‘I was a virgin!’

‘How was I supposed to know that? You’re a twenty-six-year-old woman.’

Pepe thought virgins of that age were extinct. It was a thought he kept to himself. Cara’s skin had gone as red as her hair. He didn’t particularly fancy being on the receiving end of a slap in front of his entire family, even if she would need a stepladder to reach him.

‘You used me,’ she said. ‘You let me believe you were serious and that we would see each other again.’

‘When? Tell me? When did I say we would see each other again?’

‘You said you wanted me to come to your new house in Paris so I could advise you on where to place the Cannelotti painting you bought in the auction.’

He shrugged. ‘That was business talk. You know about art and I needed an expert’s eye.’

‘You said it while dipping your finger in champagne and then placing it in my mouth so I could suck it off.’

‘What’s done is done. I’ve apologised, and as far as I’m concerned that’s the end of the matter. It’s been four months. I suggest you forget about it and move on.’

With that he stalked away, striding towards Luca and Grace, ready to tell them he was leaving.

‘Actually, it’s not the end of the matter.’

Something in the tone of her voice made him pause.

‘It’s impossible for me to “forget about it and move on".’

THE IRRESISTIBLE SICILIANS

Dark-hearted men, with devastating appeal!

These powerful Sicilian men are bound by years of family legacies and dark secrets.

But now the power rests with them.

No man would dare challenge these hot-blooded Sicilians …

But their women are another matter!

Have these world-renowned Sicilians met their match?

Read Luca Mastrangelo’s story in:

WHAT A SICILIAN HUSBAND WANTS

March 2014

Read Pepe Mastrangelo’s story in:

THE SICILIAN’S UNEXPECTED DUTY

April 2014

And look out for Francesco Calvetti’s story

coming soon!

The Sicilian’s Unexpected Duty

Michelle Smart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MICHELLE SMART’S love affair with books began as a baby, when she would cuddle them in her cot. This love for all things wordy has never left her. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance was cemented at the age of twelve when she came across her first Mills & Boon® book. That book sparked a seed and, although she didn’t have the words to explain it then, she had discovered something special: that a book had the capacity to make her heart beat as if falling in love.

When not reading, or pretending to do the housework, Michelle loves nothing more than creating worlds of her own featuring handsome, brooding heroes and the sparkly, feisty women who can melt their frozen hearts. She hopes her books can make her readers’ hearts beat a little faster too.

Michelle Smart lives in Northamptonshire with her own hero and their two young sons.

This book is dedicated to Adam, Joe and Zak, my gorgeous Smarties.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

CHAPTER ONE

PEPE MASTRANGELO HELPED himself to another glass of red wine from a passing maid and downed it in one. His aunt Carlotta, who had taken it upon herself to shadow him since they’d arrived back at his family home, was blathering on in his ear about something or other. Probably parroting her favourite inanities about when he, Pepe, was going to follow in his older brother’s footsteps and settle down. Namely, when was he planning to get married and have babies?

Aunt Carlotta was not the only guilty party in this matter. The entire Mastrangelo clan, along with the Lombardis from his mother’s side, all thought his private life was a matter of public consumption. Usually he took their nosiness in good part, knowing they meant well. He would deflect their questions with a cheeky grin, a wink and a quip about how there were so many beautiful women in the world he couldn’t possibly choose just one. Or words to that effect. Anything but admit he would rather swim in a pool of electric eels than marry.

Marriage was for martyrs and fools, and he was neither.

He’d almost married once, when he’d been young and foolish. His childhood sweetheart. The woman who’d ripped his heart out, torn it into shreds and left an empty shell.

Now he considered that he’d had a lucky escape. Once bitten, twice shy. Only complete idiots went back for a second helping of pain if it could be avoided.

Not that he ever shared that little titbit of information with people. Heaven forbid. They’d probably try to talk him into something ridiculous like therapy.

Today though, his usually quick repartee had deserted him. But then, he wasn’t usually fielding these questions with a pair of almond-shaped green eyes following his every move. To make it even harder to concentrate, those same eyes were drilling into him with pure loathing.

Cara Delaney.

He and Cara had been appointed his niece’s godparents. He’d been forced to sit next to her in the church. He’d been forced to stand by her side at the font.

He’d forgotten how pretty she was—with her large eyes, tiny nose and small heart-shaped lips, she looked like a ginger geisha. Although ginger was the wrong word to describe the red flame of hair that fell down her back. Today, wearing a red crushed-velvet dress that showcased her curvy figure yet barely displayed an inch of flesh, she looked more than pretty. She looked incredibly sexy. Under normal circumstances he’d have no hesitation in spending the day in her company, flirting with her, plying her with drinks, maybe seeing if a repeat performance could be on the cards.

Being in the presence of his ex-lovers was not usually a problem, especially as his ‘emotionally needy’ detector was so acute. As a rule, he could spot a ‘looking for marriage and babies’ woman at ten paces and avoid her at all costs. As such, meeting up with an ex-lover was usually no big deal.

This time was different. Under normal circumstances he hadn’t last seen them when he’d sneaked out of the hotel suite, leaving them sleeping in the very bed they’d just made love in. And usually he hadn’t stolen their phone.

As soon as the date for the christening had been set a month ago, he’d known he would have to see Cara again. It was inconceivable that she wouldn’t be there. She was his sister-in-law’s best friend.

He’d expected the loathing that would be pointed his way. He really couldn’t blame her for that. What he hadn’t expected was to feel so... The word that would explain the strange sickness churning in his stomach wouldn’t come. Whatever the word, he did not like it at all.

A quick glance at his watch confirmed he would have to endure her laser glare for another hour before he could leave for the airport. Tomorrow he’d be taking a tour of a profitable vineyard in the Loire Valley that he’d heard through the grapevine—pun intended—was being considered for sale. He wanted to get in there and, if viable, make an offer before any competitor started digging around.

‘I said, she’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ Aunt Carlotta’s voice had taken a distinctly frosty tone. Somehow, in between her non-stop nattering, she had managed to acquire Lily without him noticing. She held the baby aloft for his perusal.

He peered down at the chubby face with the black eyes staring up at him, and all he could think was how like a little dark-haired piglet she looked. ‘Yes, beautiful,’ he lied, forcing a wide smile.

Seriously, how could anyone think babies were beautiful? Cute at a push maybe, but beautiful? Why anyone raved about them was beyond him. They were the most boring of creatures. He quite liked toddlers though. Especially when they were getting up to mischief.

He was saved from having to fake any more enthusiasm by a great-aunt barging him out of the way so she too could coo at the poor child.

Using this momentary lapse of Aunt Carlotta’s attention, he sidled away.

