Whenever she and Gabriel did happen to be in the same room together, the atmosphere between them crackled with a tension that had nothing to do with hostility.

Even though the context of their conversations revolved entirely around Nicola, and was entirely appropriate, Eve read a different kind of message when his glance happened to collide with hers. The promise in his blue eyes made her forget to be cautious; his smile made her dizzy.

Sometimes, in passing the baby back and forth, their hands would touch. He made such contact seem meaningless, accidental, non-threatening. But it left her feeling exposed, hungry and breathless. She was filled with a sense of anticipation—of something thrilling about to happen.

The Brabanti Baby
Catherine Spencer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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 ONE

BE CAREFUL and establish your rights from the start, because Gabriel Brabanti is a shark, and given half a chance, he’ll eat you alive. There’s no middle ground with him, ever. It’s his way, or the highway—and I chose the highway!

Her cousin’s warning ringing ominously through her mind, Eve took a firmer grip on the infant seat holding her niece, and paused in the entrance to the Gerolama Cassar Executive Arrival Lounge at Luqa, Malta’s International Airport.

One among the select group waiting to welcome passengers flying in from Amsterdam was the man himself, Marcia’s ex-husband and the father of sweet Nicola Jane, whose birth hadn’t ranked high enough on his list of priorities for him to attend it in person. Instead, almost four months after the fact, he’d summoned mother and child to visit him, half a world away from Manhattan.

But had Marcia cooperated? Heavens, no! Marcia only ever did what she wanted, and she wanted easy, convenient, glamorous. And the rest, the untidy stuff? She palmed that off on to someone else, a fact Eve was so well aware of that she had only herself to blame if she didn’t like her present difficult situation.

It had begun innocently enough—and wasn’t that typical!—with a call from Marcia one evening, when the air-conditioning in Eve’s Chicago apartment had failed yet again, her clothes were sticking to her like wet tissue paper, and her resilience sat at an all-time low.

“How are you, Evie?” Marcia had cooed effusively. “I miss you! It’s been too long since we spoke!”

But the preliminaries had soon given way to the real reason for her call. Gabriel Brabanti was flexing his paternal muscles and demanding visitation rights.

“And there’s no way I’m putting in a command appearance just because His Highness ordered it,” Marcia had spat, her tone changing from sweet to steely, and echoing indignantly over the speakerphone she insisted on using so that Jason, her new husband, could be part of the conversation. “As far as I’m concerned, I never received his letter.”

“I don’t see how you’re going to pull that off,” Eve had pointed out. “You just finished saying he had it delivered by courier to the agency, which means you had to sign for it.”

“I don’t care! The almighty Signor Brabanti can go to hell! He might be a rich Italian living in Malta and wielding a lot of clout there, but he’s a nobody in New York.”

Eve heard the rustle of paper, then Jason spoke. “Might be best to cater to him, buttercup. From the tone of this letter, he means business. Either you go to him, which gives you the choice of making the visit short and sweet, or he comes here and hangs around as long as he pleases—and we don’t want that, now do we?”

“If you think my showing up with Nicola will put an end to his demands,” she’d replied, “you’re dreaming, honey. They’re just the beginning, mark my words.”

A pause, then Jason’s voice again. “What’s your take on all this, Eve?”

Wishing she’d let her answering service pick up a message, because becoming embroiled in the permanent crisis which best defined Marcia’s life inevitably wound up costing her more than she could afford, Eve said, “From what you’ve told me, I have to agree with Jason, Marcia. Either you make the trip to Malta, or Gabriel will come to you. It’s your call. Either way, he’s obviously determined to see his baby and frankly, he has every right to do so.”

She hadn’t needed to be there in person to know that Marcia’s mouth had taken on the mulish pout she’d perfected before she turned four. It had announced itself in her petulant reply. “Then you can be the one to take her to him, because I won’t have him hanging around here, and I absolutely will not go back to Malta. And before you turn me down, Eve, let me remind you who came to Chicago to look after your smelly old cat and water your plants, the last time you spent a month lolling around on the Mexican Riviera.”

“For heaven’s sake, that was five years ago and Fidelio’s been dead nearly two—and he didn’t smell, at least no more than you would if you were almost a hundred and forty years old in human years! As for the plants, you managed to kill off every one!”

“Nevertheless, you owe me.”

Eve had been sorely tempted to remind her cousin that, at the time, she’d been desperate to leave New York until the heat died down, after she’d become altogether too friendly with a client whose wife hadn’t looked kindly on his wandering eye. But unwilling to shatter Jason’s illusions about his brand-new wife, she’d made do with a firm, “I’m well aware that the rare favor you do for someone else invariably comes with a hefty price tag, Marcia. But if you think I’m about to take your baby off your hands and—”

“Why not?” Marcia shot back. “You’re forever saying you want to meet her. Well, here’s your chance to put your money where your mouth is, and do some serious bonding.”

“You’re out of your mind!”

Apparently Eve hadn’t been the only one who thought so. Even Jason, who had no real stake in any of this, added a shocked protest. “That’s going a bit far, buttercup!”

“So’s my traipsing off to Malta at a time when your career’s at a critical point and you need me around to protect your interests. Who do you think matters more to me, Jason: you or Gabriel?”

“Well,” he’d said, “when you put it that way…”

“What other way is there?” Marcia had replied blithely. “Come on, Eve, be a sport! You of all people know how hard it’s going to be dragging a baby from one small town to another in the kind of sweltering heat and humidity we get here in the summer.”

“Taking a child out of the country involves a bit more than presenting a plane ticket,” Eve objected. “There’s the small matter of a passport and parental permission. Or are you expecting me to smuggle her aboard in my carry-on bag?”

“I’ll make sure you’ve got all the necessary documentation. You just concentrate on Nicola and make sure she knows her mommy loves her.”

“And how do I do that, exactly?”

“You’ll figure out a way. It’s not as if I’m handing her over to some inexperienced stranger, after all. You’re a nurse. You deal with babies and children all the time.” Marcia had paused for a breath before winding up for her final argument. “Think about it, Eve! You’ve taken a leave of absence because you’re burned out from working twenty-four seven in that flea pit you call a clinic. You need a vacation worse than anyone else I know. And I’m presenting you with the chance for a luxurious holiday on an exotic island in the Mediterranean. Whatever other opinion I hold of my unlamented ex-husband, I’m the first to admit he never settles for anything less than the best, so you’ll travel first class all the way, and be waited on hand and foot while you’re a guest in his house. You’d have to be some sort of fool to turn down an offer like that.”

And a bigger fool not to! Yet here she was, complete with sleeping babe, waiting to confront the unpleasant Signor Brabanti whom she’d never met, because Marcia had wasted so little time marrying him that none of her family had known about the wedding until it was over. And before they’d had time to get used to that idea, the marriage was over, too.

…Tall, dark and handsome, and so arrogant you won’t be able to miss him. Just head for the guy acting as if he owns the place….

So Marcia had described him, but eyeing the group clustered before her now in the executive lounge, Eve saw no one fitting that description. Instead she was approached by a gray-haired man of medium height, in crisp white trousers and a navy blazer with a gold-braided coat of arms emblazoned on the breast pocket. “Signora Brabanti?” he inquired.

“Caldwell,” she said, wondering why he’d think she was her cousin, when she knew Marcia had let Gabriel know she was sending Eve in her place. “Signorina Caldwell.”

He inclined his head in apology. “Scusi. I am looking for an American with a baby and—”

“You’ve found her.” She gestured at Nicola who, worn-out with screaming pretty much nonstop during the flight from Amsterdam, had at last fallen asleep. “This is Signor Brabanti’s daughter.”

“Capisco! I am Paolo, sent by the signor to drive you to the Villa Brabanti.”

“He couldn’t spare the time to come and meet us himself?”

“The signor sends his apologies.” Paolo’s tone was as neutral as his glance. “A matter of some importance arose which prevented him from being here.”

