, yes...she had somehow found herself agreeing to marry him.

Pleading a headache had cut short the evening, and Isobel had found herself travelling home in the back of a taxi, trying to put the pieces of her life back together. If she had thought being pregnant was enough of a shock—with the worry and responsibility, the dramatic changes it would mean to her life—she now found herself caught up in the giddying, controlling world of Orlando Cassano. And it was a frighteningly dangerous place to be. For her freedom, her sanity, and most of all for her virgin heart.

For Isobel’s heart had never been touched by desire before. Broken by her father’s death, yes. Tortured by her fractured relationship with her mother, definitely. But love...? That was something that happened to other people and she had no use for it.

The fateful car accident had seen to that. Isobel had immediately erected a wall of self-imposed emotional isolation as punishment for what had happened and insurance against any happy-ever-after for her. After all, hadn’t her mother spelled out quite clearly that the accident had not only taken away her husband but also ruined her life? Isobel had been responsible for the accident; therefore she didn’t deserve happiness. It was as simple as that. So she would make sure it never crossed her path.

Not that falling in love with Orlando would ever make her happy—quite the reverse. Feeling her heart beating wildly inside her chest now, she knew that she was going to have to protect it at all costs. But a fretful night of tossing and turning had led to the creeping realisation that maybe Orlando was right about one thing. The baby was the most important thing here. Maybe it would be for the best for him or her to have legally married parents.

Isobel had never really thought about the stigma of illegitimacy before, having been raised by two parents in a relationship of marriage—albeit a marriage made up of more quarrels than hugs. Isobel’s memories were of fights, of hiding her head under her pillow to block out screaming rows, and of vowing that she would never marry and subject herself to such torment.

Her mother’s memories, however, were somewhat different. Since the accident that had so tragically taken her husband away from her, Isobel’s mother had elevated her father to a level of sainthood and their marriage to the most perfect relationship that had ever been. Something that she liked to remind Isobel of whenever she visited, and which compounded Isobel’s guilt like a pile driver pounding into the subsoil of her consciousness.

But illegitimacy had obviously affected Orlando, despite the emotionless way he had described it to her. And that glimpse of his vulnerability had gone straight to her heart—no doubt as he had meant it to. It had all been calculated to ensure that he got his own way. But at least she had managed to delay any idea of a wedding until after the baby was born. That had been her one small victory. And it had given her some breathing space, if nothing else.

However, today had brought another problem—in the form of a large delivery of samples from the first production line at the new factory in Le Marche. Excitement had turned to dismay as Isobel had pulled them from their boxes. The stitching was too big, the colours the wrong shade, the finish poor. Now the offending articles were scattered across her desk in a jumble of packaging and tissue paper and general frustration.

‘I don’t want to see anyone right now, Daisy.’ Isobel tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘Please say that I am busy.’

‘I can see that.’ Towering over Daisy’s shoulder, Orlando’s honed physique now filled the doorway. ‘What is this? Shoe rage?’

Daisy’s annoying giggle only darkened Isobel’s mood—especially as she had now stepped aside to let Orlando enter. Suddenly the room seemed far too small, the ceiling too low, the clutter that was everywhere closing in on them.

Giving him the briefest of glances, Isobel turned back to her desk to wait for the spike in her heart rate to steady. ‘This isn’t a good time, Orlando.’

Totally ignoring her, Orlando moved in closer, looking down at the array of shoes. ‘Samples from the new factory?’

‘Yes, and they are dreadful.’ Rummaging around, Isobel found the worst culprit and held it aloft by its spiky heel, pointing it at Orlando like a weapon. ‘I can’t accept this sort of quality. Quite apart from the colour being totally wrong, look at this.’ She held the ankle strap between her fingers. ‘The holes aren’t even lined up properly.’

But as Orlando bent over her Isobel immediately regretted her invitation. Suddenly he was way too close, and she was painfully aware of the tightness in her chest, of her breasts swelling beneath her lacy cotton blouse.

‘Let me see.’ Rescuing the shoe from her hand, Orlando squinted at the holes on the strap before turning to the star-struck Daisy, who was still staring at him as if he was some sort of god. ‘Looks okay to me. What do you think...Daisy, isn’t it?’

Daisy nodded.

‘It doesn’t matter what Daisy thinks.’ Snatching back the shoe, Isobel shoved it into the nearest box and stuffed tissue paper on top of it. ‘I am the one who decides these things, and I am saying that this standard is simply unacceptable.’