Was this the way people acted at all christenings? From the way his relatives were behaving, anyone would think Lily had been conceived from a virgin birth. Having not attended a christening in nearly fifteen years, he wouldn’t know. Given a chance, he would have got out of this one too. But there’d been no way, not when he’d been made godfather. Luca, his brother, would have strung him up if he’d tried to avoid it.

He wondered how long it would take for Luca and Grace to try again. No doubt they would keep trying until a boy was born. His own parents had struck gold from the outset, the need for an heir immediately satisfied with Luca’s birth. Pepe’s own conception was more along the ‘spare’ lines and to give Luca a playmate.

Was he being unfair to his parents? He didn’t know or care. He’d been feeling out of sorts all day, and having the red-headed geisha glaring at him as if he were the Antichrist was not helping his mood.

Forget it, he thought, reaching for another glass of red from a passing maid. No one would notice if he left earlier than was deemed polite...

‘You look stressed, Pepe.’

He muttered an expletive under his breath.

He should have known he wouldn’t be able to escape without her collaring him. There had been something too determined in that expression of hers.

Plastering another fake smile on his face, he turned around and faced her. ‘Cara!’ he exclaimed with bonhomie so fake even Lily would see through it. Grabbing her shoulder with his free hand, he pulled her into him and leaned down to kiss both her cheeks. She was so short he almost had to double over. ‘How are you? Enjoying the party?’

Her dark coppery eyebrows knotted together into a glare. ‘Oh, yes. I’m having a marvellous time.’

Pretending not to notice the definite edge to her voice, he nodded and raised the wattage of his grin. ‘Fabulous. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have—’

‘Running away again, are you?’ Her Irish lilt had thickened since he’d last seen her. When they’d first met, here in Sicily three years ago, her voice had contained only the lightest of traces; by all accounts she’d left Ireland for England when she was a teenager. When he’d seduced her in Dublin four months ago, he’d noticed her accent had become more pronounced. Now there was no doubting her heritage.

‘I have to be somewhere.’

‘Really?’ If an inflection could cut glass, that one word would have done the trick. She nodded her head in his sister-in-law’s direction. ‘She’s the reason you stole my phone, isn’t she?’ It wasn’t a question.

He drew in a breath before meeting Cara’s stony glare. The last time he’d been with her, those eyes had been brimful of desire. ‘Yes. She’s the reason.’

Cara’s geisha lips always drew a second glance—her bottom lip was beautifully plump, as if it had been stung by a bee. Now she drew it tightly under her teeth and bit into it. When she released it, the lip was a darker, even more kissable red. Her eyes had become a laser death stare.

‘And was it my phone that led Luca to find her?’

There was no point in lying. She already knew the answers. Lying would demean them both. ‘Sì.’

‘You came all the way to Dublin, to the auction house where I work, spent two million euros on a painting, and all to get hold of my phone?’

‘Sì.’

She shook her head, her long copper locks whipping over her shoulders. ‘I take it the whole “I’ve always wanted to visit Dublin, please show me around” thing was also deliberate?’

‘Yes.’ He held her icy gaze and allowed the tiniest of softening into his tone. ‘I really did have a great weekend—you’re an excellent tour guide.’

‘And you’re an unmitigated...’ She buried the curse beneath a deep breath. ‘But that’s by the by. You seduced me for one reason and one reason only—so you could steal my phone the minute I fell asleep.’

‘That was the main reason,’ he agreed, experiencing the strangest tightening in his chest. ‘But I can assure you, I enjoyed every minute. And I know you enjoyed it too.’

Cara had come undone in his arms. It had been an experience that still lingered in his memories and his senses, but an experience he ruthlessly dispatched from his head now.

All he wanted was to get away from her, get away from this claustrophobic party with all the talk of babies and marriage, and find himself a few hours of oblivion.

Her cheeks coloured but her jaw hardened. ‘What’s enjoyment got to do with anything? You lied to me. You spent a whole weekend lying to me, pretending to enjoy my company...’

He flashed his most winning smile. ‘I did enjoy your company.’ He certainly wasn’t enjoying it now though. This conversation was worse than the frequent visits to the headmaster he’d endured as a schoolboy. Just because he deserved someone’s censure didn’t mean he had to enjoy it.

‘Do I look like I was born yesterday?’ she shot back. ‘The only reason you hooked up with me was because your brother was so desperate to find Grace.’

‘My brother deserved to know where his wife had gone.’

‘No, he did not. She’s not his possession.’

‘A lesson I can assure you he has learned. Look at them.’ He nodded over to where Luca had joined his wife, his arms locked around her waist. Fools, the pair of them. ‘They’re happy to be back together. Everything has worked out for the best.’

‘I was a virgin.’

He winced. He’d been trying his best to forget that little nugget. ‘If it’s an apology you’re after then I apologise, but, as I explained at the time, I didn’t know.’

‘I told you...’

‘You told me you’d never had a serious boyfriend before.’

‘Exactly!’

‘And as I told you before, not having a serious boyfriend does not equate to being a virgin.’

‘It does—did—for me.’

‘How was I supposed to know that? You’re a twenty-six-year-old woman.’ He’d thought virgins of that age were extinct, a thought he kept to himself. Cara’s skin had gone as red as her hair. He didn’t particularly fancy being on the receiving end of a punch in the face in front of his entire family, even if she would need a stepladder to reach him. There was something of a ferocious Jack Russell about her at that moment.

‘You used me,’ she said, almost snarling. ‘You let me believe you were serious, and that we would see each other again.’

‘When? Tell me, when did I say we would see each other again?’

‘You said you wanted me to come to your new house in Paris so I could advise you where to place the Canaletto painting you bought in the auction.’

He shrugged. ‘That was business talk. You know about art and I needed an expert’s eye.’ He still needed one; he’d bought his Parisian home to showcase his art collection, but the entire lot was still in storage.

‘You said it while dipping your finger in champagne and then placing it in my mouth so I could suck it off.’

A flare of heat stirred in his groin. That particular moment had been during their last meal together, shortly before she’d agreed to join him in his hotel room and spend the night with him.

He cut his thoughts off the direction they were headed. The last thing he needed at that moment was to remember anything further about that night. It was becoming uncomfortable enough in his underwear as it was.

‘Why didn’t you steal my phone from the outset? Why string me along for a whole weekend?’ Her eyes were no longer firing hostility at him. All he saw in them was bewilderment.

It had been easier dealing with Aunt Carlotta’s jabbering mouth than with this. Okay, he got that Cara felt humiliated—he hardly recalled his actions that weekend with pride—but surely it was time for her to get over it?

‘I couldn’t steal your phone because you keep your handbag pressed so tightly to you I knew it would be impossible to steal.’ Even now, she had the long strap placed diagonally over her neck and across her chest, the bag itself tucked securely under her arm.