“More important than meeting his daughter?” She raised her eyebrows, making no secret of her disdain. “And here I had the impression he was anxious to see her as soon as possible. Silly me!”

The chauffeur coughed and glanced away, clearly unused to hearing anyone criticize his employer. “You have had a long journey,” he murmured soothingly. “If you care to wait in the car, signorina, I will collect your luggage, then we will be on our way. You and the bambina will soon be home.”

Hardly ‘home’, she thought, following him through the main arrivals hall to the black Mercedes Benz limousine parked directly outside the building. Although it was only a little past seven-thirty in the evening, already it was dark, but floodlights illuminated the handsome curved facade of the airport.

“Allow me, signorina.” Relieving her of the infant seat, Paolo lifted it into the roomy interior of the car, deftly buckled it in place in the middle of the back seat, and ran a gentle finger down the sleeping baby’s cheek. “Molto bella, si?”

Although her grasp of Italian was minimal, Eve understood well enough to reply, “Yes, she’s beautiful, but I’m afraid all this traveling has been very hard on her.”

He murmured sympathetically, and waited for Eve to get settled before handing her the overloaded diaper bag and her purse, then disappeared into the building again to retrieve the rest of her luggage, a task he accomplished with amazing speed and efficiency. Within minutes, he was behind the wheel and the limousine was gliding away from the curb, and dovetailing smoothly into the stream of traffic heading toward Valletta.

“A bit of history goes a very long way with me, but you’ll soak up all that antiquity,” Marcia had predicted. “You can’t turn a corner anywhere in Malta, especially not Valletta, without coming smack up against some ancient relic.”

Although Gabriel lived just outside the city itself, as the car headed northeast and the ramparts of the capital came into floodlit view, Eve could well understand her cousin’s remarks. Even after dark and from a distance of several miles, those soaring, massive walls, built centuries before by the Knights of Saint John, made an impressive sight, and despite all her reservations about making the trip, she found herself hoping for a few days to herself, to explore the famous islands.

Any such ambition faded, the minute the limousine swept through the iron gates guarding the entrance to the Villa Brabanti. The house rose up in the night, huge and dark, a barren, looming pile of stone with not so much as a speck of light shining from its windows. Only the moon, cool as ice, glimmered on the glass panes. Not for a second could she imagine leaving Nicola in the care of a man who chose to live in the sort of mansion lifted right out of a gothic horror movie.

“Are you quite sure we’re expected?” she asked Paolo, an undeniable quiver of apprehension slithering down her spine. “I don’t see any sign of the welcome mat being rolled out.”

“It is the emergency of which I spoke,” he explained, coming around to open the limousine’s rear door. “Unfortunately the main fusebox in the villa has developed a problem which poses a fire hazard. As you know, signorina, Malta has adopted the British electrical system, supplying 240 volts. When trouble arises, it is not something to be ignored. We could roast in our beds otherwise.”

Her disquiet increasing with his every word, Eve remained firmly seated and said, “What a comforting thought! Perhaps I’d be better off taking the baby and staying in a hotel until the problem is resolved.”

“Quite unnecessary,” Paolo assured her. “Signor Brabanti has the situation well in hand.”

As if he’d uttered some magical incantation, the property suddenly came alive with light. It poured from the windows, flowed from hidden spotlights in the garden, and fell in a bright golden swath from the open front door to illuminate the forecourt where the limousine stood.

“Per favor, signorina.” Paolo extended his hand, less in invitation than command. “The signor will have heard us arrive.” He didn’t need to add, And he doesn’t like to be kept waiting. The way his tone verged on the imperious said it for him.

“Very well.” Suspending her reservations for the present, Eve leaned over to unbuckle Nicola’s infant seat. “Come on, munchkin. We might as well get this over with.”

The night air lay warm and heavy with the scent of flowers. A cluster of fat white blooms hung ghostlike over the edge of a stone retaining wall sturdy enough to hold back an army. Tall palm trees stood sentinel-like along either side of the long driveway leading to the forecourt. Somewhere to the right, below a sweep of lawn, the soft boom and swish of waves breaking over rocks swept the silence like a lullaby.

“This way, signorina.”

Paolo ushered her through the front door and into an entrance hall of such grand proportions that it would have done justice to a royal residence. Checkerboard black and white marble tiles covered the floor. Tapestries, faded by age to softly muted tones of ecru and rose and blue, hung from the walls. Directly in front of her, a magnificent marble staircase rose to a central landing, then branched in two to lead to a gallery that ran around the entire second story. Overhead, some forty feet above the ground floor, frescoed cherubs cavorted among a sea of clouds around the perimeter of a domed ceiling with a stained-glass window at its center.

Gazing around, Eve’s first impressions of the place underwent change. Old the house might be, but “elegant” more properly described it than “gothic” “sumptuous” rather than “barren.” In fact, she was so entranced with the visual feast surrounding her that she failed to notice a recessed door at the rear of the hall, until it thudded open and the figure of a man appeared silhouetted on the threshold.

Even without Marcia’s description, Eve would have recognized him as Gabriel Brabanti. Never mind that the door cast him in such deep shadow that she couldn’t tell whether he was handsome as sin, or homely as a board fence. Only the lord and master of the manor could have exuded such presence; such an air of unshakeable, aristocratic authority.

For a second or two, he remained motionless and fixed her in an unblinking gaze, stroking his thumb the entire time over the barrel of the enormous steel flashlight he carried. The intensity of his stare, not to mention the way he caressed the flashlight as if it were a weapon he was debating using, unnerved Eve enough. But when he finally approached her, crossing the wide expanse of marble floor in long, purposeful strides, it took all her considerable will-power not to cringe against the tapestry-hung wall.

He did not look like a father eager to see his baby for the first time. He looked coldly outraged by the intrusion of strangers in his home.

“Who the devil are you?” he asked, his voice rich as textured velvet, his accent an intriguing mix of Italian over-laid with Harvard English.

Flabbergasted, Eve stared at him. Up close, he was all lean, hard angles and olive skin burnished by the sun. A tall, elegant creature of exquisite proportions; broad across the shoulders, deep in the chest, narrow at the waist.

And his face? He had the face of an irate angel. A face at once so arresting it stole a person’s breath away, and so darkly brooding it chilled the blood.

His eyes, she noticed with a faint sense of shock, were a remarkable shade of crystal clear blue. Against the contrasting fringe of dense black lashes and olive skin, they were astonishingly beautiful. As for his mouth…her own ran dry just thinking about it.

Marcia’s description of him as dark and handsome ran pitifully short of the mark. He was the epitome of male beauty; a god among mortals. A sight to make rational men grind their teeth in envy, and sophisticated women to fall at his feet. In short, Gabriel Brabanti was the most strikingly beautiful man Eve had ever seen.

“What sort of question is that?” she croaked. “You know very well who I am. Marcia wrote and told you.”

But even as she spoke, she knew her words were meaningless, and she knew why. Because, of course, her cousin had done no such thing. Instead Marcia had behaved just as she always did when faced with a sticky situation: she’d lied, then run for cover. It was a habit of such long-standing that the shame was Eve’s for having expected anything else.

“What I know,” Gabriel Brabanti replied stonily, “is that unless she has undergone extensive cosmetic surgery, you are not my ex-wife. As for her having written to me, apart from a brief note advising me that she would be arriving today, I’ve had no contact with Marcia since her equally brief message informing me of my daughter’s birth.”

Still stunned by his appearance and feeling like an utter fool because of it, Eve said, “She’s never been much of a letter writer.”

His mouth thinned scornfully and she could hardly blame him. Such a lame excuse deserved nothing but contempt. “She appears to possess few commendable qualities. That, however, does not answer my question. Who are you?”