‘Well, no doubt it can be sorted out. Let’s start with coffee.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Daisy sprang out of her trance. ‘What can I get for you?’

‘Espresso—thank you.’

‘Isobel?’

‘Nothing for me.’ Her curt reply was partly down to annoyance that Orlando was taking charge—again—and partly a newly acquired aversion to coffee. Another pregnancy-related surprise.

Pulling out a chair, Orlando squeezed in beside her. Isobel’s basement office wasn’t meant for more than one person. With its wide table, positioned beneath a glass window to let in some natural light, it worked fine as a place for Isobel to work on her designs, catch up on paperwork. But it did not feel fine right now, with Orlando taking up far too much space, somehow managing to steal the air that she needed to fill her lungs.

‘There are bound to be some teething problems with the new factory.’ Picking up a jewel-studded evening sandal, he turned it over in his hand before it was snatched back by Isobel. ‘It’s only to be expected.’

‘I know that.’ The shoes were now being swept from the table into the large cardboard box they had arrived in. ‘But this is more than teething problems—this is a disaster.’

‘Not a disaster. You need to remember that these shoes are for the ready-to-wear collection. You’re not going to get the same quality of manufacture from the factory as you do from your guys here in the workshop.’ He jerked his head towards the glass-panelled door. ‘That sort of craftsmanship is for the couture trade only.’

‘Well, thank you so much for pointing that out.’ Isobel shot him a witheringly contemptuous look. ‘But when I want your opinion of my business I will ask for it.’

If she’d hoped to put him in his place she was to be disappointed. Orlando appeared completely unmoved. And that annoyed her all the more.

‘Can I ask what you are actually doing here?’ She tried again. ‘I’m sure you must have any number of business interests that require your attention more than mine.’

‘I think our relationship has progressed somewhat further than business.’

There was that infuriating calmness again—swinging like a lead weight between them, knocking aside Isobel’s protests and somehow giving him all the power.

Turning to the distraction of her computer, Isobel caught sight of her own anxious expression in the black screen before it came to life with a string of emails. She positioned her fingers over the keyboard, hoping she was making it quite clear that it was time for Orlando to leave. But it seemed he had other ideas.

‘As it happens, I might be able to help you with the problem of these samples.’

Opening her first email, Isobel gave it her full attention. ‘I doubt that very much.’

‘I’m flying to Italy this afternoon. I have some business in Le Marche. I can go to the factory and speak to the supervisor about your concerns.’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ Emails forgotten, Isobel turned to face him, a dangerous flash in her green eyes. ‘When Cassano Holdings invested in Spicer Shoes it was with the understanding that I would have complete control of the day-to-day running of the business. The issue with these samples is my problem, not yours, and I will be the one to rectify it.’

‘If you say so.’ Leaning back in his chair, Orlando tried to stretch out his long legs under the table. But the space was too small and he ended up nudging Isobel’s foot with his own.

Isobel edged away.

There was a moment of silence between them.

‘Are you able to fly?’

Isobel stared at him, nonplussed. What did he mean by that? ‘I’m pregnant, Orlando. I haven’t developed super powers.’

Orlando bit back the hint of a smile. ‘What I mean is, is there any reason for you not to accompany me to Le Marche?’

Isobel could think of a hundred reasons, but none of them were to do with her being pregnant.

‘I have a private jet leaving this afternoon and I suggest you come with me—see the factory for yourself, sort out the problems face to face.’

‘I couldn’t possibly.’ Casting around, Isobel desperately tried to come up with a plausible reason to say no. She couldn’t go—not this afternoon, not just like that. Not with him. ‘I’m afraid I have far too much to do here.’

‘I’m sure something can be arranged.’

Right on cue the office door opened and a smiling Daisy appeared, bearing Orlando’s espresso before her like a sacrificial offering.

‘I bet Daisy could keep things ticking over here if you went away for a couple of days—couldn’t you, Daisy?’

‘Of course.’ The smile turned into a beam of pleasure. ‘No problem at all. You can trust me to make sure that everything runs smoothly.’

‘That’s settled, then.’ Turning back to Isobel, Orlando let his gaze rake over Isobel’s flustered figure. When he spoke again his voice was as dark as bitter chocolate. ‘The flight is booked for four p.m. I’ll meet you here at three.’

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