‘I’m surprised you didn’t arrange for someone to mug me. I’m sure between you and your brother you know enough shady people to do the job. It would have saved you wasting a weekend of your precious time.’

‘But you could have got hurt,’ he argued silkily. A strange shiver rippled through his belly at the thought, a feeling dismissed before it was properly acknowledged.

He’d had enough. He’d behaved atrociously but it had been necessary. He wasn’t prepared to spend the rest of the evening apologising for it. He’d never told her an actual lie—how she’d interpreted his words was nothing to do with him. ‘You share a house with three other women, which made breaking into your home too risky, and you keep your phone on you when you’re working. If you’d left your handbag unattended just once throughout that weekend, I would have taken it, but you didn’t—you didn’t let it out of your sight.’

‘So now it’s my fault?’ she demanded, hands on hips.

Cara had to be one of the shortest people he’d ever met, certainly on a par with his great-aunt Magdalena. In the four months since he’d last seen her, she’d lost weight, making her seem more doll-like than he remembered. Yet, whether it was the long flaming hair or the ferocity blazing from her eyes, she stood tall and unapologetic before him, as if a tank would not be enough to knock her down.

He bit back another oath. ‘What’s done is done. I’ve apologised and as far as I’m concerned that’s the end of the matter. It’s been four months. I suggest you forget about it and move on.’

With that, he stalked away, striding towards Luca and Grace, ready to tell them he was leaving.

‘Actually, it’s not the end of the matter.’

Something in the tone of her voice made him pause.

‘It’s impossible for me to “forget about it and move on”.’

A shiver of something that could be interpreted as fear crawled up his spine...

* * *

Cara watched Pepe’s back tense and all the muscles beneath his crisp pink shirt bunch together.

Only Pepe could get away with a pink linen shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and snug-fitting navy chinos for his own niece’s christening. The shirt wasn’t even tucked in! Yet he still oozed masculinity. If she could, she’d rip all the testosterone from him—and there must be buckets of it—and flush it down the toilet. Standing next to him in the church, she had been acutely aware of how overdressed she looked in comparison, and had fumed at the unfairness of it all—he was the one underdressed for the occasion. With his long Roman nose, high cheekbones, trim black goatee covering his strong chin and his ebony hair quiffed at the front, Pepe looked as if he’d stepped off a catwalk.

She’d truly thought she’d been prepared. In her head she’d had everything planned out. She would be calm. She would politely ask for five minutes of his time, explain the situation and tell him what she wanted. Above all else, she would be calm.

Under no circumstances would she let him know of her devastation when she’d awoken alone in his hotel suite, or her terror when the stick in her hand had turned pink.

She would be calm.

All her good intentions had been thrown by the wayside when she’d taken one look at his handsome face and wanted to knock his perfect white teeth out.

The whole time she’d been next to him at the christening, even while they were making their respective promises as Lily’s godparents, all she could think was how much she wanted to cause him bodily harm. She’d even found herself gazing at the silver scar that ran down his cheek, wishing she could track the culprit down and shake his hand. Or her hand. She’d asked Pepe about the scar during their weekend together but he’d evaded the question with his customary ease. She hadn’t pushed the matter but it had tugged at her. All she’d wanted to do was trace a finger down it and make it magically disappear.

Who, she’d wondered, could have hated him enough to do such a thing? Pepe was charm personified. Everyone adored him. Or so she’d thought.

Now it wouldn’t surprise her in the least to discover a queue of people wishing to perform bodily harm on him.

The violence of her thoughts and emotions shocked her. She was a pacifist. She’d attended anti-war demos, for cripes’ sake!

She’d spent the past four months castigating herself for being stupid enough to fall for Pepe Mastrangelo’s seduction. She should have known it wasn’t her he was interested in. After all, he’d never displayed the slightest interest in her before. Not once.

On her frequent trips to Sicily to visit Grace, they would often make a foursome for evenings out. Luca had terrified her, had done from the moment she’d met him. Pepe, on the other hand, had been fun and charming. After a few dates she’d been able to converse with him as easily as she could with Grace. Tall and utterly gorgeous, he was the type of man females from all generations and all persuasions would pause to take a second look at.

However much she’d liked his irreverent company, she’d always known he tagged along on their evenings out as a favour to his big brother’s wife. He would flirt with Cara as much as the next woman, fix his gorgeous dark blue eyes on her and make her feel as if she were the only woman in the world—until he fixed those same eyes on another woman and made her feel exactly the same way. His blatancy had made her laugh. It had also made her feel safe. He was not a man any woman with a sane mind could take seriously.

Well, more fool her for falling for it. She would never make the same mistake again, not for him, not for anyone.

Hadn’t she always known that sex was nothing but a weapon? Hadn’t she witnessed it with her own eyes, the devastation that occurred when grown men and women allowed their hormones to dictate their actions? It ripped lives and families apart.

Pepe was a man who positively revelled in allowing his hormones to lead the way. He thrived on it. To him, she, Cara, had been nothing but a means to an end, the sex between them a perk of the task he had undertaken. His brother had wanted his wife back and Cara’s phone had contained the data with which to find her. The fact that she was a human being with real human feelings had meant nothing. When it came to his family, Pepe was a man without limits.

And that lack of limits had come at a price.

‘I can’t “forget about it and move on”, you feckless, irresponsible playboy, because I’m pregnant.’

CHAPTER TWO

CARA DIDN’T KNOW exactly how Pepe would react to her little statement, but when he finally turned to face her, his wide smile was still firmly in place.

‘Is this your idea of a joke?’

‘No. I’m sixteen weeks pregnant. Congratulations. You’re going to be a daddy.’

His eyes bored into hers but his smile didn’t dim, not by a single wattage. All around them gathered his family. She could feel their curious gazes resting on them. Resting on her.

It was too late to wish she could hide behind Grace as she had done so many times since her teenage years. Whenever she was in a new social situation she would let Grace hold court until her nerves were silenced and she felt capable of speaking without choking on her own tongue. Grace had understood. Grace had protected her.

But Grace had married and moved countries. Grace had also disappeared for the best part of a year, forcing Cara to get her own life in order. She couldn’t keep living her life through her best friend. She needed a life that was her own.

And she’d been getting there. She’d moved back to Ireland, landed a job she loved, albeit at the lowest rung, but it was a start, and even made some new friends. She had truly thought she’d found her own path to some kind of fulfilling life.

Pepe hadn’t just blocked the path, he’d driven a ruddy great bulldozer through it and churned it into rubble.

He’d left her alone, scared and pregnant, with a future that loomed terrifyingly opaque.

Eventually he inclined his head and nodded at the door. ‘Come with me.’

Relieved to get away from all the prying eyes, relieved to have a moment to gather her wits together, she followed him out and into the wide corridor.