“Her cousin, Eve Caldwell.” She deposited the infant seat on the floor, fumbled to shift the heavy diaper bag from her right arm to her left and thrust out her hand. Discomfited when he ignored it, she rushed to explain, “I’m Nicola’s aunt. Sort of—well, not really. Technically I suppose she’s really my first cousin once removed. But Marcia and I are like sisters—twins, even. Our fathers are brothers, and she and I share the same birthday, you see. So it seemed the natural thing for me to assume the role of aunt to her baby.”

“Do you always babble like this in reply to a simple question, Signorina Caldwell?” he inquired, his gaze never once wavering. “Or is it something you resort to only when you’re nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” she said. But that she had to swallow twice and run the tip of her tongue over lips gone suddenly dry made a mockery of her answer.

“You should be. Within minutes of your arrival, you discover your cousin has betrayed your trust. Only a complete simpleton would assume her store of unpleasant surprises ends there.”

His marriage to Marcia might have been brief, Eve decided glumly, but clearly it had lasted long enough for him to get to know her altogether too well. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to confront him again. “I can deal with anything Marcia dishes out.”

“And so,” he said, “can I. I suggest you remember that, Signorina Caldwell, should you ever feel tempted to aid and abet her in any schemes she might be hatching. I’m sure she’s regaled you with tales of how miserable and intolerant a husband she found me, but she hasn’t the first idea of how formidable an enemy I can be when I really put my mind to it.” He stepped closer and made a move toward the infant seat. “Now, having made my position clear, I would like to meet my daughter.”

Acting purely on instinct, Eve beat him to it and hauled Nicola out of reach. “She’s sleeping.”

“So I see. But since I don’t expect her to engage in conversation with me, it hardly signifies. Hand her over, per favor!”

“Here?” Eve glanced around the vast hall. Impressive and magnificent though it might be from an architectural viewpoint, as a cosy setting for father and daughter to become acquainted, it left a lot to be desired. “Haven’t you prepared a nursery?”

“An entire suite, signorina,” he assured, his exasperation tinted with amusement. “And all of it well equipped to serve your every need. Don’t look so suspicious. I merely wish to hold my daughter, not feed her to the wolves.”

Her glance fell from his face to his hands. They looked capable enough, but, “Have you ever held a baby before? It’s not the same as handling a parcel, you know. You have to support her head.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“And keep a firm grip. Babies have an inborn fear of being dropped.”

“I have no intention of dropping her, nor do I intend to take her from you by force. I am, however, rapidly running out of patience. So for the last time, signorina, hand her over.”

Reluctantly, she did so. He grasped the handle of the infant seat and raised it level with his chest in one smooth swing. “So,” he said quietly, his eyes tracking Nicola’s tiny features with somber intensity, “this is the child I fathered. She’s small.”

Small? She was beautiful! Perfect from the top of her downy head to the tips of her dainty little feet! If small was the best he could come up with, he didn’t deserve her, and Eve would gladly have informed him of the fact if it weren’t that alienating him would serve no useful purpose.

“Most babies are, Signor Brabanti,” she said, with as much restraint as she could muster.

“I suppose.” Continuing to hold the carrier at chest height as easily as if it weighed no more than a loaf of bread, he made his way slowly across the hall and through a doorway on the left.

Following, Eve found herself in a reception room so exquisitely furnished that she couldn’t contain a small gasp of pleasure. She’d visited enough museums to recognize that the gorgeous ceiling and wall moldings, the beautiful faded rugs, the inlaid cabinets, and silk-covered sofas were priceless. But it was the combination of color and texture, as much as the antiques themselves, which lent the room such extraordinary distinction.

“There is a problem, Signorina Caldwell?” Elegant eyebrows raised in question, Gabriel paused before the fireplace. “You’re perhaps thinking that this isn’t a house where a child could roam freely, and play without fear of breaking something irreplaceable?”

She ran a self-conscious hand down her travel-worn suit. A stain marked the lapel of the jacket, where Nicola had spat up during the flight from Amsterdam, and the full skirt was woefully creased. “Actually I’m thinking that, to be in a room like this, I should be wearing formal evening dress—something in heavy slipper satin with a train, and diamonds and pearls.”

“The opportunity will arise in due course,” he remarked ambiguously, “but for tonight, what you have on will serve well enough. You will have noticed, I’m sure, that I’m not dressed for a night at the opera, either.”

Of course she’d noticed! What woman in her right mind wouldn’t have, when confronted by such a splendid male specimen? His blue jeans clung to his long legs and molded themselves to his hips like a jealous lover. His shirt, unbuttoned halfway to his waist, ebbed and flowed over the breadth of his chest, allowing tantalizing glimpses of bronze skin and a smattering of dark hair.

With cavalier disregard, he set the infant seat in the middle of an elaborate gilt occasional table, and it was all Eve could do not to utter a protest. “How do I unfasten these restraints?”

“There’s a release button here.” She hurried forward, unsnapped the buckles holding the safety belts in place, then lifted Nicola out of the seat before it did irreparable damage to the table’s delicate surface, and handed her to her father.

He held her with his elbows pressed to his sides, his forearms extended, his hands too inexperienced to know how to scoop up so tiny a burden, and he too unaware to know she’d feel more secure cuddled up against his chest. Instead he stared down at her, the doubtful look on his face speaking volumes. Picking up on his uncertainty, Nicola stretched and let out an annoyed squawk.

He froze. “Per carita! She wriggles like an eel!”

“Hold her upright,” Eve suggested. “You’ll both feel safer that way.”

“Like so?” Tentatively he hoisted Nicola so that she rested solidly against his chest, with her head on his shoulder. As if she sensed she’d come home, she turned and burrowed her face against the smooth, tanned skin of his neck, her mouth seeking.

Unexpectedly moved by the sight of the baby, so pink and delicate, nestled trustingly against the man, so dark and strong, Eve swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “Exactly like that.”

He made a face. “Why is she’s slobbering on me?”

“Because she’s hungry.” She nodded to where she’d left the diaper bag in the hall. “I’ve got a bottle of formula out there. If you’ll tell me where the kitchen is, I’ll go warm it up, then feed her.”

He indicated a velvet rope hanging beside the fireplace. “Ring for my housekeeper. She’ll heat the bottle. And I,” he said flatly, “will feed my daughter. You’ve done your part by bringing her to me, signorina. I’ll take over now.”

She hadn’t been so summarily dismissed since her student nurse days when she’d accidentally stepped on the hospital chief of staff’s toe. “Fine,” she said, smarting at his high-handed tone, and yanked the bell pull with rather more force than was warranted. “Then you can change her diaper as well. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s leaking all over your shirt. In fact, give her a bath while you’re at it. She could use one, after spending most of the day either in airports or on a jet.”

His horrified expression would have been comical if Eve had been in any mood to laugh. But all she could think of was Marcia’s warning. Establish your rights from the start…because given half a chance, he’ll eat you alive…!

“Perhaps,” he murmured grudgingly, “I’ll allow you take care of her needs this one time, after all.”

Allow? Oh, the man had gall to spare! “You’ll allow me to look after my own niece? How big of you!”

For a second too long, they glared at one another, and in that time a turbulent sense of recognition swarmed through the air; a sense that beneath the surface of resentment and rivalry, something much less antagonistic and much more disturbingly erotic, was struggling to emerge.

Even he felt it. “Forgive me, signorina,” he said, almost pushing Nicola at her, then backing out of range of that sudden, strange, high-voltage jolt of electricity. “I didn’t intend to come across as quite so overbearing. Please attend to my daughter’s needs as you see fit. There’ll be time enough in the coming weeks for me to become better acquainted with her.”

“As you wish,” Eve said, feeling oddly disoriented herself. Just as well a pleasant-faced, motherly woman appeared in the doorway and took charge.

Appearing equally relieved by her arrival, Gabriel said, “This is Beryl, my housekeeper. Beryl, my daughter’s mother won’t be staying with us, after all. Instead Signorina Caldwell is taking her place.”