Pepe leaned against the stone wall and ran a hand through his thick black hair.

A maid appeared carrying a fresh tray of canapés, which she took into the vast living room.

No sooner had the maid gone when a couple of elderly uncles came out of the same door, laughing between themselves. When they saw Pepe, they pulled him in for some back-breaking hugs and fired a load of questions, all of which Pepe answered with gusto and laughter, as if he hadn’t a single care in the world.

The minute they were alone though, the smile dropped. ‘Let’s get out of here before any more of my relatives try and talk to me.’ He set off in a direction within the converted monastery she’d never been in before.

‘Where are we going?’

‘To my wing.’

He made no allowances for her legs being half the length of his, and she struggled to keep up. ‘What for?’

He flashed her a black look over his shoulder, not slowing his pace for a moment. ‘You really wish to have this conversation in front of fifty Mastrangelos and Lombardis?’

‘Of course not, but I really don’t want to have it in your personal space. Can’t we go somewhere neutral?’

‘No.’ He stopped at a door, unlocked it and held it open. He extended an arm. ‘I’m getting on a flight to Paris in exactly two hours. This is a one-off opportunity to convince me that I have impregnated you.’

She stared at him. She couldn’t read his face. If anything, he looked bored. ‘You think I’m lying?’

‘You wouldn’t be the first woman to lie over a pregnancy.’

Throwing him the most disdainful look she could muster, Cara slipped past him and into his inner sanctum.

Thank God she had no hankering for any sort of future for them. He was a despicable excuse for a human being.

Pepe’s wing, although rarely used, what with him having at least three other places he called home, was exactly what she expected. Unlike the rest of the converted monastery, which remained faithful and sympathetic to the original architecture, this was a proper bachelor pad. It opened straight into a large living space decked with the largest flat-screen television she had seen outside a cinema, and was filled with more gizmos and gadgets than she’d known existed. She doubted she would know how to work a quarter of them.

She stood there, in the midst of all this high-tech luxury, and suddenly felt the first seed of doubt that she was doing the right thing.

‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘No. Let’s just get this over with.’ Of course she was doing the right thing, she castigated herself. Her unborn child deserved nothing less.

‘Well, I need one.’ He picked up a remote control from a glass table in the centre of the room and pressed a button.

Eyes wide, she watched as the oak panelling on the wall behind him separated and a fully stocked bar emerged.

Pepe mixed himself some concoction she didn’t recognise. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything?’

‘Yes.’

He tipped it down his neck and then fixed his deep blue eyes back to her. ‘Go on, then. Convince me.’

Pursing her lips, she shook her head in distaste. ‘I’m pregnant.’

‘So you’ve already said.’

‘That’s because I am.’

‘How much?’

‘How much what?’

‘Money. How much money are you going to try and extort from me?’

She glared at him. ‘I’m not trying to extort anything from you.’

‘So you don’t want my money?’ he said, his tone mocking.

‘Of course I do.’ It gave great satisfaction to watch his ebony brows shoot up. ‘You have lots of money. I have nothing. I am broke. Boracic. Poor. Whatever you want to call it, I am skint. I’m also carrying a child whose father can afford to pay for a decent cot and wardrobe and a decent place for him or her to live.’

He sucked in air through his teeth. ‘So you are trying to extort money from me.’

‘No!’ Clamping her lips together, Cara opened her handbag and took out a brown envelope, from which she pulled a square piece of paper. She handed it to him. ‘There,’ she said tightly. ‘There’s your proof. I’m not trying to extort anything from you. I’m sixteen weeks pregnant. You are going to be a father.’

For a moment Pepe feared he would be sick. His stomach was certainly churning enough for it to happen. And his skin...his skin had gone all cold and clammy; his heart rate tripled.

And no wonder.

If this were a forgery, Cara had done an excellent job.

The square piece of paper clearly showed a kidney bean. Or was it that alien thing he had watched as a child? E.T.? Either way, this was clearly an early-stage foetus. He studied it carefully. There was the name of the Dublin hospital on it, her name, Cara Mary Delaney, her date of birth and the due date of the foetus. He did the maths. Yes. This put her at sixteen weeks pregnant.

It had been sixteen weeks since he’d been to Dublin...

‘You don’t look very pregnant.’ She looked thinner than he had ever seen her. She’d never been fat as such, more cuddly. While she hadn’t transformed into a rake, she’d lost some of her, for want of a better word, squishiness.

‘I’ve been under a lot of stress.’ She gave him a tight smile. ‘Unexpected pregnancy can do that to a woman. But the baby’s perfectly healthy and I’m sure I’ll start showing soon.’

He looked again at the scan picture. Cara was a smart woman but he doubted even she could forge something of this standard. The resolution on this picture was more clearly defined than the one he had held and gazed at for hours on end over a decade ago, but everything else was the same.

Cara was pregnant.

He looked back at her, realising for the first time that she was shaking. It took all his control to keep his own body still.

Dragging air into his lungs, he considered the situation as dispassionately as he could, which was hard. Very hard. His brain felt as if someone had thrown antifreeze into it. ‘Congratulations. You’re going to be a mother. Now tell me, what makes you so certain I’m the father?’

She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. ‘What kind of stupid question is that? Of course you’re the father. You’re the only man I’ve been stupid enough to have sex with.’

‘And I’m supposed to take your word on that, am I?’

‘You know damn well I was a virgin.’

‘I am not disputing that you were a virgin. What I am questioning is my paternity. I have no way of knowing what you got up to after I left. How do I know that after discovering all you’d been missing, you didn’t go trawling for sex—?’

Her hand flew out from nowhere. Crack. Right across his cheek, the force enough to jerk his face to the side.

‘Don’t you dare pull me down to your own pathetically low standards,’ she hissed, her face contorted with anger.

His cheek stung, smarted right where her hand and fingers had made contact. She might be small but she packed a proper punch. He could feel her imprint burrowing under his skin. He raised a hand to it. Her finger marks lay on the long scar that had been inflicted on him when he’d been eighteen. There were still times when he could feel the blade of the knife burn into his skin.

‘I will let you do that this one time,’ he said, speaking carefully, controlling his tone. ‘But if you ever raise a hand to me again you will never see me or my money again.’

Her breaths were shallow. ‘You deserved it.’

‘Why? Because I pointed out that you are expecting me to take you at your word? Trust me, I take no one at their word, especially a woman purporting to be carrying my child.’

‘I am carrying your child.’

‘No—you are carrying a child. Until the child is born and we can get a paternity test done, I do not want to hear any reference to it being mine.’ After what Luisa had done to him, he would never take anything to do with paternity at face value again. Never.

Only fools rushed in twice.

* * *

Cara itched to slap the arrogance off his face again, so much so that she dug her nails into the palms of her hands to find some relief.