If the housekeeper was surprised by the change in guest arrangements, she was too well-schooled to let it show. “Si, signor.”

He glanced again at Nicola who’d begun to howl in earnest. Raising his voice over the din, he asked, “How long do you expect it will take to settle her for the night, Signorina Caldwell?”

“An hour, at least.”

Eyeing the large gilt pendulum clock on the wall, he said, “Then we’ll sit down to dinner at nine-thirty.”

“I’d prefer to have a snack in my room.”

“Don’t push your luck, signorina! I’ve made enough concessions for one night.”

“And I’ve been traveling for the better part of two days.”

For a moment, from the way his mouth tightened, she thought they were in for another confrontation. Then, on a long, controlled exhalation, he said, “Indeed you have. How remiss of me to have overlooked that fact. Beryl, show Signorina Caldwell to the suite you’ve prepared, will you, and make sure she has everything she needs?”

“Certainly, signor. And shall I order a light supper while I’m at it?”

“I’ll speak to Fabroni on your behalf.” He glanced again with some alarm at his daughter. “It would seem you’re going to have your hands full, dealing with…that.”

“All right, then.” She smiled at Eve. “Come with me, signorina, and let’s get the little one looked after.”

He watched her follow Beryl out of the room, his brow knit in thought. That his ex-wife was up to something he had no doubt. Unless there was some pressing reason to do so, no normal mother entrusted a young baby to the care of someone else, on a journey taking her halfway around the world, no matter how impeccably trustworthy and capable that person might be.

The question was, what part did the cousin play in all this? Was she merely a pawn in Marcia’s latest scheme, or did her big, innocent gray eyes and softly curved mouth serve to disguise yet another devious mind?

He smiled grimly. The day had yet to dawn that Marcia succeeded in manipulating him, and this time was no exception. One way or another, he’d ferret out her true motives, and if either woman thought they’d use a helpless infant to further their own ends, they were in for a very rude awakening.

CHAPTER TWO

BERYL led the way up the marble staircase and along a wide hall to a set of double doors at the end. “Here we are, signorina. You’re in the tower suite. It’s got one of the best views in the whole house, and is very comfortable. Signor Brabanti’s given me a free hand setting up the nursery, and I believe you’ll find all the supplies you’re likely to need, but it’s been a long time since I’ve shopped for a baby. I’d no idea the things you can buy for them, these days.” She flung open the doors and stood back. “After you, love.”

Stepping over the threshold, Eve found herself in a sitting room furnished in restful shades of aquamarine and cream. Speechless, she gazed around, Marcia’s prediction that Gabriel Brabanti spared no expense in making his guests comfortable coming home to roost with a vengeance. The room was beautifully appointed, and large enough that her entire Chicago apartment could have fit in it, with space to spare.

“This is your private soggiorno,” Beryl informed her, misinterpreting her stunned silence. “What you’d call a sitting room.”

“So I see.” Eve blinked, to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

“A bit taken aback, are you?”

“More than a bit! This is all quite…palatial.”

“Why don’t I take the baby for a minute, while you have a look around?”

“Yes. All right.”

Beryl cradled Nicola in the crook of her arm. “The bedroom’s down the hall, through that door over there, with a bathroom between it and the nursery, and a little kitchenette beyond that. Let me know if there’s something I’ve overlooked that you’d like to have.”

“I can’t imagine you’ve forgotten a thing.” Still bemused, Eve wandered about the sitting room, noting the elaborate wall and ceiling moldings, and richly carved door panels. An eighteenth-century ladies’ writing desk and bustle chair stood next to a glass and wrought-iron door opening onto a balcony. Beautifully framed antique prints, flanked by Venetian crystal sconces, hung on the wall between two tall oriel windows.

But there were modern touches, too: a telephone on the desk; a brass floor lamp for reading; fresh flowers in a Lalique vase on the low table before the sofa; a stack of paperback novels on a bookshelf next to the small marble fireplace; a remote control for the television set and stereo system housed in a rosewood cabinet.

The bedroom was no less impressive, a vast area of cool oyster-white walls, the same ornate oriel windows as the living room, a carved armoire that surely belonged in a museum, and a similarly carved bed standing so high from the floor that she’d have to climb on the matching footstool beside it to reach the mattress.

But if the chief ambience conveyed by these two rooms was that of an earlier era, the marble bathroom was pure twenty-first century. A steam shower filled one corner. The deep, jetted tub could have accommodated a pair of sumo wrestlers with ease. Even the toilet and bidet went beyond the merely functional in their sleekly elegant lines. As for the gold faucets, thick, velvety towels and profusion of bath oils, powders and lotions…well, they might not have merited notice from European royalty, but they were all a bit overwhelming for a plain little nurse from Chicago.

“There’s a portable baby bath in that corner cupboard. It’ll fit right next to the wash basin and make it a bit easier on your back when you’re bathing the baby,” Beryl said, coming to stand in the doorway. “You’d need arms a mile long to lean over that contraption of a tub. A body could drown in it, it’s that deep!”

“You’re right.” Eve laughed and looked at her through the mirror above the long vanity. “Beryl, may I ask you a personal question?”

“Anything you like, as long as it’s not how much I weigh,” the housekeeper said cheerfully.

“It’s just that, although you obviously speak Italian fluently, you don’t sound Italian.”

“That’s because I’m not. I’m originally from Manchester, in England.”

“How did you end up in Malta?”

“My husband brought me here for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and we both fell in love with the island. He died not long after, and there was nothing left in England for me after that, so I brought his ashes back to the place that held so many happy memories for us, and made a new life for myself. That was eleven years ago, and I haven’t regretted it for a second.”

“It sounds as if your marriage was a true love match.”

“Oh, it was! Nothing like that terrible business with the signor’s. That wife of his…well, excuse me for saying so, Miss Caldwell, seeing that she’s your cousin and all, but there was no pleasing her.”

“Marcia can be difficult.”

The way Beryl’s lips clamped together suggested she could have come up with a more choice description, but she made do with a curt, “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose. The real pity, though, is that there had to be a baby thrown into the mess.” Her voice softened. “Not that this little mite isn’t lovely, because she is. A real little beauty, in fact—but a bit small for four months, if you ask me. Do you think she’s getting enough to eat?”

“It’s hard to say. I’ve known her only a couple of days, myself, and most of that time, we’ve been on the move, so I don’t have much of a handle on her eating schedule yet. Compared to some of the babies I see every day, though, she’s the picture of health.”

“And she deserves better than to be caught in a tug-of-war between her parents.”

It was on the tip of Eve’s tongue to point out that Gabriel Brabanti’s limited interest in Nicola hardly left her in much danger of that, but to what end? Beryl’s loyalty quite rightly lay with her employer. And much though her cousin tested her patience, Eve’s lay with Marcia.

“Well, right now, she deserves to be cleaned up and fed. Do you mind going down to the kitchen to heat her bottle while I give her a quick bath?”

“No need for that, love. There’s a bottle warmer and a bar refrigerator in the kitchenette. I didn’t want you having to go up and down stairs every time she’s hungry. Here, you take her, and I’ll get the bath ready, then see to the bottle while you sponge her down. Not that I plan to be interfering every other minute, you understand, but you must be a bit worn out yourself after coming all this way. I imagine you could use some help settling in.”

In fact, fatigue had begun to take a ferocious toll. Eve’s neck and shoulders ached as if she’d just put in a twenty-four hour shift at the clinic. “You really are a gem, Beryl,” she said, grateful not just for the housekeeper’s thoughtfulness but also for her approachability. “Thank you so much, for everything.”

“My pleasure, Miss Caldwell. By the way, there’s a bell next to the fireplace in your sitting room, and another in the nursery. Anything you’d like, night or day, just ring, and someone’ll be up to see to it for you.”

“Right now, only two things come to mind. First, would you mind bringing me the diaper bag from the sitting room? It’ll save me having to go through Nicola’s suitcase to find a clean sleeper. And second, won’t you please call me Eve?”

“I’m not sure the signor would approve,” Beryl said, filling the plastic infant bath half-full of warm water, and laying out towels next to a basket containing baby lotion, cotton swabs, soap and a sponge, before retrieving the diaper bag. “His ex-wife was always Signora Brabanti to the staff, even though she was American like you, and not given to being quite as formal as he is.”

“This isn’t Signor Brabanti’s call. I’m not his wife.”

“No, more’s the pity! You’ve got your head screwed on straight, which is a lot more than could be said of her.” She heaved a sigh and checked her watch. “Well, I’ve probably said more than I should, so as soon as I’ve finished here, I’d best be getting back downstairs. It’s nearly nine o’clock now. When would you like to have your meal sent up?”

“Why don’t we say ten? Nicola should be down for the night by then, and with any luck I’ll even have time for a shower.”

She did, but barely, and had only just finished drying her hair when she heard a knock at the door. Tying the strings holding closed her light robe, she went to answer, expecting to find Beryl or another member of the house staff outside.

Instead Gabriel stood there, a guarded smile on his face, a loaded tray in his hands. She wasn’t sure which unnerved her more: that he was there to begin with, or that he was smiling. There was nothing particularly friendly in that smile. If anything, it hinted of danger and sent a burst of goose bumps spattering over her skin.

He, too, had showered, and changed into slim-fitting black trousers and a white silk shirt open at the throat. His thick black hair, still slightly damp, curled at his nape. The polished bronze of his skin made his teeth gleam all the whiter.

…Be careful…he’s a shark…!

Oh, yes, a very apt description indeed, Marcia! Eve thought, feeling as if she were being pulled into the blue depths of his eyes and stripped of her soul. And a hungry shark, to boot!

Oblivious to his effect on her, he strode into the room and deposited the tray on the coffee table. “I don’t know about you, signorina,” he announced, whipping off the starched linen cloth covering the food, “but I’m starving. We have insalata with freshwater crayfish, warm rolls and butter, ripe figs, grapes, a little cheese, some almond tarts…. “ He seized the neck of the bottle poking out of a silver ice bucket. “And a very fine white wine.”

Giving herself a mental shake, she followed him and eyed the arrangement of crystal, china and sterling grouped around the platters and bowls of food. “Why are there two of everything?”

“Scusi?” He made a pathetic attempt at innocence.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. There are two sets of cutlery, two wine glasses, two—”

He raised his elegant black brows. “You do not drink wine?”

“Yes, I drink wine,” she said testily.

“Buono! Then we have something in common besides an interest in the welfare of my daughter.” He half-filled both glasses with the pale gold liquid and passed one to her. “How is she, by the way? Did you have trouble getting her to sleep?”

“No. She was exhausted.” She paused long enough to impale him in an indignant glare. “As am I.”

“That doesn’t come as any surprise. You’ve covered many miles in the last couple of days.”

“Exactly. So you’ll understand, I’m sure, when I tell you I’m not up for receiving a guest.”

“I’m not a guest, signorina. I’m your host.”

She drew in a frustrated breath. “I’m well aware of that. But I’m not dressed—”

He dismissed her objection with a careless flick of his hand. “What you’re wearing is of no consequence.”

Not to him, perhaps, but the knowledge that the thin cotton fabric of her robe and nightgown were more revealing than she cared for, left her feeling at a decided disadvantage. “Then what is? I presume you’re here for more than the pleasure of my company?”

“We must talk.”

“Now?” She glanced pointedly at the carriage clock on the desk. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I really am very tired.”

“But you did ask to be served a snack, did you not?”

“You know very well that I did.” She indicated the lavish spread. “Although I wouldn’t rate this a ‘snack’ exactly.”

“Nevertheless, now that it’s here, you do plan to eat it?”

“Of course! I’d hardly have put your kitchen staff to the trouble of preparing it, otherwise.”

“Then since I also have yet to eat, doesn’t it make good sense that we do so together, and learn a little more about one another at the same time?”

He wasn’t going to back down. That wasn’t his style. Rather, he dealt in silent intimidation cloaked in verbal reason, somehow moving in on a person so thoroughly that he stole the air she breathed. Overwhelming her with his size—a big, strong man, both physically and mentally, and well aware that, on his turf, his was the last word.

Eve was a guest in his house by default, an understudy for his daughter’s mother. As such, she had few rights. And even if that weren’t the case, just then she was too worn down to fight him. “Whatever!” she muttered, parking herself in a corner of the sofa, and attempting to tug her robe down far enough to cover her knees.

But he didn’t care that she was behaving less than graciously; he only cared about winning. “That’s better,” he said, taking a seat next to her, and touched the rim of his glass lightly against hers, causing the crystal to chime like tiny bells. “Welcome to Malta, Signorina Caldwell. May your visit prove pleasant for everyone involved.”

“If bulldozing your way into your guests’ private quarters against their wishes is your idea of being a good host, I can’t imagine either of us finding it pleasant.”

He shrugged his massive shoulders and plunged a serving spoon into the crayfish salad. “Time will tell. May I help you to some of this?”

“No, thank you. I can take care of myself.”

“As you wish, signorina.”

“There’s one other thing I wish,” she said irritably. “I wish you’d stop with these annoying ‘signorinas’ every other breath. Since I have no intention of spending the next several weeks standing on ceremony, and plan to call you Gabriel, you might as well get used to calling me Eve.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll call you Gabriel regardless—to your face, at least. What I call you behind your back rather depends on how well we do, or don’t, get along.”

Surprisingly he laughed at that, and the change it brought to his face was quite startling. Warmth invaded his cool blue eyes and left flames of amusement dancing there. His mouth softened in a beguiling curve to reveal his white, perfect teeth. She wouldn’t have thought it possible for him to become more beautiful, but he put paid to that supposition in devastating fashion. If his scowl put thunder heads to shame, his laughter outdazzled the sun.

No wonder Marcia had been smitten enough to marry him, even if the magic had been short-lived. Looks aside, he possessed a subtle, seductive charm which, should he choose to exercise it, could wreak irreparable damage on a woman’s heart.

Shaken by the realization, and disturbingly aware of how close to her he sat, Eve concentrated on the food, helping herself to a small serving of the crayfish salad and a sliver of cheese.

Eyeing the size of the portions on her plate, he said, “There’s not enough there to keep a sparrow alive. Don’t tell me you’re one of those women so obsessed with her weight that she counts every calorie she puts in her mouth.”

“I won’t, if you’ll tell me you’re not one of those men who thinks it’s his God-given right to dish out unsolicited advice every time he opens his mouth!”

Smothering another burst of laughter, he allowed his gaze to tour her face with the refined appreciation of a connoisseur. “No. But I am a man who admires a woman with spirit,” he purred, the words caressing her as intimately as a kiss.

If he’d leaned over and touched his mouth to hers, she couldn’t have responded more shockingly. Her pulse leaped, her throat constricted until she could barely swallow, and her mouth ran dry. More dismaying still, a piercing quiver of sensation shot from her heart to the pit of her stomach.

To pretend such a response was anything other than purely sexual made no more sense than pretending the sun didn’t rise every morning. Furious by her body’s betrayal, she said, “Then why didn’t you stay married to my cousin? She’s got more spirit than any other ten women combined.”

“I beg to differ. Beneath that very shallow air of mature sophistication she projects so well when it suits her to do so, Marcia is little more than a charming but spoiled, and very manipulative child. Sadly, the spoiled too soon overcomes the charming, and one is left to deal with the child and her machinations.”

That he was as astute as he was handsome didn’t come as any great surprise. But it did serve to remind Eve that she’d be a fool to underestimate him. “It takes two to make or break a marriage, surely?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “I certainly don’t pretend to be blameless in the failure of mine. I freely admit I grew tired of being cast in the role of guardian to a supposedly grown woman, and utterly bored by her attempts to bamboozle me with her little schemes. I never should have married her in the first place.”