If she could, she would leave. But she couldn’t. She hadn’t been exaggerating about the state of her bank balance. Paying for the return flight to Sicily had left her with the grand total of forty-eight euros to last her until payday, which was still a fortnight away. It was one thing living on baked beans on toast when she had only herself to support, but it was quite another when she would soon have a tiny mouth to feed and clothe. And she needed to find a new home, one that allowed children.

When she’d first discovered she was pregnant, her fear had been primitive, a cold, terrifying realisation that within her grew a life, a baby.

Jeez. A baby. She couldn’t remember ever even holding a baby.

That real terror had morphed when the freeze in her brain had abated and the reality of everything that having a child meant had hit her.

A child would depend on her for everything. Love. Stability. Nourishment. Of the three, came the sharp knowledge that she would only be able to provide the first.

At that precise moment, even more so than when she’d taken the pregnancy test, her life had changed irrevocably.

What stability did she have living in a shared rented home that banned children? What nourishment could she provide when she barely earned enough to feed herself? Nappies alone cost a fortune on her salary. Maybe if this had all happened a few years down the line, when she’d scaled the career ladder a little higher and was earning more, things would have been more manageable. But they weren’t. At that moment she had nothing.

‘So that’s it, is it?’ she demanded, fighting with everything she had to keep her tone moderate, to fight the hysteria threatening to take control. ‘What do you want me to do? Give you a ring in five months and tell you if it’s a boy or a girl?’

He speared her with a look. ‘Not at all, cucciola mia.’

Cucciola mia: the endearment that had appropriated itself as his pet name for her during their weekend together. Curiosity had driven her to translate it on the same phone he had stolen from her. She had been more than a little chagrined to learn it meant something along the lines of my puppy. The way he said it though...in Pepe’s thick Sicilian tongue it sounded tantalisingly sexy.

Momentarily distracted at the throwaway endearment, it took a second before she realised he was studying the scan picture.

‘I notice this was taken a month ago,’ he said, referring to the date of the scan shown clearly on the corner.

‘And?’

‘And it’s taken you all this time to tell me. Why is that?’

How she hated his mocking scepticism, as if he were looking for a conspiracy in every little thing.

‘I didn’t tell you any sooner because I don’t trust you an inch—I wanted to be sure I was too far gone for you to force an abortion on me.’

Pepe’s firm, sensuous lips tightened and his eyes narrowed, lines appearing on his forehead. After too long a pause, he said, ‘Why would you think that?’

She almost laughed aloud. ‘You have loved and left so many women it’s become a second career for you. What do you, Playboy of the Year, want with a child?’

His features darkened for the split of a second before his usual laconic grin replaced it. ‘It might make a nice accessory for pulling more women.’

She would have believed he was serious if the granite in his eyes hadn’t said otherwise. She gave an involuntary shiver.

‘Do you think I was oblivious to the disparaging comments you made about babies?’ she demanded. ‘Do you think I didn’t notice you rolling your eyes whenever Grace and Luca discussed having kids?’

‘So that’s proof I would demand an abortion, is it?’

‘You made it perfectly clear that kids are not and never will be on your agenda.’

A tiny pulse pounded on his jawline. After a loaded pause, he said, ‘Say a paternity test proves it is mine. What do you expect from me? Marriage?’

‘No!’ She practically shouted her denial. ‘No. I do not want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anyone.’

‘That’s a relief,’ he drawled, heading back to his bar to pour himself another glass of his concoction. ‘But in case you’re only saying what you think I want to hear, know marriage will never be on the cards, whatever the outcome of the paternity test.’

Had he drugged her? For a moment she actually considered the possibility. She could hardly credit she had allowed him to seduce her so thoroughly.

She looked back on their weekend together. It was as if she had been under some kind of drug that allowed the hormones so prevalent in the rest of society to actually work in her. For the first time in her life she had experienced desire. It had been the headiest feeling imaginable.

She had wanted to believe he was serious about her.

She had wanted to believe they could have a future together.

An image of her parents flashed in her head. Was this what it had been like for them? Especially her father, who’d hooked up with a new woman on a seemingly weekly basis. With all the affairs he’d had and all her parents’ fights and making up, had they constantly experienced that same headiness? Was that what had caused their monstrous selfishness?

She blinked the image away. She would not be like her mother and think only of her own needs. Her unborn child’s needs would always take priority, whatever the personal sacrifice.

‘I’m glad you think that way because, believe me, I have no intention of marrying you.’ She’d rather marry an orang-utan.

‘Good. People who marry for the sake of the baby are fools. And I am not a fool.’

She glared at him. ‘I can think of many a choice word to describe you but fool isn’t one of them.’

‘Then we are on the same page,’ he mocked.

‘About marriage, then yes, but, Pepe, I need help. Financially, I am in no position to support a child.’

‘So you thought you would come to me.’ He tipped his drink down his neck in one swallow.

‘If you think for a second I like the idea of having to beg you for money then you have a very twisted view of me. I’ve come to you for help because this is your responsibility...’

‘You’re going to pin the blame for this on me?’

‘I’m not the one who got carried away,’ she countered pointedly. Warmth spread inside her as she recalled lying in his arms after they’d made love for the first time. Pepe’s usual languidness had gone. A more serious, reflective side of his nature had come to the fore, a side she’d never seen before. As they’d talked and his face had come closer to hers, she’d found herself staring at his lips. And he’d been staring at hers. And even though they had made love barely ten minutes before, the heat he had created inside her and she in him had flared back to life, and he’d rolled on top of her and kissed her—devoured her—and before either of them had been fully aware of it, he’d been inside her. If she’d thought having him inside her the first time had been something special...this had been indescribable. For what had felt an age, they had simply lain there, gazing into each other’s eyes, before he had reluctantly withdrawn to get a condom.

That one stolen moment had been enough to create a life.

‘I hardly think that was enough to make a baby,’ he said, his tone becoming grim.

‘Well, it was. You used me, Pepe. Whether you like it or not, you are responsible.’

It sickened him to know she could be right.

You are responsible.

Despite the playboy image he had cultivated—an image he exulted in—Pepe couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so reckless.

Actually, he could remember. The last time he’d made love to a woman without using a condom he’d been eighteen. Young and believing himself to be in love. A lethal combination.

It hadn’t been a conscious decision to enter Cara unsheathed. At the time it had felt like the most natural thing in the world. Not that he’d been thinking properly. He’d been reeling from the discovery that she was—had been—a virgin. He’d also been struggling to understand everything going on inside him.

Usually he would make love to a woman and get back into bed, have a fun conversation, drink a glass of wine or whatever, maybe make love again and then leave without a second thought or a backward glance. He’d never got back into bed with a churning stomach and a tight chest before. He could only assume it was guilt he’d been feeling. Guilt at her virginity or guilt at what he’d had to do, he did not know.