“Why did you?”

“Because even I sometimes give in to moments of madness. Marcia arrived on Valletta’s social scene and took it by storm. For a while, I was as captivated as everyone else by her foreign ways. I should have known they’d eventually become obstacles neither of us was able to overcome. How is your salad?”

“Excellent, thank you. What do you mean by her foreign ways?”

“Our different tastes made it impossible to find a common ground.”

“Which is your polite way of saying she wasn’t refined enough for you.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, signorina. I meant nothing of the kind, merely that she could not, or would not, recognize that things are done differently here. Malta is a culturally mixed bag, regarded by many as the place where east meets west. Initially Marcia claimed to be fascinated by this aspect of our society, but she soon tired of it and complained we weren’t Americanized enough.”

“Perhaps because she was homesick.”

“Quite possibly. And if so, it was undoubtedly made worse by the fact that her infatuation for me died as quickly as her infatuation with everything else Maltese.” He topped up their wineglasses. “You look somewhat dismayed. Have I offended you?”

“No,” Eve had to admit. “That’s the trouble. Everything you’ve said so much fits the Marcia I know that I can’t begin to defend her.”

“Then since we’re of the same mind, tell me something.” He inched closer. Close enough that his body heat reached out to embrace her. He’d used a faintly spicy soap or shampoo that made her senses swim. Made her want to reach out her hand and touch his skin, his hair.

“Yes?” To her ears at least, her voice emerged in an embarrassing near-whisper thick with expectation.

“Why are you here, instead of her?”

Reality smashed aside her brief fantasy with such a vengeance that the succulent morsel of crayfish Eve had popped into her mouth came dangerously close to popping out again. “I already told you,” she said, swallowing hastily. “We’re cousins.”

“I know what you told me, Eve,” he replied levelly. “Now I want to know the true reason. What’s Marcia really up to?”

“Nothing.” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “She just doesn’t want to see you again, that’s all.”

“Is it?” he said, the inflection in his tone clearly voicing his disbelief. “I very much doubt that.”

“I don’t know why! You’ve as good as admitted you can’t stand to be around her for more than five minutes at a stretch, so why wouldn’t the reverse be true? It’s a perfectly normal response. Divorced people aren’t usually the best of friends.”

“Yet if they happen also to be parents, they frequently set aside their differences and put the interests of their children ahead of their own.”

“Which is what Marcia was doing when she agreed to have Nicola spend the summer with you.” Stifling a yawn, she set aside her unfinished meal and made a move to get up from the couch. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really am exhausted, so—”

“There’s just one flaw in that argument,” he said, closing his long, tanned fingers around her wrist to prevent her from moving. “Marcia’s not one to share the limelight unless there’s something in it for her, so why would she designate you to show off her baby, when she’d much rather reap all the attention?”

His touch scalded her. Sent the blood boiling through her veins and bolts of sensation shooting up her arm. “In this case,” she said breathlessly, “I think it had more to do with the length of time you expected her to stay here. She’s married again, as you know, and—”

“I didn’t know.”

“Oh, dear!” Eve realized the news had come as a complete and unpleasant shock. “I’m so sorry. I just assumed she’d have told you.” She stared at him incredulously. “She really didn’t mention it?”

“Not a word.”

“I can’t imagine why not.”

“I can. Now that she’s found herself a new husband, she’d like to cut me out of the picture altogether and have my daughter call another man ‘Papa.’

His grip tightened painfully. Wincing, Eve said, “You’re hurting me, Gabriel. Please let go.”

He glanced down, seeming almost surprised to find his fingers still locked around wrist. “Dio!” he exclaimed ruefully, releasing her at once. “I didn’t realize…forgive me.” Then, seeing the mark he’d left behind, he touched her again, stroking the pad of his thumb over the redness. “Your skin is so fine, so translucent,” he murmured. “Like mother-of-pearl. I’m a brute to have handled you so carelessly.”

“You were caught offguard,” she said, knowing she’d have to be the most naive fool in the world to believe he meant anything by his words. But although her brain recognized the logic of such reasoning, her pulse operated on a different wavelength and thundered like a runaway locomotive bent on destruction. Striving to control the resulting havoc to her breathing, she went on, “If I’d known Marcia hadn’t told you about Jason, I’d have broken the news more tactfully.”

His hand drifted down to unfold her fingers and lay bare her palm. “So Marcia fancies herself in love again, does she?”

“It would appear so.”

“And when did this marriage take place?”

“The beginning of last month, I believe.”

“You believe? You mean to say you weren’t invited to the wedding?”

“No. I gather it was a very simple civil ceremony, with just two close friends as witnesses. I live in Chicago, and it was hardly worth my making the trip to New York for something which lasted no more than twenty minutes.”

“What’s your impression of the new husband?”

“I’ve never actually met him. He was out of town when I picked up Nicola. The closest we’ve come is talking on the phone. He seemed nice enough.”

“He must be extraordinary, that Marcia would choose to remain at his side, instead of being with her child.”

“I don’t think it’s quite that clear cut. He’s on tour with a play he’s written, and since she’s both his wife and his agent, she wanted to be with him.”

“Just when I insisted on meeting my daughter? How very convenient!”

“As a matter of fact, it was. It spared Marcia having to take Nicola on the road.”

“So that she could devote herself to representing the undiscovered genius she married, without being hampered by the demands of a four-month-old baby, you mean?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” She snatched her hand away from his encroaching fingers. “Stop twisting my words. She couldn’t be in two places at once and had to make a choice. If anything, you should give her credit for trying a bit harder to make this second marriage work.”

“At the expense of our child?”

“Oh, come on, Gabriel! You make it sound as if she abandoned Nicola to a stranger. I assure you I’m well qualified to look after your daughter, and given the way you’re spoiling for a fight, it’s just as well I’m here and not Marcia. It’ll save you arguing about who’s the better parent.”

“You have a point,” he said, the glimmer of a smile curling his mouth, “and you certainly seem comfortable handling Nicola.”

“I ought to be. I’ve dealt with enough babies over the years.”

“Ah! You have children of your own?”

“No. I’ve never been married.”

“The two don’t necessarily go hand in hand these days.”

“They do for me,” she informed him flatly. “I’m the old-fashioned kind who believes in two-parent families.”

“How refreshing!” His smile would have charmed apples off a tree, but there was a watchfulness in his eyes that made Eve wary. “Do you and Marcia have anything in common?”

“Yes,” she said. “We both love Nicola and want what’s best for her.”

“Well, I can hardly take issue with that, can I?” He took her hands and drew her up to stand beside him. Her head barely reached his shoulder. “I’d like to look in on my daughter before I leave. Will you come with me?”

Together, they went through to the nursery. A lamp glowed on the dresser, filling the room with soft light. Nicola lay on her back in the crib, with her little arms spread-eagled and her tiny fists curled.

Bracing his hands on the crib rail, Gabriel watched her, his eyes hooded, his expression unreadable. “Will she sleep through until morning?”

“No. She’ll need to be fed again around midnight, and again between two and three.”

“Then I should be shot for keeping you up so late.” He touched her arm. “Tomorrow, you must rest. I’ll spend an hour with her after breakfast, before I leave for my office, and another in the late afternoon when I return home. Otherwise, Beryl will look after her.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine. I’m used to shift work.”

They were standing close together, speaking in whispers, the way parents might, and the intimacy of it all shimmered between them like a live thing. “I suspect,” he said, his gaze burning into hers, “that you’re also used to picking up the slack for others, regardless of what it might cost you.”

“I do what has to be done, but I’m no saint.”

“Nor am I,” he said, and the way he looked at her made her stomach turn over. “Nor am I. You’d do well to remember that.”