Guilt or not, he’d never got back into bed with a woman and needed to make love to her all over again. Not straight away. For all his reputation, Pepe thought with his brain, not the appendage between his legs. At least he had until that night with Cara.

But he hadn’t been inside her for long enough to make a baby. It had been a minute at the most. But caro Dio, he’d had to force himself to withdraw and get that condom. Being inside her without a barrier...

His groin twitched as more sweet memories filled him.

For that one minute inside her, he’d felt a sense of sheer wonderment and belonging...

‘I need a coffee,’ he muttered. He wanted another drink—a proper drink—but knew it was time to stop. A plan was formulating and he needed to think clearly. ‘Can I get you anything?’

Cara shook her head. She was leaning against the wall, arms folded, chin jutted up, looking ready for a fight.

By the time he’d made a quick call to the kitchen, his plan was fully developed. Cara could like it or lump it. If she wanted a fight, she had to learn it was one she would never win.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SIT DOWN.’

It was a definite command.

Cara tightened her arms around her chest and pressed harder into the wall, which was the only thing keeping her upright—her legs were shot. Not that she could trust the wall. For all she knew, it might be hiding a secret bathroom. The only saving grace was that her dress was long enough to hide her knocking knees.

But even if her legs could be trusted to behave, there was no way she would obey. She didn’t care how rich and powerful Pepe was in his world, she would not grant him power over her, no matter how petty. Not without a fight.

‘Suit yourself.’ He lowered himself onto one of the oversized chocolate leather sofas, stretched out his long legs, kicked off his shoes and flashed a grin.

Her knees shook even harder.

How she hated that bloody grin. It was so...fake. And it did something ridiculous to the beat of her heart, which was hammering so hard she wouldn’t be in the least surprised if it burst through her chest.

‘I can see you are in a difficult predicament,’ he said, hooking an arm behind his head and mussing his hair.

She inhaled slowly, getting as much oxygen into her lungs as she could. ‘That’s one way to describe it.’

‘I have a solution that will suit us both.’

Her eyes narrowed.

‘It involves sacrifice on both our parts.’ He shot her a warning glance before displaying his white teeth. ‘But I can assure you that if I am the father of your child as you say, the sacrifice will be worth it.’

What the heck did Pepe Mastrangelo know about sacrifice? His whole life revolved around nothing but his pleasure.

She nodded tightly. ‘Go on.’

‘You will live with me until the child is born. Then we shall have a paternity test. If it proves positive, as you say it will, then I will buy you a home of your choice. And, of course, support you both financially.’

‘You want me to live with you until the baby’s born?’ she asked, certain she had misheard him.

‘Sì.’

‘Why?’ She couldn’t think of a single reason. ‘All I need from you at the moment is enough money to rent a decent flat in a nice area, and buy some essentials for the baby. Obviously you’ll have to pay child support when the baby’s born.’

‘Only if the baby proves to be mine. If it isn’t, I won’t have to pay you a single euro.’

Cara spoke through gritted teeth. ‘The baby is yours. But seeing as you’re proving to be such a disbeliever, I’m happy to sign a contract stating I have to repay any monies in the event the paternity test proves the Invisible Man is the father.’

He gave a quick shake of his head and turned his mouth down in a regretful fashion. ‘If only it were that simple. The problem, for me, is that there exists the possibility that the child you carry inside you is mine. I cannot take the risk of anything happening to it.’

‘I told you I delayed telling you about the baby so you couldn’t force me into an abortion. I’m four weeks too late for one in Sicily and it’s completely illegal in Ireland.’ She blinked rapidly, fighting with everything she had not to burst into angry tears. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She would not give him the power her mother had given her father.

She might have no choice but to throw her pride at his feet but she had to retain some kind of dignity.

‘I never said anything about an abortion,’ he pointed out. ‘What does concern me is your health. You’re clearly not taking care of yourself if your weight loss is anything to go by, and by your own admittance you don’t have enough money to support a child. Or so you say. For all I know, you could be on the make, using this pregnancy as a means to help yourself to my bank account.’

It was Cara’s turn to swear under her breath. ‘Do you have any idea how offensive you are?’

He shrugged, utterly nonchalant. He clearly couldn’t care less. ‘Finances aside, if that is my child growing inside you then I want to make damned sure you’re taking care of it properly.’

‘I am taking care of myself as best I can under the circumstances, but, I can promise you, our child’s welfare means more to me than anything.’ Her unborn child meant everything to her. Everything. Its well-being was the only reason she was here.

Did Pepe think she wanted to throw herself at his financial mercy?

He shook his head in a chiding fashion and stretched his arms out. ‘My conditions are non-negotiable. If you want me to support you during the rest of the pregnancy then I will. But I will not give you cash. All you have to do is move in with me, travel where I travel, and I will feed and clothe you, and buy anything else you may need. If paternity is established after the birth, then I will buy you a house in your name, anywhere you choose, and give you an allowance so large you will be set up for life.’

He made it sound so reasonable. He made it sound as if it were such a no-brainer she wouldn’t even need to think about it.

And there she’d been, worrying for months against telling him because she’d convinced herself he would demand an abortion.

‘You see, cucciola mia, I am not the baby-aborting monster you thought I would be,’ he said chidingly, reading her mind.

A sharp rap on the main door to the wing provided a moment’s relief for her poor, addled brain.

At Pepe’s invitation, a maid entered the room carrying a tray with a pot of coffee, a pot of tea covered by a tea cosy and two cups.

‘It’s decaf,’ he explained when it had been placed on the glass table and the maid left.

‘I told you I didn’t want anything.’

‘You need to keep your fluid levels up.’

‘Oh, so you’re a doctor now? Or have you an army of illegitimates scattered around the world that’s made you a pregnancy expert?’

He quelled her with a glance.

She refused to bow to its latent warning. ‘Sorry. Am I supposed to believe this is the first time you’ve had a paternity suit thrown at you?’

His eyes were unreadable. ‘I always use protection.’

‘And you’re expecting me to take you at your word for that?’

His features darkened before his lips gave a slight twitch and he bowed his head. ‘A fair comeback.’

He really was ridiculously handsome.

She castigated herself. As far as she was concerned, Pepe’s looks and masculinity were void. She would not let her hormones create any more havoc.

It was unfair that she was the one standing yet it still felt as if he, all chilled and relaxed on the sofa, had all the advantage.

A whorl of black hair poked through the top of his shirt. She remembered how that same hair covered his chest, thickening across his tightly defined pecs and down the middle towards his navel, and further down... She’d always assumed chest hair would be bristly, had been thrilled to find it as soft as silk. It was the only thing soft about him; everything else was hard...