CHAPTER THREE

WASHED by moonlight, the villa lay at peace. Even the faint cry of the infant upstairs had at last dwindled into sleepy silence. Only he, plagued by misgivings, paced the length of his ground floor study and watched the night slip toward morning.

A three-quarter full bottle of Jack Daniels, something he’d cultivated a taste for during his years at Harvard, stood on the desk, an empty glass beside it. Not even the bourbon could soothe his uneasiness tonight. After the evening just past, his suspicion that Marcia was up to no good had crystallized into certainty.

Their marriage might have lasted less than a year but in that time he’d come to know her well. She was secretive and sly and selfish; a bold-faced liar unhindered by scruples, and completely dedicated to furthering her own interests. And the cousin, Eve, knew it, even though she played her part well, turning her wide-eyed gaze on him and feigning ignorance of the true state of affairs.

She was lying, too, albeit by omission, but exposing her deception would be easy. Under that spirited front she put on, she was vulnerable—and very, very susceptible. He’d noticed how her pulse had raced, how she’d flushed, when he touched her. When they’d stood close together by the baby’s crib, he’d seen the agitated rise and fall of her breasts under her robe, and the way his gaze had held her hypnotized.

Unlike her cousin, Eve Caldwell’s experience of men was limited. He wouldn’t have to work too hard to uncover her secrets and seduce her into becoming his ally.

The realization should have calmed his restlessness and made sleep possible at last. Instead, it left a burning distaste in his mouth which the bourbon couldn’t begin to combat. To have to sink to his ex-wife’s contemptible level of subterfuge in order to ensure his daughter’s welfare offended his sense of decency.

But, a man had to do what a man had to do, and casualties were inevitable in war. Too bad that, in this instance, Marcia had put her cousin directly in the line of fire, and made her the victim. It wasn’t fair. But then, the power struggle resulting from a marriage gone sour never was.

For the next few days, Eve took Nicola to visit Gabriel at the appointed time, and he dutifully went through the routine of holding his daughter on his lap, inquiring about her welfare, and handing her back with patent relief when the hour was up.

Eve really wondered why he even bothered with the little thing, he was so uneasy around her. She’d expected better of him. He was from Italy, a country where the “bambino” reigned supreme. For heaven’s sake, cuddle her close! she felt like scolding him. Treat her as if she’s your own flesh and blood, instead of a stray you found on your doorstep!

By the end of the first week, however, she noticed he was growing more comfortable around his infant daughter. Once or twice, she caught a hint of real affection in his eyes, of real pleasure in the smile he bestowed on Nicola.

Apart from those times, Eve rarely saw him. She took breakfast and lunch alone in her suite, and when a business crisis of some kind kept him away from home four evenings in a row, she dined alone, too.

Yet whenever she and Gabriel did happen to be in the same room together, the atmosphere between them crackled with a tension that had nothing to do with hostility. Even though the context of their conversations revolved entirely around Nicola and was entirely appropriate, Eve read a different kind of message when his glance happened to collide with hers. The promise in his blue eyes made her forget to be cautious; his smile made her dizzy.

Sometimes, in passing the baby back and forth, their hands would touch. He made such contact seem meaningless, accidental, nonthreatening. But it left her feeling exposed, hungry, breathless. She was filled with a sense of anticipation; of something thrilling about to happen.

All that changed on Tuesday, at the beginning of her second week there. At seven-thirty, Beryl showed up with a pot of coffee and insisted on taking over in the nursery.

“After the time you’ve had, you’ll be needing this,” she told Eve, swirling cream into a china mug, and topping it up with the rich, aromatic brew. “I heard the baby crying again around two this morning. She sounded colicky, poor little mite.”

“I’m sorry she kept you awake, as well,” Eve said. “You must be wishing you’d put me in another part of the house where sound doesn’t travel so easily.”

“Don’t worry about me. You’re the one who walked the floor with her half the night. Take your coffee outside and get a breath of fresh air, why don’t you?”

Stepping out onto her bedroom balcony, Eve breathed in a sigh of sheer pleasure. Except for the lacy black projection of the oriole windows, the limestone walls of the villa rose up, tinted vanilla by the sun. The garden, lush with tropical flowers and trees, sloped down to a crescent of pale sand beyond which lay the deep blue sweep of the Mediterranean.

High overhead, too high for it to disturb the birdsong from a large aviary of finches built into the face of a rock wall, a silver jet streaked across the clear sky, leaving behind a narrow vapor trail. Closer at hand, in the suite behind her, she could hear Beryl crooning to Nicola.

A moment later, the housekeeper appeared in the doorway, with Nicola swaddled in a towel. “By the way, I forgot to tell you that Signor Brabanti asked me to hold off serving breakfast until nine o’clock, and wants you and Nicola to join him.”

Ignoring the little leap of her pulse, Eve said, “He’s leaving for the office later than usual, then?”

“He’s not going to the office at all. He’s taking the day off to be with you.”

There was no ignoring her body’s reaction to that piece of news. Her heart almost jumped out of her chest. “But can he do that? I thought there were problems at work, and he was needed there.”

“He can do whatever he likes, love. He’s the boss.”

Well, of course he was! The idea that he’d be anyone’s underling was laughable—and the prospect of spending the day with him, little short of alarming!

Bad enough that the memory of his face and touch kept her awake at night, every bit as much as Nicola’s crying. Eve didn’t relish the thought of trying to put on a poised front in public, for hours at a stretch, when the very mention of his name was enough to send her into a state of utter disarray.

What had prompted his sudden interest in spending time with her, she wondered, cradling her coffee mug between both hands and leaning on the balcony railing.

As if allowing him into her thoughts was enough to conjure him up in the flesh, a movement in the cove below caught her eye. Glancing down, she saw him emerging from the shallow waves, the water cascading down his body in sun-splintered streaks. He reminded her of some mythical, magnificent sea god—except such creatures usually camouflaged their nakedness with strategically placed garlands, whereas he wore the briefest pair of swimming trunks ever designed by man.

Blithely unaware of his fascinated audience, he sauntered across the beach to retrieve a towel hidden behind a chunk of rock thrusting up through the sand. Afraid her slightest movement would attract his attention, Eve shrank against the sun-warmed stone wall, helpless to tear her gaze away as he dried off his dripping hair, mopped at his broad chest, and last, swabbed the towel up his legs and between his thighs.

And then, to her utter horror, he suddenly straightened and lifted his gaze directly to the balcony where she stood rooted to the spot, her eyes glued to his body as if she’d never before seen how the male of the species was put together. It was all she could not to squeak with embarrassment.

He, on the other hand, wasn’t the least perturbed. As casually as any other man might have buttoned up his shirt, he draped the towel around his hips, tucked the ends in place, then raised a hand in greeting. “Come down for a swim before the day grows too hot,” he called out.

As if, for her, it could possibly grow any hotter! Already, she was burning up as if she had a fever! Every part of her, from her face to the soles of her feet, had erupted in a fiery blush. How in the world could she ever look him in the eye again?

With extreme difficulty, as she found out soon enough.

“If you’re thinking of bathing before breakfast, better not wait too much longer, love,” Beryl announced, reappearing with Nicola, now bathed and fed, in her arms.

Eve was tempted to invent a headache—anything to avoid having to confront Gabriel again so soon—except what was the point? She could delay matters all she liked, but since she couldn’t avoid him indefinitely, there was nothing to be gained be putting off the inevitable.

And what, after all, did she have to feel so self-conscious about? She wasn’t the one who’d strutted around practically naked before him. If anyone should be red-faced with embarrassment, he should!

Fine talk, and it bolstered her throughout the time it took her to shower and dress. But when, at last, she stood on the threshold of the breakfast room and found him already seated at the table with his nose buried in the morning paper, her composure seeped away like water in a leaky bathtub.

Stop dithering and get it over with! the down-to-earth self she prided herself on being, scolded. He’s just a man, no different from the hundreds of others you’ve seen. Keep your wild imagination in check, and think of him as just another patient!