She swallowed and pressed the tops of her thighs together to try to quash the heat bubbling within her.

Her throat had gone dry.

Damn him, she needed a drink.

Lips clamped together, she moved away from the wall and poured herself a cup of the steaming tea before carrying it to the sofa opposite him. She only intended to perch there but it was so soft and squidgy it almost swallowed her whole. She sank straight into it, her legs shooting out, the motion causing her to spill the tea all over her lap.

Cara cried out, kicking her legs as if the movement would stop the hot fluid seeping through her dress.

Immediately Pepe jumped to his feet and hurried over, snatching the cup from her hand. ‘Are you okay?’

In too much pain to do anything more than whimper, Cara grabbed the hem of her dress and bunched it up to her thighs, flapping it to cool her heated skin. Making sure to keep the dress up and away from the scald, she yanked the tops of her black hold-ups down.

‘Are you okay?’ he repeated. For some silly reason, the genuine concern she heard in his voice bothered her far more than the scald.

The milky white of her left thigh had turned a deep pink, as had a couple of patches on her right thigh. She took a deep breath. ‘It hurts.’

‘I’ll bet. Can you walk?’

‘Why?’

‘Because we should run cold water over it.’

Her thighs—especially her left one—were stinging something rotten, so much so she didn’t even think of arguing with him.

‘Come, we’ll run the shower on it.’

Wincing, she let him help her to her feet.

Her legs shook frantically enough that she almost fell back onto the sofa, only Pepe’s grip on her hand keeping her upright.

He frowned and shook his head, then, before she knew what he was doing, lifted her into his arms, taking great care not to touch her thighs.

‘This is unnecessary,’ she complained. She might be in pain but she didn’t need this. Besides, she was vain enough to know she must look ridiculous with her dress bunched around the tops of her thighs, her modesty barely preserved. Her stupid black hold-ups had fallen down to her knees like the socks of a scatty schoolgirl.

‘Probably,’ he agreed, heading through the living area and into a narrow corridor, carrying her as if she weighed little more than a child. ‘But it’s quicker and safer than you trying to walk.’

The position he held her in meant her face was right in the crook of his strong, bronzed neck. A compulsion to press her face into it almost overcame her. Almost. Luckily she still retained some control. But she’d forgotten how delicious he smelt, like sun-ripened fruit. Her position meant her senses were filled with it and she had to use even more restraint not to lick him.

Pepe’s bathroom was twice the size of her bedroom and resembled a miniature black, white and gold palace. She had no time to appreciate its splendour.

‘You’re going to have to take your dress off,’ he said as he carried her down some marble steps and carefully sat her on the edge of the sunken bath.

‘I jolly well am not.’

‘It will get wet.’

‘It’s already wet.’

‘Suit yourself.’ He knelt before her and placed a hand on her knee.

She tried not to yelp. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Taking your stockings off.’ He tugged the first one down to the ankle. While she hated herself for her vanity, Cara could not help feel relief that she’d remembered to wax her legs a few days ago.

‘They’re hold-ups,’ she corrected, breathing deeply. The trail of his fingers on her skin burned almost as much as the scald.

‘They’re sexy.’

‘That’s inappropriate.’

His lips twitched. ‘Sorry.’

‘Liar.’

Hold-ups removed and thrown onto the floor, Pepe helped manoeuvre her into the empty bath before reaching for the shower head that rested on the gold taps.

He held it over his hand then turned it on. Water gushed out, spraying over them both.

Adjusting the pressure, he smiled with a hint of smugness. ‘Still happy to keep your dress on?’

‘Yes.’ She would rather suffer third-degree burns than strip off to her underwear in front of him.

‘I’ve seen you naked before,’ he reminded her wickedly, turning the shower onto her thighs.

‘Not under bright light, you haven’t.’

The cold water felt like the greatest relief in the world. Cara closed her eyes, rested her head back and savoured the feeling, uncaring that the cold water spraying off her thighs was pooling in the base of the bath, sloshing all around her bottom. It was worth it. Slowly, wonderfully, her tender skin numbed.

It was only when she opened her eyes a few minutes later that she realised her dress had risen higher and that her black knickers were fully exposed.

One look at the gleam in Pepe’s eyes and she knew he’d noticed.

‘I think that’s enough now,’ she said, leaning up and yanking her sodden dress down to cover herself.

Pepe screwed his eyes shut to rid himself of the image.

It didn’t work.

The image of Cara’s soaking knickers and the memories of what they hid burned brightly, almost as brightly as her flushing cheeks.

His trousers felt so tight and uncomfortable it was hard to breathe.

He gritted his teeth and willed his erection to abate.

He turned the tap off, replaced the shower head and crouched back next to her, making sure to look at her face and only her face. ‘Your thighs should be okay—it doesn’t look as if they’re going to blister—but to play safe I’ve got some salve in the medicine cabinet you can put on them. I’ll get it for you and then you can get changed—where’s your change of clothes?’

‘I didn’t bring any.’

‘Why not?’ Whenever Cara came to Sicily she always came for at least a week.

‘I only came for the day.’

‘Really?’ He’d arrived from Paris with barely twenty minutes to spare before the christening started, avoiding the inevitable for as long as humanly possible. He hadn’t imagined Cara had done the same.

‘I didn’t want to risk spilling the beans to Grace before I’d had a chance to speak to you.’

‘That was good of you,’ he acknowledged.

‘Not really.’ Her face tightened. ‘I was worried she’d be unable to keep it from Luca and that Luca in turn would tell you.’

Upon reflection, Pepe was certain that if his sister-in-law had known she would have tracked him down at the earliest opportunity and given him hell. ‘I’ll ask Grace if she has any clothes you can borrow...’

‘You jolly well won’t.’ Cara glared at him.

‘You’re right. Bad idea.’ If he sought Grace out he’d have to explain why her best friend was sitting with scalded thighs in his bath, and then everything about the baby would become common knowledge... ‘Have you told anyone about the baby?’

‘Only my mother, but she doesn’t count.’

‘Good,’ he said, ignoring the tightening of her lips as she mentioned her mother. He had enough to think about as it was.

‘Why’s that, then? Worried all those doting Mastrangelo aunts and uncles will try and marry us off?’

‘They can try all they like,’ he answered with a shrug. Given a chance, they’d have him and Cara up the aisle quicker than it had taken to impregnate her.

That was if he had impregnated her.

He didn’t care that she’d been a virgin, he didn’t care that the dates tallied—until he saw cast-iron proof of his paternity he would not allow himself to believe anything. ‘I bow to no one.’

‘Well, neither do I. Your suggestion that I move in with you is ridiculous. How the heck would I be able to get to and from work if I have to travel all over the place with you? You work all over Europe.’

‘And South America,’ he pointed out. ‘You’ll have to give up your job.’

He noticed her shiver and remembered she’d just had a cold shower pressed against her for the best part of ten minutes.

‘Let’s get you out of the bath. We can finish this argument when you’re dry and warm.’

‘I’m not giving up my job and I’m not moving in with you.’

‘I said we can argue the toss when you’re dry.’

He could see how much she hated having to use him for support. Not looking at him, she allowed him to help her to her feet. He held her arms and kept her steady while she climbed out of the bath.

She looked like a drowned rat. Even her face was soaked.

Too late, he realised it was tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘You’re crying?’

‘I’m crying because I’m angry,’ she sobbed. ‘You’ve ruined my life and now you want to ruin my future too. I hate you.’

He took a large, warm towel off the rack and wrapped it around her shaking frame before taking a deliberate step back. ‘If you’re telling me the truth then your future is made. I’ll give you and the baby more money than you could ever hope to spend.’

‘I don’t want to be a kept woman. I just want what our child is entitled to.’

‘You won’t have to be a kept woman. The option will be there for you, that’s all. If your child is mine, you’ll have enough money to do whatever you want. You can hire a nanny—hell, you’ll be able to hire an army of them—and return to work.’

Her teeth clattered together. ‘But I won’t have a job to go back to.’

‘There are other jobs.’

‘Not like this one. Do you have any idea how hard it is getting a foot on the ladder in the art world without any contacts?’

‘There are other jobs,’ he repeated. Deep inside his chest, a part of him had twisted into a tight ball, but he ignored it. He had to. He could not allow any softening towards her, no matter how vulnerable she looked at that particular moment.

Luisa had shown her vulnerable side numerous times. It had all been a big fat lie and he had been the sucker who had fallen for it. Every day he looked in the mirror and saw the evidence of her lies reflecting back at him. He could have had surgery to remove his scar. Instead he had chosen to keep it as a reminder not to trust and, more especially, not to love.

‘You don’t have to move in with me,’ he said. He drew the towel together so it covered her more thoroughly and forced himself to stare into her damp eyes. He refused to break the hold, no matter the misery reflecting back at him. ‘You can catch your flight back to Ireland and carry on eking out an existence. Or you can stay. If you stay, I will support you and we can take the paternity test as soon as the child is born. But if you leave now, you will not receive a single euro from me until my paternity—or lack of it—has been proven. And if you choose to leave, you’ll have to go through the courts to get a DNA sample from me. That’s if you can find me. As you know, I have homes in four different countries. I can make it extremely difficult for you to get that sample.’

He knew how unreasonable he must sound but he didn’t care.

He could not afford to allow himself to care.

If Cara really was carrying his child then he must make every effort to protect its innocent form, and the only way he could do that was by forcing her into a corner from which the only means of escape was his way. Short of tying her up and locking her in a windowless room, this was his best chance of keeping her by his side until the birth.

He would not risk losing another child.

CHAPTER FOUR

CARA DIDN’T THINK she’d ever felt as self-conscious as she did at that moment, and she’d had plenty of experience of feeling awkward and insecure.

Pepe’s blue shirt came to her knees and she’d rolled his trousers over so many times to get them to fit lengthways that it looked as if she had two wedges around her ankles. All she needed was a pair of extra-long shoes and she’d make the perfect clown.

Following him up the metal steps and into his jet, she forced herself to return the smiles and friendly greetings given by the glamorous cabin crew. Not one of them batted an eyelid at her presence. Most likely because strange women accompanying Pepe on his travels was par for the course, she thought snidely.

The jet was a proper flying bachelor pad, all leather and dark hardwood panelling. A steward showed her to a seat for take-off. She was nonplussed when Pepe took the seat next to her.

‘You have ten seats to choose from,’ she said, glaring at him.

‘So do you,’ he pointed out in return, strapping himself in and stretching his long legs out. He looked at the cheap mobile phone in her hand. ‘Who are you contacting?’

‘Grace.’

‘What are you going to say to her?’

‘That her brother-in-law is a feckless scumbag with the morals of an amoeba.’

He cocked an eyebrow.

She sighed. ‘I wanted to write that but until we’ve got the finances sorted I’m not prepared to risk her ripping your head off.’

‘That’s decent of you,’ he said drily.

She speared him with another poisonous glare then hit send. ‘I’ve apologised for leaving the christening without saying goodbye. I’ve also told her I cadged a lift off you to the airport. Someone was bound to have seen us leave together.’

‘Are you worried people will talk?’ Pepe didn’t sound worried. If anything, he sounded bored.

‘Nope.’ Let them think what they liked. The truth would come out. It always did. And when the truth came out, people would see that, beneath the charming, affable exterior, Pepe Mastrangelo was a horrid specimen of a man. ‘I don’t want Grace worrying, that’s all.’

It crossed her mind, not for the first time, that she should have gone to Grace for help. In normal circumstances Cara would have gone to Grace, but when she’d found out she was pregnant, Grace had been in hiding, going through her own troubles. So, she’d told her mother, but her mam was going through yet another of her new husband’s infidelities and so hadn’t been particularly interested other than on a superficial level. Not that Cara had expected anything else from the woman who had given birth to her.

But then Luca had tracked Grace down and now the pair of them were madly in love and in a bubble of happiness. It would have been the perfect opportunity to ask for help.

Grace would have given her money and anything else she needed, no questions asked. But Cara wouldn’t have been able to keep it contained and the whole sordid story would have come out, and then God knew what would have happened.

In any case, her child was not her friend’s responsibility. It was Pepe’s.

And this mess was not of Grace’s making. This was all on her, Cara. And the feckless playboy, of course.

It was too late to go to Grace for help now. Pepe would undoubtedly turn to Luca, who in turn would put pressure on his wife not to give Cara any financial help. Grace was so loved up at the moment she would probably comply. At the very least it would cause friction between them.

Thanks to Pepe, she couldn’t turn to the one person she needed.

The steward, who was still making checks and pretending not to listen to their conversation, finally disappeared into a separate cabin.

‘How are your thighs?’ Pepe asked. If he was fazed about anything, he had yet to show it.

‘Not too bad.’ The salve he had given her had been bliss to apply. He’d also given her a wrap that resembled cling film to place on it too. He’d been so... Concerned was the wrong word but it was the closest for the way he’d treated her wounds. Not that he’d treated her with the same consideration.

How could someone be so gentle and at the same time be so horribly uncaring? That was part of what had tipped her over the edge and set the waterworks off.

‘You should take the trousers off. I’m sure it can’t help with the material rubbing against it.’

‘They’re fine.’ No way was she taking any of her clothes off within a ten-mile radius of him ever again.

The plane began to taxi down the runway. Cara turned to look out of the window, a lump forming in her throat.

This was utter madness.

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