From behind his newspaper, Gabriel spoke. “Avanti, prego, signorina! It’s quite safe for you to come in. I don’t bite.”

Feeling as big a fool as she no doubt looked—though how he could see her through several pages of newsprint, defied explanation—she tottered toward the table. “I’ve brought the baby,” she said, for want of a more scintillating reply. “I expect you’re ready for her morning visit.”

He folded the paper and, setting it aside, rose to his feet. “Assolutamente!” he said, taking the infant seat from her and propping it up on the chair next to his so that Nicola faced him. His thick black lashes swept down, as if to hide the sudden tenderness in his eyes as he regarded his daughter. Then, looking up, he bathed Eve in a smile that could only be described as blatantly invitational. “Mostly, though, I wish to apologize to you.”

“Me? Why?” It was as well he came around to draw out a chair for her, because her legs were suddenly weak as water and it was all she could do to remain upright. No man had the right to be so distractingly gorgeous.

“Because you are my guest and I’ve been a most neglectful host. It’s time I made up for that.”

“You’re under no such obligation,” she replied hastily. “I’m here only as Nicola’s…nanny.”

“A servant? I think not!” He rested his hands on her shoulders and gave them a little squeeze before returning to his own seat. “My daughter continues to keep you up at night, I’m told.”

“A little, yes. She’s still very young, and I’m not sure she tolerates her formula as well as she should.”

“Probably because she should be receiving mother’s milk.” His eyes drifted from Eve’s face to the bodice of her sundress and remained there. “Is it not common in America for women to breast-feed their infants?”

“Yes,” she replied, defying her nipples to acknowledge his scrutiny. “In fact, it’s recommended, and the preferred choice of most mothers.”

“But not Marcia.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I really don’t know. Perhaps you should ask her.”

“I’d gladly do so, if she’d return my calls. I’ve tried several times to contact her since you got here.”

“Why?” she said, not about to admit she’d done the same, with singular lack of success. “To verify that I am who I say I am?”

“No, my dear signorina,” he said mildly. “To let her know that you and Nicola arrived safely, and keep her informed of our daughter’s doings. It strikes me as something any normal mother would want to know. But although I’ve left messages with her assistant at the agency, I’ve yet to hear directly from Marcia herself.”

“Probably because she’s away. I already told you, as soon as she’d seen us off at Kennedy airport, she joined her husband on tour.”

“So you did. But that hardly renders her incommunicado with the rest of the world—unless he’s touring the polar ice cap.”

“There’s also the time difference to take into account. New York’s six hours behind Malta.”

“I have enough business interests worldwide to be well aware of international time changes, Eve,” he reminded her, offering his finger to Nicola, who immediately grasped it in her tiny fist and favored him with a solemn, large-eyed stare.

“Look at that, will you?” he said. “Even though I’m her father, I’m a complete stranger to her. Yet she clings to me with absolute confidence, certain she is safe with me and wraps me around her little heart without even trying. I cannot imagine being indifferent to where, and how, she is.”

Ignoring the clutch of emotion inspired by the sight of Nicola’s translucent dimpled knuckles curved so trustingly around his long, tanned finger, Eve said, “If you’re suggesting Marcia doesn’t care—!”

Beryl chose that moment to come into the room with a bowl of peaches, and a basket of warm sweet rolls to go with the curls of butter and preserves already on the table. A young girl accompanied her, bringing in a fresh pot of coffee.

Glad of the interruption, Eve helped herself to the fruit and hoped he’d drop the subject of Marcia’s apparent lack of concern for her baby. Because how could she defend something she herself found hard to understand?

The moment they were alone again, though, Gabriel picked right up where he’d left off. “If I am suggesting she doesn’t care,” he said, gently disentangling himself from his daughter’s grip, and pouring himself more coffee, “I’ll be glad to have you prove me wrong. You told me, your first night here, that you’re accustomed to being around children, in which case I respect your opinion. Are you a teacher? Is that how you gained your experience?”

“No. I work as a nurse in an inner city health clinic, and I can tell you that the babies I see would consider themselves fortunate beyond their wildest dreams if they had the kind of home Marcia provides for Nicola.”

“Are you saying your patients live in poverty?”

“That, of course—and in some cases, it’s extreme. But it’s not just the grinding misery of being poor that shows in their eyes, it’s the violence and neglect that so often go with it. Many of them have learned before they’re two years old that they have no future.”

His gaze rested on her face with a compassion in its blue depths that, if she’d allowed it, would seriously have undermined her determination to resist him. “You must find that very distressing.”

“It breaks my heart, every day.”

“And the fact that Marcia appears to treat my daughter like a toy to be cast aside when something more interesting comes along, doesn’t?”

“It’s not like that, at all!” she insisted heatedly. “You only have to look at Nicola to see that she’s well cared for.”

He fixed her in such a reproachful stare that she squirmed. “Signorina Eve, a vintage car might be well-cared for, or a garden, or a public park! But a baby deserves better than that, surely? A baby should be treasured, doted upon, adored.”

“What makes you think Nicola isn’t?”

“On the surface, nothing, although I admit I’d expected her to look a little more robust for her age, and be a good deal more contented than she often is.” He flicked a glance at Nicola who, for once, was quite happy gazing at the slow-circling blades of the ceiling fan, then turned his attention again to Eve. “But I see that I’m making you very uncomfortable with my speculations and opinions. Forgive me. I have no right trying to drag you into the middle of what is, after all, a fight between my ex-wife and me.” He pushed the basket of sweet rolls closer. “Try these and some of Beryl’s excellent home-made preserves. I swear, if she suspects I’ve spoiled your appetite, she’ll make my life a misery.”

The way you made Marcia’s? Eve wondered. Because the luxury evident throughout the villa, the sublime Mediterranean setting, the stunning good looks and simmering sensuality of the man seated opposite her—not to mention the charm he could turn on at will—exactly suited Marcia’s exotic tastes. Which could only mean that there had to have been something seriously amiss in the marriage, not only for Marcia to walk away from it in the first place, but for her to so adamantly refuse ever to come back or to face Gabriel again.

“I rather doubt anyone could make you miserable without your consent,” she said, breaking open a roll and buttering it. “You strike me as being quite…invincible.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to talk me out of taking you sightseeing later on?”

“Would it do me any good to try?”

“Not in the least,” he said, laughter brimming in his voice. “It’s exactly as you suspect: I’m used to having things my way.”

And therein, perhaps, lay the answer to why the marriage had gone wrong, because Marcia was obstinate as a mule. “Neither you nor my cousin seems to understand the concept of compromise,” she observed. “And I don’t mind telling you, just how your hard-nosed attitude will ultimately affect Nicola frightens me.”

His fingers brushed against hers and grew still. “Don’t be afraid, Eve,” he said gently. “We’re on the same side in this. We both want what’s best for my daughter.”

She found herself reacting oddly to his touch, with part of her yearning toward his warmth and strength, and another part shrinking from the subtle danger of him. He could say what he liked, but it was what he didn’t say that troubled her the most. He wasn’t nearly as guileless as he’d like her to believe, and for reasons based on nothing but instinct, she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she didn’t keep him at arm’s length, she’d end up becoming his victim.

“If that’s true,” she replied, “then you’ll agree it would be best if I stayed home with her today. She’s had a very rough week of it since she arrived here, and I’d feel better if I were around to keep an eye on her.”

He’d decided on the Lamborghini, believing that her seeing the sights from the comfort and vantage point of a convertible would coax her into forgiving him for having dragged her out against her will, and insisting they leave the baby with Beryl.

He should have known better. Stiff with resentment, she sat poker straight, her hands clenched in her lap, her eyes focused directly ahead, even though the city bastions rose up on her right, impressive enough in their age and magnificent engineering grandeur to stop most tourists dead in their tracks.

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